#endlessly going “do not claw off your skin no matter how much you want to :) do not claw off your skin :)

[strixhaven]

i would be unstoppable and so sexy if i could wear jewelry for longer than ten seconds without me wanting to bite my skin off

[ssha-sssh]

"Creation" Prologue

A/N: It didn't take forever, I did it ❤️

Word count: 2,2K

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of death, swear words

🎧 Jurii Kirnev — Prelude

Among the perennial trees with their branches reaching up to the sky, you don’t see or hear anything.  There is only darkness and silence around.  Clouds floating across a foggy sky.  Twinkling round moon.  Stars hiding behind leaves.  Animal screams.  The flapping of bird wings.  An echo floating above the forest.

And bubbling fear squeezing your ribs.

If only they didn't find you.

It’s impossible to catch your breath or shake off anxiety.  No matter how you try to calm the convulsive sighs, they endlessly escape from your chest, precariously covered by a torn shirt.

Dirty in someone else's and your own blood, you hide among the bushes, tearing the remnants of your clothes with every careless movement.  You're stuck, but you're not trying to get out.  After all, here you, crouched to the ground and holding your ragged breath, are not so easy to notice.  Your trousers and tank top, torn by the tenacious claws of the branches, barely cover your skin stained with bruises and abrasions.  Here and there, wet leaves and clods of dirt stuck to your trembling knees.

There's a knife hole in your right shoulder.  There are flashes of torches before your eyes, and you don’t know where to go as the day approaches — but everything seems unimportant.  After all, as soon as the moon rolls down over the hills, as soon as the first morning cloud falls along the coal sky, and there is just a little time left until dawn, you will have hope...

You're thirsty.  So much so that from the temptation to stick your head out and taste the muddy water from a small puddle, you pull yourself back only when you feel someone else’s presence.

There is a noise behind your back.

The sound of cutting air reaching your ears.  You don't know and don't want to know what it could be.  You are just sinking into the still damp earth, after the rain that passed in the evening, under which you were thoroughly wet.

Your screams remained far beyond the forest, but it seems to you that you did not run away.  And you weren't saved.

Without making a sound, you crawl deep into the thorny bushes.  You cut your cheeks and neck just to remain unnoticed.  With your shirt sleeve you cling to a crooked branch sticking out of the ground.  Trying to escape, you tear both your shirt and the skin on your hands into rags.  If they hear even one sob, they will not spare you.  They were furious when you compared them to animals — but they were hardly human.

People are hardly capable of what they are thinking of doing to you.  People are hardly capable of what they do to everyone who fails to escape.  The wound in the shoulder stings.  All you need now is to survive this night here, among the leaves whipping your face.  And under no circumstances cry from pain...

You don't breathe, merging with the forest.  But the noise overtakes you in your flimsy shelter.

You hope that they will not see you and will pass by — after all, they do not know this place and may get lost in the dark.  You desperately praying for this.  But you almost burst into tears when you immediately remember all the stories that you once heard or overheard.

What if you were found by those who know this place like the back of their hand?  Those who can wander here by touch, relying on animal instincts?.. The sound that comes rips screams from your mouth.

The crack of branches breaking above your head.

It was impossible to hide here... This is truly, as they said day after day, the territory of the apes clan.  Surely they prowl, around every night, killing everyone who ever wanders here.

Screaming when the sharp blade almost cuts off a strand of hair stuck to your face, you crawl on all fours, feeling your way.  You grab onto the grass and tree trunks to escape pursuit, but from another blow from the blade, you fall into a ravine strewn with cobblestones.

Lying on your back, punctured by stones, you see your tormentors.

Unable to move, you bleed and cry.  It would be better if it were the apes from all these stories.

Cause, they'd would kill you quickly.

"Good job.  She doesn’t need legs anyway, but she won’t be fussy anymore"

"But it would be better to knock out this little bitch teeth, just to be sure"

Voices that make you choke with blood filling your mouth.  Vile, deafening laughter.

They found you.

You're scared.  Despair covers your barely beating heart, and the salt of flowing tears stings the scratches on your cheeks.

Blood is gushing from a fresh wound on your thigh, and you try to touch the cut flesh — but your hands are limp, like a rag doll.

When they descend into the ravine, grab you and pull you up by your elbows and ankles, almost tearing you to shreds — you squint and scream from the unbearable pain piercing your entire body.  You are trying to free yourself, to slip out of the hands that cripple you.  Your wrists crack and break just like cut branches. There is no escape from this trap, from these snares.  You want to die here.

You want to avoid giving them disgusting joy.

Because you know what they want to do to you.

You saw and heard what they were doing in the now foreign settlement with all the girls.  You grew up and realized that they had all come to terms with it.  They all accepted their fate without even trying to change anything.

People, generation after generation, living, begetting other people and dying without any meaning.

Locked iron doors.  Men's blows.   Women's screams.  The cries of newborns, children deprived of love and care.  A dungeon with blackened walls and no chance of seeing at least one more sunrise... That's all that will happen if their hands grab you now.

But it cost you too much to escape for your story to end like this.

Wasting your last strength, you kick one in the groin with your health leg.  He yells, cursing you and grabbing the bruised body scarp with both hands.

Dust gets under your nails and falls on your face when you almost get out of the ravine and see the sky again.

But the other one immediately throws you back onto the cobblestones, hangs on top and strangles you.  With all your anger, you hit him with a sharp stone clutched in your hand, turning his grinning face into mush.  You spit in his face and hiss, but his dirty, slippery hands only tighten on your neck.  You are suffocate, beads of cold sweat glistening on your forehead. Scatterings of stars in the waking sky blur in your eyes.

And you think that all this, all the years of miserable life filled with beatings, insults and abuse, is finally over.

Trying to exhale every nightmare moment, you come to terms with your death.  With probably your only freedom.

You imagine where you will go when you fall asleep forever...

Suddenly, the grip on your throat weakens in an instant.  The sounds of brutal fighting and incoherent swearing.  Wheeze, full of pain.  Your lungs take in air again and you cough.  Two dull thuds.  Silence reigned.  It’s so quiet that you can hear the blood spreading.  Not yours.  Raising your head and looking around, all you see is the men who tormented you lying among the dirt, earth and stones.  Motionless, breathless.  A trickle of blood and a quiet laugh flows from your dry lips... You notice a shadow in the grass surrounding the ravine.

Holding your throat with a weak hand, you peer into the rustle of steps and movements.

This is not a human.

But you don't care anymore.

The shadow mounts the horse.  You climb up.  You shiver from the cold night air, piercing to the bones and eating into your body, riddled with cuts.  You stand on your feet, unsteadily.  You look at the shadow, taking a step back.  Small pebbles search your bare feet.  You listen to the breathing of the shadow, hoarse and echoing.  You feel a shadow looking at you. You back away.

Limping hopelessly, you try to run away.

Pulling on the reins, the shadow gallops on horseback behind you —and in the pitch darkness you see the green of the ape’s eyes.

With tormented palms, clutching the moss on the trees and their sharp paws, you run, not making out the road.  You stumble, spitting saliva and blood, but don’t stop.

You can't hide from the ape.  More are trotting in the distance.  The clatter of hooves sounds ever closer as you scurry helplessly along the path.

When the sun rises, illuminating the visible plain with its rays, the earth disappears from under your feet and you fall.  On your back, again. Curly shoots entangle your palms, making their way to your forearms - and it suddenly seems to you that your skin is not dirty and cut, but smooth and untouched.

But the pain returns, intensifies.

Your body seems like a sieve smeared in blood.  Your heart is pounding as if it’s about to fall out at your feet.  You don’t have the strength to run away, you don’t have the strength to breathe... The ape — must be a chimpanzee, if you correctly understood at least some of the stories about these animals, — dismounts, standing up to his full height, approaches you with wide steps and bends over your scratched face, knitting his eyebrows.

Right now you can't see the thoughts in the ape's pupils.

All you can see right now — is a male.  And you're scared again.

Where the wound gapes on your thigh, only threads remain of the fabric of your trousers, exposing your vulnerable skin.

All you can do now is desperately cover yourself with what's left of your shirt.  So that he doesn’t see how the blood flows from your neck to your collarbones, and from there to the valley between your breasts.   But he sees. And his gaze is almost no different from other men predatory gazes.

You look up at him and press yourself into the tree trunk.  You look like a small cornered animal.

“I won’t hurt you...” he says, sitting down on the ground and extending his hand to help you up.  "Who are they?  Why are you... in blood?"

Huddled in patches of wet grass, away from the outstretched hand, you tremble.

Even your eyelashes, which have absorbed the moisture of the coming morning, tremble.

“Noa” he gestures to himself, looking at you expectantly.  He sighs as you curl into a ball, tucking your knees to your chest.  "Do you have a name?  Home?  Family?.."

He saved you from a long and inevitable life similar to death - and it seems that he does not intend to kill you... But why?

How could your deceased parents, who protected you from all evil that exists, be mistaken in human actions?  Could a woman who protected you at the cost of her life lie about ape's earth?  Could the legend passed down from mouth to mouth be just a fiction to keep women within the walls of the dungeon?  Why he help you now?..

And is this help?  He killed them.  This means that he can easily kill you too if he feels like it.

His hands are just as stained with blood as yours. One of them pierced his palm with a knife, which remained in the ravine.  His fingers almost touch your languishing in pain shoulder. Why would he, ape, help you, human? Why is he still holding his long, furry hand outstretched?.. Closing your eyes and biting your tongue so as not to answer his questions, you shake your head.

You will not say a word to any one of the men, or any one of the males.

After your silence, that ringing louder than chirping insects, calloused monkey hands lift you from the damp ground.  You fight back, squeal, scratch in frightened agony... He growls threateningly, but holds you carefully.  His fur is soaked with blood from your wounds.  You whine in despair.

"You have a strong spirit" his chin ends up on the back of your head as the ring of his arms wraps tightly around your shoulders.  You try to free yourself again, but he is strong and stubborn.  "But the body... is weak.  Need help"

You feel the words he said on your tangled hair.

You can hear two more apes riding up on horses, talking about something with the male who holding you. You can see, this is also a chimpanzee.  It looks like they were here for no reason.  But at night?.. You try to listen to what they are saying, but you feel that you are about to lose consciousness, that you are about to fall into the abyss.

Only fragments of phrases reach your ears.

"The echo only brings danger... Destruction"

"Should I have left her? To be eaten by scavengers?"

“But why is the echo here?.. How did she escape from them?”

"And why did they want...?" the alarmed question hangs mid-sentence, amid the dawn and dew.

One of the apes — is female.  And you look at her while a barely audible rustle sounds on your lips.

"Knock my teeth out?"  you asking, continuing her question in a whisper.  "Because I bit off the finger of one of them, and the ear of the second.  I can also bite something off for them inadvertently” you assure her, shaking from fear, cold and the grip on your shoulders.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth after the words are spoken.  The sound of your voice makes the male who won’t let you go hooting.  You feel the muscles in his neck move.

Water, at least one sip of water — is all you think about...

"Why does the echo speak to Soona and silent to Noa?"  asks the third ape without any malice, only with curiosity.

The pain beats in your temples without stopping.  If they are talking about you, then why do they call you "echo"?..

“Stupid Anaya,” the female shows an unclear gesture, slowly approaching you on all fours.  Almost the same as you did when you were hiding.  "Don't you see?  She's scared"

"I saw... their faces.  Without pity.  They would have killed her... What else could I do?" you feel how the hands of the male holding you cover your body, stronger than before.  "I don't know who she is.  I don't know where she's from. But how to help her if she... Is silent?"

The annoyance in Noa tone is almost as palpable as the welt that will soon appear on his palm.   But you keep your mouth shut.

"So what's your name, echo?"  Looking into your eyes, swollen from tears, Soona asks.

“...Y/N” You answer her.  Although you still apprehensive.

They're, surrounding you worriedly, say a lot more.  They apparently intend to take you to their clan - while you rest your humming head on the ape's fur and watch the clouds change colour from purple to yellow and scarlet.

The fear and ignorance of having nowhere to go disappears.  All the colors of dawn fade before your eyes, turning into ripples.

The morning light doesn't help with the darkness and fog in your eyes.  At this moment, you are grateful that the ape's hands are holding you, and you will not have to fall again.  You smile at the sun's rays, unable to object and almost no longer feeling your numb leg.

Taking your hands in his, Noa helps you to your feet.  He grabs you by the waist, placing you on the horse.  His movements are gentle — you hardly feel any pain, even when he holds your still bleeding shoulder.  You can barely keep your balance, so as soon Noa sits in front, you unconsciously wrap your arms around him.  Soona and Anaya are still constantly discussing something.  With arguments and gestures whose meaning you don't know.

Why do you remember ape's names?..

Behind the lush crowns of trees you can see a flowering valley, which seems like paradise to you.

The last thing you hear before you close your eyes from fatigue — is Noa's voice. In the thick fur on his back you sleepily bury your nose, when he says that the road will be long, and tells you to hold on tight.

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

I want trans Alcina to use my ass so she'll get off without allowing me to cum, fucking me rough and deep as a punishment for riling her up, and then degrade me for getting so wet from it.

And then make me go about my day without finishing me off no matter how much I beg.

So.. I was informed today that apparently "Anal August" is a thing 👀 And well, who would I be if I didn't indulge the thirsty masses, hm? 😌 I do hope some of you enjoy this one ♥️

(TW: rough handling/degradation ahead)

***

"Did you really think you could alter your uniform in such a slutty way, wear it all morning and there would be no consequences, little pet?"

The Countess pulled your hair back roughly, forcing a stinging heat across your body and an arch to your lower back.

"Mmph-! ... No, Mistress."

"Mh.. so you were counting on it then, were you?"

Even as you felt her claws begin to lengthen, digging ever so slightly into the sensitive skin of your scalp, you couldn't help but smirk.

"... Perhaps."

She yanked your hair back even harder causing you to yelp, a slight growl in her throat.

"It would do you well to address me properly, pet. Do not forget your place."

"Y-yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress."

"Mh."

The Lady released her hold on you, dropping your head with such force that it flew forward and stopped just short of hitting the hard wood of her office desk.

There was no denying that you had spent every chance you could that morning riling her up. That you had made sure her eyes were on you each time you slowly bent over or traced your fingers teasingly across your collar bone. And the speed in which she had you naked with your ass in the air only proved just how much it had effected her.

"Unfortunately for you, I had a rather unpleasant morning dealing with likes of Heisenberg and his insipid questions, so there will not be much mercy in store for you today, little pet."

Her sinful mouth just inches from your skin, the warmth of her breath skating over it. Large hands coming to your backside and spreading your legs for her as far as they could go - your arousal dripping clearly in the midday sun.

"Look at you.. getting all wet from this. Mommy's little whore, hm?"

She already had you to a point where you could barely speak, a single whimper in response and she hadn't even started yet. The cool air of the castle doing it's best to make the heat that pulsed between your legs even more prevalent. And when you lengthened your hips back a little more, hoping to give her better access, the Countess only chuckled.

"Oh, I won't be taking your core today, sweet thing. After all, you did ask for this."

An embarrassingly needy moan slipping from your lips as she traced her fingers down the slit of you, collecting your wetness. The firm cock that hung low between her legs all too eager for what was to come as she used your own desire to ready both herself and your ass.

"I'd take a deep breath if I were you, pet." The Lady whispered low in your ear, causng you to curse under your breath.

"Yes, Mistress. Use me however you want."

"Mh.. oh, I intend to."

There was no time for any sort of response before the stretch had begun, before the tip of her womanhood was breaching your backside with a delicious sting.

"Please, Mistress. I need you."

"Bold of you to assume you'll be getting anything out of this. Little slut." She practically snarled.

The way her tone took on something darker, making your legs tremble and your core clench. Tips of claws that could easily rip you in half just barely sinking into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs as the length of her slid endlessly into you. A deep moan rolling across her large frame.

"Y-your little slut, Mistress."

"Mh.. flattery will get you no where, pet."

You cursed under your breath again, crying out at the first thrust of her hips, her cock stretching you all over again. It was almost embarrassing just how wet she had you, your arousal already puddling below you on the office floor. Something you were sure she'd make you clean up later.

"Fuck. Please, Mistress!"

The Countess chuckled, driving her cock into you even harder. "No."

The way you whimpered and squirmed, the flush across your body growing deeper with each thrust, with each degrading phrase that fell from her evil lips. The sheer size of her holding you in place as she fucked your ass with complete disregard.

"Just look at this mess you're making. Poor little pet. So needy. So eager to take all of me. Hm?"

"Yes. Mistress. P-please."

The Lady didn't even waste her breath with a response, only bringing her hand down hard against on your backside before picking up the pace. Each thrust calculated - building the almost unbearable ache in your core even higher, your inner thighs completely coated in your want.

You weren't even sure how much time had passed before you felt the width of start to twitch inside you, your backside completely wrecked as her heated desire spilled out - filling it. An all too arousing moan ripping through the office air as her pace finally began to lessen.

Your body slumped against her desk, used and aching. Wanting nothing more than to feel the pressure of her fingers on your clit. But all that came was another dark chuckle as the Countess slid herself out of you and threw some of your clothes in your direction. Using your shirt to wipe your arousal from her thighs and cock before tossing it your way.

"Clean yourself up, pet. Maybe if you behave for the rest of the day I'll reward you during tea later and let you bathe me."

You nodded, a muffled "Yes, Mistress" just barely audible. The Lady chuckled again, facing the door before quickly turning back to look at you.

"And don't even think about touching yourself."

***

I'm.. well.. yeah.. writing this at work might have been a bad idea, but ah well 🤣 Ahem.. I'm gay 😩

[wri0thesley]

Well shit. The pet talk has me thinking about turning into a neko because of a curse gone wrong... would you like to write headcanons for the jjk men reacting to their crush befalling that fate? Who'd try to reverse it, who'd want to keep them that way? Who would use the chance to get closer or even turn it into pet play?

ahh to be a neko and be owned by a handsome jjk man.....

warnings: not sfw, afab reader implied, cat/neko hybrid reader, petplay mentions, master/pet dynamics!

♡ —-> below the cut: gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna, mahito <—-  ♡

♡ Gojo probably immediately figures out how to reverse it - but the thing is, right away, he doesn’t much want to. You just look so cute with the neko ears resting on your hair, your hands curled like paws, your tail curling around you so cutely. The light purr in the way you speak, the way your eyes keep contracting as you get distracted by a loose thread on his clothes or the light reflecting off his sunglasses. 

He’s going to take a lot of pictures of you; partly to make fun of you with later, partly because he just can’t help it. You’re adorable! As part-cat now, too, you’ve gotten a lot less good at hiding your affection. Gojo is suddenly being subjected to you batting your head against him, rubbing your face against his to mark him as yours - and he’s not complaining about it at all. 

He will very much use this as an opportunity for petplay. He’s got a bit of a power complex about being the strongest; you being a cute little pet at his knees, all helpless and mewling, is something he didn’t realise he’d want so badly. And you’re so sensitive, when he touches your ears or your tail. He kind of wants to get you a collar, to leave you like this forever - but he’s not going to, because at the heart of it, he’s a good man who wants the best for you.

It won’t stop him bringing this up all of the time afterwards, showing you the pictures, and buying you a cute tail and ear set to wear for him when the two of you are spending some alone time together, though. 

“Aww, kitty - that’s right, smile for the camera - say ‘nya~’!”

- ♡ -

♡ Nanami is more concerned than anything else. His first instinct is to protect you, and his second instinct is to be frustrated with himself for not protecting you thoroughly enough. He takes you back to his place before Gojo or anyone can see you, knowing that most of them won’t let you live this down and preparing to organise things himself. When it turns out Shoko can’t have a look at you until the next day, citing the fact that you’re not in any real danger, Nanami resigns himself to having to spend the night with you in this state. 

He tries to make you a bed in the spare bedroom but you crawl onto his bed anyway, nesting at the foot of it, curling yourself in covers. When he doesn’t pay attention to you, you sigh, rubbing your head against his leg, as if to say ‘well, go ahead, pet me’ - unfortunately, if you want Nanami to do that, you have to open your mouth and ask. He doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

When you finally do ask him with your words, he presses his lips thinly together but he also knows cats - you’re not going to let him rest until he does it. He finds himself soothed by petting your ears, the soft rumble of your throat, the way that his touch seems to make you relax. He hadn’t realised just how comfortable you must be with him. 

Nanami will not do anything to you in this state, even if you try and initiate it - when he gets to take you to bed for the first time, he hopes there will be no cursed nonsense present - just you, and him, and the beating of your hearts. But at least this little experience has given him some courage to push forward with his crush.  

“You really want me to stroke you? Well . . . I suppose I could . . . is this alright?”

- ♡ -

♡ Geto does not want to like the sight of you with your eyes big and wide and cute cat ears on your head and a tail extending from your backside as cute as he does. You’ve always been one of his favourite curse users, and perhaps he’s been nursing a crush on you for longer than he’d like to admit - but this just feels rude. You’re so cute with your head tipped to the side, sticking very close to him, fair brightening up when his hand so much as brushes your arm. 

He does want to fix you, of course - he doesn’t want anything to dull your sharp knife-edges, the cleverness thrumming beneath your skin. He thinks of the people he surrounds himself as family, and you as - as more than that. But he indulges in it for a little too long. Liking to watch your tail swish as you walk, your ears twitch - liking the noise you make when he runs his palm over your face. 

Geto, too, will indulge in a little petplay. How can he not, when you were so obedient and good for him even before this unfortunate occurrence? He soothes you with pets and kisses as you sink onto his cock, calling you his good kitten, asking you to purr for him and groaning when your slightly sharper than usual teeth nip at his neck and you mewl so prettily at the touch of his hands on your spine. 

Out of anyone, Getou is the most likely to tie a ribbon around your new tail and get you a cute collar with a bow and a bell on it. When you’re sat on his lap with his cock inside you, he murmurs softly not to let the bell jingle, be a good pet and stay exactly where he puts you - and for Geto, you’re a very well-behaved pussy-cat, and you do exactly what he asks you.

“Mm, that’s right - good kitten. You feel so right there. You’re such a pretty thing, so well-behaved--”

- ♡ -

♡ Toji should want to do something about this. He hates the idea of all of this cursed energy clinging to you - but he also knows there isn’t much he can do, and he isn’t willing to lower himself to ask for help from anyone who can do anything about it. So, welcome to your new life - you’re Toji’s cute little kitten now. He likes his kitten to lie on his lap, to nest in his bed, to eat off a bowl on the floor and wear their pretty collar--

He likes his kitty to be well-behaved, but honestly, Toji’s treatment whether you are well-behaved or not is much the same. He likes that you’ll sit and listen to him like everything he says is the most important thing in the world - likes that, now you’re his good little housecat, he is the centre of your universe. He’s rough with you no matter what, but you grow to absolutely love that sensation - love digging your claws into his back when he fucks you, love it when he groans ‘good kitty’ into your ear, love it when he stretches out beside you and lets you nuzzle into his chest, purring at him. 

He secretly likes it when you act up a little bit; if you spill your milk or if you purposely ignore him. He loves having an opportunity to tame the brattiness out of his kitten - to tug on your tail a little meanly, to remind you of who exactly you belong to.

“Aww, kittycat-- you’re really pushin’ my buttons today, huh? C’mere - lemme remind you who your owner is--”

- ♡ -

♡ Sukuna . . . if you’ve ended up like this and you’re Sukuna’s object of affection, we can only assume that Sukuna himself is the one to have engineered it. No other curse would dare to touch his property, after all - and if you are Sukuna’s, you are his property. You being a cute little kitty now doesn’t change the fact at all; if anything, it reinforces in Sukuna’s mind that you’re his pet. He owns you. You ought to be on your knees, your head bowed, practically quivering if he deigns to pet you or lavish you in affection--

You will be staying this way.

You’ll be learning exactly how a good pet behaves; how and when to use your tongue, how to respond to your Master’s petting of your ears, how to learn to roll over and present yourself when your Master wants to take you. Heaven help you if you go into heat, kitten - Sukuna’s deeply amused by your whimpering, by the way you keep nuzzling against his thighs and telling him that it hurts, please fill me up, pleasepleaseplease.

If you’ve been very good, he’ll reward you by filling you up fuller than you even realised you could be. If you’ve been very bad, you’ll be sobbing and clawing into his sheets and begging to be touched with your own need streaming down your thighs. Either way, in the end, you’ll be mewling into Sukuna’s kimono with tears on your face from the stretch, secure in the knowledge that you’re owned. 

“A good kitten walks on all fours, hmm? A good kitten obeys their Master. A good kitten knows to do it immediately when I tell them to open their mouth--”

- ♡ -

♡ Mahito wants to find out everything he can about this interesting new development. Chances are, if he has a crush on you, you already know it - subtlety is honestly not one of the curse’s strong points. Chances are, too, if he has a crush on you and you’re still around, you’re okay with is - but this is probably going to push it over the edge. His hands are all over you, petting and tugging on your ears and your tail, probably trying to see how they attach to your skin and laughing when you flinch or blush or a certain rub of his thumb across your tailbone makes a purr thrum in your throat.

He’s telling you how cute you are through it all, laughing - he’s talking earnestly about the way humans keep pets, how he’s always wondered about it, and now he’s had one dropped into his lap, and isn’t that just fortuitous? At first, he wants you to be as much of a pet as you can - on your hands and knees, purring, mewling, the whole nine yards! But once he’s exhausted that option (Mahito’s moods tend to be whimsical and over in a flash before he’s moved onto the next one), he wants to explore your new additions and how doing certain things to you makes them feel. Expect to be fucked from behind by Mahito pulling your tail - expect him, too, to be very interested in the concept of cats going into heat! You’re an endlessly fascinating new toy, until you’re not quite as fascinating--

And then Mahito is shifting his soul to have his own cat ears and tail, to be mess around with you some more and see if your reactions are any different when he’s made himself your cat-boyfriend! Eventually, he’ll get bored of you being part cat and he’ll figure out how to get you back to your normal self on his own, but by then the damage has probably already been done and some part of you is just conditioned - to purr when your head is scratched, to docilely sit at Mahito’s feet and paw at the front of his trousers.

“You’re so cute! Humans like to play with their pets, right? Let’s play, then! Purr for me, koneko-chan~”

-  ♡ -

[sluttyten]

for writing prompt 18,21,23 with Johnny :)

Johnny + “you need to use your words, love.” + “show me just how much you missed me.” + “show me exactly where you want me.”

You were the one that left Johnny, the one that called quits on this arrangement you had with him. You came to him for sex, he gave you gifts. Really, you'd been getting more out of the arrangement than he had been, but you weren't sure he ever saw it that way.

You were the one that got dicked down regularly, gifted multiple orgasms on a spectacular dick, as well as gifted jewelry and clothes and expensive dinners.

Johnny spoiled you, but you were the one that walked away from it all because you caught feelings and that's the one thing that Johnny had made clear from the start that he wouldn't give you. He wouldn't tell you he loved you, just give you sex and presents, and at first that had seemed like a good deal until suddenly you realized the sour taste in your mouth when you had to leave him.

So you'd left, but after a month away, here you were crawling back to him.

Johnny didn't even look surprised when he opened the door to his apartment and found you standing outside. You felt so small under his gaze, so desperate for him to accept you back. Your heart almost split from the relief when Johnny stepped aside and welcomed you in.

He got a drink for you, a drink for him, and you sat down across from each other in his small living room. And then you looked at each other in silence, sipping your drinks, neither of you saying a word until Johnny eventually got tired of the silence.

"You need to use your words, love. Why are you here?" He sits his glass down heavily on the side table.

You stare down into your glass. Do you tell him the truth? That you left him because you loved him, that you're back because you love him too much to be able to stay away? Does all of this just make you a masochist?

"Baby?" Johnny's voice is soft, prompting you to look up at him again.

When he looks at you as he is right now, as if you're the only person in the world to him, the words fly from your mouth without much more thought.

"I missed you, Johnny. I shouldn't have left, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "The important thing is that you came back, right? Because you missed me. Do you want to show me just how much you missed me?"

This is how it always goes with him. Maybe a little brief conversation, maybe a drink or two or ten, but soon the situation turns toward sex. That is why this all started out, so you can't be surprised, and even now after a month away, you find yourself drawn into this usual pattern.

Your mouth fills with the hunger to have him.

"Come on, love." Johnny leans back in his seat, spreading his legs temptingly. "Show me just how much you missed me."

One moment you're sitting on the seat across from him, still holding your drink, and in the next you're on your knees in between his legs. Your glass is somewhere behind you long-forgotten, your hands too busy now with unfastening Johnny's pants, getting at his cock that you've missed so much over the last few weeks.

Your moans are all that you hear as you take Johnny's length into your mouth. You've missed having him fill your mouth, weighing down your tongue, gagging you as you push yourself to take him all the way in.

Soon Johnny's hand falls to the back of your head, stroking your hair as you bob on his cock, blowing him to your heart's content. You used to spend ages sucking on his cock, sitting dumbly between his legs with his cock in your mouth while he played games or worked on something on his computer.

Being back here makes you feel like no time has passed, that you've lost nothing with him.

"You're so good for me, love." Johnny tells you, his voice catching low, not letting out a moan, but letting you know that if he would let himself make such a noise in front of you, then he would have. Johnny was never one to let out sweet sounds of pleasure for you; he used his words instead, no matter how many times you'd told him that you wanted to hear him moan. "Missed your pretty lips around my cock."

His thumb traces around your lips as you pull your head up until only his tip rests between your lips.

"So pretty." Johnny's compliments have always gone straight to your head, but after being away from them for a month, this one nearly makes you lightheaded.

You sit back, letting your hand take over from your mouth, and you pout up at him. "I missed you, daddy. I couldn't stay away any longer."

"Yeah? Shouldn't have left me in the first place. No explanation or anything, just gone one morning when I woke up." He pushes his fingers into your hair, tipping your head back so you're looking him right in the eye. "You didn't answer my texts or my calls. And now here you are, back again as if nothing changed, telling me you want me."

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth.

Johnny tuts at you. "Is this all I am to you, baby? Just a cock for you to suck on until you get bored?"

But isn't that basically all you are to him too? Just a pussy to cum in with no strings attached?

You shake your head. He's more to you. Johnny is so much more than just his cock. You love him, and sitting here on your knees before him with his hand tangled in your hair and his cock in your hand, you know that more than ever. You want to be close to him. As close as can be because you want him.

"Johnny, I'm sorry."

He tugs lightly on your hair before releasing his hold. "You just want me. Well, go on, show me exactly where you want me."

It's extremely rare that Johnny lets you do what you want without you begging him endlessly for it, so for him to offer it up to you like this, it takes you a moment to kick into motion.

Johnny watches you with his cool gaze as you stand up smoothly. He watches as you strip out of your clothes, and it's only the slightest bob of his throat that tells you that the sight of you standing entirely nude in front of him is affecting him.

He drops his head back against the back of his seat when you step closer, swinging a leg over his lap to seat yourself there. His hands sit now on either armrest, unmoving even as you start kissing his throat, lightly dragging your wet pussy over his cock.

When this goes on for another minute of him acting entirely unaffected by you, a fear sparks to life in your heart, and you wonder if you're doing something wrong.

The moment you lift your head from his throat, you catch sight of Johnny's eyes closed, his lips parted, his face smooth with quiet pleasure. Then you spot one of his hands clenching the arm of his chair. Maybe he's not so unaffected.

He stays just like that even as you reach down between your body and his to angle his cock for you to sit down on him. The only change is his lips snapping shut, his throat bobbing once more. You like watching him like this, seeing these subtle details that you're sure he doesn't even realize.

Johnny lets you caress his face, only opening his eyes to watch you as you lift yourself up only to drop back down on his cock, your body moving in slow undulations. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you can't hold back anymore.

You've missed kissing Johnny.

His lips part against yours, and the moment that his tongue touches yours, it's like a switch is flipped. His hands leave the arms of the chair to plant themselves on your hips. He takes control, and you give it over willingly, circling your arms around his neck, drowning in his kiss.

Johnny directs your hips, keeping your hips rolling, bouncing you on his cock. You've missed him so much that the need to cum rises quickly; you've been so horny without him to satisfy you when you needed him to, so you haven't cum once in the month you've been apart.

Johnny smiles as you cum, clenching around his cock and letting sweet moans of his name out.

He keeps going, knowing just how easy it is to pull multiple orgasms out of you. You cum again just a moment later, clawing at his shoulders, which only drives Johnny to fuck you down on his cock faster, loving the feeling of you cumming around him. He fucks you until you're eyes burn and tears drip down your cheeks, and he kisses at your tears, pushing you into another orgasm with his fingers on your clit.

It's the fourth orgasm when you collapse forward, fingernails digging into his skin, your lips pressed to his neck. Your body shivers and twitches, pussy pulsating around his cock and so sensitive that you think just another orgasm might be the end of you.

Johnny, who (for the record, claims) he does not moan, lets out a sound then that sounds a hell of a lot like a moan, though it's cut off a little early. And then he cums inside you, and it feels so good after so long without it, that you feel a little drunk on the feeling of his orgasm mixing with your own.

And much like when you're really drunk, you're happy and crying and the words come out of you before you can think twice about them.

"I love you, Johnny," you cry against his shoulder, your wet cheek sticking to his skin. "That's why I left. I want you, I love you, I missed you."

His hands rub soothingly at your hips. His lips brush your shoulder. "That's okay, love."

That's okay. That's all he had to say when you confessed. Like, that's okay, I forgive you for stupidly falling in love. Or that's okay, but I told you I can't feel the same. You hold still in his arms. Maybe you should leave. Maybe this could've been goodbye, because the last time before this, you didn't think it was going to be the last time, but maybe this one could be.

Johnny strokes your hips, and then he slides his hands higher until he's combing his fingers through your hair and the other hand reaches for your hand. Softly, Johnny tells you, "I missed you too, you know. I didn't like waking up alone, having you leave my messages unanswered. Like, one day I had the world, and the next, I was adrift in space."

You sit up, pushing away from his chest so you can look at his face and make sure that Johnny's actually saying these words.

You've always been under the impression that although you definitely got more out of the arrangement since you got bomb dick and gifts, that you were the one that valued it more than Johnny even though he was the one giving you everything. You thought you were just a fuck, a pretty girl for him to give things to make her look prettier in his eyes. Because he'd told you with words from his own mouth that he wouldn't love you, but now here's these new words, telling you that you were like his world.

"You can't say stuff like this," you tell him, pressing your hand against his chest.

"Like what?" Despite those sweet words, Johnny's face is still the solid, cool expression that you so often see.

You frown. "You can't say stuff, comparing me to being your whole world. Not when you told me that you couldn't or wouldn't love me."

Now it's Johnny's turn to frown. "I didn't say that. I said that I wouldn't tell you that, not that I wouldn't feel that way. I'm not.... I'm not good at saying stuff like that, but that doesn't mean I don't feel that way. I like having you in my life, in my bed. I like treating you to gifts, taking you out, making you happy. You make me happy. I thought we were happy until you vanished last month."

"What a fucking miscommunication this has all been." You slide your hands over his shoulders, thumbs resting on either side of his throat. "I could kill you for the stress you've put me through. So you love me, even if you won't say it? That sounds like a problem I can work with."

Maybe it's a bigger problem, to have a man in your life that claims to love you without using those actual words, but you're certain, as Johnny smiles at you, as that cool facade of his breaks a bit to show you the sunshine he is beneath, that you can pull him out of that shell, disappear his fear of telling you he loves you.

requests are closed now! thank you everyone for sending them in!

[shorkbrian]

Shouto, but as a pleasure dom

(Warnings - overstim (like a LOT), dubcon/noncon (implied, but it’s there), penetration (oh shidd get it shouto), oral (heck he rlly be getting up in there) (and frick idk what else lmk if I missed sumn)

You barely even knew where you were.

A bed was beneath you, that was a fact you were confident in.

There was a fireplace in the room, wood crackling gently, firelight dancing shadows onto the ceiling, the ceiling your unfocused eyes were looking towards.

You were shivering, but not from cold. The room was warm, almost too warm, sweat on your temples, heat trapped in your stomach.

A hand was splayed on your stomach, slender, large. It was warm too, almost burning, matching the sizzling sensation beneath your skin.

It was holding you down, keeping you flush to the bed.

Shouto was kneeled between your legs, your lower half pulled to the edge of the bed. He had your legs over his shoulders, his warm palm smoothed over your stomach to keep you in place. His other hand was entwined with one of yours, grip icy, burning your fingers with cold.

His mouth was working at your cunt, relentless and excruciatingly pleasant, tongue quickly lapping at your folds, then swirling around your clit before dipping lower to plunge inside your entrance.

“Sho-tou, Sh-ah! Ah! Ohmygod wait, shout-O!”

No matter how you moved, his mouth followed you, sucking, pulling your pleasure from you. The man had already made you cum countless times, you couldn’t even remember at this point, body flushed and buzzing with overstimulation.

Still, the pleasure built up again, settling low in your stomach, your clit throbbing, tingling with each rapid flick of his tongue.

The sounds that were being made were absolutely filthy; wet smacks, sucking noises, slurping, lewd squelches and suckling as he worshiped your cunt with his tongue. It felt so good it hurt, making you cry, hips working desperately to pull away, even though there was no escape.

“Please, oh... It feels-feels-! It’s too much Shouto oh my gOD-!”

Another orgasm tore through your body, limbs convulsing, hand squeezing Shouto’s icy palm in a death grip as you wailed.

The man didn’t stop slurping at your cunt.

He was as he always is - steady, measured, relentless in pursuit of his goals.

And his goal right now was to make you cry and scream his name.

Another pass of his tongue, this time with it flattened out completely to drag slowly over your folds. The tip of his tongue hit your clit as he pulled back, and your legs jerked, a desperate whine bubbling out of your throat.

He dove back in after a quick breath, kissing around your lower lips, tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive, dripping hole. When he thrust it inside, you squeaked at the sensation, hips twitching. You could feel Shouto’s smile, feel the flash of his teeth pressed against your skin, the stretch of his cheeks.

Honestly, his determination was a bit frightening. You were sure your thighs were wrapped around his head tight enough to make it hard to move, yet the man worked with ease, drawing back to spit on your cunt, leaning close again to attack his mouth around your clit and suck.

Another orgasm had you thrashing in his hold, crying out, begging for Shouto to wait, stop, too much.

Pleasurable, painful minutes passed as he worked you up to cum again, pussy throbbing and soaked with slick and his saliva.

After making you cum again, Shouto finally relented, pulling away with a wet snack of his lips.

“You’re delectable. Wish you’d let me taste you more.” You both knew that he would take you whenever he saw fit, whether or not you were in the mood.

Most of the time, he was decent, listening when you said no, or told him not to touch.

Other days, he was akin to a bratty child, brow furrowing when you tried to refuse him, eyes hardening. He’d stride towards you with his long legs, and there was no escape. Those days, “no” wasn’t an appropriate answer.

Today was one of those days.

“Why do you taste so good.” He half-moaned, quickly diving back between your legs to give one last, messy lick.

“ShoUTO PLEASE!” You yelled, clit buzzing, skin burning with every sensation. Even his hand on your belly was too much.

“I’m sorry dear, I just can’t help myself sometimes.” He breathed, once again composed and poised as he kneeled between your legs.

Shouto let go of you hand, rising to his feet. The sight of his clothes form reminded you that your body was entirely bare. You probably looked a mess, hair disheveled, dried sweat sticking to your skin under new droplets, limbs trembling, body flushed.

Shouto began unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never once leaving you.

“Absolutely breathtaking.” He murmured, more to himself than you.

You were exhausted, couldn’t even hold yourself up. You let your legs drop, feet resting limply against the floor, body relaxing into the bed. You hoped with every fiber of your being that Shouto was undressing only to help you shower, then you could flop back into bed and sleep forever.

You knew that wasn’t going to happen - it never did.

His shirt came off, then his pants, and finally his boxers. You still shrank under his relentless gaze, and while you knew he was appraising you with love and wonder, your insecurities couldn’t help but rear their heads.

It was hard to listen to insecurities when Shouto was wringing orgasm after orgasm from your spent body. You suppose that’s why he’s like this.

The man had such a beautiful body, sticky legs, thick in build, but slender in their muscles appearance. A defined, softly muscled torso, and strong arms. His pretty face, always seemingly calm and passive, only changing when he was really upset, or lost in the throes of passion and pleasure. Shouto was pretty all over, really, with his smooth skin, manicured nails, the soft, silken strands of his dual-colored hair.

Even his cock was pretty, a soft pink color, thick, but not alarmingly so. Veins ran along the shaft, the glans defined and well-proportionaed compared to the rest of his length.

Shouto was pretty all over, and you felt woefully inadequate. He could have anyone he wanted, anyone, yet he made you hold his heart.

He was climbing onto the bed, gently manhandling until he had you pulled into his lap, your back pressed against his chest. He was propped up by pillows, half-leaning against the headboard so he had unfettered access to every inch of your body.

His cock was resting along your slit, slightly wet at the top, pulsing. It felt uncomfortable - every time it pulsed it would move ever so slightly, and barely feather across your sore clit.

Shouto didn’t let you rest for long, two of his fingers quickly sucked into his mouth before brought down to your pussy, pushing his cock away from your body so his hand could easily cup your sex.

“Just relax now, I’ve got you.”

And his fingers slipped inside, reaching past the places his tongue had explored, proving deeper and deeper. They rubbed tantalizingly at your walls, making you squirm, before slowly beginning to thrust in and out, gently fucking your sloppy cunt.

“Just like that. You’re perfect, so good to me.” Shouto pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

His free hand came around your chest to softly cup one of your breasts, rolling the nipple under his thumb. Your back arched under his ministrations, but he held you firm against his chest. You could feel his rapid heartbeat.

Funny, how he could act so calm, but be falling apart inside.

His fingers grazed against a spot inside of you that had your toes curling, your mouth dropping open.

“No, no Shouto please, it’s too much. I’ve already-you’ve already-please, no more.” You were breathless, twisting in his hold.

Shouto didn’t let up.

“Just a few more.” He murmured in your ear. “I know you can. I’m making you feel so good, you’re lovely.”

You gasped as his fingers inside of you sped up, forcefully hitting that spot over and over again, making you whine.

It felt good, but it was too much, too soon.

The orgasms he had pulled from you with his mouth had been quick, hard, left your lungs heaving and your hips twisting to get away.

This orgasm hit you like a train, appearing out of nowhere, completely overwhelming you.

You were left wheezing, clawing at Shouto’s arms, kicking your legs - but that only made it worse, jostling his fingers inside of you.

Shouto still didn’t stop fingerpicking you, wrist twisting.

You started to cry, slowly at first, then harder when you realized he was still going, forcing you to endlessly orgasm, cunt pulsating as it drooled around his skin fingers.

“Pl-ease! Shouto n-no moreee...” you sobbed, breath hitching.

The man merely kissed your ear, his hand never stopping. You could feel him peering over your shoulder, watching his hand flick as his fingers fucked into you. Watching the violent trembling of your body, the convulsions of your stomach as you were brought over the edge again and again, each orgasm taking longer to reach than the last one.

You couldn’t feel your legs anymore. You barely even knew what was happening anymore.

It was barely registered when his fingers slipped free of your cunt. Your hole was clenching around nothing, insides buzzing, almost number from the overstimulation. You might’ve been hyperventilating, but you were too far out of it to tell, barely aware of your own body, mind listlessly floating between nonsense thoughts.

“Look at you, did so well for me. Your body is incredible.” Hands, one cold, one warm (and wet) trailed along your sides, occasionally pausing to gently squeeze your flesh reassuringly.

You hated how he did this, made you stupid and broken with pleasure, brought you back to conscious thought, then ruined you all over again.

Still faintly sobbing, you weakly batted at his hands, unable to express with words how sensitive you were. Plus, it was gross, his own hand rubbing your own cum all over your skin.

He was kissing your neck, your hair, nibbling sweetly at your ear, whispering praises and compliments.

Shouto had been so rough the first time, desperate, needy. He had left bruises on your hips, hands grabbing too tightly at your flesh, his teeth forming vicious bite marks on your neck and collarbone as he tried to stifle his noises when he fucked into you. At some point he had been babbling, mad with the sensation of pumping your swollen cunt, rambling about how soft, how warm, how pliant your body was.

In a way, his gentleness could hurt more.

Hands gripped his pink cock, easily running it through your slick folds. You let the tip bump against your clit, smiling into your neck when you jumped, revoking back into his naked chest.

Shouto guided his tip to your entrance, holding himself in place as he slowly canted his hips up, sheathing himself into your warmth.

With a low groan, he stilled, fully inside you. You shook in his hold, clutching nervously at the hands no longer holding his cock, but now holding your hips.

He helped you move, easily using his strength to fuck you along his cock, breathing hotly against your neck as he sunk in and out of your tight sleeve. You were confused by the signals your brain was sending. Did it feel good? Did it hurt? We’re you numb? The physical feelings all meshed together, but it was easier to just hang onto Shouto-a hand in his hair, another hand braced against his thigh-than to think.

The man fucked you steadily, hot cock drilling into your dripping pussy without pause, a rhythmic schlick schlick schlick reaching your ears.

You were crying again, shuddering sobs that deprived your lungs of air, that made your head hurt, that blurred your visions Shouto noticed, lifting a hand to wipe away a few tears, but never once stopping his hips.

It wasn’t long before his pace picked up, cock working into you quick and fast. Your brain wasn’t confused anymore - each thrust hurt, but in the best kind of way, rubbing at your insides.

Shouto was moaning now, breathless, talking to you in a gentle tone that contrasted sharply with his half-frantic movements

“So-unh-tight and wet, oh fuck, you feel so heavenly. Sweet little girl, always what I need. Always there for me.”

You turned your head, crying into Shouto’s sweaty neck, unable to focus your eyes. It was so much, too much, and you couldn’t handle it.

“Want to make you feel good, need to-ohhhhh. Your tiny cunt always takes my cock so well, makes me cum so much. You’re just made for me, aren’t you? Sloppy little pussy, made for me to-oh fuck, fuck!” It was rare to hear him swear. The man continued “-Made for me to eat, made for me to touch, made for me to pound into. You’re mine, only mine.”

He was growling now, cock rabbiting into you so fast that you were making little noises on every thrust, little “ah, ah, ah!”’s that made your face flush with shame.

Shouto was suprisingly lewd with his mouth once he was turned on enough, his normally quiet and reserved persona crumbling underneath a horny mess of a man.

“You’re sucking me in, want me to cum?” The questiona as rhetorical-he was going to cum anyways-but still you nodded, face still hidden in his neck.

“Yeah? Yeah? Ohh, you have to cum too-“ you wailed, desperately against the thought of having to go though another orgasm.

“No, you do as I say, sweet little girl.” Shouto admonished, his angle changing slightly as he shifted his hips. “We’re not done until you cum. One more time, just for me.”

You frantically shook your head, gasping for breath, too fucked out to say anything. Shouto was breathing so hard, hissing between his teeth, grunting with the effort of keeping his horribly rapid pace.

A hand slipped down to your cunt, and you screamed when his fingers found your abused clit. “Shouto! No, ah-please! Stop, oh stop-mmmmm!!! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-“

“You can.”

Shouto hissed, furiously rubbing at your clit with three fingers, punishing the little nub.

You came to in the shower, Shouto’s arms around you as a gentle spray of water washed over you.

The man noticed as you stirred, his arms immediately tightening around you as he pressed a loving kiss to your cheek. “Hello, I missed you.”

Blearily, you watched his hands move as he slowly washed you off, dragging a washcloth gently over your shoulders.

He was perceptive, knew your lower half was too sensitive still to even be touched, much less cleaned.

You stayed in the shower for a long while, Shouto humming some unknown tune as he cleaned the both of you.

You didn’t fight when he carried you back to the (now fresh, had he changed the sheets?) bed.

Nor when he tucked you under the covers, crawling to your side to lie close.

You just watched the flames of the fire, watched them dance over the logs, consuming the wood.

Fire was so destructive. Even when it tried to love, it only burned and destroyed.

[corruptedconfessions]

last weekend I caved and read everything you ever uploaded here once more agskshkdd this is who i am as a person. but im love your writing so much!!! i have an especially soft spot for the naga stories, are those the ones that are about half-snake people? i always mess up the names but how do you think bakugou (and or kiri) would be as a yandere one, when he falls for the reader? i can't remember you ever writing a snake-version of him and idk if you'd be up for it but i'm super curious! xoxoxo

Aww!! Thank you so much :) 

And yes! Naga’s are the snake people, semi human from the torso up and giant ass snakes from the hips down!

Bakugou: 

If there is one word to describe yandere Naga Bakugou its possessive. It takes a lot for him to chose a mate, he is incredibly picky, picking his mate much past the typical age but once he picks?? Possessive protective to the extreme. You are his mate to do with what he pleases, and absolutely no one is going to take you away from him. Hell, he gets pissy the second another creature, intelligent or not even looks at you. You won’t be leaving his nest any time soon after he snatches you up, even trying to peek over the edges of the flattened down bowl in the ground leads to you being dragged right back to the middle and getting angrily chewed out and huffed at as you get tucked right back into the nest.

I think he’d most likely fall for a darling who hikes or walks frequently in his forest for whatever reason. A hunter, camper, or just any kind of nature enthusiast will quickly catch his eye. You’re so small…and your body is so different than his and yet you constantly come back here, carelessly leaving your scent everywhere, as if inviting him to have a taste. He isn’t one to turn down the offer. He doesn’t have any form of patience, somewhere during a mid afternoon doze and lunch he’ll come to the conclusion that he wants you, all while still ripping the meaty remains of his prey off the bone. Right then and there he decides to have you, still picking meat from his teeth with the jagged edge of a bone. The next time he sees you you’ll be snatched up into his arms and dragged back to his nest, kicking and screaming left ignored as he unceremoniously dumps you in his nest and refuses to let you leave.  

I picture him most likely picking a human mate tbh, He enjoys being bigger and stronger than his mate, justifying the overbearing desire to hide away and protect what's his, something other Nagas wouldn’t tolerate. Even if you don’t tolerate it it doesn’t really matter, he is bigger and stronger than you, and can easily just pick you right up and carry you back to where he wants you to be. Biting, kicking, punching, anything just bounces off his hard scales. Honestly fighting like that is more likely to turn him on than anything else~ If you have this much energy you clearly can put it towards incubating some of his eggs right? Hopefully that fiery spirit will pass on to his eggs once they hatch~

He’ll also be curious, painfully so, eagerly twisting and pulling you in his hold like a doll, poking and prodding as he inspects you. Its not often he sees a human so close without eating them. He’s cruel in the sense that he likes to poke your squishy spots just to listen to your cute noises and watch you try and wiggle away from him. Its hardly ever malicious, though, the claws in your mouth, feeling up your teeth. Or large hands encompassing your entire calf as he feels up your leg is pure curiosity. He’ll look almost childish, eyes wide with wonder as he watches you twist and bend, so small and fragile yet so resilient.

He’ll hiss and throw up a fit if you call him out on this but he is also incredibly cuddly. Maybe it’s just because of that protective nature of his but he loves wrapping around you, snuggling his face into your stomach, tongue darting out to smell your skin. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are a breathing furnace compared to the cooler blooded beast. He’s so soft in those moments, eagerly nuzzling you and lapping up any attention you’ll give him, even if he huffs and insists its for your protection and warmth if you say anything. Human skin is so thin and you are so needy for warmth! How did you ever survive without him curling around you to keep you warm and chase off the chill of the night air. You’d be wise to keep your mouth shut about the fact that he is actually sapping your heat with his cold skin. Best not take those rare tender moments for granted, yeah?

 Kirishima on the other hand leans more on the protective side of things. He’s younger than Bakugou, more on the naïve side of things and much more at the whims of his instincts. I think he’d honestly mate with the first little thing he comes across, unable to hold back and be patient at all. He’s a bit of a romantic at heart, in a terrifying, he’ll eat and swallow whoever you’re with whole when he sees you way. He wants nothing more than a happy loving mate, round and heavy with his eggs waiting for him when he comes back to his nest. He wants to protect and provide and snuggle with his cute little mate!

He’s brutal, eating and killing anything that comes close to you, and then immediately turning around and crooning and loving on you, rubbing up against you like a dog, his face still coated with any remains of what, or rather who, he just ate. (Lucky for you he prefers to swallow his prey whole…watching him gag up and spit out the bones that he cant digest isn’t a pleasant sight though.) Endlessly doting and so…incredibly suffocating. There will always be a hand, or head, or tail, or something pressed, wrapped, or snuggling against you. Half the time you feel like a living teddy bear as he cuddles and nuzzles you non stop, curling up in his nest and holding you close to his chest, face buried in your hair. The only time he tears himself from your side is to go hunting, and even then when he comes back you are scooped up and squished in his arms until he calms down again, extremely distressed from being separated from you.

 He is obsessed with being a good mate for you, protecting, providing, and spoiling his partner. He’ll be traditional, hunting down larger pray than necessary just to impress you. Happily puffing his chest out when he dumps a bunch of hay and leaves into the nest, telling you that he knows humans cant sleep on hard rock comfortably, and so this will be more comfy! (Not that it does much, with how close he insists on being when cuddling, you practically sleep on him instead. Trapped against his firm chest as arms wrap tightly around you). Now this isn’t common behavior for nagas, but he’ll also bring you pretty little trinkets that he finds, gems or geodes he finds in his cave, pretty jewelry he steals from humans, rocks that he really likes and wants to share with you. Reacting positively to these gifts, maybe even making a small little pile for them in the nest will put him over the moon. He becomes so gushy and loving towards you for it you can get away with nearly anything after that.  

Unlike Bakugou’s nest which is out in the open, daring any threat to even try and come close to his mate, Kiri hides you away. His nest will be hidden away in a maze like cave (He carved it out himself by hand! Something he very proudly tells you when the two of you can finally converse without you screaming or him fucking you silly). He never leaves your side, determined to protect and love you, but even in the moments he does, escape is hopeless. Even after crawling up the sides of the deep pit carved out of solid rock (you really don’t want to think how strong his claws are to carve out solid stone and made such deep grooves in the sides) you’ll be left wondering and aimless maze, impossible to not get lost or even get near the exit before Kirishima is back, rushing your side and picking you up into his arms in a panic. Naturally, being the innocent thing he is he assumes you missed him and went searching for him instead of trying to escape, but now you’re trapped in an even tighter hold under an even tighter watch as he tries “to make it up to you”.

With Kirishima you have a small chance, though. If you are loving and gentle enough to him, and you ask him so sweetly if you can get out of the cave just for a little bit! Promise! He may take you to a nearby river to play in the water, or a hotspring to soak together. Once you really have him wrapped around your finger you might be able to convince him to go on daily walks (slithers?) with him, only if you look sad and pout up at him enough, insisting that the cave is too dark and scary and you miss the sun. He’ll feel so bad he just might sunbathe with you outside for awhile too.

[sunwoocloud]

isn’t this a lovely day?

↳ pairing: juyeon x reader ↳ genre: fluff ↳ word count: 993 ↳ note: this was such a sweet request! hope i didn't ruin it hehe. i got really inspired to finish this when i was listening to "isn't this a lovely day?" by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong, hence the title Juyeon was all timid smiles and hesitant touches, hand accidentally bumping into yours a few times while you walked along the pier. It was nighttime, neon signs illuminating the wood dock and string lights hanging above your heads. The multihued glow reflected around the both of you, the warm atmosphere making you giddy with happiness. The fair was filled with couples and children running around due to the pleasant weather, even though the sky was cloudy and starless. There was a light breeze blowing against you, the soft wind caressing your cheeks and filling the air around you with a fresh and earthy smell.

— So what do you want to do next? — Juyeon asks, voice laced with curiosity. — There’s a video arcade, Ferris wheel... — Hm. — you ponder for a few seconds, eyes scanning around to look for something possibly more interesting than the boy next to you. There wasn’t, obviously. — I don’t know, I’m pretty happy right now just talking to you, but I guess we could go to the arcade so you can win me something at the claw machine. His cheeks are tinted with pink when you look at him with a sheepish smile to measure his reaction, eyes turning into crescents when he laughs in response — Lucky for you I’m the master of claw machines. Turns out he is not. He looks confident when you leave the vintage video arcade half an hour later, though, a proud smile making its way into his lips after indeed winning you something at the claw machine — even if it took him at least six tries. You are proud of him too, confidently showing off your plush toy in one hand. You decide to occupy your other hand by interlacing your fingers with Juyeon’s much bigger ones, and he immediately tightens his digits against yours. His skin feels warm, making you instinctively push your body closer to him. — See? Told you I could do it. — he looks smug, bumping his shoulder into yours. — I actually only invited you here so I could show off my skills at the claw machine.
 — Well, I must say I’m impressed. — you were not, but he looked too cute so you just rolled with it. — You are full of surprises. — You’ve seen nothing. Juyeon winks at you and starts leading you to the calmer side of the pier. The atmosphere is pleasant, soft jazz melodies mixed with the sounds of your steps against the wooden floor coming together as elements of the soundtrack to your stroll. When you get close enough to the speakers so that you can actually hear the songs being played, Juyeon suddenly stops. — Dance with me. — he extends his hand, eyes hopeful. — Please? — But Juyeon… — you look around nervously, timidness stopping you from holding his hand at first. — There are people around. — So what? — he shrugs, fingers tentatively reaching for you. — It’s not like anyone else matters. You comply, but you feel terribly nervous. You accept his hand and he immediately pulls you closer, putting your arms around his own neck and holding your waist with delicate fingers. Initially, you keep throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure no one noticed the both of you dancing in public, but you are surprised at how incredibly easy it is to forget everyone else around you. Juyeon expresses his delight in the form of giggles and soft smiles, eyes twinkling under the moonlight when he spins the both of you before bringing you closer. You quietly hum the melodies of Ella Fitzgerald songs while he guides your steps, moving around so skillfully sometimes you forget you are dancing. You are too fascinated by the way his dark orbs seem to hold the entire universe in them, slowly attracting you into his orbit. You can’t help but revolve around him, ignoring your surroundings while you get lost in the constellations trapped in his eyes. You only stop moving when you kiss him gently, and you only stop kissing him when you feel the first raindrops softly touch your hair. It doesn’t take long before you can hear the evening rain pitter-pattering around you, ignoring your first instincts to run and cover. Juyeon keeps holding you tight and doesn’t let you go, smile growing bigger when he notices you do the same to him. — What are we doing? — you giggle, eyes squinting when a raindrop splashes against your nose. — I want to keep dancing with you. — he says, unbothered and unwavering. — I don’t care if it’s raining. The rain sounds surround you, chests pressing together to keep the warmth trapped between your bodies and hands firmly holding onto each other. You want Juyeon to feel your heart beating in staccatos against your ribcage, your insides buzzing with excitement; to know that every pulse of your arteries and thump of your heart beats just for him. He kisses you again and again, mouth touching yours with so much adoration you can’t help but sigh against his lips, holding him tighter while he brings you impossibly closer. You comb your fingers through his wet hair and he holds your face between his hands, delicately sliding them down to your neck, shoulders, arms, and then waist. When you finally withdraw your lips from his, breathing heavily, Juyeon dips your body back in a swift move in time with the song playing in the background, making you squeal in surprise. He lifts you up, chuckling while he softly brushes his mouth against yours. You wrap your arms around him, anchoring yourself to his body, and he goes back to swaying both of you from side to side. You lay your head on his shoulder and silently wish you could stay like this endlessly. You don’t even notice when the rain finally stops.

[serasvictoria]

So I was supposed to be writing an incubus Hvitserk drabble and instead I got this beast that’s a little in over 2k long…

Under the moon, the wolves gather

“You want me to do what?”

“Chain me up.”

Ubbe held up the thick chains and a heavy padlock. You looked at them and then up at him again in confusion. Why was he asking you to do this? The two of you had dabbled in some kinky stuff a couple of times before, but asking you to chain him up was new and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to subject him to something like that. What if you did it wrong? Besides, the roles were usually very much reversed. Ubbe wasn’t exactly what you’d call submissive. He had always very much been the alpha in your relationship and you liked it that way.

“Did you get this idea from Ivar?” You grabbed one of the ends of the chain and lifted it up. It looked like the kind of chains that people used to tow cars, not like something that people used in sexual games. “I know that he’s into some sick shit, but this is next level…”

“It’s not about that.” He sighed deeply, growing exasperated with your inability to get why he was asking you this. “It’s about that attack.”

“The animal.”

It hadn’t happened that long ago. Ubbe had been in the woods that stretched out at the back of the house. He later told you that he had heard noises and had gone to investigate while you slept. You always slept like a log so you hadn’t even noticed that he had gotten out of bed to begin with. It wasn’t until he stumbled back in later on, crashing against the door that led into the bedroom, covered in blood and using his shotgun as some sort of makeshift crutch, that you had even realised that he had gone outside.

He started rambling incoherently about how there had been something in the woods that had attacked him, something big and black, something that had scratched him and sunk its teeth into his shoulder. Thankfully Ubbe hadn’t just lain down and given up. Not him. Despite the fact that the animal had a firm grip on his shoulder, Ubbe had started throwing punches wherever he could hit it. From what you had heard from others, he had a mean right hook and he had once broken the jaw of some idiot who had decided to hit on Ubbe’s then girlfriend. It was safe to say that something like that had never happened again afterwards.

Somewhere in between hitting the animal’s muzzle, it had released him and howled in pain. Ubbe had launched his full weight into the animal, knocked it against the ground and had run back into the house. You could only assume that his adrenaline had taken over at that point. While you did your best to clean out his injuries, he was pointing the barrel of his shotgun at the door right behind you in case whatever the hell had attacked him followed him into the house.

It never came.

The ambulance came half an hour later and after spending the good part of the following day in the hospital, where they disinfected his wounds and gave him a rabies shot just in case, he was home again. He did nothing but lay in the bed and sleep for the following two days. You assumed that it was because of shock, but you weren’t exactly an expert. Hvitserk came by to check on his brother daily and he reassured you that you probably didn’t have to worry. He checked the injuries with you and despite the fact that they looked horrific to you, Hvitserk had confidently stated that your concerns were unnecessary. According to him they were healing just fine. Apparently. Again, you were no expert.

It wasn’t until Ubbe eventually woke up, got out of bed and started eating again that you could finally breathe easily. He acted the same way he usually did. Just the same caring and sweet soul that you had first fallen for.

But then odd things started to happen. His sense of smell seemed to have gotten better. Even to the point that when he was out in the woods, which he patrolled almost endlessly in case the animal came back, he always seemed to materialise from out of nowhere because he could smell that you were making him a sandwich for lunch. That had actually happened a couple of times. Didn’t matter how far away from the house he was, he could smell food. His wounds also healed at a speed that seemed far from normal. About a week after he had gotten attacked, all that you could see were faint markings on his skin, like they were old scars. And one night you had found him in the kitchen while he was eating a raw steak that you were going to cook him the next evening.

Odd things. Too many things to count. And now this.

“I know what it was.”

“I thought it was a bear?” Despite the fact that Ubbe had sworn high and low that it was some kind of wolf-like creature that had attacked him, you knew that it couldn’t be the case. There were no wolves near where you lived. But there were bears so maybe he had gotten it mixed up while he had been attacked? It had been night after all. “It couldn’t have been anything else.”

“It was a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” You shook your head. “Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright?” You instantly recalled a line from a werewolf movie that you had seen a couple of times. “One of those?”

“Not like in the movies.” He held the chain out to you again and you took it with some slight hesitation. “This is real.”

“Come on. Werewolves aren’t real.”

“Just stop arguing with me and do it.” Tired of talking, he grabbed your hand and dragged you down into the basement. There were hooks anchored into the wall down there which one of the previous occupants had installed for reasons that were entirely unknown to you. “Wrap the chain around my chest and arms. Lock them together. Then go back upstairs and don’t come down here to check on me no matter how much noise I make.”

“Ubbe, this isn’t funny.” He wasn’t one to play pranks on you, but there was a first time for everything. “Why are you even asking me to do this?”

“Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I change. Please just…”

“What if I lose the key to this padlock? Am I supposed to just call Ivar and ask him to bring his bolt cutters? How is that going to look?”

“Just do it!” In all the time that the two of you had been together, he had never once raised his voice at you. You dropped the chain out of your hands and stared at it as it lay at your feet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grabbed your hands and angled himself in such a way that you had to look at him. “It’s just… there’s not a lot of time. I don’t know when it’ll happen, when I’ll change…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You brushed your hand over his cheek and smiled at him. “Do you really want me to do this?” He nodded. “This is definitely one of the weirdest things I’ve ever done…”

Ubbe sat in front of the wall and you picked the chain up off the floor again, but before you could take the remaining few steps in his direction, his face twisted in agony. The chain was instantly forgotten and you made it to his side, cupping his face in your hands to make him look at you, but he pushed at your chest hard instead. You landed on your ass on the hard concrete floor. Swearing loudly, you’d been about to ask him what the hell his problem was, but all words failed you when you looked in his direction again.

He was laying on the floor, back arched, clawing at his chest and tearing at his clothes, like they were constricting him. It wasn’t until he managed to tear the fabric away, that you noticed that his nails had gotten longer and not only that, his hands seemed to have changed. Stretched out and deformed, his palms lengthened to almost inhuman proportions. His shirt gave way and when you saw his chest you started scooting away from him, moving backwards until you were sitting underneath the stairs, your back pressed against the wall behind you.

His claws were tearing at his skin, creating large openings in his skin and fur started poking through somehow. His jeans tore open as the entire lower part of his body started transforming as well, legs getting even longer than they already were. You could hear his bones breaking and he started howling, his own voice turning into something more animalistic the longer he kept going. You slammed your hands over your ears in a weak effort to stop yourself from hearing him, but it was to no avail. Nothing could stop that noise from reaching your ears.

Rolling over, he was on his hands and knees now, his limbs changing to something new, more wolflike. The scream that had kept pouring from his mouth got lower as his rib cage expanded. His face was the last thing to change. His entire skull was shifting. His jaw elongated to properly accommodate his new teeth and where had once been his nose, a muzzle was appearing, pushing itself out of his skull. His ears, longer and pointier, started appearing out of his fur. Somewhere in his howl, his own voice still appeared to be mixed in there, making it sound altogether eerier. Right before he collapsed to the floor, he turned his head in your direction and you saw that his beautiful blue eyes had turned yellow.

You released a shuddering breath when you saw that he wasn’t changing anymore, but when you saw him shift, you were frozen. You found yourself wishing that you could press yourself further back into the wall or that you could get your legs to move. But even if you could make your muscles cooperate, what would you do? He could probably smell you. The fear that was wafting from your pores was bound to be some delicious perfume that he’d be able to follow no matter where you went. On the off chance that you even managed to make it outside, he’d probably pounce on you before you ever got into the car and then he’d tear you limb from limb right there on the driveway.

You didn’t stand a chance.

Where his transformation had obviously hurt him immensely, none of that pain was present now. He got to his feet and shook his head. Where Ubbe had been before, a huge wolf now took his place. A whimper escaped from your lips and he turned himself in your direction almost lazily, big yellow eyes completely fixed on you. His movements were slow, probably not seeing the need to throw himself on you when it was quite obvious that you weren’t going to move anyway. It was almost as if he moved in slow motion and the closer he got, the more that you became aware of the fact that saliva was dripping from his lower jaw. He took in a deep breath, taking your scent in deeply and he blinked once before moving in even closer.

Right before he stuck his head underneath the stairs, you closed your eyes and found yourself silently saying prayers to whichever god you could think of, praying that it would be over soon and that you’d go quickly at least. As soon as his warm breath hit your face, you stopped breathing, too terrified to even take as much as another breath. It wasn’t until your lungs started burning up from lack of oxygen that you finally took in another deep breath. You opened one eye carefully while you waited for him to move. Instead you found him looking at you almost curiously with those new big yellow eyes of his.

Completely out of the blue, he suddenly pressed his muzzle against your neck, taking in another deep breath, before turning his head so he could lick your cheek. You wiped at your cheek when you felt the wetness and he briefly looked down, almost apologetic in his gesture, before fixing his eyes on you again. With shaking hands you reached out, slowly moving towards his head and when he didn’t move, you ran a hand down his jaw. He eased into your touch almost immediately and you saw his back leg move to scratch at his side when you scratched his ear. When you giggled nervously, he fell down onto his side and nudged at your legs with his nose. You stretched your legs out in front of you and he dropped his head down onto your thighs, putting one of his paws over you to make sure you couldn’t pull away.

“What am I going to do with you now, huh?” He cracked open one eye to look at you and you leaned forward to press your lips on his head. “Big bad wolf.”

*****

Tagging: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @methotrex8 (I forgot to do it last night, it was late!)

[its-kall-the-clown]

If you're still doing prompts, #13 for Silktea? I LOVED the last one and am starved for Silktea content! 💕🕷

God I love silk tea so much *sobs* This is part three of the saga and you can read PART ONE here and PART TWO here.

its like watching two himbos try to flirt and one of them is in major denial.

prompt list (please submit I have more bandwidth to do more writting)

Just Ask

Rating: PG

"Shoo! Go away! Stop following me!"

Huntsman hisses over his shoulder trying to hobble faster with his crutch. The tortie car continues to pad after him with her tail curled upwards and a soft string of mews on her lips. The orange and white cat was the most tolerable of Sandy's therapy cats, and she was the only one he would allow to sleep in the bed with him or sit on his lap when he was reading.

The spider demon was in the shipyard currently, making a break for the sewers so he could slink back to his queen.

His injuries were far from healed but he could walk mostly on his own now which meant it was time to go home. Even if he hadn't finished healing yet he was capable enough to be out back to work. That was the standard under the queen after all. If you could stand on your own it was back to work.

And so he left.

He waited for Sandy to leave to get groceries of course, he couldn't look at them in the eye and tell him it was time to go.

Partly because he knew Sandy would insist he had to stay.

And partly because he knew he would.

His side twinges painfully and suddenly his legs give out. He falls to his face and lets out a strangles yelp. His broken leg throbs from the impact and all he can do is curl inward and let out a string of curses. Concerned mewls circle him and he feels the cat rub up against his side.

"Buzz off fleabag." He growls but there is no heat to it. He pulls himself up enough that he can pull his body forward. He drags himself to the nearest shopping container and leans against it, his head is dizzy and his vision swims so he just lays there for a minute. He huffs, feeling sweat break out across his brow and something wet trails down his back. He opened his wounds again. Damn.

He hardly even left the boat and here he was a weak little gasping mess. What happened to him? He used to be able to power through injuries ten times worse than this. He remembers distinctively one time he had four broken ribs and still was standing tall before his queen waiting for more orders. He had become weak in his absence from her.

Sandy had made him weak.

He closes his four eyes picturing the smiling demon and his large hands that always handled him gently. Sandy always held him he was made of glass, and at first, he hated it, but it slowly grew on him. suddenly all he wanted was to be held and treated gently.

He can hear their baritone laugh in his head, it vibrates in his skull and his chest even when he's not here.

And he feels their lips against his eyelids.

That night when they shared a bed was the catalyst for him leaving. He realized how badly he wanted that companionship and knew he would never leave if he didn't go now.

He whimpers holding his side as he feels slick blood ooze between his fingers. He feels the cat bump against his side and he slits an eye open at them. They are sniffing him gently, probably can smell his blood, and are trying to figure out where he was injured.

"It's okay….I'm not a child." He reassures the cat reaching with his clean hand to scritch under their chin.

"I can handle this." He insists, probably trying to convince himself. Instead of curling in his lap like he expects the tortie ets out a loud mew and then turns and pads away. Leaving him to silk against a shipping container in his own misery and blood. He tries to not let it offend him.

Huntsman leans his head back and lets out a sigh. If he was just a little stronger he would be home by now. And if he was a lot stronger he would tell Sandy how he feels. The demon seemed to be interested, at least he was picking up signals. You don't just kiss the eyelids of someone you don't at least have some feeling for.

But at the same time doubt was seeded in his mind. What if he had imagined it all? what if that's just how Sandy was normally with everyone. Why would he waste time on someone like him when Sandy was so perfect and amazing and probably could woo anyone he wanted. He pictured someone else in Sandy's arms. A nameless demon with curvy hips and delicate horns who laughed like bells and appreciated everything Sandy did for them. He frowns something in his stomach curling like spoiled milk. It was easy to picture, too easy.

He tries to replace the nameless demon with himself. It's much harder to visualize, like looking at a watercolor painting. He didn't fit into Sandy's arms quite right and his laugh was more scratchy.

They didn't fit together. Like puzzle pieces from Two different sets, no matter how much you shoved or pushed you couldn't make them got together.

As much as he wanted to.

"Meeroww!" He opens his eyes to see the same tortie cat approaching, tail up and slightly curved. Why were they coming back? He opens his mouth to ask just that but his words are stolen by an extra presence.

Sandy.

Those sad blue eyes meet him and he can tell he's worried about the spider demon. He's wearing black sweatpants and a loose matching black shirt that just makes him unfairly handsome.

The little cat was a snitch and likely went to fetch him.

Wordlessly he clicks his jaw shut, and wordlessly he's picked up by the gentle giant.

"You reopened your wounds." They scold with a huff and Huntsman shrinks under it. He's never had Sandy treat him with disappointment before and he didn't like it. He fists his hands in Sandy's shirt as he's carried back to the ship.

"I'm sorry…"

"What were you trying to do?" Sandy asked with a sigh and Huntsman grips his shirt tighter.

"Trying to get away…" he admits honestly as they cross the threshold of the ship. He apparently didn't get very far if they were already back home.

He realizes too late he called it home inside his head.

This was home now. Sandy was home.

The demon was lowering him down onto the bed now, likely to tend to his wounds. He throws his arms around Sandy's neck in a panic. They grunt under the changed grip and now Sandy is bending over awkwardly, huntsman sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms around Sandy's neck.

"I need you to let go so I can tend your wounds." He explained his hands trailing to Huntsman's hip where it burns through his clothes and skin.

"No." He huffs burying his face into Sandy's chest. He inhales his comforting scent. A scent of Jasmine, beard oil, and clean laundry. It's intoxicating, he could drown himself in this scent for weeks and it still wouldn't be enough. He pulls away just enough to look Sandy in the eye.

God, he could get lost in those eyes, like endless tunnels he would wander forever in them. He studies their face in the low light of the bedroom, Sandy has a nick over his left brow, a scar from some last battle, his beard and mustache are well kept, brushed, and trimmed to perfection. Huntsman reaches up and cups theire face before he can even think. Sandy's eyes widen under the touch and the larger of the two is now cupping the hand pressed to his face.

Sandy is strong. Stronger than most and where it counts. He's endlessly kind and attentive, he's also mischievous, he had seen that side of him in passing with his time here.

He's precious like jade and like a greedy thief Huntsman wants it

"What do I need to do to have you?" He asked huskily and Sandy pulls the hand away from his face to kiss the wrist there.

"Just ask."

Huntsman could have this. He didn't deserve it but of he asked he could have what he wanted. He licks his lips trying to get the words to come out of his mouth.

"May I kiss you?" He asked, craning his head upward. Sandy's eyes crinkle with a hidden smile and he nods.

Huntsman presses upward, their lips connecting in a short chaste kiss.

It's only for a second, Huntsman is too nervous and shy to demand anything else. But God it felt like a lifetime. In just a few short seconds it feels like a complete rebirth. His whole body reacts, shuddering like he's been shocked and some pathetic noise grows in the back of his throat.

When he pulls away instead of that being the end, a hand curls around the back of his neck and tilts his head upward. He is putty in Sandy's grip and goes easily letting out another pathetic whimper. The second kiss is more.

More everything! More passion, more tender, more Sandy. He grips the front of Sandy's shirt tightly with his claws as he feels the lips move against his. He feels Sandy nip and his bottom lip and he lets out a surprised noise and he can feel the demon smirking into his lips from the elicit sound.

Too soon Sandy pulls away leaving Huntsman to shake like a leaf in his absence. The thumb on his hip continues to rub back and forth and the added hand to the back of his neck makes him positively weak.

"Will you let me tend to your wounds now?" Sandy's asked and Huntsman just blinks dumbly at him. Eventually, his brain catches up and he nods.

"I'll get the medkit. Stay here." He instructs, laying Huntsman down slowly.

Maybe it's the blood loss talking, but Sandy looks angelic above him. Ge's tempted to try and pull them down into another kiss but honestly, he really should let the demon tend to his reopened wounds.

Kissing him breathless could wait.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Young Gods (Mandalorian AU)

Pairing: Sin!Din (or OOC just in case) x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (m &f), Fingering, Light choking, Daddy kink, Thigh riding, Rough sex, Soft sex, Use of a safeword, Drug/Alcohol use, Violence, Guns/blood, Mentions of death, Mentions of police (not heavy), Language, Fluff, Barely there angst. (if I’m missing any I apologize)

Word Count: 12K+

Summary: Taken in by the Guild in the rough part of the city, you quickly meet Din Djarin, the best of the best. Who knew of the path it would lead you to?

A/N: The warnings did change from the preview, that’s always a given. I was going to make this fic a little darker but got carried away with it, but I’m willing to write oneshots off this because I simply love it. Also HUGE thanks to @ben-is-a-hoe​ for their unwavering patience for their request, you rock

***

You never knew your parents. Your biological ones, anyway. 

Lila and Billy took you in at a young age, raised and treated you as their own. Life was good with them, and they were amazing parents; you loved them, always had a good relationship with them but you just… fell into the wrong crowd. 

It didn’t take long for the fallout. The screaming matches when you came back home in the middle of the night, sometimes in cuffs or other times wasted with the new necklace you managed to snag. They kicked you out when it became too much and really, you don’t blame them. Not at all. 

From then on you jumped from group to group, big and small, did the jobs, and left. You never stayed, not for long, no matter what; they could never hold you down. 

So when Greef Karga found you pocketing the screamers and betters of cage matches down in Sorgan and asked you to join his Guild, you said yes on the spot.   

Bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Thieves. 

Call them what you like, they just got the job done. With good pay.

They reside in one of the most dangerous parts of the city, hidden in the shadows of the deep underground, in a warehouse that’s not too noticeable or colorful. Nervarro is pleasing to the eye day and night, if you turn away from the horrors that coincide within. That’s the trick, how it drags you into its claws.

That’s how you’re about to meet ‘Target Practice’ Din Djarin, infamous for his name from a well known joke after a job well done. 

“Tell them, tell them what you said after the state of that guy.”

“Tell them how you always get the job done.”

“Tell them the joke man.”

“What’d you say? To that guy right before…”

“Target practice.”

Though he doesn’t have a big name (yet), word still travels around about the Guild’s best bounty hunter, rarely seen without the signature leather jacket that signifies the kind of group you’re in; his signet is printed proud and big on the back of it. 

“Yeah Din Djarin, you know, the guy who fucked up Ran’s group. Took them all out like it was nothing.”

He’s dangerous. Ruthless. Punk. Traveler. 

You wonder if you’ll be here long enough to add more to the list. 

“Relax, kid,” Greef pats you on the back. 

You hadn’t realized your anxiety was showing. Why are you nervous? This isn’t your first time meeting someone equally dangerous, and he is going to be your new partner, after all. 

Because sometimes he comes back with trickles of blood on his knuckles. 

“Ah, and there he is!” 

Din come’s strolling in like he owns the place, with, of course, that jacket, skinny jeans and (biker?) boots; he oozes swagger and confidence, the kind that can really irk a person. And what kinda makes it worse is that he’s handsome as fuck, too, even in the punkish get out. Dark, floofy curls that match the intensity of his eyes—and his outfit—plump, chapped lips with a curl, crooked nose and tan skin; he’s beautiful in your eyes, but you are not going to admit that. 

“Din, this is the new recruit. She doesn’t know much now, but she’s got a lot of spitfire and eagerness to make up for it. Set her up, make sure she’s comfortable, then get to work.” Greef nods at the both of you and walks away. 

Oh, great. 

“H-hi,” you clear your throat. Pull yourself together! You tell him your name and stick your hand out. 

Dark chocolate brown eyes glimpse once at your hand before he shakes it; firmly and short, with no smile or offered greeting in return. You expected as much. 

“Start off by telling me what you know first.” 

His voice. Oh his voice is light with age but deep and gruff; it could melt you and put you to sleep. 

“Well I can pick locks, and I’m pretty okay at stealing.” That sounds so pathetic compared to this batch. 

“Hand-to-hand it is today. Follow me.” 

You follow him around the warehouse—a big, comfy warehouse you’re finding out—and he leads you to what you can automatically tell is the gym; or training room, you should say. He walks around the mat in the middle of the room, and throws a set of keys inside what you assume is an office and shuts the door with a click. 

“Before we do that, I want you to show me your skills,” he instructs. “Karga is cheap, and so is about everyone else here. They’re not going to be happy if they cannot get into their office, or if they have to break the door down to get in. So prevent that from happening, newbie.”

Newbie?

“Newbie?” You repeat. “What are we in, middle school?”

You could’ve sworn his lips just twitched there, but he quickly shakes his head and huffs, leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms crossed. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you realize that he’s waiting for you, so you kneel down and take your pins out of your pocket—a habit to always, always have them in hand. 

You twist your wrists carefully, listening for little clicks and ticks, until it lets out one more loud one and swings open under your pressure; he had to have known it was an easy one, so when you stand up and look at him, he looks unbothered and unimpressed. 

“Good,” he pushes himself off and shrugs his jacket off, throwing it on a chair nearby. He’s wearing a short, black sleeve shirt underneath, with jeans on, too. So are you. 

“Should we change into something more comfortable or?” You ask awkwardly. 

He ignores you again and climbs in between the ropes of the ring. You sigh and climb in, thanking the Maker you didn’t fall or get tangled; it’s a lot harder than it looks, okay?

“Okay, now wh—”

Your feet sweep out from under you. It all happens so quickly, you don’t even know what hit you and you’re falling straight on your back on the hard, wooden mat. A gust of wind leaves your chest in huffs, your back arching and stinging under the assault. 

“What the—ow, fuck—what the fuck was that?” You wince as you help yourself up, rather pathetically if you ask but you just got your ass handed to you in the simplest way. 

“You need to be aware of your surroundings” Din says, not in a gloating way as you suspect most of the others would show towards the new people, but in a way that’s instructional and you internally thank him graciously for it. “Doing these jobs, being a part of our group, it means you have to be alert at all times. Understand?” You nod. “Good. Let’s go again.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath, bouncing on your feet. He puffs his chest out a little—he’s got a slim but muscular build, not by much but you know it’s there—and you clench your fists, readying them in a defensive stance. 

“Good, you know that much.” 

It’s so sarcastic you want to punch him. 

So that’s what you try doing by lunging at him, hoping to catch him off guard—and hey, on the first day too? You can use that—but next thing you know his wrist wraps around your closed fist and twists. 

“OW!” You howl, straining under the pressure; he twists your arm just a little deeper, making you flinch in return. 

Pine, you smell pine, leather, and… you think that may be gunpowder. 

“Don’t be so predictable,” he says, barely there whispers of his breath hitting your neck. You hope he doesn’t feel the shiver that just went through you. “Trying to catch someone by surprise can be good, if you know the right way to do it.” He finally lets you go and you sigh in relief as you clutch your arm to your chest. “We can stop for today, if you want.”

You want to say yes in the worst way, already so done after feeling like your arm was about to be ripped out of its socket, but you also don’t want to seem like you can’t handle it on the first day.

“No, I can keep going,” you tell him confidently. 

He takes you down again and again, and when you’re eventually shown to your room, you pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow with a very, very sore and beaten body.

The smell of pine is faintly stuck on your pillow, and when you wake up, you think about that one curl on the top of his head that twirls almost down to his eyes.  

***

Din trains you endlessly for weeks and weeks and weeks until you start showing progress. 

The fighting is actually easy once you get the hang of it, and you’re proud to say that you’ve knocked the man off his feet once or twice.

What’s frustrating though is that, for being your new partner, he barely talks to you at all. Sure, when it’s during training or about jobs he will, but other than that he makes no attempts on at least getting to know you. It pisses you off when you see him trailing behind his small group of friends, a whiff of smoke that smells green airing off them, laughing up a storm with them. 

And what’s worse is that you’re not sure why you’re so hurt and frustrated by this. It’s not like you were supposed to be friends or anything. That was usually your number one rule. 

It’s the dreams, you think. It’s the smell of pine and leather and powder that’s specifically Din. It’s imaging what his cock would feel like pounding into you. It’s watching silently from afar, trying to piece the enigma of a man out; the puzzle. 

It’s when you catch him glancing away from you when you turn to him, whether that be during training or across the room during a meeting or that one time, when you got caught in the rain and ran up to your room, drenched and shivering, and you accidentally ran into him in the middle of the hallway. 

“I’m sorry!” You scrambled in his arms. 

His warm, very warm, strong arms. 

You looked up, waiting for him to let you go, but his arms stayed wrapped around you. When you looked up to say something—hey, there’s a puddle starting to form at my feet and I’m sure you don’t want damp clothes for the rest of the night, wherever you’re going—you didn’t miss the way his eyes sought after the beads of water that was trailing down your face and chest, or the way he quickly licked his lips when they slipped underneath your shirt.   

It made you shiver in a different way and he noticed.

Finally he seemed to shake himself out of his daze and backed away from you like you lit him on fire; perhaps in a way, you did.     

It’s when you find yourself studying him; when he’s eating lunch alone, when he’s leaning against a corner of a wall in whatever room you may be in, watching everyone else. When he never turns down a job and always usually comes back successful and you feel glad. 

And especially when, in the middle of training, he’ll press up extra close to you, letting you feel the hard (soft) planes of his body, or when his hands linger longer than they should on your knees when helping you stretch. 

It’s like this building tension between you that’s so thick you’d need a machete to cut through it.

But other than that, you can’t complain. 

“C’mon tough guy,” you mock, bouncing on your feet on the mat. 

Din stands up, rubbing his neck in a wince and throws you a dirty look. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” he mumbles.

“I’m not,” you say defensibly. He leans on one of the ropes, lifting it up. “Oh come on really?” You pout, stomping towards him. “I barely lifted you up and you’re acting like a chi—I–ILD!”

You scramble and flail like a chicken with its head cut off as you fall, barely able to blink before you’re flat on your back. You groan in pain with what little strength just left your body—it’s really not that bad because he took most of your fall with his—

Holy shit you didn’t realize he was practically laying on top of you. 

His breathing is even compared to yours, with his hands wrapped around your head and lower back, preventing you from being seriously hurt; the tip of his nose is touching yours and, today, you can smell the Melioorun on his breath. 

This feels like one of the most awkward and hottest moments of your life. You don’t move, don’t speak or breathe, and one day you’ll have to ask him how he always stays so fucking calm when it feels like you’re about to explode any second now. 

Should you move? Just bite the bullet and risk it all?

His warmth leaves you just as quickly as it happened in the first place and holds his hand out. You stare at it dumbly for probably too long and take it; it doesn’t help when his hand flexes in yours. 

“Guess I deserved that,” you say sheepishly. 

It’s hard to decipher what he’s thinking about. His expression is unreadable to you and he’s characteristically quiet as always—so, what’s new, really?

“You start a new lesson tomorrow.” He says, and walks away just as you’re about to ask what it is. 

That night it’s the juice and his arms you come to. 

Does he know?

Now, you’re assigned to Omera, a very kind woman, who is going to teach you on how to shoot. You hear it’s not hard to figure out. 

“Hi!” She greets warmly in a hug. “It’s very nice to finally meet Din’s new partner.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Oh he’s like that with every new person he meets,” she assures you gently while setting up the targets. Target Practice. “I wouldn’t take offense to it. Just need to give him some time.”

“Right,” you nod absently.

“Here.” She hands you a pair of sound cancelling headphones. “Put this on and grab the gun when you’re ready.”

Your heart beats a little faster when the cool heavy weight of the pistol touches your skin. Omera shows you the proper stance and how to set your sights, and lets you try your first shot on your own; the kickback is small, and the thrill is accelerating. 

“Wow okay,” you laugh, setting the gun down very gently and taking the headphones off. She joins you, probably knowing the kind of high you’re feeling right now. 

“It takes a little bit of time to get used to,” she explains. “But you take your time with this. Better safe than sorry, right?”

You wanna be as good as ‘Target Practice’ Din Djairn?

“Right.” You nod.  

This lesson is longer than Din’s regular, but considering, it’s nothing but fair. When it’s over and you go out to eat, you’re surprised to see the man that’s been pestering your thoughts just about everyday, sitting at the bar with a cold drink in his hands; alone. 

Your palms start to slicken with sweat. Should you go over there? Just casually sit down like you didn’t even notice he was there? Was it really worth such a bother in the first place?

Your heart thuds in your ears as your body decides that, yes, it was time to make a move; he was your fucking partner for Maker’s sake. 

“Hey,” you greet normally—just like you didn’t notice he was there.

He looks up at you in surprise, clutching the glass in his hand tighter. He scowls and that makes you feel so small under his gaze. You should’ve just walked away. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asks annoyingly. 

Okay, now you’re just as annoyed as he is. “Why are you always such a dick to me, huh?” You demand quietly to not make a scene. “I barely know you and you act like I pissed in your drink.”

He snorts, looking in front of him now. “You didn’t do anything,” he sighs. You listen intently. “I just… look, right now this is just about work, alright? I don’t need anyone or anything distracting me.”

You roll your eyes in mild disgust. “Oh please, stop acting like the world revolves around you. There’s nothing wrong with at least being civil with the people you’re working with, no matter how much you don’t like them, and quite frankly, I don’t like being treated like shit for something I didn’t even do.”

Din turns back to you, staring at you with those intense eyes, not giving you the slightest hint of what he can be thinking about right now. It makes you not only nervous, but giddy, too; it’s enough for a small pool or arousal to flare between your legs. 

Finally he takes a large gulp of his drink, setting the empty glass down with a slam. “You’re right.” You gleam. “Tomorrow. You think you’re ready for your first job?”

On a whim, you say yes. He nods and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, slapping a handful of credits on the bar; the bartender reaches over to take it. 

“It covers her tab, as well,” Din tells him. 

You stare off in shock as he walks out of the bar.

***

Okay. Your first job. A simple, easy job. 

And you’re stuck in a small ass closet with a man who smells so fucking good and is currently pressed tightly against you, watching through the blinds for our quarry to come. 

It’s been at least an hour of this. 

Now the whole reason as to why you’re in a closet, is well, people. This man must love handing his keys out to his friends—or family, you don’t give a shit—and you were nearly caught twice before Din decided it was best to wait it out by hiding.      

You feel okay, that’s not what the problem is—you mean, you would really love it if you didn’t have to stand in a small space for seemingly hours now—but that’s not all that’s getting to you. 

It’s the man directly next to you that keeps bumping his hand against your thigh, so very close to your ass, and while most of it is accidental, you think that the other bumps are not. The warmth of his body is also quite distracting. Your mind starts flowing between images of what it may look like if he ever fucks you and what might happen when the quarry walks through that door.

“Stop moving,” he growls. Your leg hits the space between his, luckily lightly enough that it doesn’t sting but he grabs your shoulder to stop you. 

You can’t help but squirm again. “I’m sorry, this is just—hprm—uncomfortable.”

Din sighs and looks back through the blinds. “It could be another hour before he comes, so please just stop. Moving.”

You give him the best glare you can muster, and give him the finger since you’re at it. 

Another minute goes by. Tick tock. Maker it’s too hot for this. You didn’t sign up for this shit. You should be out there stealing something or picking locks like you were picked to, not stuck in this closet. Not with the Din Djarin, who can’t even grumble an ‘hi’ to you most days. 

Is it always going to be like this until you leave? Will Din still come to you, then, in your dreams, with honey dripping from his lips? 

…Are you seriously about to consider fucking like this?

“Stop it,” he suddenly snaps. “I can practically hear your thoughts and it’s not making this situation any better.”

Pfff. 

You purposefully jab your elbow deep in his ribs, happy with the pained grunt you receive. “Go fuck yourself.”

He curses and moves, childishly trying to put space between the two of you, and you swear you don’t know how this happens in the midst of your arguing and scurrying, but his knee ends up right against your clothed core and your thigh unintentionally rubs against the crotch of his skinny jeans. 

It’s barely there, but it still feels amazing. 

His hands, large and rough, grip your forearms tightly; not enough for it to hurt, but enough to get the point across. 

“Stop.” It comes out in a whisper, brushing right against the shell of your ear. Your pussy slickens and you can’t move, too enthralled with the turn of events (is he getting hard behind you holyfuckhemightbe) to reconnect with your mind. 

Curiously, you ponder on whether it’s always going to be like this, this little dance you and Din like to play—no, I wasn’t staring at you. No, I don’t think about you at all. No, that’s not how you’re supposed to do this, or steal that. No, that’s not my dick pressing up against you right now. No—

“You know I don’t normally fuck on the first job.” 

It comes out so thickly from you that it surprises even yourself. You practically hear the moment he freezes and stops breathing, and a smirk graces your lips in triumph. 

Before he can react, if he was going to, you hear the door that you carefully picked through open and in walks your quarry, sighing in relief as soon as the door closes behind him; if only he knew. 

Din busts out, gun in hand like none of that did not just fucking happen, pointed at the man—Terry, you believe you saw on the file—who flails against the door, trying to open it. Your gun scares him enough to make him stop. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

You smirk at the line. It sounds so much like him. 

“L-look I’ll pay you double! Both, e-each, and I’ll-I’ll disappear, I swear!” 

You look towards Din with a side eye glance, just for your own amusement; you’re glad that he plays along, making a pathetic whimper escape from Terry’s lips. 

“Not gonna happen,” you chime. “C’mon, don’t make this harder for any of us.”

Terry is smarter than he looks because he reluctantly nods. You put your gun back into its holster and pull the cuffs snugly tight around his wrists. 

“Good choice.”

Easy. 

Din watches you silently as you lead the way to the car given (stolen) to you—a gorgeous black convertible—and, now you’re positive about this, you’re absolutely sure you felt his eyes on your ass the entire time. 

You wiggle when you help Terry into the seat and bend over riiiight as Din walks by to get to the other side. When you slide in the passenger side, his jaw is clenched tightly and his nose is open in a flare.

Ha. 

***

His friends invite you out to celebrate. 

Given that it was your first job—an easy one, really, with no blood spilt and an easy capture—that must mean that you’re worthy enough to be part of the clique now. Which means going to the local bar and drinking till the heart's content. 

You asked Omera if she would join you, but respectfully declined so you asked your other friend, Jem, whom you liked but she was rather loud. She said yes, of course, which is how you end up at the bar in one of the booths in the back, watching Din play pool and nursing a few fruity and expensive drinks. 

Jem already left you in favor of a young woman who made Jem giggle like a schoolgirl at every chance; well, good for her. 

So it was just you in the booth, debating on how drunk or sober you should be tonight. You’re leaning more towards the latter considering Jem wanted to drive you here when a shadow looms over you.

“Wanna get outta here?”

Din stands over you, looking so intently at you. You gulp and nod your head without even thinking. 

He indicates with a tilt of his head to follow, and you do without so much of a glance back—other than to let Jem know that you were leaving. 

He takes you to the back of the bar and through your confusion you realize he’s walking to a polished black motorcycle; you recognize it, see him with it so many times and yet it doesn’t register in your brain in that moment until you see it. You slow down at the sight of it. 

“You scared?” He asks when you stop. 

“Well I—” you lick your dry lips. “—I’ve never ridden on one before.”

He nods in understanding and holds out a helmet. “Trust me?”

You hesitate, not because it’s him that you don’t trust, but it’s the vehicle itself you do not trust. “Yes. Just please don’t crash.”

He chuckles as you slip the heavy protection over your head and sits himself down, waiting for you to situate yourself behind him before he starts the bike. The loud rumbles vibrate through you immediately and when he revs it you screech and clutch onto his middle in a death grip. 

“Hold on tight!” He shouts and takes off. 

The lurch barely drives you back yet it feels like you’re about to fall. Your head spins under the pressure, and your stomach is doing flips and turns all over as he pushes through the wind. 

You don’t want to open your eyes. You’re not very keen on seeing your impending doom, and this has to be one of the most scariest, exciting moments of your life. 

You feel him zigzag through the roads and alleyways; it’s late, late enough to where there’s no traffic in sight and the city is almost quiet. After moments of encouraging yourself, you finally open your eyes and pick your head up. 

Boy are you happy you did. You can see why Din likes riding this; it’s freeing, feeling the wind brush around you, buildings and lights blurring from the speed. Knowing that at any moment anything can happen but you don’t care; you’re invincible. 

You can also feel the warmth seeping off him and it reminds you of the closet; the vibrations under you doesn’t make it any better. 

Before you know it you’re already back at the warehouse. You’re a little disappointed, both from the short joyride and the short time spent with him, but it’s not like you’re exactly that surprised, either. 

You stand up on trembling legs—the good kind—and hand Din his helmet back with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and findles with the straps, looking down at his feet. You don’t know whether you should start walking away or not, so you shift on yours. 

“Wanna smoke with me?” He looks up. “On the roof?”

You grin, knowing what kind of smoke he’s talking about; it’s not your first time, and he’s asking you. “I’ll bring the snacks?”

He smiles; it’s a beautiful smile, a breathtaking one. “Yeah.”

You’re practically skipping towards the kitchen once you’re inside and you watch Din run up to his room. You grab a bunch of snacks that you like and have to wander around aimlessly for the ones you’ve seen Din pick off for minutes before you eventually have your hands worth and sneak up as quietly as you can to the rooftop. You kick at the door once you’re at the top. 

Din helps you place the snacks by the chairs he has set up. When you sit, you understand why he picked this spot; it faces directly towards the quietest and darkest part of the city, making it so the moon and stars shine brightly above. On this type of night, with a cool and gentle breeze in the summer air, it’s perfect. 

“There’s a blanket,” he interrupts your thoughts. He throws the thick pullover at you and you catch one part of it, the rest of it draping over your lap and slapping your face; he chuckles when, again, you give him the finger. 

He rolls the joint and you watch, his fingers moving delicately and expertely over the wrap. It’s even better watching him take the first hit, the way he inhales the smoke and holds it until he exhales it in swirls, his adams apple bobbing. When he passes it to you, you do it exactly the same. 

“Didn’t take you for the type,” he comments. 

You pass it back. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Din.” You tease. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Fair enough.” Pass. “So tell me then.”

This catches you off guard. “Oh,” you exaggerate. “Now you wanna know.” You both laugh, the effects setting in. Pass. “What brought this on?”

Pass. It’s out by then, but it’s not like you mind so much; he’s already rolling another. 

“You really wanna know?”

The way he asks it is like a dare. I dare you to say yes, because you may or may not like what you hear, but I promise you’ll be thinking about it. 

It is a tempting dare. 

And you’re falling for it. 

Hit. Pass. “Yes.”

Your body tingles with excitement when he eyes you up and down, goosebumps flaring your skin. Pass. Another second goes by. Pass. His eyes are getting darker if that’s possible. 

Your pussy is officially drenched now. 

“I know you watch me sometimes,” he says casually. Your heart stops. “I get it, I do… I pay attention to you, too.”

You don’t know whether your heart is going to completely stop or burst through your chest. “Yeah?” It comes out breathless. 

“Yeah.” Pass. “I know that you like that awful soup Rully likes to make.” The old man can make a mean soup! “You’re a thief, though it’s in moderation, save for that convertible of yours. You like to draw, I see you doodling on the walls all the time. You never stay in one place for long because you’re afraid of becoming attached, but mainly because you like to be free. You scrunch your face in this weird, adorable way when you’re concentrating, and you’re kind; you’re a good person and a good friend and I… as your partner, and maybe even friend, I trust you.”

Hit. Pass. 

You were speechless. 

How can you even top that off? You thought you had him all figured and yet here he is, blabbing facts about you that you didn’t even know he knew. 

Hit. 

“You like to be alone,” you start. “But you crave moments like these, too, with someone you’re comfortable with. You try to avoid conflict if you can despite your reputation, but you’re also not afraid to take it to that… level if need be. You respect the Guild and everything in it, and you want to be free, just like I do, and I can see that in the way you ride your bike, and the way you look at the sky now. It’s addicting, isn’t it? Being able to do what you want when you want, however you want, the peace and quiet you get with it...” 

He spreads his legs slightly wider as you pass the joint back. 

This moment is tense. It’s in the air, in the way the smoke curls around you and the way the dirty thoughts in your head makes your skin prickle even more. 

He’s looking at you in a way that makes you feel there’s nothing in the world but this. And you can’t help but feel like you understand him a little more now. 

“I’ve been thinking about the closet,” he finally says. Your breath hitches. 

A few seconds go by and you vaguely think that he’s probably waiting for you to answer, to see if this is okay. 

“M-me too.”

The chair squeaks quietly under his weight. “You felt it, didn’t you?” He almost coos this sweetly. “The way I was starting to get hard from your ass rubbing against me. You just could not stop moving and I started to think about all the things I’ve been wanting to do to you for so long.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” You whisper—it feels right to, as to not disturb this precious moment that’ll either make or break you. 

He shrugs, looks away like he has been doing when he’s getting shy; it’s an odd sight coming from such a man as himself, but it’s also cute and endearing. “I don’t know… I haven’t—I mean I have it’s just—”        

Din sighs in frustration. You get it—well, you get that he’s struggling, but not exactly sure as to why—and you don’t want to push him if he’s not ready to tell you what it is he wants to say, so you ignore the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and sit up straight. 

“You want an encore?” You interject boldly. “Because I’ve been thinking about it too.” You stand up, reveling in the way his eyes never leaves you; you have his whole attention now. “How your body was pressed just right against mine. How, some nights, I do imagine fucking you until you can’t handle it.” He audibly inhales sharply. 

You’re standing in front of him now, looming over him just as he did you at the bar. You feel powerful just doing this with the way his eyes light up and his mouth hangs slightly open and his fist tightens on the armrest of the chair. 

Nothing stops you from carefully settling each leg on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. You take the joint from him and take a big, long hit. You hold it in as you stub it out and gently cup Din’s chin, digging your fingers on the undersides of his light stubble cheeks; open. 

His mouth opens without resistance, taking in the cloud of smoke you’re breathing into his open mouth and nose. In the end, your lips meet his in a dirty, sloppy kiss that’s nothing but tongue and spit and teeth; it’s not perfect by all means, it’s a little painful with the clashing and there’s limited space given the chair, and, let’s be honest, your breaths are not the greatest either. 

But it’s like a coil snaps and he growls, wrapping his arms around you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to angle your head however he likes as he viciously attacks your mouth; his tongue glides over your teeth, swirling with yours in a battle you both know he’ll win, and you whimper into the kiss when his hips buckle up into yours. 

“Show me,” he orders gruffly. “Ride my thigh. Show me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You don’t hesitate to jump off him and pull your jeans off—you stumble in your haste, but you could care less on how ridiculous you look doing it. You keep your underwear on, the air being slightly more chilly now, and climb back onto his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulder. 

He grabs your hips and helps you adjust your hot, drenched pussy over his clothed, beefy thigh; he pushes your panties to the side and teases you with a swift swipe over your clit. 

“Din,” you moan wantonly. At the first shallow thrust, you’re already a mess, the want finally getting the attention you’ve been begging silently for. Your clit slides deliciously against the rough fabric and you wish to the Maker above that you could scream as loud as you can without attracting attention, because by just the first few thrusts you’re already putty in his arms.

“Fuck I can feel you, pretty girl,” he gushes. “Even through my jeans I can feel how wet this pussy is for me.”

“For you,” you whine, continuing a slow grind. “For you, daddy.”

He groans and throws his head back when your knee bumps against his obvious hard on; it looks so big, even hidden behind clothes, and you know without a doubt that it’ll stretch you out to the brim. “That’s right babygirl. You’re doing good.” Then he grunts your name. 

You know what that means, somehow, and move your hips faster against him. It feels too good. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire in all the best ways, like he’s everywhere all at once and consuming you. You don’t want it to stop, it feels amazing and holy shit he’s flexing his thigh. 

He kisses you, makes you forget your own fucking name, and trails his lips down your neck, feeling around for your sweet spot. When he finds it behind your ear, he bites down and licks around the tender flesh. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, your pussy fluttering around nothing, clit pulsing deliciously under the friction. “I want your cock, Din. Think about riding it just—“ you swirl your hips and rewards you with a guttural grunt. “—like this.” 

He’s moaning with you now, gripping onto your hips tighter and tighter to the point of bruising, and you’re happy it will because you want to remember this moment, and the way just his thigh alone is making your cunt clench and body erupt in the most pleasurable way possible. 

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you moan, throwing your head back, clutching at the back of his neck and pulling on the small strands of hair you feel. “Din make me cum, I wanna feel it so fucking badly, oh shit.” You can’t stop, the words just escaping you like a broken faucet. 

He pushes his leg harder against your pussy and moves hips upwards in time with your thrusts. “I-I am t-too,” he stammers in a pitch; it sounds so erotic coming from him. “Cum with me, cum for me, now.”

As if you needed the permission, your pussy spasms on his leg and gushes the tight jeans, your mouth open in a silent scream, body tingling and squirming in his grasp. 

Din moans so sweetly it should be a sin and clutches at you, biting down on your chest through your shirt.   

The air is perfect now for your slick, hot skin. It takes a few moments for your head to reconnect with the rest of your body, and when it does you slump your weight against him. 

“Did you,” you take a deep breath, your voice hoarse and scratchy. “Do you want me to?”

Din looks up lazily from your chest, understands what you’re gesturing to and shakes his head. 

“Already did.”

You look down and see the big, wet patch on the crouch of his pants. You laugh airily and stand up; your legs are wiggly, but your body is sated and happy, and he looks like he’s experiencing the same kind of bliss.  

Your thighs, slick with your own juices, slide roughly against your jeans uncomfortably as you pull them on, watching him adjust himself and clean himself off as best he can with the blanket he threw at you. 

“So,” you drawl. “Another session tomorrow night?”

Din smiles and sighs. “You read my mind.”

You feel like the happiest woman in the world. 

***

It’s heaven.

Being with him. The late nights, where you come back from a fight or a job laughing and stumbling over your feet in desperation to feel the other. The fucking. 

Din fucking you on every inch and corner of yours and his room any chance he has regardless if you’ll get caught; littering your skin with his marks and fucking you so hard you can barely walk without wincing the next day. Being able to feel the press of his lips against your skin, on your pussy, his hands caressing and bringing every ounce of pleasure from your body. 

Whispered words stolen by a kiss. Giving pieces of yourself that he equally returns. Feeling whole and alive for the first time in your young adulthood. 

It’s fucking paradise.

But the credits you have been saving reminds you of the intentions you had when first joining. You don’t even want to think about leaving right now. 

It isn’t the right time to worry. You’re out on a stakeout with Din, looking for a highly dangerous and wanted woman who, and you heavily admire her for this, once plucked a man's eyeball out with her bare hand. 

It’s the most fucked up and badass thing you’ve encountered yet. 

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You ask out of boredom. 

“No,” he huffs. 

Grump. 

“I Spy?”

“Fuck off.” 

“Thumb war?”

“What did I say?”

“Suck your dick?”

“No. Waitwha—yes, we can do that.”

You giggle and playfully shove his shoulder. “Perv.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.” 

“Yeah, only because you said no to everything else.”

“And we're on a job,” he quirks. “Pay attention.”

You stick your tongue at him. “There is such a thing as multitasking.”

“And I think you’re terrible at it,” he says, but it’s light to let you know he’s only teasing. 

“Whatever.”

…

“You know I think you still have time to suck my dick,” he comments.

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t show until the sun sets, which you should have expected given the track history; it was easier to disappear in the dark. 

“There,” Din points to the dimly lit alleyway. She walks out of the door, looking both ways before closing it. 

He moves quickly and quietly with you trailing behind. The goal is to try and make it to her before she drives alway; she’s worth more alive than dead. 

You watch in the comforts of the shadows—she’s walking to a car that you hope is hers—and follow as close you can without raising suspicion. 

Just as your feet hit the curb on the street she’s on, glass explodes behind you in shards. 

She’s quick. You forgot to add that little detail. 

It’s all happening too fast for you and you’re standing there like a shocked dumbass, a fish stranded on land. This is the first time that’s ever happened. 

Another bang echoes through the still air and without warning you’re being shoved to the hard concrete ground, scraping your elbows and knees against the pavement. 

“Fuck!” Din hisses in your ear. “You gotta cover me from the left.” You take your gun out of the holster and nod; breathe. 

“Now!”

You whip up at the same time in different directions, guns up and aimed. 

And when you hear a chorus of blasts, you hope to the Maker that Din is still standing to your right.

All you can hear is the sounds of your pants. There’s something lying on the sidewalk where she was at, with something even darker pooling around them. 

Logically, it can’t be him because he’s supposed to be standing at your right, and there’s no logical way he got to the other side that quick, but you’re still in a state of shock by what just happened and where the fuck is he?

“Hey,” It sounds far away. You can’t even tell who it is. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. Only one person would be calling you that. 

Your name. That’s the way he says your name. You hear it. 

“Din?” There’s tears in the back of your throat, but you refuse to let them fall. 

He’s here, in front of you, hugging you to his chest. You’re actually clinging to him, you can feel the leather beneath your fingertips and smell the powder and sweat on him.

It’s him. He’s alive. You both are. 

“We need to go.” Sirens sound off in the distance. 

You never ran so fast in your life. 

The entire ride back you’re in a daze, replaying those fatal moments over and over until your hands start to shake. Din notices and places his hand on your knee, rubbing soothing circles; it helps a little. 

You could’ve died. He could’ve died. It was the first time you were ever caught in a gunfight, been so close at death's door, and yet…

And yet as terrified as you were, there was also a thrill to it; a different kind of excitement you never felt before, a feral type that makes you push Din right up the garage doors of the warehouse as soon as they close. 

He stumbles against the door, caught off guard by your sudden attack. You kiss him before he opens his mouth, your hands already desperately fumbling with his belt. Once it’s off you attach your lips to his neck, biting and sucking the taunt skin, while unzipping his pants; he’s already half hard. 

He grabs a handful of your ass, moaning into the kiss when your hands touch the bare skin of his lower abdomen. When you caress the soft, velvet skin of his cock, he buckles in your grip. 

“I’m gonna do what I said I would do,” you tell him as you get down on your knees, face to face with his leaking red tip. 

You don’t give him the chance to react, darting your tongue out to lick around the head of him before taking him completely in your mouth, moaning at the salty taste and sliding down until he’s hitting the back of your throat with a gag from you. 

His hips jerk without hesitance with a pained whine, making you choke around him. You have to unlock your jaw wider to make it comfortable for you. He fists your hair and keeps you still. 

“Makerfuck pretty girl,” he groans deeply. “G-give me a warning next time.”

You hum, swirling your tongue along the veins of his thick girth. He lets you set the pace then and you pull him out for an intake of air, fisting and pumping your spit and his precum as lubricant. 

“Can never get enough of this,” he pants, already tensing beneath your hands. “Seeing you on your knees for daddy. Fuck I wish you could see yourself right now.”

His breaths become ragged when you take him back in your mouth, this time fisting what you can’t fit and pumping him at a furious pace in tune with your mouth; you let your teeth scrape gently on the underside of the head.

“Hmm that’s it,” he hums. When you briefly look up, he has his head thrown back. “Keep going babygirl.”

The sounds you’re making is beyond obscene, and you’re well aware that anyone can just walk in at any given moment and become witness to this, but here’s the thing: you don’t care. If anything, it makes you suck him harder just to get more out of him. 

“So good for me,” he sighs, now taking back control and thrusting shallowly. The sting of his tug adds to the growing pressure in your pussy. 

You know he’s not going to last long by the way his breathing picks up and his thighs shake and tense; you dig your nails into the skin, and he whimpers, fucking whimpers. 

“A-almost there sweet girl, cover it—yes just like that, beautiful, fuck. Keep going—mhmm.”

His moans get deeper with every slosh of your mouth and hand moving rapidly on his dick. The ache in your pussy is almost unbearable to ignore, but right now you want to make this about his pleasure; you want to be the one in control, bringing him to the same levels of euphoria he brings you and more, to hear those whimpers and growls directed at you. 

A few more sucks and he’s twitching in your mouth, groaning a symphony of curses and praises. 

“Fuck I’m gonna c-cum, go-gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours up, and you better swallow every drop, princess.”

Oh that’s got you gushing in your panties. You whimper, spit and drool trailing down your chin and the length of him, and slip your hand to his balls, giving them a gentle but firm squeeze.

“Shit, I’m—“ he chokes, neck going red and he cums like a bomb, instantly filling your mouth with his salty essence until there’s droplets of that dripping from the corners of your mouth. 

You let him sit in your mouth until he comes to, enjoying the taste of him. He pulls your head back and doesn’t give you the chance for you to even catch your breath before he’s bending over and stealing it away with a dirty kiss; he moans at the taste of himself on your tongue and laps at the remnants of his cum. 

“Thank you.” He whispers. 

You help him put himself away and pull his pants up. You’re able to steal one more kiss before he’s dragging you out of the garage. 

***

It’s been gnawing at you since the thought of leaving was implanted in your brain. The thought of leaving and living a life of your own without depending on anyone to achieve it. 

It’s never bothered you before. You always left, no problems, no aches or regrets. But this one. This one was going to rip your heart out and stomp it to the ground until it could no longer beat. 

The other night doesn’t help, either. 

You want Din by your side. The thought of leaving him or worse hurts, really fucking hurts, and in the months of your trysts and smoke sessions and partnership and late night talks and that awful moment that you thought you lost him, you realized that you were falling in love with him. 

When he told you about the loss of his parents, you fell in love with him. The fact that he trusted you enough to show you that part of his past made your heart beat funny in a good way. 

“The Guild quickly found me after,” he explained, your body entwined under his sheets. “Hans was the one who found me, actually, and just so happened to reside here. Taught me basically everything I know. Greef came in not that long ago, and I brought Omera in just a few months before you showed up.”

You rubbed your hand up and down his chest, tracing the light, faint scars that scattered. 

“So I feel like I owe them, you know?” He continued, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back. “Because if it weren’t for them, I’d probably be dead by now.”

You froze. You didn’t like that. Ever since that night with the assassin, you didn’t like to think or so much as hear anything about Din’s death. 

He must have noticed your sudden shift because he lifted your chin up gently and pouted. “And if it weren’t for them, I probably would have never met you, either.”

It did make you feel better and you appreciated the change. You hugged him impossibly tighter to you, feeling his heart skip a beat beneath your ear. 

“I’m glad I met you,” you said into his chest. 

He sighed, a happy one. “Me too.”

And followed by his fears, insecurities, hobbies and passions, it grew. 

When he first held your hand as he ate you out, that love grew even larger. When he started to make sure you took care of yourself and vice versa, and never missed a chance at making you smile, you were absolutely fucked. 

You’re terrified, obviously. It’s not like you’re in an actual relationship per say, at least, if you are—which you have quarrels with, of course—then it’s unspoken; you couldn’t be angry if he didn’t want to leave. 

You just… want to feel that same type of freedom you felt that night. Build a life off of it. Although at this point, you just want any life with him. 

So you’re going to tell him. Now. In your room, where he’s lying right across from you, naked as the day he was born, on your bed with his hands behind his head. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, tilting his head down to look at you. “I know somethings been bothering you all day.”

You sigh through your nose, pulling your sheets further up your chest. 

It’s now or never. 

“We should just… go,” you finally push out. “Like, ‘leave this place and don’t look back’ type of deal. Just drive off and create a new life for ourselves.”

A breath. 

Silence. 

It’s so fucking quiet you could hear a pin drop. His expression is unreadable, and you’ve gotten good at being able to read him since the half year went by. It’s too much already, making your chest ache and stomach pull in knots. You can’t take another second of silence. 

“Never mind, forget I said anything,” you quickly backtrack, reaching for your clothes when his hand reaches out to stop you. 

“Are you serious?” He demands. “W-why?”

He’s going to say no. You just fucked this all up. 

You shrug your shoulders absentmindedly; he can see straight through your bullshit, anyway. 

“I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my life,” you explain quietly, just enough for him to hear. “It’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. I… never intended to stay this long in the first place, you know that. And I know that you feel like you owe them but you don’t, Din.” You take his hand in your lap; he’s listening intently. “I’m not… I’m not forcing you to go. I’m not telling. I’m asking.” God you hope you don’t start losing it. “And if you don’t want to then… then we’ll figure it out. Or something…”

You’re too afraid to look at him. You’ve never felt so open and vulnerable like this before. It was foreign, alien to you and Din as well, you’re sure, so to say that you don’t expect him to roughly palm your cheeks between his hands and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow is a bit of an understatement. 

“Yes,” He whispers against your lips. “Yes.”

You’re bursting. A smile so wide spreads across your lips and you’re laughing and tackling him on the bed, rolling around on the sheets as your lips clash clumsily. 

“We’ll leave as soon as I make the credits,” he pecks your lips once, four times before you stop him.

“I have enough, and why wait?” You’re buzzed off the adrenaline, the knowledge that the man you’ve come to love is here in your arms, mirroring your smile with the wide, toothy one that you adore. 

He laughs, his chest vibrating against yours with it. “Okay.” He trails the tip of his finger down the slope of your nose. “Let’s go.”

You don’t pack much, it’s not like you had a lot to begin with, and it’s easier travelling light when you have no real direction in mind. You both agree to take your car rather than the bike for obvious reasons and it makes you feel guilty; you also feel guilty by not saying a proper goodbye to Jem and Omera. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, sticking the keys into the ignition. “I’ll get another one.” He winks at you and you laugh, all bubbly and loud. 

Din puts the car in reverse and backs out of the garage in a hurry, not wanting to waste another precious moment. You wave goodbye at the building as it disappears behind you; you’ll miss the people, even that Cara Dune they stopped by for weapons or to see Din; they had a history, he told you once, and were just good friends. 

“I left them a note,” Din suddenly says. “I knew you also wanted to say goodbye.”

You love him. You swear you love him more than anything in this galaxy. 

You palm the back of his neck and rub, showing your appreciation. He grins and leans his head to the left, sighing pleasantly. The hood is down on the car, the air whipping around you with the city disappearing behind you. 

You don’t find any traces of regret within you. This feels too good for it to be wrong. 

He drives and drives for hours until you have to stop at a motel. It’s old and rundown, but it’ll do. Your room is on the first floor, which is best for the few cars that are scattered in the parking lot.

You’re on each other as soon as the door closes. 

“Look at you,” Din marvels at your pussy from the end of the bed. 

Your hips squirm under his arm, laid out across your lower stomach to hold you down; your clothes are thrown all over the room and you're completely bare to him, spread out like a meal for his taking. “I’ve barely even touched you, pretty girl.”

“Please,” your body is littered in bruises and bite marks, wired and ready to snap at any moment. “Just do something.”

He nips at your inner thigh in retaliation, caressing your leg and throwing it over his broad shoulder. 

“What?” He croons. “What do you want daddy to do?” 

“E-eat me out,” you plead. “Wanna f-feel your mouth on my pussy, daddy.”

That pleases him. “Alright princess, I got you.”

He’s been teasing you relentlessly since you’ve checked in, high off the newfound freedom you both found in each other. The sheets are scratchy and the tv barely shows a decent channel, and you’re pretty sure that the bathroom is in even worse shape, but this is everything. 

“Yes!” You keen. 

He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, using the tip of his tongue to curl under the hood. “Oh my—mhmm.”

His nose brushes against your clit as his tongue ventures back down, licking and sucking in between your folds. The hot, slippery and textured organ pushes in and out of your entrance, tongue fucking you with an eagerness of a man starved. 

Your mind starts to roll over in the pleasure induced haze and the coil in your stomach starts to tighten under his ministrations. He hums at the taste of you and practically envelopes your entire pussy in his mouth and sucks. Hard. 

Your hips jerk, being pushed down as soon as they move. 

“Din,” you whine, burying your fingers in his curls and tugging, earning a deep groan from the man devouring your pussy. He follows your guidance—he really loves it when you pull on his hair—and wraps his lips around your pulsing clit, sucking with audible slurps. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching your back the best you can. “F-fingers.”

He obliges without having to be told a second time, pushing your legs up slightly higher and sliding two thick fingers inside your fluttering cunt and scissoring them immediately. You whine and wither, it’s so much and not enough and you’re going crazy. 

“What’s the matter, sweet girl?” He coos mockingly. “Is it here,” he stretches you wider. You mutter a breathless, “No.” “Here?” He motions teasingly right next to the spot that shoots bolts up your body. A small tear trinkles down the corner of your eye in frustration. “My poor baby is desperate, isn’t she?” 

Under any other circumstances, if you weren’t so wrecked, you’d make a snotty comment to rile him up; it’s a whole other feeling when he fucks you like a wild animal, but you’ve been so desperate the moment you drove off that you continue to whine and beg him. 

“I’m begging daddy,” you cry. “Please please I wanna cum on your mouth.”

He finally hits your sweet spot, curling and bumping against it until you're very close to screaming and your legs start to shake.

“Oh Maker I’m gonna—“ your entire lower half starts to tremble. When you look back down to meet his eyes, they’re closed and lost in his own pleasure, sucking harshly around your clit and scraping his teeth gently across the hood. 

Din pulls back with a gulp of air before hoarsely saying, “Cum.” 

He dives back in with a vigor and within five strokes of his fingers and tongue, your pussy clenches around his digits like a vice. 

“Yesyesyesyes FUCK!” 

It feels like you’re practically drowning with the man with the gushing feeling pooling from your core. He continues to eat you out, drinks the juices you give him with ease. 

It’s too much. You keep pushing against his head but he growls and latches on to you tighter, sucking and fucking you even harder than before. 

“S-st-stop,” you muster through the onslaught. “D-Din, Beskar!”

He stops at the safeword and with his chin glistening brightly in the dim light, teeth shining behind it like a wolf stalking its prey, you feel another short wave tingle through you; your body is flushed and spent, but you open your arms to him, welcome his just as equally bare body on yours, moan at the sweet taste of yourself on his mouth.

You feel the bulbous head of him at your entrance and with a nod from you, he pushes in in one smooth thrust; with his spit and your orgasm combined, he slides in with liquid ease and a wet, loud slosh of the mixed fluids he pushes through.

He swallows your whimper and settles himself to the brim inside you, the curls of his hair scraping against your pubic mound and his balls sitting comfortably on the base of your ass. 

“I know, baby,” he coos softly. He runs his hand over your breast, twisting the hard, perked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your hips buckle into his, making you both moan and close your eyes. 

“C-can I move?” He grits between his teeth.

“Yes.” You wrap your legs around his waist. 

He pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in without hesitance. The thrust is so hard that it pushes you up the bed. 

“You’re already squeezing the fuck outta me girl,” he pants, holding himself above you. You grip onto his biceps and feel your cunt spasm around him again; you’re still very sensitive from the previous orgasm and it hurts in the best way possible. 

“I ca—“ it’s so hard to think and talk and even breathe with his deliciously thick cock pounding into you with abundance. 

He moans and somehow goes even harder and faster than before, the slaps of his hips against yours so fucking loud that you can’t barely hear the cars outside anymore. 

“Gonna cum again?” He snarls. You nod weakly. “Fuck babygirl this pussy was meant for me, so good to me.”

A bead of sweat falls from his slick body and on your top lip; you wrap your arm around his neck and bring him down to you, licking the sweat off his neck. You bite down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, making him grunt and his cock twitch inside you. 

“Harder,” you gasp in his ear. 

He groans and anchors himself by gripping onto the headboard tightly, slightly stopping the bed from banging against the wall like it has been for the past five minutes—you’ll be surprised if you don’t already receive a noise complaint. 

Your lower stomach tightens again as your orgasm approaches and you can tell he isn’t far behind from you. “I’m gonna cum daddy,” you whimper into the air, head thrown back against the pillow. “C-can I?”

He plows into you like he’s never felt the walls of a pussy before and shifts his hips a little to the left. The reaction is instant. 

“Oh Maker yes, keeping fucking me, right there.” The words are so ragged and broken. 

“Cum all over me,” he demands gruffly, deep from within his chest, staring down at his meal and boasting. He wraps his hand around your neck and squeezes gently at first until you nod, and then more pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head. “Make daddy cum. C’mon pretty girl, sweet, sweet girl, please.” 

The combinations of his cock, hand, and the whimpered please that just left him do you in. You open your mouth but nothing comes out and the only thing you can feel is your cunt spasming around him, sucking him in when he pulls out; your whole self is lost in euphoria, but you can register his hips slamming sloppily into yours and the pitches whines that are tearing from his throat. 

“Oh fuck fuck.”

He’s about to pull out. You’re not on the implant, it’s something you’ve been meaning to take care of, but this time… this time you don’t want him to. You want to feel all of him in this new light, have another part of him within you. 

“No!” You clutch onto his neck as he reaches down in between your legs. He pushes himself up in shock but he takes you with him and now you’re seated fully on him—is it possible to feel this full and sore and complete at the same time?—as he sits back on his heels, staring at you in a mix of confusion and pain. You immediately feel guilty.

“You can—you can cum in me i-if you’re comfortable with it,” you stammer breathlessly, brushing the curls out of his face. 

Din stares at you in complete wonder, panting and holding your waist in a tight grip that’s slightly painful but you know he’s struggling to hold on right now, so you don’t really blame him for it. 

You’re starting to think you went too far. This is intimate; it’s a mark, it’s trust and security.

Suddenly he gives you a few, hard thrusts and he’s choking on a whimper, filling your stuffed pussy; it feels odd, but it feels just as good for you as well, especially when you see the blissed out look on his face, and you can already feel his cum and yours leaking from you and on to the sheets. 

You’re too weak to hold yourself up anymore, so you lay your upper half on the bed while the lower stays connected to his. His hands run up and down your body, soothing the hot, slick skin while he continues to stare at you; those eyes are so intense that it’s hard to return it without feeling like you’re being consumed. 

The only sounds in the room are your breaths. He lays his head down on your pelvis, gripping your hips in the same way the bruises show.

“Can I stay?” He eventually asks. You raise your eyebrows in confusion. “Inside you,” He clarifies, almost nervously. 

You nod, too tired to move or speak, so he adjusts the both of you back to the pillows; he apologizes when you wince or hiss, laying you on your side so that you’re comfortable. 

Din outlines the contours of your face as your eyes close, a barely there touch that tickles you but you make no moves to stop him. 

He mumbles something but you can barely register what he’s saying, lost in the colors behind your eyelids. 

There’s a soft, wet press on the top of your head before you disappear into your dreams. 

***

It’s hard to keep a low profile with the way you two are going, and without the protection of the Guild anymore, the law is after you more than ever.

That doesn’t stop either one of you. 

Nor does it strip the joy of the life you have with him. 

It’s not always easy for the most part, but you still can’t find any particle of regret in you, or in him. It’s like you were meant for this—doing whatever the fuck you want, when you want, with your partner, in so many ways now, standing by you.   

The sun is setting in the seering desert, the lines of a heat wave outlining it beautifully. The hood of your car is down, sunglasses on and Din.

Well Din is riding right next to you on his brand new bike, laughing and smiling with you. The cops are long gone now, lost in the trail of dust you left behind.

The whole chase was exhilarating, to say the least.

A new days version of Bonnie and Clyde. That’s what one of the papers called you. And no doubt, there was someone from the Guild coming after you for the hefty bounty that’s been placed on your heads. 

“Let them come,” Din says now as you sit on the hood of your car, watching the earth settle into the shadows of the night on the side of the desert, barren road. He runs his hand soothingly on your head, scratching the scalp lightly much to your delight; you can fall asleep right here in his arms like this. “We can take them.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But sometimes I just can’t help but feel like… like—” You can’t finish. 

“Look,” he sits up a little. “I don’t regret this. I don’t. I’ve never felt this happy in years and it’s because I’m with you. I’m experiencing this new life with you and that’s all I want. We’re fine, more than fine, and I have no problems reminding you for the rest of my days if that’s what it takes.”

He seems to always know what’s going through your mind and exactly what you need to hear to soothe it. 

“Thank you.”

He gives your ass a squeeze. You snort and settle closer to his side. “I’m sure my parents are horrified right now.”

You don’t know where that suddenly comes from. 

He shifts and you feel him look down at you, but doesn’t push you away. “Do you want to call them?”

It’s a dumb thing to do and he knows that, but you appreciate what he’s trying to do. 

“No,” you sigh. “Can’t.”

“Hey,” he lifts your chin to look at him; the sun makes him look like a God. “You still got me, alright? Until the end.”

You kiss him. You try to pour all the words unspoken into it, all the love that’s filled your mind and body and soul.

He reminds you at the nearest motel around. This time, he takes his time with you, explores with more depth; no rush, no interruptions. 

It’s soft, the way he cradles you gently and rocks into you. It’s caring, when he kisses you languidly and grinds his pelvis against yours, brushing delicately against your clit. Understanding, when he shushes you quietly. Stability, as he’s holding you close to him, your lips not even moving away from the other. 

It’s love. 

It’s love in the way your heart calls to him. The way you feel so safe and secure with him, knowing that no matter what happens, he’s the only person who will ever have your back in this shitty world. 

It’s love by the way you no longer feel like you’re trying to find pieces of yourself. In being with him, you’ve come to realize that you’re whole now; you’re not searching anymore, you’ve found everything you need right here in him—in the Target Practice Din Djarin, Clyde to your Bonnie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. 

And you tell him that, in hushed whispers. “I love you. Fuck I love you so much.”

Your heart bursts when he says it back. “And I love you. More than my own life.”

You giggle, just out of sheer joy and because you can and he joins you in equal pitch and giddiness. 

His thrusts stay slow and languid, a contrast to your usual roughness, but it’s perfect for the way you’re pouring your heart out to him, as he is to you, in ways old and new. 

“I’m yours,” he breathes on your lips as your core flutters around him. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

You won’t. You never will. 

“And I’m yours,” you seal this in a hard clench of your pussy and revel in the way his eyes roll in the back of his head. 

There’s no telling where you begin and he ends. It’s astronomical the way he seems to fit against you, in you, so perfectly, as if you really are a match made in Heaven. Or Hell. Or, you know, wherever you go after this life. 

When he comes inside you, shivering in your arms with his adorably scrunched up face, you vow that, even if they end up catching up to you in the end, you’ll never leave him unless he asks you. You’ll fight through tooth and nail, and you almost want someone to even try it; they’re trying, and they’ll keep trying until they get their prize. 

There’ll never be anyone like him in this entire galaxy. 

And if he goes down, you go down with him. 

Tags: @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @dadzawas-eyebags, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @mrsparknuts​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @bunniotomia​, @thisisthe-way​, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter, @oloreaa​, @equalstrashflavoredtrash​, @dyn-djarin​, @ben-is-a-hoe​, @altarsw​, @pascaliprincess​, @mandalwhoreian​, @roxypeanut​, @lark-cale

[theemptyskies]

Ok I'm posting this first chapter a little late haha. It was for @azulaweek for Day 2 Rare Pairs and Day 4 AU.

It's going to be a Buffy the Vampire Slayer and AtLA crossover.

Hope y'all enjoy! Shout out to @juniperhillpatient for motivating me to give this a shot. You're awesome 🙂

Any feedback is appreciated ❤

Displacement - A New Beginning

Content Warning: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore

Summary

The rise of Vaatu leads to unprecedented darkness falling upon the world. Unexpected events lead to Azula learning to live in an unknown world, preparing for an uncertain future.

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A spell to close the Hellmouth in "The Zeppo" has unexpected consequences. With no way of sending the newcomer home, Buffy, Faith and the Scoobies do their best to help the young girl adapt to her new home.

Or

While facing the possible end of the world, Azula finds herself transported through the newly created hellmouth, ending up in Sunnydale. Watch as she grows and adapts in this new world, learning to overcome the pain of losing loved ones, finding a family, and starting to see this as a new opportunity at life.

Anyone who thought the Fire Nation was evil was a fool. At least they should feel they are, given the darkness that has enveloped the world in the four years since the war has ended. It all began last year when Avatar Roku warned Avatar Aang that there was a risk of a dark spirit breaking free. He called it Vatu. It was the spirit of chaos and darkness, the antithesis to the Avatar spirit. 

The spirit had a sort of cult worshipping it. Avatar Aang tried to stop them himself, not wanting to involve their friends and risk our safety. That was his first mistake. It left Katara and myself woefully unprepared for the cult's ambush. We fought them off as best as we could, but there were far too many. In the end, our cottage was left in ruins, dead waterless foliage caked in our enemy's blood, I was nearly beaten unconscious, and Katara was taken. 

They times the kidnapping perfectly, just a day before their planned ritual to free Vaatu from his imprisonment. Avatar Aang, the foolish child that he is, refused to leave Katara's rescue to Sokka, Toph, and myself. His inability to let go of the infatuation he holds for Katara gave the cult enough time to break Vaatu's bindings. It was then the darkest days came.

Upon its release, Vaatu, with the help of its cult, performed a ritual. Black tendrils erupted from its body, tearing across the skies and burrowing into the earth, its physical dorm dissolving in the process. Agni's light was blocked by shadows stripping bending from Firebenders across the glow. From the five largest points, great beasts emerged. Enormous, otherworldly, monstrosities that the worst of nightmares couldn't compare to. Following their emergence, a diverse horde of smaller, equally horrid, creatures poured from the openings. 

There was no time to prepare. Within hours the largest cities were reduced to unrecognizable ruins. Formerly bustling streets were transformed into rivers of red. Body parts left strewn across the rubble. Images of beast feasting on children still haunt my mind. Even our own friends weren't able to escape the carnage. We managed to find Ty Lee the last of the living Kyoshi Warriors, just as she was impaled on the claws of a bald, gaunt humanoid-looking monster. It managed to rip an arm from her body by the time we closed the distance enough for Katara to decapitate it with a disk of ice. Her last words will forever be seared in my mind.

"I'm happy you're ok 'Zula."

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Over the two weeks, since The Emergence began, Aang was almost non-stop searching for and rescuing survivors. We established a temporary refugee camp at the unoccupied Southern Air Temple. Like an endlessly erupting volcano, the creature continued rising from the pits Vatu created. Isolated locations like the Air Temples and Water Tribes were the only places still safe, for now at least.

Knowing that allowing events to continue unimpeded, Aang turned to the spirits for guidance. The Air Temple's sacred grounds made the transition from the mortal world to the spiritual plane much easier. Sitting in the temple powerless as Katara held me, waiting for Aang to return from the spirit world, listening to the distant roars of monsters below the clouds, I don't think I ever felt so terrified. 

Almost like she could sense my fear, Katara held me tighter, softly kissed the top of my head while gently running her fingers through my now unkempt hair. It's strange how the moment I felt the most fear was followed by one where I felt incredibly safe. As her gentle caresses lulled me to sleep, I heard a whisper from my lover. A hope a clung to until the very end.

"Everything will be ok Zula. We'll make it through this."

Two days later, Aang returned from the spirit world. With the help of Avatar Roku, he had managed to make contact with Rava, the spirit of light and the source of the Avatar's power. With the information she gave us, we were able to come up with a plan. Vaatu's ritual tore open portals that were connected to another dimension. They were directly connected to the five largest beasts that first erupted from them. While the portals themselves couldn't be closed, the pits that housed them would be sealed, finally stopping the endless stream of monsters from pouring into our world. All they had to do was kill the five great beasts.

Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. As Sokka had put it "So all we have to do is take out monsters the size of small palaces? Great! You know, for once, why couldn't the world-saving plan be easy." I rolled my eyes at his remark at the time but didn't make a retort. The small smiles that our friends held were worth dealing with his rather poor sense of humor. Besides, he was family after all, and if he said something too stupid I'm sure Katara would've happily frozen him to the ceiling.

Rava's power, being the opposite of Vaatu's, would lure the massive beasts to Aang, acting as a sort of beacon. The general plan was that Aang would activate the Avatar State, he would kill the beasts near the pits, we would keep the army of smaller monsters away from Aang while he fights the bigger ones, don't die. Said like that, the plan sounded risky but simple. Unfortunately, it was anything but simple.

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There were a few Earthbenders among the rescued survivors that volunteered to help. We knew we couldn't hold back a never-ending army. After talking with Sokka, rapidly formulating and dismissing plans, the best we came up with was having the Earthbenders create a dome over the pit. This would grab the attention of the surrounding creatures. While they focused on not letting the army break through the barrier, the rest of us would protect the Earthbenders until the beast was slain. 

Naturally, it wasn't that simple. Rava failed to mention that as each beast died, only some of Vaatu's energy returned to the pit, sealing it. The rest dispersed to the remaining beasts, making them stronger. The first there battles went relatively smoothly, the growing strength of the beasts was more and more apparent with each successive fight. We experienced a handful of losses but nothing unexpected. Merely some inexperienced volunteers. It was the fourth battle that hit our group the hardest. 

The battle started just like every other, sealing the pit and fighting the surrounding beasts. However, due to the strength of this beast, this fight lasted far longer than the last. With our growing exhaustion, it was only a matter of time before someone made a mistake. As Sokka slew one of them, another managed to catch him off guard from behind. Faster than anyone could react, the hairless humanoid snatched his wolf-tail, yanking him back, and sunk its fangs into the side of his neck. Within seconds his skin lost all color and he was left hanging limp in the thing's arms, his sword slipping from his hands and his vacant eyes forever left wide in horror.

That fight ended soon after, with the Avatar finally defeating the creature. I had to nearly rip Katara away from her fallen brother, the last of her biological family. I held her as she cried during the entire flight back to the Southern Air Temple. Upon our arrival, Aang approached us after climbing off of Appa.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Sokka, Katara." He began. At the sound of his voice, I felt Katara stiffen in my arms. 

"You're sorry..." It was a whisper I barely heard as she pulled away, her face displaying a hatred I didn't know she was capable of. He began to speak again but she cut him off.

"How dare you come to me and say that!" She growled at him. "Like I'm sorry will make it all better! You could've stopped all of this! You could have prevented Vaatu from breaking free and none of this would've happened! Now SOKKA IS DEAD!" A loud slap echoed across the now silent temple as she struck Aang across the face. 

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she continued, tears freely falling from her eyes. "S-s-sokka is d-dead and it's all your fault... Just stay away from me..." Finishing her quiet statement, Katara ran inside the temple, away from the sympathetic stares of the gathered survivors. 

Aang watched her go, holding his own tears back before turning to me. He unfastened the strap holding Sokka's blade across his back. With both hands, he held it out to me. "Will you please give this to her. He would want her to have it."

I accepted the blade and he turned, beginning to walk away. "She didn't mean that you know. Katara's hurt and angry."

I don't know why I felt the need to offer him that small comfort. Maybe it was because Aang had taken the time, despite his exhaustion, to do this for her fiance. Regardless of the reason, he paused, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter Azula. Even if she apologizes, we both know she's right." With that statement, he walked away. Turning, I walked in the direction Katara had run. I knew I wasn't the best at providing comfort, but that's all I could do for her now. I don't remember ever seeing her so broken, and I don't think there's anything I could've said to help.

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Katara squeezing my hand pulled me from my memories. "Are you ok?"

I turned to look at her, seeing the concern reflected in her eyes.  I looked over the edge of the Bison's saddle, noting that the sea was replaced by land below us, before responding "Ya, I'm fine. Was just thinking about everything that happened. What brought us here."

Katara stilled, appearing to look at something that wasn't there. She was probably lost within the same memories I was moments ago. I squeezed her hand softly, wondering for a moment how her hands remained so soft after the countless battles they've been through. She jerked slightly, her eyes regaining focus before giving me a small smile. It was a rare sight in recent months but still as beautiful as the day she proposed.

"Despite everything that's happened, I'm glad you've been here with me Zula."  Katara said softly before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss that left my heart stuttering. It's amazing that, after all this time, she still has the same effect on me. It faintly reminds me of how nervous I was when I admitted out loud to Ty Lee and Zuko that I wanted to marry her. Though the nervousness I felt that day grew to be far greater when she walked around the corner in the palace hallway, clearly having heard what I said. 

I couldn't stop the small smile from forming on my face as the memory washed over me. Leaning my forehead against hers, I recalled her walking up to me, her wide-eyed, surprised, expression shifting to one of pure happiness. 

"Ya know, I've been nervous all week about giving this to you, but suddenly I feel a lot more confident." She had said jokingly, a smirk plastered on her face as she pulled a small rectangle box from her robe. She opened the box, standing barely a foot away, revealing a blue necklace, simple in design. The pendant had the symbol of the Fire Nation in the center. Only, instead of black over a red background, it was ivory over a pale blue. It was simple but perfect. 

"In the Watertribes, we use necklaces to propose. I wasn't so sure before, but something tells me I can guess your answer. Will you marry me?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement as I nodded dumbly, too shocked over what had just happened. It certainly wasn't my most elegant moment. It had taken me a few moments to process what had happened before I launched myself at her, pulling her into a searing kiss which she smiled into. Pulling away from me, with eyes full of joy and a smile lighting up her face, Katara asked "Can I put it on you?"

I nodded again, not trusting my voice. Katara pulled the necklace from its case and walked around me as it looked over at Zuko and Ty Lee both wearing equally large smiles. As soon as it was fastened, Zuko pulled us both into a large hug, quickly followed by Ty Lee, who couldn't contain her excitement. "Oh my gosh Azula! Congratulations! You're getting married! There is so much planning we have to do! The decorations, oh you know there has to be music..."

I looked into Katara's eyes, not pulling away from her, returning the smile. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." I said softly so only she could hear, before closing the distance for another kiss.

We were pulled from our moment by Appa beginning his descent, and Aang jumping off, unfurling his glider and flying away, creating distance for his battle. Looking back towards the rapidly approaching ground of the western Earth Kingdom, I could see the sea of black dots below us start to become more defined, revealing the mass of creatures we'll soon be fighting. Appa landed with a massive gust of wind sending monsters flying, giving us a few moments to disembark and fall into formation.

As soon as Toph landed, she quickly entombed the pit in a think earthen dome, soon backed by two other Earthbenders, preventing the swarm of monsters from continuing to grow. Katara, myself and the other volunteer survivors formed a protective perimeter around them. I quickly unsheathed Sokka's black blade instead of using my dual tanto. Katara handed me the sword before we left the temple, saying Sokka would want to be here fighting with us. Looking at the gleaming dark metal, I knew she was right. 

The luminous light of the Avatar state in the distance, shortly followed by a deafening roar and rumbling earth signified the start of the battle. The monstrosities surrounding us, the same kind that butchered Ty lee, righted themselves before charging. There was a vindictive pleasure in cutting them down, watching their bodies crumble into dust as their heads rolled. The creatures were stronger and faster than normal people, that was unquestionable. However, for a veteran of the 100-year war, their attacks were laughably easy to read and counter.

As the battle drew on, the quakes from Aang's battle with the giant, snake-like beast continued, and exhaustion slowly began to seep in. There was a yell to my left followed by a sickening snap that drew my attention. The limp body of a survivor was held by one of our enemies, head twisted to an unnatural degree. It carelessly threw the body into another ally that was attempting to flank it before running towards the earthbenders.

"Katara!" I yelled, directing her to the monster. She quickly launched a disk of ice, decapitating the beast.

"Fall in!" I yelled, causing our allies to move closer to the earthbenders, closing the gap in our defense.

I risked a glance towards Aang's fight to see the serpent falling from a newly formed mountain, who's shadow covered our battlefield. The end of its tail was coiled around the light of the Avatar State. Not a moment later, a massive quake tore across the Earth, the impact echoing in its wake. Chaotic black and red energy tore through the air, washing over us, blasting through the cover of the pit, and, for the first time in ages, I felt my Firebending return as Agni's light shined once again.

Unlike before, when the energy entered the hole it pulsed. Before I could react, some of the energy solidified, wrapping around my waist, before it began to drag me with it. 

"Azula!" I heard Katara yelled as she raced towards me, skating across her ice. Using it, Katara launched herself off the ramp, rapidly closing the distance between us. Her left hand gripped mine as she used the last of her water to freeze her feet to the ground, stopping the energy from pulling me further.

I smirked at the display. "Very impressive Master Katara." I said causing her to roll her eyes.

"Only you could brush off nearly dying so easily." She said, her light tone trying to hide the strain of fighting the pulling tendril of energy. Her expression softened before she looked me in the eyes and said "I told you we would make it through this remember. I'm not gonna let you make a list out of..." Her words abruptly stopped as warm blood splattered across my face. "Zula... Your face..." Her voice was weak, words barely audible. My mind shut down, a sinking emptiness filled me as I started at the now crimson fist sticking through my fiance's chest. I couldn't help but look into her wide, horrified, blue eyes as the first extracted itself. Her grip on my hand didn't lessen as the bloodied hand gripped her hair, pulling her head to the side.

Gaunt, bald, fanged monsters peered at me from over her shoulder, giving me a sickening, malicious, grin before sinking its teeth into the side of Katara's neck. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, the grip on my hand weakening. The slick blood coating her front caused my hand to slide out of hers within a moment, my grip causing her ring to slide off with it. I watched, unable to speak, as the tendril of energy pulled me into to pit. The last thing I saw being the light leaving Katara's beautiful eyes as it tore its fangs from her throat.

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"For untold eons, demons walked the Earth. They made it their home, their, uh... their hell. But in time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals, for-for man. All that remains of the old ones are vestiges, certain magicks, certain creatures." -- Rupert Giles

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 8: Homesick

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,142

Overall Word Count: 72,547

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (8/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

CRACK

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The morning after was never usually so comfortable for Sylvie.

That was because most of the time… there was no morning after. It didn’t matter how kindly her partner for the evening has treated her, or how clingy they became — whether they knew the Apocalypse was upon them or not. She would never, ever, let herself fall asleep in a strangers bed, or… or couch, or… well, sometimes in an Apocalypse, it’s more of a ‘hook up in this dark alley’ kind of moment, so it wasn’t like she would be getting any sleep there, either. 

It was a new experience for her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure why she had awoken with a smile on her face, given that there isn’t usually anything good happening in her life to warrant its presence. But then her sleep-addled mind registered the sensation of arms securely wrapped around her, of warm, bare skin pressed against her own, and the memories of last night came flooding back: clothes haphazardly tossed to the side, slick mouths sliding together, hands exploring toned muscles that danced under each others touch, fingers tangling into long locks as breathy moans are panted against each other's lips, the feel of sweat covered skin as they moved against one another. 

She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this, how much she had been missing. She had only really known the physical side of sex, because… it is a very physical act. But now she knows how different it is when she’s not letting some random stranger be the one to explore her body, but someone she cares for, and someone she knows cares for her in return. No, not just cares for her, but loves her. 

She still couldn’t quite believe it, even though Loki had repeated the confession a few times at her request. She had never really considered the possibility of love — both loving someone, and having someone love her back. There had been no room for it in her life, living the way that she did, and she could never look past the mission. It hadn’t seemed to matter what became of her life once she took down the TVA; revenge had been all she knew, and all she ever wanted. 

It was strange that now, that want had transitioned from one singular mission to… a person. Actually, when she thought about it… that was greatly oversimplifying things. She wanted more than just Loki, she wanted… a life with him, some sense of normalcy — as normal as normal can be in their life, anyway. Something other than being on the run constantly, or being hunted down, or being the one doing the hunting. 

Even now, living in this small slice of domesticity with Loki, she still struggled to see that future. Not just because she’s never lived that kind of life, but because… she couldn’t see an end to this. It had taken all this time to kill one man, and now… they have to kill endless amounts of that same man?

They still had so much to learn about the Multiverse. Even if she could wrap her head around the number of timelines that now exist, and even if they could kill every version of He Who Remains in those timelines… wouldn’t there always be timelines popping up into existence with every small alteration? From one singular timeline, there had been an eruption of other timelines, to which those timelines bred their own timelines, and so on and so on. Killing every version of He Who Remains — or at least, the bad versions — didn’t seem like a job they could just… wrap up and then carry on with their lives. It wasn’t even a job that seemed achievable in their lifetimes. They would have to pass it on to someone else — which then brought up the question of who they would pass such a burden onto, especially when… when all this was on her. 

Or… or they’d have to find a way to run things from outside the limits of time. Set up shop in the citadel at the end of time, keeping them from aging so they can do this… endlessly. Never growing old, never able to find a moment of peace. It would make these little moments they found within Apocalypses seem like dream vacations in comparison…

“Should I be worried over whatever you’re worrying about?”

Sylvie startles at the sound of Loki’s voice, shuffling around and glancing up to see him peering down at her with groggy eyes.

The clarity slowly comes back into Loki’s eyes as he wakes up. It was surprisingly easy for Sylvie to lose track of her thoughts when his eyes met hers, still able to picture the way they had looked last night:  the blue of his irises all but disappearing as his pupils took over; darkened eyes hungrily taking her in, drinking in every detail and preserving it to memory like he may never get the chance to see her like this again—

“Sylvie?”

“Uh…” Sylvie snaps herself back to the present. “…What makes you think I’m worrying over anything?”

Sylvie feels Loki’s arms shrug around her. “Call it a hunch. Or… call it the fact that you feel so tense, I was wondering if you were about to bolt from the bed.”

Loki’s tone was a joking one, but Sylvie could hear that little tidbit of anxiety hidden in there, too. He genuinely thought that the last part was a possibility, and whilst she knew that wasn’t going to happen, she couldn’t blame Loki for thinking so. 

“Nothing, just… overthinking, as usual.” She gives him a small smile, one that he mirrors back at her. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m… just getting used to the feeling of all this, I suppose.”

Loki chuckles in agreement, glancing around at the cozy wooden and stone walls of the Inn that sheltered them from the elements. The single window situated in the wall to the left of them showed views of the snow-covered forest they had come from, the few snowflakes they could see lazily drifting to the ground in no way an indicator of the deathly snowstorm that was supposed to befall this picturesque little village. 

Sylvie turns herself around in Loki’s arms until they were face to face. “Aren’t we supposed to be out there saving all the universes?” she asks teasingly, playfully nudging her knee against his. 

Loki lets out an odd mixture between a hum and a groan. “We probably should be, yes. Doesn’t mean I want to right this minute, though.”

Loki was much too comfortable right now to do much of anything. He didn’t want this small bubble of peace they were engulfed in to be burst — which it would be. It always is. But if he could just get a few extra minutes of this, then… He’d do whatever good deed the universe… universes —plural — was now apparently expecting of him.

Sylvie apparently agreed with him, seeming in no hurry to escape the comfort of the bed’s plush blankets — or his arms, for that matter. 

“How did you end up being the big spoon?” Sylvie asks him, referring to the sleeping position she had woken up in.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki was getting strangely offended at the challenge to his role in spooning. “I am the taller one; it makes more sense for me to be the big spoon.”

“Hmm… you didn’t exactly have that kind of mentality last night,” Sylvie’s words land exactly the way she intended, grinning at the flush that steadily made its way across Loki’s face. “The man who clamors for control… actually prefers being dominated.”

“When it’s you,” Loki grumbled. 

“Oh? So you’re more… ‘in control’ with other partners?”

“Yes,” Loki asserts, trying to claw back some of his pride. “I usually prefer being the one who dictates the flow of things… leaving my partner at my mercy — and my mercy alone.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Sylvie hums thoughtfully, peering up at Loki through squinted eyes. “So… why did you leave all that to me last night?”

“Because, when I typically take control, I intend for my partner to thoroughly enjoy it,” Loki answers. “With you… I didn’t think you’d like that all that much; losing control, especially when in... in such a vulnerable state. I…”

Loki paused for a moment, frowning in concentration as he tried to find the right words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think we both know that all of your previous partners have been one-time affairs, have they not? With this, I…”

“Were you… worried you wouldn’t compare?” Sylvie asks.

“What? No—” It was kind of that, but it wasn’t the main point Loki was trying to get across. “—No, it’s…” Loki sighed harshly. “Call me sappy if you’d like, but… I guess a part of me was scared you might see this as another one of those one-time things. I… I didn’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, so I just let you take the reins, because… the last thing I wanted to do was scare you off. I wanted to ensure that this, that our first time with each other, would be one to deposit into your good memories. Because, whilst it might be our first time, I was rather quite hoping that it would be the first of many.”

Oh…

Loki’s eyes dropped down and away from her, and just like that, any pretensions of teasing him any further had flown right out the window. Sylvie lifted up her hand from where it rested against the bed, placing it tenderly across his cheek. Her thumb slowly drifted up and down across the sharp edge of his jaw, drawing his line of sight back to hers. 

“First of all? You don’t need to worry about comparing yourself to the others. Not one bit,” Sylvie assures him. “In fact, it doesn’t even compare. None of them do.”

Her words at least seem to be reaching Loki as the truth she intended them to be, the corner of his lips curling up by just the slightest. A part of her wondered if he was playing this as a whole ‘self-conscious lover’ kind of thing so she’d sit here and boost his ego. Then again, she’d probably do the same thing…

“Secondly, I fully intend for this to be a regular occurrence,” Sylvie states like it’s a matter of fact. Loki raises an eyebrow in surprise at the confidence in her voice — but naturally, he doesn’t question it. He’d have to be crazy to question such a thing. “And… okay, so you might have been right—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Loki asks in disbelief, untangling one of his arms to cup his hand around his ear. “My, my… hearing that might just have felt better than—”

Sylvie shut him up with a swift punch to the arm, glaring at his ear-to-ear grin. “Egotistical bastard…”

“Sorry, sorry -- you were saying?”

Sylvie kept up the glare for a good few seconds more before she continued. “I was just going to say… thank you. Letting me… be the one in charge, it… it helped keep me at ease. And I know you wouldn’t do anything to me, but… bad habits die hard, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Loki reassured her, lazily drifting his knuckles across the soft skin of her chin. “Having this… it’s already more than I ever thought I’d have. One step at a time, right? These are big changes; I wouldn’t just expect you to jump between them like it they’re no problem.”

“No -- but I’ll still give it my all.” Sylvie surges up to plant a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away before she lets it lead into a repeat of last night that they, unfortunately, didn’t have time for. 

Ironic, considering they had two devices in their possession capable of transporting them through time and space. 

“But that means you’ve got to start pushing me a little, too. Sometimes I’m going to need some help, someone to nudge me out of my comfort zones, okay? I want to start meeting this other Loki your other partners have had the privilege to meet.”

Loki grins unabashedly at her, raising a hand to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, come on—” Sylvie makes a start to get up, pulling herself out of Loki’s grip. “We should really start getting ready—”

Loki’s arms almost immediately snake back around her, dragging her back towards the warmth of the bed. Loki’s smile was nearly bright enough to match the pure white of the snow-blanketed on the windowsill, placed there not because of his actions, but because of hers. He knew that, if she really didn’t want to be pulled back into the bed, she would have stopped him. The fact that he was able to pull her back into his arms was because she was letting him.

Because she didn’t fancy leaving the bed as much as he didn’t

“Five more minutes?” he offers when she falls back into his chest. He uses his free hand to pull the blankets back around them before she even has a chance to respond to his offer. 

“Fine.” Sylvie sounded annoyed, but Loki could hear the pleased undercurrents to her tone. “Just five more minutes.”

Two hours later, Sylvie was perched on the edge of the bed, finishing up tying the laces on her boots. She watched Loki out of the corner of her eye as he crouched by the fireplace, extinguishing the last few stubborn embers that continued to burn despite most of the fire having burnt out during the night. 

Sylvie shrugged on the fur coat Loki had created for her — and then later discarded to the ground in his haste last night — reaching into its pockets and pulling out the TemPad. She slides it over her hand, squeezing her hand into a fist as she stares down at the TemPad. 

“Would be nice to stay here forever, wouldn’t it?” Loki says wistfully, leaning back from the now-empty fireplace with a bitter-sounding sigh.

Sylvie barely hears him, too preoccupied with running a finger down the singular timeline that glowed up at her. Loki looks over at her silence, standing up from the fireplace and making his way over to her. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, cocking his head at Sylvie as he comes to a stop in front of her. 

“Is it whispering secrets to you that I can’t hear?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward as if trying to listen in closer. 

“Oh, definitely.” Sylvie looks up from the TemPad with a sly smile. “It’s telling me every little dirty secret you’ve been trying to hide from me.”

“Ah… I’m afraid I don’t have any,” Loki counters. “At least, none that I’m aware I’m keeping from you.”

“Well, that’s not ominous…” Sylvie returns her gaze to the TemPad, tapping her finger against its surface. Not to input or choose anything, from what Loki could see. 

“Are you keeping secrets?” Loki jokes… for the most part. 

“None worth telling.”

Now that was ominous, Loki thought. 

Loki takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, sighing softly as he runs a hand across the top of his head to push his hair back and out of the way. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about? Is it… something to do with what you were worrying about earlier?”

“No,” Sylvie answers, and it’s the truth. She wasn’t thinking about that — not right now, anyway. “I was… thinking of doing something selfish.”

A beat of tense silence passes between them. Sylvie glances up to see Loki looking rather concerned, his eyes darting between her and the TemPad she held. It was only natural that he was thinking back to the time she last used the TemPad doing something ‘selfish’, resulting in him tumbling back through a Time-Door and nearly ending up imprisoned and potentially reset. 

“...And… what exactly is that?” Loki finally gathers up the courage to ask. 

“I… I know that we should really get a start on this whole… saving everyone thing…” Sylvie begins, her choice of words getting a hushed snort of laughter from Loki. “But… ever since what Mobius told us, I… I haven’t been able to get them out of my head.”

“Get… who out of your head?”

Sylvie taps at the TemPad, the patterns of squiggly lines atop its surface shifting around until one lone timeline shone up at them. “My family. I know they’re out there now; my past life -- the life I could have lived.”

“You want to see them.” Loki didn’t phrase it as a question. 

“I know I probably shouldn’t. I know it… it won’t do me much good, to see everything I missed out on. But… it’s…”

“It’s home,” Loki uttered softly. 

“Is it selfish?” she asks him, dropping her hand back down to her lap. 

Loki takes in a deep breath through his nose, rocking back slightly. “If it is… I think you’re permitted to be, after everything that’s happened; everything that was taken from you. And besides—” Loki gestures to the TemPad. “—Maybe after we regale them with stories of the terrifying dictator we are courageously facing, we might just sway them into giving us a helping hand. The soldiers of Asgard would certainly be a good acquisition in the coming fight. We’ll need all the help we can get…”

“Kind of sounds like we’re building our own army…” Sylvie notes. 

“I suppose… we are,” Loki realizes. “But… not in the traditional way. There’s a difference, fighting using those under your command, than with… fighting alongside allies.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sylvie says with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “The only other person I’ve had fight by my side is… you.”

“Well... it won’t be long before we have more allies for you to compare.” Loki stands from the bed, nodding his head towards the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand. “And family is as good a place to start as any.”

A grateful smile hitches at the corner of Sylvie’s lips. She looks down to the TemPad, letting her finger hover over it for a moment before she pressed down on her timeline. The lights of the TemPad pulse with her touch, fading away as the Time Door materializes into existence in front of them. 

“Do you… want me to come with you?”

Sylvie whips her head around at his offer, confused as to why it was even a question of whether he was coming with her. She had thought it would be a given by this point. 

“I understand if you’d rather not have me there for something like this. That’s not to say I feel particularly comfortable with the thought of you being quite so far out of reach, but… if that’s something you want, then I can stay here with the other TemPad and meet up with you on a different—”

“Loki?”

Loki stops in his ramblings when she says his name, mouth snapping shut at the part-adoration-part-exasperation on her face. 

“...Yes?”

“Are you always this much of an idiot the morning after, or is this just a rare occurrence?”

Loki shoots her quite the impressive bitch-face. 

“You’re coming with.” Sylvie reinforces this by grabbing hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze as they move towards the shimmering time-door. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Loki splutters urgently, digging his heels into the ground to bring Sylvie to a stop. She does so, looking back at him expectantly. “Just thought I’d check… you did enter a time before the events of Ragnarok, right? Just… you know, to make sure there’s actually a home to go back to…”

* * *

They hadn’t moved an inch since stepping through the Time-Door.

It was quite the juxtaposition: them, stood hidden within the shadows of the forest that sat on the outskirts of the city, whilst the streets of the city itself were bustling with life, crowded with people as they went about their lives. 

It was both overwhelming and not enough at the same time. Neither one of them had said a word, greedily taking in every sight of the place they both once called home. 

The palace stood proud and tall as always, golden and gleaming in the afternoon’s sun, casting an impressive shadow across the city it sat within. Loki wasn’t too sure if it was just nostalgic memories taking effect, but even the bridge itself seemed to be sparkling just that little bit more than what he remembers. 

“Does it live up to your memories?” Loki breaks the silence, somehow finding a way to tear his gaze away to look down to Sylvie. 

“I don’t know yet.” Sylvie’s eyes dance across the sights of the city, repeatedly landing back on the palace. “It… it doesn’t feel like I’m home. If anything, it’s more like… this weird sense of Deja-Vu. It feels familiar, and yet… like it’s the first time I’ve stepped foot in this place. 

“Well… maybe your memory will be jogged as we take a closer look,” Loki offers, gesturing towards the city. “…That is why we’re here, isn’t it? To see home, see our -- your -- family?”

Sylvie nods, unable to hide the nerves that were on full display. Loki steps in front of her, blocking her view of Asgard as he wraps his hands around the top of her arms. “I won't pretend to know how you’re feeling right now. Our memories of home are different; the way we see our home is different. But I know you want to do this.”

“I do,” Sylvie agrees, a glint of determination in her eyes. “I’m just… I never thought I’d get this, you know? Returning home was never something I thought I could do, because… because there wasn’t a home to return to. And now… I don’t know. I guess I’m worried it won't be the way I’m thinking it’ll be.”

“It probably won't be.” Loki surprises Sylvie with his answer — not at all the reassurance she thought she’d hear from him. “Expectations are almost always impossible to reach. But whatever home ends up being for you… surely it’ll be better than never knowing?”

Sylvie’s eyes drift to the small sliver of the palace she can see past Loki. Somewhere in there, is her family. Her mother, her father, her sister… even herself. She can’t walk away from them. She can’t just… leave them again. 

“Okay…” Sylvie modifies her fur coat with a burst of magic, forming a hood that she flips over her head. Loki raises an eyebrow as she hides her face within the shadows of the hood, reminded just a bit too much of the mysterious figure of her that he face to face with back in the RoxxCart. “You should be fine to walk the streets, but I’d rather not risk our people catching sight of two of me if my other self is out there somewhere.”

“Right…” Loki steps back to her side, joining her as they take one last look at the city from this distance. “Do we… do we want to meet the other you?”

“Could be fun,” Sylvie says with the beginnings of a smile. “It’d be interesting to see the type of person I became if… you know — the TVA had never decided to ruin my life.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Sylvie frowns. “Worried about what?”

“Another version of you out there…” Sylvie could hear the smile in his voice before she saw it on his face, knowing right away he’s about to say something stupid as a joke. “Better hope I don’t go and fall in love with her, too…”

Sylvie slowly turns her head to face him, sporting a bitch-face that looked almost identical to Loki's. She steps up in front of him, wiping the joking smile off his face as she grabs hold of the neckline of his coat, tugging his face closer to hers. Loki swallows nervously, eyes flickering from the eerily calm look in hers to her lips oh so close to his. He wasn’t too sure whether she was trying to terrify him, or turn him on. Either way… both were working. 

“I suppose I’d have to get rid of my competition.” Sylvie’s other hand brushes agonizingly slowly up his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake despite the thick clothing he wore. Loki finds himself leaning towards her, eager to close the minuscule gap between their lips. Sylvie jerks her head back before he gets what he wants, forcing him away with a firm push of her hand against his chest and a teasing smile on her face. “Or I suppose I could call you out for the idiot you’re being and leave your dumb-ass behind.”

Sylvie turns around and walks away from him, heading in the direction of the city and leaving a rather stunned-looking Loki behind. Loki stands there watching her retreating form for a moment until coming back to himself, shaking his head as he hurries after her. 

“So, just to be clear—” Loki starts as they approach the beginning of the city, emerging from the cover of the trees. “—Making jokes about myself and the other you are strictly off the table?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you value your jokes over my affection.”

“Consider them off the table,” Loki asserts with a wave of his hand. “In fact, they’re more than just off the table; they’re no longer on this plane of existence, reduced to nothing more than a wisp of a former construct developed from—”

The first impression of the two Loki’s this universe is not entirely familiar with is seen through the eyes of a young Asgardian child, who watched as Sylvie unceremoniously shoved Loki into a stall to shut him up. 

“My deepest apologies, I must have tripped over my own feet.” Sylvie bit back a smirk as she continued walking, waiting for Loki to catch up with her after apologizing to the bewildered-looking owner of the stall. 

“Sorry, that was a tad bit harsh of me.” Sylvie has the decency to apologize to Loki as he reaches her side with a huff. 

“I think I might have landed on a wedge of cheese…” Loki wonders out loud, getting a snort of laughter from Sylvie. “If that man chases us down and demands payment for damages, I’ll pass the bill along to you…”

The people of Asgard were all wrapped up in their personal lives, some making their way through the busy streets as they make their way home, others congregated in small groups that added to the bustling crowds within the center of the city. All around them was the buzz of multiple conversations all occurring at once, muted laughter from their people as they went about their day, all sounds of… life. 

Sylvie had lost count of the number of people who had bumped her shoulder as they passed by each other in the crowded streets, tensing up at every touch as she waited for the inevitable moment they would recognize the Princess of Asgard mingling among the common people. Every time, she would pull her hood just that little more over her head, turning her entire body towards Loki as they walked. 

Yet… no one seemed to notice. She was just another name-less and face-less person to these people, going about her business the same as they were. Loki’s towering presence next to her was comforting, his hand wrapped securely around hers, appearing as just another couple walking the streets of Asgard. 

“They look happy,” Loki points out, referring to the swaths of people they had walked through. “It’s… good. Nice.”

“I’m just glad to see that me not being pruned doesn’t result in the destruction of our home…” Sylvie murmurs quietly, still not wanting to attract too much attention to herself.

Sylvie went to continue forward, only to find herself being pulled to a stop. She glances behind her shoulder, confused to see Loki frozen in place, staring at something to their right. She slowly turns towards the direction he was looking to, immediately laying eyes on what had brought him to a standstill. 

It was… her. Not the actual her, but a statue. Its well-polished bronze surface shone brightly as the sun beat down on it, displaying her in a rather impressive looking set of Asgardian Armor. Her metal figure stood proudly, wielding a familiar-looking sword in her hand that she held pointed to the ground, looking out towards the city and its inhabitants. 

“Huh.” Is all Loki can think to say. “That’s, um… that’s something.”

“I don’t know whether to take this as a good sign, or… a very bad sign.”

“...Bad as in…?”

“As in, this version of me had a similar hunger for ruling that you did.” Sylvie glowers up at the bronze cast version of herself. She shifts her gaze from the statue to the palace, the golden spires now looming over them, having inched closer and closer to home.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Loki says. “We can't be sure of anything until we get in there, and… see exactly who it is that sits on the throne.”

* * *

The Palace was as beautiful as she remembered. 

She would have dreams of walking these halls, albeit from a much shorter height perspective. Everything was as pristine as usual, still clearly well looked after by those that serve her family. Sylvie was only really able to get a few moments to reminisce before yet another patrol of Einherjar would appear, this now being the fourth time she and Loki have had to duck and hide from their watchful eyes. 

“You know, Thor and I did something similar when we snuck out one night.” Loki’s breath tickles the side of her face as he whispers, the two of them hiding behind a marble pillar after waiting for the next set of patrols to pass.

“What for?”

“We were young, and decided that the fading of the sunlight shouldn’t dictate when the fun was to come to an end.”

Sylvie quickly checks to make sure the coast was clear before tugging at Loki’s sleeve to signal for him to move with her. Their footsteps are near-silent as they make their way down the hall, each step careful and deliberate to reduce the amount of noise they make.

“Were you caught?” Sylvie whispers in asking.

“Of course we were caught,” Loki answers. “Two foolish children stood no chance hiding from father's guards. I had only just started learning magic from mother, and to say I wasn’t particularly well-rehearsed in the art of deception and mischief at the time would be an understatement.”

“They realized you had snuck out, then?”

“Realized? They saw us making our escape attempt from a balcony. We weren’t terribly subtle with the way we went about it…”

"I can believe that." Sylvie holds out a hand to stop Loki as they approach a corner. They stand flush against the wall, Loki waiting just behind Sylvie as she cranes her head around the corner, taking a peek at what lies ahead. Or, more in particular, to see just who stood in the way between them and the throne room.

Between her, and..her family.

Or... Her and whatever this other version of herself had become...

"Two guards stationed outside the door," Sylvie whispers over her shoulder to Loki. "We could enchant them, but... I don't see a way we could get close enough to do it before they spot us."

"Hmm... If we can't rely on the element of surprise, then..."

Sylvie glances back over her shoulder, waiting for Loki to finish his sentence. She nearly has a heart attack when, instead of Loki, she comes face to face with one of the Einherjar. Her hand twitches, reaching for her sword, when something in the man's eyes brings her to a stop. There was something... Familiar shining in them. An odd sort of... Glee...

Oh, right, of course... Illusion Casting. What else did she expect from the God of Mischief…?

"Bit of warning next time, Loki," Sylvie grumbles under her breath. 

“I did,” Loki counters. “I said ‘we can’t rely on the element of surprise.’ That was my warning I was about to do something.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes with a barely audible sigh, leaning back around the corner to check on the guards. They were still stood ramrod straight in position, attentive eyes staring dead-ahead, as they usually were. 

“I could pretend to be escorting you, like I did on Lamentis,” Loki suggests. 

“Except the guards would probably be wondering why you’re escorting their Princess,” Sylvie shoots down his idea. “Also, there’s every chance you might be escorting me into the throne room, and in front of… me.”

“Right…” Loki mumbled in defeat. “Um… Illusion Casting requires a little bit more tutoring than a basic crash course, so… unless you suddenly become a master at that, too… we’re running out of options.”

Sylvie sighs from frustration, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip as she thinks. She takes another glance at the still stoic guards, quickly ducking back behind the corner to avoid being spotted. 

“Wait -- I think have a plan!” Loki whispers excitedly, bringing Sylvie’s attention back to him. “You need to punch me in the face.”

Sylvie was sure she hadn’t heard that right. “You… you want me to punch you in the face?”

“Need, not want; big difference between the two.” Loki lets the illusion of the spear in his hand fade away. He grabs Sylvie by the shoulders, maneuvering them around until he was the one standing by the corner, his back to the edge as he places Sylvie directly in front of him. “You need to get me right in the nose -- make me bleed.”

“You still haven’t explained to me what for?”

“To make it believable, of course!” Loki states like that helped explain his plan any further. “You’re going to hit me as hard as you can, and I’m going to be sent flying backward. The guards are going to rush to help me, and that’s when you step in and enchant one of them.”

“And what about the other one? I can’t enchant both at the same time.”

“I’ll enchant him from the ground,” Loki answered with a grin full of confidence. “Then we can just… put them to sleep and store them somewhere for the time being, steal their armor, and waltz right into that throne room.”

“I don’t know…” Sylvie didn’t hold quite the same confidence in Loki’s plan that he did, given that his last few plans have been less than stellar in both execution and their outcomes… 

“You have any better ideas?” Loki asked, and he had her there. “Look, I have complete faith that the both of us could… go rush them and subdue them ourselves. But could we do it quietly enough that no one hears us on the other side of the door? This way, we bring the guards to us, and take care of them before anyone knows what’s going on. It’s perfect!”

“I think ‘feasible’ would be a better word than ‘perfect…’”

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

CRACK

Sylvie’s knuckles land squarely in the center of Loki’s nose, the force of the impact sending Loki crashing into the wall opposite. She winced, both from not meaning to hit him that hard, and because the punch was forceful enough that it had ripped open the skin above her knuckles. Loki’s nose was — as expected — bleeding quite profusely from the hit, made all the worse by the edge of the TemPad on her hand catching him right across the bridge of the nose. 

Loki groaned from where he had crumpled down to the ground, and Sylvie had to remind herself to stick to where she was and keep to the plan than go over and help him. She wasn’t too sure whether he was struggling so much to push himself up because it was all part of the act, or… if she had perhaps gone a bit overboard with her punch. 

Either way, what mattered was that the plan, miraculously, was working. The guards had sprung into action the second they heard the crash of metal from Loki’s fake armor smashing into the wall, their weapons held tightly in their hands as they marched over to him. 

Sylvie waited until their echoing footsteps were upon her before darting out from her hiding spot, grasping onto the closest guard's arm whilst yanking the spear out from his other hand. The man underneath the armor didn’t even get a chance to voice his protests before her magic was flowing into his mind, his face going slack as his eyes pulse with a burst of green light. 

Thankfully, Loki was not concussed from the hit, and still had the mental capacity to carry out his part of the plan. His hand had shot out towards the other guard who had come to his aid, wrapping it around his ankle and hoping more than anything that his first time using enchantment on his own on someone that wasn’t Sylvie would work. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, focusing every little drop of concentration he has towards the task at hand. 

Loki’s eyes pop open in surprise when he feels the man’s foot shift under his hold, greeted by the sight of the guard going slack and collapsing to the ground next to him, landing in a less than graceful heap. Seconds later, the guard is joined by his friend as Sylvie releases her hold on the other guard's arm — although Sylvie does at least do the man a kindness and slowly releases her hold so he drops down gently. 

“Ow…” Loki groans from the ground, letting his hand flop down the ground as he rolls over onto his back. He raises his hand to his nose, wiping away the excess blood that had congealed around his face, wincing as he brushes across the tenderized skin. 

“Gods -- are you okay?” Sylvie hurriedly steps over the unconscious guards, rushing to get to Loki’s side. “I probably shouldn’t have hit you that hard…”

“I said to make me bleed and to hit me as hard as you can…” Loki says, his voice nasally due to the blood blocking his sinuses. “You certainly did as I asked.”

Sylvie grabs hold of one of his arms, helping him get back to his feet. Loki groans as he gets upright, pinching up and down his nose to check for any breakages. 

“In my defense, you were doing everything you could to rile me up,” Sylvie says, gently knocking his hands away to check his injury for herself. Loki lets her examine him, surprised by the gentleness of her hands as they brush across his skin, feather-light and delicate as they pass by the area of his nose where the skin had been broken. “And for the record? That wasn’t me hitting you as hard as I could.”

It probably shouldn’t make her feel proud of herself that Loki looked genuinely afraid of her. And… a little bit awed by her. “It wasn’t?”

“Not even close.”

Loki’s nose had long since stopped bleeding by the time they had stealthily moved the guards to an unused room nearby. Whilst he didn’t need to steal the guard's armor given his abilities to cast Illusions, it was much easier to do so than use up most of his focus on keeping the Illusion up and —more importantly — believable. 

Sylvie finished up the last of her temporary golden armor, securing the helmet over her head and making sure it fits snugly. It was a little loose given that the man she had taken it from was slightly taller than her, but not so much that anyone would question it. She looked over to Loki as he scooped up the guard's weapons and shields, nodding in appreciation as he passes one of each to her.

“Wait—” Sylvie stops him just as they reach the doors to the throne room. Loki looks to her with a questioning frown, to which she gestures to her own face with a twirl of her hand. “You’ve still got blood all over your face.”

“Oh.” It only takes a small wave of magic washing over him for the blood to be wiped clean like chalk off a chalkboard. Sylvie nods her approval when he looks back to her, turning back with a shaky breath to the door that, just beyond it, held the answers to what was supposed to become of her family.

What was supposed to become of her. 

Loki didn’t say a word next to her, which she was infinitely grateful for. He was doing all that she wanted from him, which was… just to be there, standing by her side. He knew how important this was for her. He knew that now, more than ever, she just needed to know he was there for her if she needed him. 

And it was rather terrifying just how much she did need him. 

“Okay…” Sylvie breathes out, steeling herself for whatever is about to come their way. She just about catches sight of a flicker of a proud smile from Loki out of the corner of her eye as she nods to herself, raising a hand up and placing her palm against the intricately engraved golden doors. Loki’s hand joins her seconds later, her eyes trained on the door under her hand whilst his were focused solely on her, waiting for her to make the first move. Sylvie pushes hard against the solid metal, Loki following suit and joining her as they push against the heavy weight of the doors. 

Slowly… the doors open.

Next Chapter - - - >

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Stains and Apologies

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Without breaking eye contact with Fjord, Yasha reaches over her shoulder again and this time pulls Molly out from behind her with a hand fisted in the collar of his coat. His heeled boots leave the scuffed wooden floor as she shakes him, gentle and chastising - dangling from her grip, he looks like nothing more than a naughty kitten. “Molly, you shouldn’t mess with people’s things.”

Molly pouts. “Yash, come on, it was funny!”

“You know what happens when you do that.”

And, just like that, oh so satisfyingly, Molly’s entire demeanor shifts - his eyes spring wide, tail twitching agitatedly to match. “Oh. Oh - no, hey, that’s not-”

Wordcount: 2302

A/N: Shoutout to @ticklishnonsense who’s been absolutely killing me with their switch!Molly content lately, and @eldritchtickles who requested lee!Molly fully half a year ago, i’m so sorry for the delay 🤦‍♀️

Fjord’s not going to kill Molly.

He can appreciate that it looks like he’s going to kill him, the way he’s currently sprinting with one hand brandishing his sword and the other grasping for a purple tail just out of his reach, but he’s not. Really.

He’s just going to Blink onto him, tackle him to the floor, and rub his face into whatever muck’s been sloughed off the bootsoles of the inn’s latest patrons until he apologizes.

Molly ducks through the nearest doorway, coat and horn jewelry flaring in a jangling arc behind him as he pivots. Fjord slams a hand into the already-splintering beam of the frame and skids after him. If he can just get a bead on where his insane roommate is going to be in the next six seconds -

His attempt at foresight is instantly thwarted as he comes up short - literally, his head smacks off a leather bracer as he’s forcibly stopped by someone a good head taller than him. He stumbles back, pulling his sword to his chest in an unfortunately belated attempt not to stab anyone, and looks up.

Yasha looms before him with one arm raised protectively, looking blessedly un-gouged. Her expression as she reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of her own sword almost makes him wish that wasn’t the case. “Are you going to put that away?”

“Put away - oh.” His sword vanishes with a spray of salt. “That was. Ahem. For transportation.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” The lilting voice comes from further in the room, and it only takes a second past that to see the edges of Molly’s coat peeking out from his human shield.

Fjord attempts to scowl at him through Yasha’s chest. “Well, maybe now that we’re both in one place I can ask you what in Dwendal’s name you did that for.”

Molly becomes slightly more visible as Yasha turns to him. “Oh… Molly, what did you do?”

There’s a distinct lack of the guilty silence that Fjord thinks the situation deserves. “I,” Molly says, completely confident, “gave him him a gift-”

Fjord scoffs. “He stole the soap I keep in my pack and replaced it-”

“With better soap-”

Yasha’s gaze has been flicking between the two of them, and Fjord waits until it swings back his way before holding his hands out indignantly. “Is that what you’d call this?”

All three of them stare at his hands. He doesn’t mind the flowery scent - the sea breeze has scoured his nostrils enough that he’s beyond caring what he smells like most days.

The purple streaks staining his hands and forearms are a bit more offensive.

Yasha reaches out slowly to try and scrub some of it off with her thumb. Molly just snickers, waving his own fully purple hand out at Fjord. “To be fair, there’s no way I could have known that would happen.”

Without breaking eye contact with Fjord, Yasha reaches over her shoulder again and this time pulls Molly out from behind her with a hand fisted in the collar of his coat. His heeled boots leave the scuffed wooden floor as she shakes him, gentle and chastising - dangling from her grip, he looks like nothing more than a naughty kitten. “Molly, you shouldn’t mess with people’s things.”

Molly pouts. “Yash, come on, it was funny!”

“You know what happens when you do that.”

And, just like that, oh so satisfyingly, Molly’s entire demeanor shifts - his eyes spring wide, tail twitching agitatedly to match. “Oh. Oh - no, hey, that’s not-”

The tips of his boots press towards the floor in a transparent attempt to get some leverage, but Yasha just huffs and scoops the entirety of his lanky form into her arms. “Here,” she tells Fjord bluntly over his protests, turning to one of the beds, “I’ll show you how we used to punish him at the circus.”

Fjord feels the heat of his anger sour instantly at the prospect of someone being punished on his behalf; it leaves a chalky taste in his mouth not unlike the leftover dust when he’s done filing. He catches Yasha’s eye before she can look back at Molly, holds up his hands. “Hey, let’s just take a minute here - now I’m not thrilled about this, but maybe we’re all a little too tense. We can talk it out like adults - there’s no need for punishment, right, Molly?”

His attempt at placation hits dead silence as Yasha swivels to regard him fully, Molly twisting in her arms to do the same. They stare.

Fjord stupidly wonders if he’s going to get punished now, and then, belatedly, he connects the dots - head on, it’s much easier to see how loose her grip on him is, to intuit the rote familiarity of Molly’s bickering.

He’s still learning what that kind of easy, endlessly warm camaraderie looks like. Hard to do, when he’s never had it before.

He opens his mouth warily, praying that he can turn the bitter invective on his tongue into some kind of apology before it comes out. Luckily, Molly beats him to it with a fit of giddy laughter that has him slumped halfway over Yasha’s bicep.

“What a gentleman! See, Yasha, I can’t help myself - it’s impossible not to mess with him.”

Yasha winces. It’s that more than anything else that has Fjord chuckling along, lowering his hands and shaking his head. “All right, I take it back, do whatever you want with him.”

“Hey!”

Yasha’s forehead unfurrows, and in one smooth movement she drops Molly on the nearest mattress with his tail arcing behind. He starts to get back up, no doubt eager to keep talking, but Yasha just reaches between his horns to grab the back of his neck and gently but firmly shoves him face-first into cotton sheets. “He squirms a lot,” she says, almost apologetically.

“Uh… what?”

“Hold on.” She pulls away the bunched fabric of coat and shirt to expose a strip of purple skin that bares the shallow outline of ribs and the smooth dip of Molly’s back, gently fluttering her fingers over the edge of a tattooed flourish, and instantly her explanation starts to make sense.

“Mmphhh! Hm, heh-” Molly tries to roll onto his exposed side, but that just pushes Yasha’s hand further up his back to tickle along the side of his spine. “Okay, okahahay, I - oh, that’s enough - nahaha!”

“His back is a good spot,” Yasha instructs, and Fjord nods numbly along. Her fingers stray down to Molly’s side, squeezing lightly into the shivering softness just under his ribcage, and no matter how Molly struggles and whines between bursts of snickering there’s not a thing on earth he can do to stop her.

Fjord blinks. There’s this weird swooping sensation in his belly, watching how little ability Molly has to fight back - he can barely even lift his head, though he doesn’t seem to be struggling to breathe. “Are you just going to do that till he apologizes?”

“No. I do this until,” Yasha pauses, lips pulling flat as she considers, “until he gets… floppier. Less bratty,” she enunciates to Molly, and curls her fingers just below the small of his back until a muffled shriek works its way out of the bedsheets his face is buried in. “When that’s done he’ll apologize on his own.”

“Ah,” Fjord nods again. He’s confused as fuck-all, but it’s hard not to smile watching Yasha make mock-contemplative noises that have Molly’s tail twitching anxiously in response against her knees. Judging by the frantic laughter as she makes a claw of her hand and goes after his ribs, he’s right to be worried.

It’s crazy, but oddly charming. Par for the course with their weird little group.

“You can join in if you want,” Yasha tells him. She’s not smiling back at him, but something in her multicolored gaze looks a little softer upon registering his tacit approval. “It’s faster that way.”

Molly currently looks to be trying to burrow straight through the mattress, anchored only by Yasha’s nails hooking under the back of his jaw, and Fjord feels a little bad for him.

Then, glancing down, he catches sight of the purple streaks on his fingers again.

He clears his throat. “Yeah? Any suggestions?”

Yasha shifts slightly to let him closer to the bed. “Get one of his arms and tickle under it. Gently.”

Fjord sets his jaw and goes to tow one of Molly’s arms out from where he’s wrapped it tightly against his belly. Molly, naturally, is unsupportive of his endeavors.

“Nooo - ha! - give that bahahack!” He almost twists free, too, but Yasha tickles his back again and that renders him flailingly incoherent long enough for Fjord to properly pin his forearm to the mattress.

Molly manages to peek out at him, the singular red eye that’s visible glinting with half-shed tears. Yasha’s stopped tickling for the moment to let him catch his breath in frantic heaves of air, but Fjord can see a glimpse of fang in the blissed-out grin he’s still sporting, a happy flush high on cheeks half hidden by hair and curling horns.

“You done?” he asks, just in case.

Molly sniffles in another breath. “Your hands look lovely, dear.”

Fjord raises an eyebrow and pokes him in the armpit, settling in on the floor and resting his chin on the mattress to better meet his gaze. Molly squeaks, eye squeezing shut as his grin jolts wider. “Now that’s uncalled for, isn’t it?”

Molly’s tongue flickers out at him, mocking. “Do what you have to.”

Fjord just pokes him again, wiggling his finger a little this time, and feels Molly’s bicep tense in his hold as a flurry of giggles erupts. He waits patiently for the giggles to calm, for Molly’s arm to twitch again - this time, with impatience. “Oh? What are we doing again?”

His eye cracks open, looking Fjord over, and then springs wide in horror. “Yasha,” he whines, trying and failing to squirm away from Fjord’s amusement.

Yasha sounds pretty amused herself. “Yes, Molly?”

“This isn’t how it works!”

Yasha mulls this over. “I think this is the best it’s ever worked, actually.”

Realizing that he’s going to get no help from that quarter, Molly huffs and makes a heroic attempt to struggle upright under their hands. “Okay, fine, clearly we’re done here - hngh!”

He’s barely gotten his elbow to budge before Fjord is worrying at his armpit with a single fingertip, sending shivers through his entire body that bring him right back down with a frustrated yelp. “Are we?”

It’s terribly hard not to break his faux-clueless tone and laugh. He’s never seen Molly embarrassed before, especially at the threat of not being tickled to death. But here he is, flushed all the way to the back of his neck, the dark purple blush standing out against Yasha’s pale fingers. That alone feels like enough recompense for the whole incident, so he sighs indulgently and lifts his chin to look over at Yasha. “Yeah, alright, let’s get him.”

Yasha takes her hand off Molly’s neck, letting him bolt up the instant before she shoves both hands under his shirt and Fjord starts tickling his armpit in earnest.He faceplants back onto the bed, curling up as best he can. “AH - hahaHA! Nahaha, hah - notthehehere, fuck-” Fjord glances over to see Yasha’s knuckles bulging through the fabric over his shoulder blades and grins, tickling up along the tops of Molly’s deltoids to bump knuckles with her.

Molly laughs and laughs and laughs, occasionally jerking his head up to reveal a dizzingly bright grin, and as his hysterics eventually trail off into helpless wheezing he lies completely limp and more than a little sweaty in tangled sheets. Fjord, shaking out his hands before they can cramp up, contemplates fetching some soap to throw at him. He settles for rolling Molly over and flicking him gently in the forehead.

Molly springs up suddenly, forcing him to step back, and completely ignores him to scrabble for purchase on Yasha’s arms. Fjord watches the both of them tug and rearrange until Molly is curled up half in Yasha’s lap, her making an extremely halfhearted attempt to smooth his mussed hair.

That bitter feeling inches back in, just a little, and he starts to turn for the door on instinct.

Then, eyes still bleary with tears of laughter, Molly looks straight at him. “Well, that was interesting.”

Fjord meets his gaze. “We’ll call it even,” he says, “provided you don’t touch my stuff again. Didn’t we literally just do this with Nott?”

“Even…” Molly muses. “Sure.” His fangs make a sudden reappearance, the crown jewels of a mischievously evil grin. “Until I find out where you’re ticklish, at least.”

Fjord wills himself not to take a step back. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

Molly and Yasha look at him with two completely different expressions that somehow manage to contain the exact same level of smugness. “It’s kind of a cycle,” Yasha admits. “He used to hide behind the tents and jump out at me, and then I’d have to do it all over again.”

The swooping sensation is back in full force, and the only thought that helps him force down a nervous smile is knowing it will expose the nubs of his tusks. “I…” He nods as calmly as he can at Molly. “I’ll be keeping an eye out, then.”

Molly says nothing, just keeps grinning implacably, but the edge of Yasha’s mouth quirks up in a soft smile. “Good.”

Fjord gestures hastily to indicate some kind of goodbye and takes his leave before Molly can start doing any investigating. Crazy, totally weird, but that feeling-

He’s halfway back to his room before he realizes that he never got an apology.

[tiffdawg]

The Light of Stars | Chapter Nine: Curiosity

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

The Light of Stars

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (no y/n)

Word Count: 8.5k

Rating: M | Warnings: Rating change for some snuggling, just to be safe and, if it wasn’t already clear, one (1) touch-starved Mandalorian. But really, hurt/comfort and angsty pining is all we know. Mild language.

Story Summary: In pursuit of the Child’s people, the mysterious Jedi, Din Djarin and his foundling find hope in a woman who shares the kid’s strange powers. Newly partnered with the Mandalorian, you are trained in the ways of the Force, but you’re no Jedi. You’re just trying to find your place in the galaxy.

A/N: So… I always intended for this story to be rated-T through the end to try and match the overall tone/content of star wars... but uh, these two, am I right? I’m just going where the story takes me. Big shout out to  @leo-moon for this stunning edit. Like, I seriously can’t stop looking at it. Thank you so much Leo!! And, as always, thank you so, so so, much for reading. When I say that your comments and kudos and support keeps me going, I really mean it. I love and appreciate you all so much!

Read on AO3

TLOS Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Nine: Curiosity

When you woke the next morning, a soft cooing sound pulling you out of your deep slumber, you found yourself still curled into Mando’s side, his strong arm heavy around your shoulders. Beneath you, he was warm and solid, and you could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest as you rested against him. That steady sound never failed to ground you.

As you drifted into consciousness, you thought about how the normally stoic Mandalorian had surprised you with his forwardness when he asked to hold you. You knew he was capable of being gentle, but aside from his recent tendency to reach for your hand, that tenderness had never been directed at you in such a way. To share a bed, to hold someone through the long, dark night, felt like a sacred act. Intimate in its innocence. Other’s had warmed your bed – or rather your temporary bunks at various Rebel bases back when you’d scorned the way of the Jedi – but spending the night with a Mandalorian, especially that Mandalorian, was something else entirely. And it crossed some unspoken line between friendship and something you shouldn’t have dared to associate with the man next to you.

Although you knew reading into his actions would only make things worse for you, you couldn’t tame the spark of hope it ignited. He’d become your closest friend and confident, but you wondered if he didn’t feel something toward you. And so, the rational part of your brain couldn’t stop your heart from saying yes to him, to inviting him into your bed. You wanted to be close to Mando, always, but never more so than after you opened up to him about your vision. He’d been so kind and understanding. His empathy had poured through the cold armored exterior and washed over you, and you wanted to wade in that feeling for as long as possible. A selfish, foolish part of you just wanted him to hold you and never let go.

Knowing that moment was a gift, something stolen that wouldn’t last, you tried to commit to memory the feel of his body against yours while you had the chance.

At the sound of a happy trill, your eyes fluttered open slowly. The Child, now wide awake, sat upright on Mando’s chest, gurgling happily with a toothy grin every time Mando tickled him, poking playfully at the baby’s belly. You felt Mando’s short, breathy, modulated laughs beneath you rather than hearing them aloud. His affection for his foundling was endlessly endearing. You watched their little game quietly, loath to disrupt their fun.  

You realized Mando must’ve moved at some point because the lights were on the lowest setting and a quick glance upwards showed you that while he was still missing the rest of his armor, his helmet had been replaced. The only thing that mattered was that he’d returned to you. Unlike last time when he’d slipped his hand out of your grasp and left you, he’d come back. And this was so much better. For whatever reason, he wanted to lie with you and hold you close for as long as possible. The pleasant feeling that realization sent through your system warmed your cheeks and pulled a lazy smile across your lips.

When the baby finally caught his hand, grabbing onto his index finger with six claws, he held it tightly as he looked up at his father with shining eyes full of adoration. 

“Your son loves you,” you said, quietly voicing the thought as it passed through your mind. Mando’s visor tilted towards you, only just noticing that you were awake. He made an uncertain noise and turned his attention back to the little one. His body suddenly felt tense beneath yours. You repositioned yourself so that you could look at him properly, holding yourself up with a bent elbow. “You must believe that, don’t you?” you inquired pointedly.

The vocoder emitted a soft crackling sound, nothing more than static, and you imagined he was struggling to find the right words. It was one of those moments when language seemed to fail him. Before he could form some sort of response, the baby drew both of your gazes away from each other as he attempted to scale down the side of the bed, unwittingly relieving the tension that had settled between you. Mando pried him off the bunk, parting from you as he sat up to set the Child on the floor.

The kid waddled to the pile of new playthings he’d collected in the short time at the base, and Mando shook his head at the sight. “We’ve only been here two days,” he muttered.

“He’s quite popular,” you quipped.

“Raising a foundling is communal,” he informed you. “But they’re going to spoil him at this rate.”

“I’d say he deserves it,” you responded, laughing softly as the baby tossed around a geometric puzzle toy one of the older children passed on to him. He’d successfully solved it once, but, apparently, he was over that. Mando nodded his agreement before looking back to you, watching you quietly as he was prone to do. You knew you must’ve been quite the sight first thing in the morning, even if you’d had your best night’s sleep in years.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

You hummed a little as you considered his question. “Not yet, which is quite surprising for me.” He huffed at that but said nothing else. Just when you thought he was going to move to get up for the day, he reclined once more. At the low groaning sound he made as he settled, you instinctively soothed a hand over his side. “How’s your injury healing?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted as he shifted stiffly, seeking a more comfortable position, “Some aches are just age. But I’d feel better if– If you’d come here.”

Failing to fight the grin breaking out across your face, you returned to your place next to him. “Is that better?” you asked playfully. His only answer was the slightest squeeze of your shoulders. The two of you watched the baby play, moving from one toy to the next in rapid succession.

“You said he healed a mortal injury once,” you started, thinking out loud as you idly ran your hand over Mando’s injured side, “Is that why you pushed us away the other day?” 

“Yes,” he answered, “He was weak after. I couldn’t let him do that again.”

“Wow,” you said excitedly. You propped yourself up so that you could look at him again. “Theoretically, I thought that might be possible, but I never knew of anyone who did it. That’s absolutely fascinating.” Your ramblings trailed off, as you lost yourself in your own mind for a moment, recalling some old text that you’d read years ago. “He’s such an impressive kid. And he really would do anything for you.” 

“It wasn’t me he healed. It was an associate of mine.”

“Associate? Do you mean friend, Mando?”

“Maybe now. He wasn’t at the time.” He paused for a breath, visor trained on the baby. “I didn’t have friends until recently.” 

“I would have never guessed,” you teased lightly. The helmet rolled sideways to catch your gaze. You could read his annoyance in that once simple movement, and you had to stifle a laugh. “All I mean to say is that you have a lot of armor protecting you. More than the Beskar,” you explained. “Personally, I really like the man underneath.”

He placed a hand over yours where it rested on his stomach and the two of you fell into another long silence at your words. But even as he was perfectly still, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest, you felt his eyes watching you, roaming your face. “You see me,” he said softly, a hint of something akin to disbelief in his voice, “More than anyone.”

If he was anyone else, you would’ve kissed him then. It wasn’t the first time you were overwhelmed with that exact desire. Instead, you brought his hand to your lips, hoping the chaste brush of your mouth against his skin would mean something to him. His hand gripped yours impossibly tighter, flinching at your touch.

“I’m sorry–” 

“Stop apologizing for that,” he said, his voice resounding from deep in his chest, “It’s not you.” He left your grasp only to place his hand against your cheek, letting the pad of his thumb tentatively trace the curve of your mouth, lightly kissing your lips.

“Are there any other exceptions?” you asked, remembering your conversation from the night before. “Besides your foundling?” Mando’s hand fell away from your face, but before you could mourn the loss of his touch, he twined his fingers with yours, squeezing slightly. 

“Are you trying to find a loophole, cyar’ika?” There was something light about his tone, but you still felt like you were asking something you didn’t have the right to ask.

“No,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I just­–” Unable to look him in the visor, your eyes flicked across his chest, from one shoulder to the other. “I wonder sometimes, that’s all.”

“You’re not missing much.”

His comment drew your gaze back to his helmet and you narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t believe that for a second, Mando. I don’t have to see you without your helmet to know that you’re beautiful.” 

Mando was quiet for a drawn-out moment, practically motionless. You fidgeted under his stare, chewing on your bottom lip as you started to regret the words that had slipped out without your permission. You believed every word you said, but it was not something you’d intended to voice.

“My wife,” he answered finally, “If she swore the creed.” 

“Your wife will be a Mandalorian,” you stated, thinking more out loud to yourself than asking a question. The exception made sense – of course his family should be able to see him – but it still stung in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said quickly, his grip on you tightening, “I won’t marry.” You weren’t sure why, but it sounded strangely like a promise. 

“I meant what I said before. You are loved. By your son, by–” You caught yourself, knowing you’d already said more than you should’ve. “You deserve to be loved, always. You deserve to be happy, Mando. I– I want that for you.”

His helmet was as expressionless as ever as he regarded you. You weren’t sure where the need to make him believe you stemmed from, but, in that moment, it felt like the most important thing in the galaxy. If you were going to leave him in a few short days, the least you could do was ensure that he would have a fulfilling life. You couldn’t look into his future, but you wanted whatever would make him happy. That mattered to you more than it probably should have. 

When he finally spoke, it nearly broke what was left of your heart.

“I want that for you, too,” he said softly. 

You felt your chest hollow as you lost your breath. You already knew that sort of happiness would escape you. No matter how much you wanted that life with him. Once again, it had been so easy for your playful banter to evolve into a more meaningful exchange – something that you couldn’t afford to indulge in. Needing to put some distance between the two of you, you sat up and tucked your legs under you, shifting away as you tried to remember how to breathe. “We should, um, get up. And start work on the ship so we can get to Lah’mu as quickly as possible,” you suggested, not truly meaning a word of it. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, swinging his legs off the bed as he righted himself. Just before he made to stand, he looked back at you as if he wanted to say something. Apparently, he thought better of it, and the rare, slow morning in bed came to an end.

 . 

Deciding the best course of action would be to enjoy the last of your time with Mando and the Child, you pushed your heartbreak aside. With the morning’s conversation out of your mind, you spent half of the day with them both in the bunker’s large underground docking bay watching him work on the Razor Crest, helping where you could despite his insistence that you weren’t needed and could relax. Admittedly, you really didn’t know much about fixing starships.

Still, you sighed dramatically at Mando as he discussed how to maneuver a particularly heavy engine part up to the left wing with two other Mandalorians. Normally you weren’t so cavalier about using the Force around strangers, but you’d shared more of your skill with others in the past couple days at the base than you had with practically anyone else in your entire life. You’d always kept yourself a secret, but the Mandalorians knew who you were, and you felt safe with them. So, without even thinking about it, you silenced their conversation by using the Force to lift the massive engine for them with minimal effort.

“Show off,” Mando muttered as he walked by you.

“Learn to ask for help, Mando,” you retorted.

Later, you were playing with the kid, both of you having tired of the work going on around you, when Mando called down to you.

“Jetii!” he teased. It never held the same reverence as when the others said it. “Help me out and pass the carbon chisel,” he requested, waving a gloved hand at you. 

With a retort on the tip of your tongue, you smirked up at him where he stood on the ship’s wing. However, the Child beat you to it. He speedily floated the exact tool Mando needed up to him. Only, he put a little too much force into it and the heavy metal chisel flew through the air, hitting Mando square in the helmet and knocking him back a few steps.

You gasped, watching with wide eyes as Mando staggered on the edge of the wing, but quickly righted him with a wave of your hand. When you were certain that he was safe, unbridled, slightly hysterical laughter burst from within you and you fell into a fit of giggles at the close call. As did everyone else in the hanger. Even the baby found his father’s near-fall funny. Mando stared down at the two of you unamused. You couldn’t stop laughing and the sight of him with his hands on his hips only made it worse.

When you finally wiped the tears from your eyes, you noticed the slight shake of his shoulders. He was laughing too. You imagined him smiling again, and your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought.

When the docking bay’s mirth finally subsided, you scooped the kid up, deciding he needed to expel some of his energy playing with the other children rather than causing undue bodily harm to his own father. 

… . …

If Din thought traveling with you and the kid was making him soft, it was nothing compared to seeing the two of you among his tribe. He was still amazed at the way his people accepted the both of you. He was even more impressed at your ease around the Mandalorians. Though he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him – not only had you been shockingly respectful of his culture since the day he met you, but you seemed to make friends everywhere you went. 

Sometime after midday, he’d snuck away from the Crest in search of something to eat and instead found you at the center of attention in the main hall. A couple dozen younglings, including his own little foundling, surrounded you. That accounted for almost every child between the different tribes. Nearly as many adults listened to you speak from further away. Everyone seemed to hang on your every word as you told the children a story from your Rebellion days. It appeared he walked in at the end of your tale.

“And then the Imperial Star Destroyer exploded!” you announced dramatically with a sweeping wave of your hands. A chorus of excited exclamations rang out around you. And then question after question was thrown your way.

“How did you escape?”

“What did the Imps do next?”

“Which explosives did the Rebels prefer?”

Strategy and weapons appeared to be their biggest concerns. They were Mandalorian children, after all. And you answered each question with ease and a smile, encouraging their curiosities. 

Din realized then that one day that would be your life. You’d seen yourself training young Jedi in your vision and he imagined it would look much like the scene before him. And you would excel at it. Of that he had no doubt. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to be happy about it. He remembered what you said about that future. I was sad. I could see it in myself. Even surrounded by all those students, I was alone. He could still hear the shake in your voice as you held back your tears. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to want that future for you. 

Of course, if he was being honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of either possible future.

He returned to the docking bay having forgotten why he left his work in the first place.

. 

Hours later, as Din made his way through the underground maze of corridors, that scene of you surrounded by the children replayed in his mind. He despised everything about the situation you found yourself. Hated how impossible it proved to ignore his feelings for you. Couldn’t believe that it made him a sentimental, pensive man, completely lost in his thoughts when there were pressing matters to attend to. 

And yet, he continued to struggle to reconcile your future, one that appeared to be perfect for you, with the knowledge that you were also destined to be alone. As was he. But as much as he wanted to be with you, he knew the two of you couldn’t stay together. You had a path you were determined to follow, and he couldn’t ask you to give up your code. Not to be with a man you could never truly know. You would never expect him to abandon his creed. He couldn’t give you something like what you say in your second vision – no matter how appealing – without breaking his oath.

It was a problem with no solution. 

But he had an idea. A simple, indulgent idea that wouldn’t fix a damn thing but might offer you the smallest hint of comfort over the years. And if that was all he could do for you, then he would. 

When he heard the familiar sound of fires of a forge and tools shaping steel, he realized he’d reached his destination. He moved into the armory quietly, but his alor noticed him even with her back turned. Nothing ever escaped her.

“I expected you would come around,” she intoned as she inspected her current project. It looked to be a pair of durasteel cuisses. She held both pieces in front of her visor, turning them in sync as she compared the two. “I must say, your Jedi proved impressive.”

“Vizsla deserved it,” he retorted.

“That is probably true. He usually does. But it is not what I spoke of.” Dissatisfied with her work, she returned to her anvil and continued shaping one of the pieces, molding it with each solid strike of her hammer. He waited patiently for her to continue, knowing she would only speak again in her own time. When she finished her task, setting her tools and the matching thigh plates on her worktop, she finally turned to him. “She has the spirit of a warrior, but the temperament of a leader.” 

“Yes, she does,” he agreed. Something akin to pride swelled within him.

“And she is an excellent teacher. Everyone is taken with her. Especially the younglings,” she assessed correctly. Din offered a curt nod of agreement. “As are you,” she stated simply, looking at him for some sort of an answer. He couldn’t offer her one. Couldn’t even try to deny it. “You want something, Din Djarin. What is it?”

Din would never understand how the armorer, for all of her skill and wisdom, always seemed to know everything. He demagnetized his cuirass, setting it gently on her worktop. “I have a request.”

“The nexu scratch?” she asked, running a gloved finger over it, “That should come out easily enough. You could’ve done it yourself.” 

“No,” he corrected quickly, “No, I’d like to leave that.”

“The mark of a battle won.” 

“Yes.” The mark of a battle won together, he thought to himself. 

“Something else then?” his alor prompted. 

He swallowed hard, summoning up more courage than should’ve been necessary to ask for something so simple. “Yes.” 

… . …

 It was late in the day, well past the evening meal. That night it was a deliciously spicy stew that nearly had you in tears. However, there was something about their predilection for spicy flavors that seemed to fit the Mandalorians, and it only further endeared you to their culture. They were a unique people, but you found that you enjoyed them immensely. They were warriors with unmatched spirit. Although you could feel the palpable mark of generations worth of loss – something that weighed heavy on them all – they carried on with a fierce resolution that you admired. 

At that hour, the base was quiet as most had turned in long ago, but a few of your shadows had returned to you. Four little girls, all probably no older than eleven, had knocked on the door to your quarters, politely asking for you and the Child. Even as tired as you were, you didn’t have it in your heart to deny them. 

Which was how you ended up back in the main hall, now strangely peaceful as the usual crowd had disappeared into their quarters for the evening save for a few stragglers continuing their work and, as always, several more who remained on guard.

One of the girls, Syana, sat next to you, closely inspecting your hand and asking question after questions as to how you were able to channel the Force. She was definitely the oldest of the bunch, and relentlessly inquisitive. It was something you noticed the first day you met the young girl and you admired her for it. Two of the others, Mai-Sen and Ename, sisters only in that they were found together, played with the baby. They’d made up a game just for him, but, despite their best efforts to explain it, you still didn’t quite understand the rules. But they seemed to enjoy it and the kid was more than entertained.

Perched on your knee was the smallest and youngest of the group by several inches and a few years. She was a soft-spoken girl with a mauve-colored helm. Unlike the others, she was from Mando’s tribe and did not give her name. She had taken to exploring your features, caressing your face with her slender fingers. At first, her actions had confused you, but you reasoned that she was probably unused to seeing someone bare their face, and so you didn’t try to stop her. Even the four girls, as young as they were, each wore a traditional helmet. You couldn’t help but think they seemed too young for something like that. Of course, you realized, silently chastising yourself, you’d started your own training around the same age. That was hardly different.

The pad of her finger traced a circle following the arc of your brow and the bone of your cheek and she whispered to you. “Mesh’la,” she said softly. 

“What?” you asked, perking up at the word. You’d heard it once before. The day you showed Mando your lightsaber. “What does that mean?”

“Beautiful,” she explained. 

“Oh,” you gasped, your mind spinning at the translation. Of course, he’d probably been talking about the saber. He had to have been. He was a Mandalorian; his weapons were practically part of him. Still, you dared to ask your next question despite your better judgement. “What does cyar’ika mean?”

All four little girls giggled at you.

“You’re saying it wrong!” Ename called to you from where she sat with the baby.

“It’s not sah-ree-kah,” Mai explained cheekily, “It’s shar-ee-kah.”

“Of course. Forgive me,” you said hastily, “But what does it mean?”

“Sweetheart,” the littlest one said quietly. It felt like a punch to the gut, like all the air had been forced from your lungs and you couldn’t draw in a breath. 

“No, it means beloved,” Ename corrected. 

“That’s the same thing,” Syana placated. 

The girls’ bickering fell away as you processed the meaning of the diminutive. Some part of you suspected Mando used his new name for you purposely, but you hadn’t imagined it could mean something like that.

Ename shook your shoulder, drawing you from deep within your own mind, and practically scolded you. “Mando’a is a special language. You’re only supposed to use words like those if you really mean them. That’s what my mother taught me.”

“That’s what my buir said too,” Syana agreed, looking up at you from her place next to you. Somehow that only made things worse. You finally realized why he was so hesitant to translate Mando’a for you. Because that one word meant that he felt something for you, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Who knew what else Mando and the others had been saying?

“Kayden called me mesh’la once,” Mai informed the group from where she sat with the kid. That was promptly followed by a few disgusted noises. You’d met Kayden; he was a rather typical boy for their age. It was enough to make you laugh even as your heart was crumbling in your chest and your stomach twisted itself into knots. 

“Jetii, Jetii,” the little one in your lap said, tugging on the collar of your tunic, “Does Beroya call you that?”

“Beroya?”

“You really need to learn Mando’a if you’re going to stay with us!” Ename demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“The bounty hunter!” Syana explained, “Does he call you cyar’ika?” 

Your crowd fell silent as they anxiously awaited your answer. Four T-shaped visors and a pair of large, dark eyes stared at you. You forced the word out. “Yes.” 

Their excited, modulated gasps resounded throughout the hall.

 . 

After setting the Child gently on your bunk, you all but collapsed onto the bed next to him. A long-withheld, frustrated groan tore from your lips, muffled by your pillow.

The idea of Mando not returning your affections had been comforting. Even as his actions suggested otherwise, you clung to it to ease your own pain. While you weren’t normally one to take the advice of children on matters of the heart, according to them, the bounty hunter was in love with you. They’d stressed that fact. Repeatedly. And, much to your dismay, you were inclined to believe them. 

He called you cyar’ika. On several occasions. Once, for the very first time, as he consoled you after your visit to the temple. Another time after he’d narrowly escaped death. When he held you in that very bed. And then half a dozen times more. Each moment was seared into your memory. 

If it was as special a word as the girls said it was, you knew he wouldn’t use it if he didn’t feel something toward you. Not when he was as dedicated to his people and culture as he was. Mando always acted and spoke with purpose; he never did anything lightly. Which meant your fondness for him, the love you were trying so desperately to quell, was reciprocated. 

And it made sense. Why else would he hold you at night? Share his secrets and memories with you? Wipe the tears from your eyes? You’d done everything you could to ignore the signs, but that was a hopeless endeavor. 

A tiny hand resting against your shoulder drew you from your thoughts, and you turned your head to see the baby looking at you with a worried expression, his pointed ears turned downwards. 

“I’m so sorry, little one,” you sat up and held him in your arms, “You don’t need to worry about me like you do. I’m just– I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Being dramatic, perhaps?”

He made a cooing noise you took as his agreement. “You think so too?” you asked, tweaking his nose. His ears perked up and you smiled at him.

“How about we meditate together for a bit? That usually puts you right to sleep when it's late.” And it typically helped you when you felt overwhelmed. At the moment, it felt like your entire universe was collapsing in on itself like a black hole. You set the Child in front of you and let your eyes fall shut as you tried to center yourself. A few minutes later, you heard a soft snoring sound, and when you opened your eyes just enough to peak at him, you found him fast asleep against your pillow. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered to yourself. 

You returned to your practice, focusing on steadying your breathing and uncoiling the tension in your shoulders. As you cleared your mind, reaching out toward the Force that surrounded you, you felt a familiar pull. Something you’d only felt once on Nar Shaddaa.

Curious, you moved towards one of the unused bunks where your belongings sat in a cluttered heap. Whatever was calling you, was inside your own satchel. You dug around for a moment before pulling out the old, broken datacron. It looked the same as the day you’d bought it, except for the unnerving fact that it glowed bright blue.

Acting on pure instinct and the slightest bit of hope, you placed the cube in the center of the room and knelt before it. You resumed your meditation, focusing intently on the object before you, seeking out it’s unique signature through the Force. Your eyes shot open at the faint clicking sound of the cube’s corners turning. The soft blue light of a holo filled the room.

It wasn’t a piece of junk after all.

… . …

“Mando!”

You skidded to a halt in front of him, nearly crashing into him as he exited the armory. Din placed a hand on either of your shoulders in an attempt to steady you as you caught your breath. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“What’s wrong? Where’s the kid?” he inquired.

“He’s fine! Everything’s fine. But you’re never going to believe–” You stopped short, head tilting adorably to the side as you looked over him. Or at least he found it adorable until he realized what you were looking at. “Why do you look crooked?” 

You were probably the only person in the whole kriffing galaxy that would notice something so small. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said hoarsely.

“Your chestplate doesn’t look right” you reached out as if to adjust it, “You always look perfect.”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, Jedi,” Din deflected, ignoring the hint of a compliment. 

“Very funny, Mandalorian,” you teased even as your eyes lingered on his cuirass. “Which reminds me – come on!” You grabbed his hand and sped down the long hallway toward the barracks.

 . 

“Do you remember that old datacron I picked up on Nar Shaddaa?” you asked as you pulled him into the bunkroom. There was a nervous excitement about you he hadn’t seen before.

“Sure,” he answered, glancing between you and the baby sleeping on your bunk. The kid didn’t seem to mind the sudden intrusion.

“Well, it’s not just some datacron,” you started, producing the object from your bag, now glowing bright blue in your hands. “This is a Jedi holocron,” you announced with a bright expression. “It’s probably from the old temple on Coruscant! That’s where the archives used to be, until the Empire destroyed every holocron they could get their hands on.”

“What was this doing in a junk shop on Nar Shaddaa?”

“I can only imagine. But these are extremely rare,” you said, gently placing the holocron in his hand. He inspected the Jedi artifact, tracing the golden edges with a gloved finger. “I haven’t even told you the best part yet,” you added, failing to repress your smile.

“What’s the best part?” he asked, playing along.

“This holocron–” the grin you’d been fighting broke out across your face, “–Is dedicated to the Jedi’s history with the Mandalorians.”

“Really?” Din questioned, not bothering to hide the excitement in his voice. He couldn’t believe that this palm-sized device, something he’d initially dismissed when you’d showed it to him, might hold answers to his questions about the Jedi. “Have you read any of it?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for my favorite Mandalorian,” you said coyly, a bright glint in your eyes.

“I’m here now,” he teased, “Open it.”

. 

A few hours later, the two of you were still sitting on the floor of your shared room, backs against the bunk where the baby slept, sorting through the hundreds of files stored on the holocron. With each new piece of history revealed to you, your excitement had faded until you were slumped against the bunk, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Our people have fought each other across the galaxy for millennia,” you concluded, “And they absolutely, unequivocally hate each other.”

“You might be right,” Din conceded reluctantly. His alor had once called the Jedi enemy sorcerers. But the extent to which that was true had surprised even him.

“I mean look at this,” you continued, ignoring his agreement. With a wave of your hand you recalled the files on the Mandalorian-Jedi War you’d read over earlier. “The Jedi destroyed your people’s homeworld. Mandalore is basically uninhabitable because of what they did. And, if that’s not bad enough, because of that war, everything that you wear is specifically made to combat the Jedi. The Beskar, the jetpack, your weapons, your vambraces, your helmet…” you trailed off as your eyes scanned over each piece of his armor, “It was all created to protect you from someone like me.”

He would’ve liked to refute you, but you were right. According to everything the two of you had read so far, the Jedi and Mandalorians were enemies even at the best of times. Learning that the Jedi were responsible for the destruction of Mandalore was a particularly brutal blow. As was discovering that the very beskar’gam he wore was designed to compensate for and overcome the abilities of a Jedi. Your abilities. It was clearly detailed right there in the text with accompanying schematics. Apparently, that fact upset you as much as it unsettled him.

And yet you were still the first person to get past his armor. And you hadn’t even needed your powers to do so.

“How does everyone here not hate me?” you sighed, as lost in your own thoughts as he was in his, “How do you not hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” he stated, “And I doubt most people here know about half of this stuff. Hell, I didn’t know about the Jedi or the Force until I met the kid. There’s– There’s got to be something good in here.”

You banished the file with a flick of your wrist and brought up a new piece of history. You repeated the action several times, switching between documents when you came across something that frustrated you. “Would you like to read about the best ways for a Jedi to strike down a Mandalorian in close combat?” you muttered as you disappeared that file as well, “Or maybe about the Jedi’s proposal to banish Mandalorians to Wild Space a few hundred years ago? I’m sure that’s a lovely read. 

He had to admit that none of that sounded particularly helpful. When Din said nothing, you continued your rapid-fire scan of the holofiles. Just as he was about to give up hope, you gasped and sat straight up.

“Look!” you said excitedly, “There was a Mandalorian inducted into the Jedi Order. That means they didn’t always hate each other. Although,” you added, your face falling as you read more, “That was a thousand years ago.”

“It’s something,” he quipped. A small smile broke the sad expression that had marred your features only a moment ago. “Tell me more.”

“Well, it looks like Tarre Vizsla joined the Order,” you said as you quickly scanned the text. Din rolled his eyes behind his visor. Of course, it was a Vizsla. “He later broke away from the Jedi and became the Mand’alor.”

You turned to him and he answered your question before you could ask it. “The sole ruler of the Mandalorians.” 

“Oh, interesting. You had a Jedi ruling your people at one point, Mando” you said, elbowing him playfully in the soft padding covering his side. 

“Former Jedi,” Din corrected, earning an exasperated look from you. “Keep reading. Please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you retorted before returning to the holo. “As the first Mandalorian Jedi, Tarre Vizsla crafted a unique weapon called the darksaber. It says here that after his death the Jedi kept the blade until Clan Vizsla stole it from the Temple.” You scoffed at that. “Why do I get the sense that it was really the other way around? Either way, it became an important unifying symbol for all Mandalorians. That’s absolutely fascinating.”

Before he could say anything, the holo shifted and the text was replaced by an image of a lightsaber not unlike your own save for the angular black blade. When you were quiet for a beat too long, Din glanced over and found you staring at the image with wide, unblinking eyes, your former excitement replaced with something that looked more like fear.

“Cyar’ika?” he prompted, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve seen this…” The light in your eyes dimmed as you stared off in the distance past the holo, looking at something Din couldn’t see. 

“In your vision,” he finished for you.

“Yes.”

While he was afraid that he would be right again, he ventured another guess anyway. “The second one?”

“The man I was fighting wielded this exact weapon.” 

He looked at the lightsaber again. “A Mandalorian?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look at him, but it was definitely this saber. There must only be one like it.” You turned to look at him, concern written all over your face. “But what does that mean?” 

“I– I don’t know,” he offered lamely, frustrated at himself for not having anything more to add than that.  

“Shit,” you cursed, completely unlike you, “Gods, somehow these visions keep getting worse.” 

“But you’re not choosing that future, so it shouldn’t matter,” he reasoned. 

“Well– I suppose that’s true.” You seemed to shrink in on yourself at the concession.

As much as you insisted that you’d made your decision, Din remained unconvinced. Your future weighed heavy on you. And he wanted nothing more than to make those worries go away. Wished he could take those visions from you so you wouldn’t feel all of the pain and anguish they’ve caused anymore. His grip on your shoulder tightened just enough to draw your attention back to him. You set a hand over his, absentmindedly tracing the raised lines of the blue triangle on his handguard. He watched your repetitive movement, mesmerized by the touch couldn’t feel, and his next words tumbled out uninhibited. “Are you sure you don’t want that other future?” 

“Of course I do,” you said quietly, “But not with– And not if it means giving up on the Jedi. I know that this doesn’t cast them in the best of light,” you said, waving toward the holocron, “But the Jedi have always been a beacon of hope for people. And after what happened to them…” You faced him again, and he watched you steeled yourself, a hard, resolved expression falling across your features. “There are few like me. And even fewer with any sort of knowledge of the way of the Jedi. I have a duty to finish my training and pass on what I learned from my master. Otherwise the Jedi will die. After everything that’s happened, the galaxy needs that hope, that light.” 

“And you can give it to us all,” he mused, “Your light burns brighter than all the stars.”

“Mando,” you sighed, already attempting to contradict him, “That’s–”

“It’s true,” he said firmly.

“Then how could I turn my back on the Jedi now? How could I be so selfish?”

Din had no response to offer you at that, nor could he push the matter further. He understood your devotion. You’d made up your mind, and he would respect that. There was nothing more he could do. 

“We can read more of this later,” he suggested, gesturing to the image of the strange saber. “I think I’ve learned enough for one day.” 

“I agree,” you said dryly while you flicked off the projection 

“Then get some rest. We’re leaving tomorrow so–”

“The ship is fixed?” you interrupted. 

“It’ll be ready by the evening meal.” 

“That’s–” you paused as you toyed with the holocron, twisting one of the corners. “That’s good. Tomorrow’s our last day here?”

“Once the Crest is fixed, there’ll be no reason to stay,” he answered.

“Right.” You agreed, seeming to refuse to meet his gaze. 

“You should get some sleep,” he repeated. 

“We both should,” you corrected. “With our luck, or lack thereof, who knows what will happen next.”

He gave a huff of a laugh at that. Truer words had never been spoken.

… . … 

After he gently placed the baby in his carrier, pausing for a moment to adjust his blankets before sealing the cover, Mando switched off the lights, removed his helmet, and laid down in his own bunk. An uncomfortable silence fell over the shared sleeping quarters, broken only by the rustling of your sheets as you fidgeted in your bed across from him. It stretched on for what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes. Despite your exhaustion, sleep eluded you.

Of course, he knew what he wanted. If your time with him was coming to an end, you wanted to savor every last moment with him. And you were tired enough to not think twice about it. 

“Mando–”

“Cyar’ika–”

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room, fell into your bed, and closed the distance between the two of you, his arms encircling you and pulling your body to his.

“That’s so much better,” you sighed as you relaxed into his hold. He hummed his agreement as he held you impossibly tighter. You didn’t seem to mind. “I don’t want to leave,” you admitted.

 “Me either, cyar’ika,” he stated simply. The name pierced the very fabric of your soul as you remembered what you’d forgotten in your excitement over the holocron.

“I know what that means. Why you call me that,” you whispered against his chest. You let your statement hang there in the open, let the truth of it sink in.

When he didn’t say anything, your heart collapsed in your chest. Maybe the little girls didn’t actually know what they were talking about. Perhaps you’d been wrong to think that the term held that sort of sentiment for him. 

But then you felt a light hand against your chin, tilting your head up to face him in the dark. A pair of soft lips brushed against yours in a ghost of a kiss. And yet it was enough to send a shock of electricity through you. He had a way of overwhelming your senses until you couldn’t think straight. The rest of the galaxy faded away and all that was left was him. That would be your undoing.

You shifted closer, just a fraction of an inch, but it was all he needed, and he captured your bottom lip between his, giving you the sweetest kiss. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his nose bumping yours as the two of you delighted in your closeness. 

“Cyar’ika,” he whispered to you, his voice still rough around the edges but softer than you’d ever heard it before. He was smiling just as you were. Of that, you were almost certain. Seeking some sort of confirmation, you placed a hand on his cheek, finding it full and rounded from the grin that pulled on his lips. Without even being able to see him, you knew it was the most beautiful smile, made all the better because it was for you. 

He kissed you again, firmer, but still so careful, and your hand fell from his face, finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, asking for more. He was generous enough to give it to you, cradling your head as he deepened the kiss. Wanting to feel him again, your hand traveled lower and you dared to slip under the hem, trailing your fingertips lightly over his warm skin. His abdomen contracted under your touch and he broke the kiss, but he didn’t stop you that time. It occurred to you that no one ever touched him. No one, besides maybe you and the kid, ever saw him without the armor. And doubtlessly no one was allowed to feel the man underneath the Beskar. Perhaps no one ever kissed him either.

Just you.

Feeling emboldened, you splayed your hand across his stomach. He let out a shaky exhalation in response that seemed to confirm your suspicion. “Is this okay? Do you like it when I touch you, Mando?” 

“Yes,” he rasped, his breath mingling with yours. 

“Why me?” you asked because that was the question that tormented you the most. Why did he have to pick you?

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, soft and full of emotion as he finally gifting you his translation of the endearment, “Don’t make me say it.” 

Deciding it would be better if neither of you said much of anything, afraid of what the truth might be, you took a different approach. “Do you want to touch me too?”

“Fuck­–” he swore. It sounded like he was choking on the curse. “Yes.”

At his response, you sat up and lifted your tunic off your body, flinging it haphazardly across the room. He followed your motion and pulled his own shirt off with your help. As soon as it was over his head and off his arms, it followed the same trajectory as yours. You wanted nothing more than to feel him against you and he seemed to want the same. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest to his so that your skin was almost perfectly flush so that only the thin fabric covering your breasts separated the two of you. And Mando– He made a sound most unbecoming of a Mandalorian. His arms engulfed you as he brought the two of you back down to the bed, your body on top of his.

His calloused hands wandered, caressing every bit of your exposed skin. You knew that if anyone before you didn’t touch him, then he didn’t get to feel anyone else either. He seemed to relish the sensation of your skin against his as he traced the curves of your shoulders, followed the arch of your back, and kneaded the softer parts with just enough pressure to earn delirious whimpers from you. Your mouths meet again with more fervor. Your lips came together and pulled apart, each kiss lingering longer than the last as your shared hesitancy turned to confidence and urgency. It was hot and breathy as neither one of you wanted to part long enough to draw in air.

You felt his affection for you in every warm touch and every passionate kiss. That moment was the culmination of your developing feelings, and you gave everything you had to it. You could only hope that he would finally realize that what you’d told him that morning was true. That he was loved. That you loved him. Truly and deeply. 

Mando chased your lips every time you broke apart. He was eager and greedy, and you would’ve happily given him anything. His enthusiasm only spurred you on – you could feel the same excitement that coursed through your veins pouring off of him – and your hands found their way to his hair. You threaded your fingers through his wavy locks to pull him even closer, eliciting a low moan from the back of his throat.

“This feels–” he sighed, “You feel so good.”

“So do you, Mando,” you said breathlessly, smiling against his lips.

“Wanted this, wanted you,” he murmured his lips moving lower to your jaw to leave a warm trail of lingering, openmouthed kisses, each one lower than the last, “Since kriffing Vrogas Vas.” You practically whined under his ministrations and at his words, enchanted by the pleasure he pulled from you. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Reality set in suddenly and sharply, and you stiffened in his hold. He stopped his movements immediately though he wouldn’t let you go. “Because we shouldn’t,” you answered wetly. 

“I know, but­–” He never finished his sentence, only spitting out a single word of Mando’a. Something that sounded like a curse.

“I’m so sorry. I want this, but I– I can’t–” you murmured, burying your face against his neck and fighting back a sob as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you again. You were so tired of feeling like you would break anytime you thought of your future. Or the future you wouldn’t have with him.

“I know. It’s okay. Just– Just let me hold you.” You’d never heard him sound so sad before, and a whole new wave of sadness washed over you. It wasn’t just your heart that was breaking. He felt it too. He ran his hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. It sent a shiver through you, and you were keenly aware of the cold bunker around you after stopping your feverish touches. He pulled the threadbare blanket pooled around your waist over your half-bare bodies.

“I don’t want to leave,” you repeated, sounding strangled by your own words.

“Me either, cyar’ika,” he echoed before pressing one last kiss to your temple.

... . ...

Mando'a Translations

Cyar'ika: beloved, sweetheart

Mesh'la: beautiful

Beskar'gam: armor

Mand'alor: sole ruler

... . ...

Thank you for reading!!

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann

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[sooibian]

Flambé (Preview)

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 2.8k

🍜 a/n: a little preview of a chef kyungsoo story that i've been working on. while i have the plot fleshed out it'll honestly be a while before the long one/two-shot comes out since a lot of research goes into the details. and....i write at a snail's pace. thank you for your patience and lmk if you'd like a tag in the updates!

this story is inspired by a lot of random yt videos and netflix's shows - street food and chef's table.

tagging *deep breath* @j-pping and @changshapatrol (the real rotten banana is here!)

___________________________________________

Water bobbed in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot that was perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rose from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lifted the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lowered it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodged its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation - seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberated through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with the flick of a bladed-spatula. 

All of a sudden, a wave of unconsciousness swept over you. You felt your skin singe as boiling water started to fill up your lungs. 

You were alone - at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you staggered up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, who was now free and hovering over you, roared at your defenseless form.

Maybe your spell didn't land, you thought. 

“Please, Chef!” you whimpered. 

In one swift motion, it swooshed down to your eye level. 

Bushy black brows sprouted on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then came the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarled at you.

zzzz... 

“Late again?” It drawled in a jarring tenor.

zzzz...

zzzz...

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinked.

In a sleep befuddled state, your hand reached out for the wailing device. ‘Late again’, Chef’s cold, deep voice sounded in your consciousness as you wiped the droplets of sweat off your forehead.

Chef. 

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you'd defiantly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called a chef. You'd seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. Your aunt.

"Aegiya, he has something that you don't."

"A dick?"

"YAH! He has a degree in culinary arts. It's only befitting that we give him the respect his degree deserves!"

"Imo, haven't you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well get a job at Four Seasons like Hyun Jin. Think, Imo. Think!” 

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

"Chef. You're calling him Chef."

Every time the egotistical madman opened that darned mouth of his, it made you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him. 

But, with a deep breath, you always resisted the temptation. 

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you floundered out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt...and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

.

.

.

“Ahh 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he said to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin. 

The face of sourcing had drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, your aunt had a tie up with some of the local vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim...economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi. You had to do the dirty work.

And tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he greeted you with an accusatory ‘you’ve killed my cat’ expression.

You groaned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases had long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urged him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glared at you like you’d asked him for a kidney. 

Kyungsoo had a tendency to overbuy but never would he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ was his excuse. Which was pretty ridiculous considering he spent over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan. But you knew better than to argue. Because as much as you loathed every fibre of his existence, he terrified you a little. The man possessed the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he was in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he was quite the sweet talker. And you could bet your life on the fact that every woman - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman cooed at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.” 

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ended your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you said to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paced ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continued, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turned around to look you in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that.”

.

.

.

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s was busier than usual. 

It went by in a daze amidst a cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and your aunt’s relentless vocalization inviting customers to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you heavily relied on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market. 

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well being as well as your mother’s. 

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another gratifying day, you left a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceeded to tend to the dirty dishes. 

“Yahh!” Imo called out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cried, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you washed your hands and wiped them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt and flattening unruly flyaways, you rushed toward the table but she was already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a chat with the both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupted, wagging a finger in your direction, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!” 

An overtly saccharine smile spread across your face and his jaw tightened in response.

“Aish….you two...I’m leaving now”, she sighed, shaking her head, “see you both in two hours.”

.

.

.

Kimchi jjigae, pajeon, tteokbokki, jajangmyeon, some leftover bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. She clearly had something important to talk about. 

But the vibe at the dinner table just didn’t sit right with you. 

The reason could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that was seated besides you in all black clothing but there was something off about Imo. 

She was being a little too...nice.

Fear gradually started to settle in your bones. Was she finally closing down? Was this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. One of them was a banker and the other even went to culinary school and was working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only made sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she said coolly.

It was like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aga”, she said resting her chin on her hand, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of pride...a sense of independence. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons...but the Market gave me an identity.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drowned out your aunt’s voice. Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that’d never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d barely even let you whip up the hand-cut noodles.

You realized that you weren’t the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s eyes were scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His seemingly miserable state gave you a fleeting sense of relief and it was right in that moment that he chose to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine. 

All the stall-owners in the Market have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s. Whereas, you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes your aunt hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

"Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughed, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically, leaving you dumbfounded. 

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run marinated crabs restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighed, “put in the deposit...and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO!”, you yelled, “why did you scare me like that! I thought I was laid off!”

“Well, it’s a big move, I’m not sure the two of you are ready to make...requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open! It’ll take us two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford you a pay raise. I could help you get a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo stands a chance at even managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane was the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner had managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved aunt believed that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager. 

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you said firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Mom will gladly pitch in, if need be...”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he was but his expression was stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl. It filled you with insane hope. 

He was going to jump the ship...finally!

“Chef...”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us...I’m more than enough for Imo. You may...”

He shot you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But you wanted to rile him just a little more. So you excused yourself to bring a bottle of ketchup and squeezed it generously atop the stack of pajeon while eyeing him maliciously. 

Ketchup. 

The tangy, unassuming condiment was the sole reason Kyungsoo despised you. As this dinner marked the end of his torturous regime, you celebrated with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

.

.

.

Steam swirled in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickled your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a customer was a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in a life as a vendor. 

A proper send-off was essential lest Kyungsoo decided to stay, even if it burned a hole in your pocket. You planned on giving him a final tour of the Market where he (and you) could say his goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs. 

A whole lot of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, said Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in his hand.

You shook your head in response. You wanted to start with the best and mung bean pancakes weren’t it. This was going to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step you took, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grew stronger. You started your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which set you back considerably. But you were too elated to care. You refused Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman set the scallops on fire with a blow torch.

“Do you know what that technique’s called?” Kyungsoo gave a little nod in the direction of the aflame food.

Another teachable moment.

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you replied, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé. But minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma came to your rescue and you jumped to collect the order. You could’ve sworn that you caught the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

***

The Market supposedly looked the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoyed eating your way through it. The tour made your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s personality was akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year with Choi Yoonsun, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeezed you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others gave you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you paid in smiles and love.

After a gastronomic fiesta that entailed tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you ended the day on a sweet note with hotteok. 

The ahjussi wished you both luck, making you choke back tears. 

Kyungsoo noticed.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not...erm”

The dam of your tears burst. 

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of you. You were even going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers which had you sweating through every layer of clothing. 

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffled, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile more often, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” He gleamed.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He mused.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”