#every time he gets a soft reset i swear they make him younger

[vintagerobin]

Everyone's always talking about how Jason's age was affected by the Lazarus pit etc but what about Bruce and his dunks in Lazarus pits and his getting stuck in nightmare universes for thirty years and his being sent back to the dawn of time and his plunge into the primordial soup of the multiverse and

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[ironmandeficiency]

home

pairing: achilles (oc) / reader

word count: 2256

summary: sometimes a deviation from a simple routine can yield highly pleasant results.

req: May I request a short drabble (or whatever you feel like writing) for Achilles with 3 or 6 from the first prompt list? Thank you JJ, I love you - @roseofalderaan (3- smiling into a kiss, 6- chasing someone’s lips after they pull away)

a/n: i went with both bc both is good (and also bc this boy deserves all the love ever). read all abt him here!

“will that be all, commander?” you questioned. your workday was drawing to a close and you wanted nothing more to get your nightly escort home and wind down from yet another stressful day at the office. the nightly ritual had begun not long after you got this job and befriended the coruscant guard, some of them sticking a little closer to you during the day when possible.

but only one ever walked you home, claiming that the streets he worked to protect every day were no place for someone so… unsullied, he would say, guiding you home with a steady hand on your back and a smile hidden by his bucket. his soft laugh would bring yours bubbling to the surface like a simmering pot of homemade soup, nourishing your soul and leaving you full of joy and… something else.

thoughts of one of said guardsmen had you zoning out while fox was talking, very likely giving you another task to complete before the people you’d need to go to left for the night. you had spotted him over fox’s shoulder from where you stood several feet from him, having a gentle conversation with hearth and a few others. it made you so happy to see him bonding with his brothers this way, getting the attention and care he deserves from those closest to him.

fox notices the distracted, glazed look in your eyes and knows that you’re not hearing a single word he’s saying. looking over his shoulder, he’s quick to realize why: achilles. “that’ll be all,” fox assures you with a hand on your elbow before turning to take care of the task himself. he can give his younger brother this much happiness, what little bit he’s able to get. “get home safe.”

ever since he joined the guard, fox worried for achilles. he was too headstrong, had seen too much in so few years that he wasn’t going to let this assignment beat him into the submission that allowed many others to cope day to day. it would have made his life a little easier, fox believed, but it would have also made him believe he was unworthy of the joy found when with you.

when you’re dismissed, you make a beeline to where your trooper stood bucket in hand, a gentle smile gracing his lips. maker, he looked so young when he smiled. you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face. lacing your fingers with the hand not holding his bucket, you smile at him and his eyes are immediately caught by yours.

achilles was the first to speak, hand squeezing yours as he felt himself ascend to the stars when you smiled at him. “are you ready to go, cyar’ika?” hearth notices the way some of the weight rises from his vod’s shoulders when you’re nearby, the smile he wore a bit more genuine.

“i’m more than ready, ‘chilles. it’s been a long day and i’m ready to be home.” he nods and bids his knowing brothers a farewell for the next while. until you got to your front door, every iota of his attention would be devoted to you and only you; the way your bright smile alone could power galactic city, the sparkle in your eyes when he said something that brought out your laughter. he’d walk every kilometer of this planet if it meant he could keep seeing such unbridled joy radiate from you.

but these moments — these little pockets of time where he was someone more than who he really was, yet nobody significant all the same — would tide him over until the next one arrived with the same inevitability as waking in the mornings.

conversation was a swift river, flowing freely within its confines. there were things you both believed should never be said; they served as the riverbed, the bounds within which conversation flowed. everything else, the things you were allowed to say, were the water. they were powerful and clear in intention yet stayed within their bounds. the two of you floated along it with ease, letting the currents sway you however they willed. there was never anything to fight against, never with him.

he recounts the day’s most notable and happy events (a shiny’s codpiece detached while trying to rescue a tooka from the top of a vendor’s stall, and hearth was glitter-bombed when trying to give fox dinner) with his usual spark of animation, leaving out the darker events that always serve as reminders of his harsh reality. you don’t need to be tarnished by his sadness, the daily struggle he and his brothers face simply because of the circumstances of their existence. that wasn’t your fight to take up arms in, not your sadness to feel.

no, he couldn’t dim your light with his permeating darkness.

it’s why he still hasn’t kissed you the way his lips ached to, why his hands haven’t held your hips as he tasted your honeyed smile for the first time.

you told him of the menial tasks that had been made more than you bargained for when you stumbled onto two maintenance workers snogging in an elevator, the small muffin that was gifted by the commander of the 420th on his way to the office of his senator friend, and the way it paired well with your lunch. achilles hung onto every word and the way he could hear your smile in every syllable, saving it for lonely nights when he needed something to distract him from himself.

the thing about time is that when you don’t pay attention to it, it’s quick to make haste with its passing.

sooner than either of you would have enjoyed, the door to your apartment was in front of you, a beacon of home tinged with an afterglow of loneliness that seemed to never leave. yes, all of your belongings were here and your bed was housed within those walls, but none of those things made it a home. something was missing, but exactly what that something was had yet to be discovered.

his hand fell back to his side, the sight of your door a reset button to his decorum. your hand was colder without his in it, you noticed for the first time. you didn’t like knowing this and desperately yearned to get that warmth back immediately despite the fact you were walked to and from work by the man in front of you every day and it’d only be a few hours until you’d feel it again.

you couldn’t wait hours to hold his hand again, to be surrounded by his radiance in all its glory. in a bold move you never thought yourself capable of, you extended an invitation you’d mulled over for weeks.

“i’ll, uh, see you in the morning—”

“would you like to come in?”

achilles was stunned. why you would want to invite him into your home? this place was your sanctuary, your respite from the workday and from all expectations the world thrust upon you. he didn’t believe himself worthy of such an honor, but only a fool would look a gift blurrg in the mouth.

so he followed you inside slowly, eyes flicking around the entire space to drink up everything he could. this was an opportunity to know you better, to see you at your most comfortable. “welcome to my humble abode, make yourself at home.”

there was a soft-looking blanket draped across the back of your couch that he imagined you curling up under on cool nights spent watching holofilms. photos of you and your friends covered the walls, smiles bright and abundant. there was a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter that he was eyeing and you were quick to notice how his attention was drawn to it. “you can have some, if you’d like. i have plenty to share.”

how were you so generous with what you had, being so willing to share everything you owned in this vast galaxy with a clone? better yet, how were you real?

a pink lady apple was snagged from its former resting place and relieved of a bite-sized chunk. achilles hummed in enjoyment of the sweet-tart flavor that invaded his mouth as he joined where you sat on the couch, hand patting the space beside you. he obliged and was able to wedge himself between you and the arm of the couch but only when he leaned a little closer to you than he would have ever dared to outside of this safe haven.

you two sat in almost-silence for a while (achilles was still enjoying his apple, after all), a small bit of his weight pressing cozily into your side with one arm resting on the back of the couch. to be honest, you weren’t sure what to do now that he was here. so much time had been devoted to how you’d get him inside that there was not even a vague idea as to what you were supposed to do now.

the armor he wore did nothing to ruin the coziness of the moment, still being able to enjoy his company and the comfort his presence brought you. it was a big reason you felt so safe when walking home (besides the fact he had a blaster and was very proficient in wielding it). his apple core was soon the only thing left and it was gingerly set upon the endtable beside the arm of the couch he was close to, but after that there was stoicity.

neither of you knew where to go from here.

you turned to face him to ask if he wanted to watch a holofilm the same time he turned to ask you whether he could have another apple and wow you’d never been that close to his face before.

achilles drank in the proximity like a parched man on tatooine, branding the image of your slightly blushing face into his retinas for later enjoyment. then you laughed softly and he was a goner, an honest to maker goner. he was going to say something, he swears he was, but it slipped his mind for the moment. you were too busy biting your bottom lip and letting your chin fall, depriving him of those eyes he saw every time he closed his.

he couldn’t have that.

his fingertips took your chin, lightly lifting it back to the angle it formerly was posed at, where he could see your eyes and the smile behind them. in turn, your eyes were flitting between his eyes and lips that you were positive weren’t that plump before… were they?

then he pulled your chin ever closer and closed the vast centimeters that had kept you apart.

you weren’t sure how your lips had been able to resist the magnetic pull of his for so long now that they were together. truthfully, you had no clue how you were going to pull apart now that you knew what they felt like against yours. it was sweet velvet bliss, the taste of him. the pink lady mingled with something else that you knew had to be all him and oh stars was it intoxicating.

pulling away? since when was that an option? if it hadn’t been one before, it became one when you needed to breathe again. his lips chased yours, desperate to keep the blessed point of contact that he’d never wanted with anyone before you. the intimacy had your mind spinning.

he liked it, he actually liked it. he genuinely enjoyed that kiss and was wanting to continue kissing you, and who were you to keep him waiting? the magnetism won yet again and as he pulled you into his arms, you could feel him smiling into the kiss and you smiled back just as lovesick as he did.

muscles were slowly beginning to notify you of a dull ache caused by an angle you were unused to. you ignored it until feigning ignorance was no longer an option. it was time to move.

leaving the living room was an olympic effort. what if the boat in your river grew holes the moment one of you rose from the couch? how would you save the boat and not get washed away by the current? the answer was simple: get a bigger boat.

armor was shed and sleepclothes changed into before you guided him to your bed where you opened the blankets up for him, beckoning him ever closer and into your waiting arms. any hesitance was nowhere to be found as he crawled into the bed and wrapped himself around you. once he was under, time was taken to find a comfortable way to sleep. comfort was found with surprising ease, like he had been climbing into this bed for eons instead of seconds.

the change in environment did nothing but allow you closer to each other, nothing being damaged like you had both feared. in your bed, under your blankets and on your pillows, he still tasted of the same pink ladies and honey and clove he did on your couch. he still held your face in one trained hand that had known little more than violence before you came into his life.

as you carded your fingers through his hair, his other hand being held tenderly to your lips with all the affection you could muster, the final piece came together. achilles was what your apartment was missing, the building turning into a home at long last.

[gamerwoo]

[SF9 Imprinted] Inseong: Home is Where the Heart Is

@neverknewgrey2016 asked: Idk, something with Inseong probably. I’m feeling fluff but really whatever you want tbh

Characters: Inseong x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, fluff, some crack, slight angst but like super slight i swear

Word count: 2,698

Summary: Having a long distance relationship is hard enough, but it’s even worse when you’re a werewolf struggling to deal with the pull to their mate. 

a/n: hello!! for anybody who doesn’t know, Imprinted is a series I have for multiple groups I write for. they’re all set in the same universe and do mingle sometimes but for the most part, each group’s respective series is separate. it’s all based on request aka you request more parts for somebody (you can include what genre you want and even a plot) and I’ll write it if it goes with the story (for example, you couldn’t request for Inseong to have a mate that’s one way if his mate in this is another). you can see what’s already been requested here! (and anything in bold in this story is in english)

Next | Imprinted Masterlist

“Wait, Dawon did what?”

“It was only a small fire, don’t worry about it.”

“Inseong, that’s very worrying.”

“Hey, have I ever told you that your Korean’s getting better?”

You chuckled, your eyes closing briefly as you shook your head. You knew he was just trying to distract you from what he just told you, but you decided to go with it since he already told you that nobody was hurt and nothing burned down.

You held your phone to your ear, trying to adjust the textbook you were carrying in your other arm with your knee, letting out a soft sigh, “I kind of have to get better if I want to spend my life with you.”

“I dunno,” Inseong replied, “some people make it without speaking a lot of Korean here.”

While Inseong was your mate, you lived a 23-ish hour flight away from him. While he was in South Korea, you were all the way in America. You only met Inseong when you went to Korea to study for a semester, and Inseong was hired at the translator for your program. It was literally love at first sight.

Of course, dropping the werewolf bomb on you wasn’t easy. You could be described as a laid back person, but anybody would freak out a little bit realizing the person they had strong feelings for could shift into a giant wolf. But once your panic subsided, things were fine.

Well, up until you had to go back home.

“So...is Inseong gonna die?” Chani wondered when he found out you were going home, sounding like he just asked what the weather was like outside.

“No, because she didn’t deny him,” Youngbin explained, “but he definitely won’t be at his best without his mate nearby for however long.”

You’d been back home in America for three very long months, and all you wanted was to be able to cuddle and kiss your boyfriend again. You tried your best to make the timezone thing work, too, so you could talk to each other, but that was difficult. Basically, everything about being in a long distance relationship with such strong ties to each other was a struggle.

You couldn’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for Inseong.

“You know, a few more paychecks and I should have enough to come visit!” Inseong informed you cheerily.

Ever since you left to go back home, Inseong had been keeping what was in his savings to go see you. He wasn’t sure for how long, but any little bit of time would be enough for him after not being near you for three months.

Little did he know that you were saving up, too.

“It’s so boring here,” you told him as you put your book on top of your car and unlocked the door. “I don’t even know what we’d be able to do together.”

“Doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with you, it’ll be fun.”

“God, you never get any less cheesy, do you?”

“Nope, I only get more cheesy!”

-

Things with the pack were getting a little...complicated this last week. Inseong wasn’t the only one to imprint in the pack, with Chani having imprinted but keeping his mate as far away from the pack as possible, and Juho recently found his since Inseong last spoke to you, and she was trying to keep herself away from him. Juho was a lot more open about his mate, though, so everybody pretty much assumed what the issue was: she was afraid. They all understood, but considering you were pretty open after that initial shock, and Chani’s mate didn’t even seem to care, this was kind of a wake up call to the pack that the rest of them could have mates just as difficult to get through to.

For now, though, they were trying to help Juho do just that: get her to warm up to him.

“The only way she’ll ever like me is if I’m not...me,” Juho sighed, dropping his head in his hands.

“I hope I get a mate like Inseong’s,” Dawon mumbled, but with Juho’s hearing, he heard it. He lifted his head to glare at the older wolf, so Dawon added, “...Sorry.”

“Not every person will be okay with all of this,” Inseong reminded them. “Even  _____ was afraid.”

“But not for long,” Rowoon pointed out, only to realize he wasn’t really helping.

“It’s a lot to take in: werewolves existing, being told they’re meant to be with you forever, and everything that comes with that. It’s really scary from their perspective,” Inseong tried to reason. He had spent a lot of time trying to look at the situation through your eyes when he first told you and you’d panicked about it. “You’ll gain her trust in time.”

“Werewolves don’t have time,” Taeyang reminded them. “If she doesn’t accept him as her mate soon, then...”

He trailed off, pretending to choke himself while he dramatically stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes up into his head.

Chani gave him a blank look, “...She’ll strangle him to death?”

Taeyang sighed, using his hand to hit the youngest in the arm instead, “I’ll strangle you.”

Everybody knew what would happen if a werewolf wasn’t accepted by their mate: death. It happened slowly, the wolf’s life getting drained little by little over the course of about a month until they just died. The just needed their mate that badly that they couldn’t live without them.

The only way that wouldn’t happen was if the mate died, but it was still an awful thing to live through. But without that pull there, fate would reset, and they’d have a new mate to find. It was kind of fucked up, but it was how things worked.

“Ooh, you know what you should do?” Dawon spoke up excitedly, his golden eyes wide as he pointed at Juho. “You should save her from danger! Like in Twilight!”

“You watched Twilight...?” Youngbin asked slowly, making a face at him.

Ignoring the alpha, Dawon continued, “When Bella got in trouble, Edward was always there to save her! And now look at them!”

“They’re fictional,” Inseong reminded him.

Jaeyoon shrugged, “It would gain her trust though, I guess. But she’s not in trouble, and I don’t suggest you get her into any.”

“I wouldn’t!” Juho whined, seeming offended his brother would even think he’d do that. “But...Dawon, tell me more about this.”

Inseong sighed and rolled his eyes, standing up to leave the living room before this conversation got any weirder. He just hoped things were sorted before he had to leave for America. He was so close to having enough for the round trip, he just needed a little bit more. But if his pack was still a mess, how could he leave them? Sure, he wasn’t the alpha, but as the oldest, he felt he should stick around to make sure everybody was okay and nobody was getting in trouble. Plus, with Juho being rejected meant he wouldn’t have much time left, which was why the pack was scrambling for ideas.

He shook his head. He couldn’t think negatively. For now, he had to focus on the positives. It wouldn’t be long until he could see you again and hold you in his arms, and that was all he wanted to think about.

-

As always, Inseong tried to call you everyday. However, about a week and a half after the time you spoke to him and he told you how Dawon set the microwave on fire, Inseong didn’t sound as happy as every other time he had called you since then.

“Inseong, what happened?” you asked, knowing something was wrong just from the tone of his voice.

He sighed deeply and stayed silent for a moment before saying, “I can’t come to see you.”

You didn’t understand that. Did he not want to? Did something happen to the pack? Did something happen to him?

“What, why?” you asked.

“This is going to sound dumb, but Juho punched my car.”

Now you were quiet, not really knowing what to say to that. His brother...punched his car? Like, for fun or what?

“Can I have elaboration on that?” you asked.

So Inseong began to tell you the story of how Juho’s mate was terrified of him because he was a werewolf, and how Dawon had come up with this dumb idea that was inspired by Twilight of all things, and Juho hadn’t understood it all that well.

“So?” Dawon had asked eagerly when Juho had come through the door. “What happened?”

“I punched a car,” Juho replied, but he didn’t seem happy.

Then Inseong took in his words and turned to talk to the younger wolf that was now looking through the fridge and running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Inseong asked.

“I punched a car like Dawon told me to,” he repeated, looking at the eldest around the door of the fridge.

Not only was Inseong staring at Juho like he was stupid, but Dawon was too -- and that was saying something because Dawon was the king of doing dumb things.

“That’s not what I--” Dawon cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head, “Whatever. So what happened?”

Juho shut the fridge with slight force, throwing his hands out to his sides in frustration, “She’s even more terrified of me.”

“Well yeah, you punched a car for no reason!” Inseong laughed.

“Wait,” Dawon spoke up, holding up a finger as he narrowed his eyes at Juho, “who’s car did you punch...?”

Now, instead of looking annoyed and upset, Juho looked nervous and slightly scared.

“So I had to pay to get my car fixed because he didn’t even punch the side of it like in the movie, he punched into the hood and actually broke something in the engine,” Inseong sighed in frustration. “And by ‘something’ I mean ‘a lot of things’.”

You frowned even though he couldn’t see, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m just so upset I can’t go see you now,” he said, sounding completely defeated. “I’ve been saving up for so long and now I’m back to almost nothing in my savings. I have to save up all over again.”

With how upset your boyfriend sounded, you wanted to just blurt out your plans. You felt so bad because he sounded so heartbroken, but you wanted to surprise him. Plus, the surprise would mean so much more to him now.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” was all you told him.

-

Tired. The only thing you felt was tired. You couldn’t even feel happiness or excitement because jet lag was a bitch and you wanted to just curl up in bed and pass out. But it was the middle of the day here so that wasn’t really ideal. You were wondering if maybe a short nap would suffice but you were scared you’d sleep through your alarm and then be awake all night.

It definitely took a lot to transfer to this new university, but it would be well worth it. You just had to stay awake long enough to call Inseong, but you weren’t sure if you could even do that. But you were going to force yourself to.

Standing in the middle of your new dorm, you went to Inseong’s contact in your phone and called. It rang longer than normal, and you thought maybe you caught him at a bad time at work -- if you weren’t so sleepy, you’d know today was his day off -- before somebody answered.

“Hi, _____!” somebody chirped.

“Um...who is this?” you asked.

“Rowoon,” he replied with a chuckle. “Sorry, I should’ve figured you wouldn’t know. Inseong’s out doing groceries right now and he forgot his phone here. If you need something though, I can give you Chani’s number and--”

“Actually,” you spoke up, “maybe you can help me.”

“With what?”

“Would you be able to come pick me up?”

“What?” he asked like you were crazy. “You’re all the way in America! I can’t just float my car across the ocean.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not far,” you promised with a sleepy laugh. “I’ll send you the address.”

-

Inseong was confused the entire time he was with Chani doing grocery shopping. He had instincts that they called the mating pull that would lead him to you no matter where you were, and those instincts were telling him you were closer to him than before. His instincts had really been all over the place the last 24 hours, actually. But he couldn’t call you and ask about it because you had already told him you’d be at your parents and couldn’t use your phone because they had a thing about ‘family time’.

“Inseong, what’re you making that face for?” Chani asked as he looked over at Inseong while they drove home.

The older wolf couldn’t tell, but his eyes were narrowed slightly, and his brows were furrowed just a bit like he was concentrating or thinking. But it was only because something must’ve not been right because he felt like you were very close by. Last he checked, your parents didn’t live in South Korea, so he knew you couldn’t possibly be anywhere near here.

“I feel...weird,” was all he replied in a murmur.

Chani just nodded, raising his eyebrows, “Sure, dude.”

Chani was already in on it. Rowoon had texted him about it, so Chani was well aware as to what was up with Inseong. But he was very good at playing dumb.

Inseong pulled into the driveway, shut off the car, and opened the door. But as soon as the air hit him, he smelled something vaguely familiar. It was a scent he hadn’t smelled in a while, but it was one he could never forget. It was like the sweetest, best scent he’d ever smelled, and he knew exactly what it meant. He just didn’t know how.

Without even saying anything to Chani, Inseong booked it into the house and followed his instincts up the stairs. He burst into his room, just barely catching his door from slamming against the wall when he saw you fast asleep in his bed. He was so happy, tears started forming in his eyes. He couldn’t believe you were here, and somehow having you sleeping so soundly in his bed made him even happier. He still didn’t understand how or why you were here, but it didn’t matter because you were here and he could touch you and kiss you and be with you.

Inseong quietly closed his door before he made his way over to you, he crouched down at the side of his bed and looked at your peaceful face as you slept, reaching out to lightly stroke your cheek with his thumb to make sure you were real. The widest, brightest smile spread across his face being able to look at you and touch you and hear your heartbeat.

He stood up to slide off his shoes before he carefully climbed over you into bed. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him, not wanting to wake you but just needing to hold you as close as he could.

You woke up just a little bit -- enough to just feel that Inseong was with you -- and rolled over to face him. You buried your face in his chest, clinging to him and making him chuckle. When you were settled again, he nuzzled into your hair and just took in your scent, just wanting to stay in that moment with you forever.

“She’s here for good, y’know,” Rowoon said as he quietly entered the room. “She transferred to the college in the city. The train ride there isn’t too long.”

“A train ride isn’t anything to me,” Inseong scoffed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You used to be a 23-hour plane ride away, so he would sit on a train for hours if he had to just to see you. But luckily, you were right here with him, in his arms. You were home.

[bvckysbitch-blog]

Butterflies

Summary: The reader is nervous about going to an awards ceremony and Bucky helps the reader through it

Warnings: A couple of swears, nothing else really.

Word Count: 1,870

A/N: It’s taken me a lot of time to get back into writing. I don’t know if this will be a regular thing but I had an idea on my day off today and wanted to put it out there. It’s also been a while since I’ve written something that wasn’t academic so don’t be too harsh lol.

You stared at todays date on the calendar, reading the words hastily scrawled out in red letters: AWARDS CEREMONY – 7PM. Looking down at the clothes you were wearing, you let out a deep sigh. If only you could rock up to these kinds of things in jeans and an old t-shirt. Alas, it was time to begin the long process of getting ready. Most people usually have a glam squad or something to help make getting ready a whole lot smoother, but you’re just a plus one so you don’t get that kind of luxury.

Walking into your bedroom you head towards your wardrobe, opening the doors and pulling out the only dress currently hung up in a fancy bag with the tags still attached. You carefully draped the item on your bed before sitting down at your vanity, staring at yourself. Every imperfection and flaw was glaring at you, like they were holding a sign and screaming at the top of their lungs for attention. Dark under eyes, spots forming here and there, uneven eyebrows and pores the size of potholes. You shuddered as you overanalysed yourself, reaching for your primer and applying it to your face. There’s only so much a person can do when striving for perfection and unfortunately awards ceremonies demand perfection – especially when cameras are involved.

You apply your make-up as best you could, eventually accepting the fact that your skills do not match those of make-up artists and set about styling your hair. You decide that soft and loose curls are the best way to go about things and start curling your hair, focusing so hard on trying not to burn yourself. Eventually your hair is curled and set and all that is left is to don the dress that lay neatly tucked away in a bag. You turn around in your chair, eyeing the hidden dress uneasily. The last time you were this glammed up was for your senior prom and that was terrifying then. Knowing that your photograph could end up plastered across the internet for all to see sent your stomach churning. What would people think? What would they say? Would it be a good idea to make your accounts private so that you wouldn’t be verbally abused by people? Okay, stop it now. You’re being silly.

With a deep breath, you rose from your seat and headed towards the dress, unzipping the bag and staring at the deep red hue of the dress. It was mesmerising to say the least. You thought the dress was beautiful and stunning. A work of art for no more than $150 but you knew there would be people there in outfits that cost 10 times the price. Regardless, you picked the dress up from the bag and pulled it on. You loved the lace bodice and sleeves, the little embellishments that made the dress look as though it was dripping jewels in certain lights. Zipping the dress up, you stared at yourself in the full length mirror. The dress hugged your figure perfectly but something still wasn’t quite right. You delved into your wardrobe, searching for the one pair of shoes you knew could bring this look together. With a triumphant smile, you slipped the heels on and looked at yourself once more. You could still see your imperfections, but they weren’t as loud anymore. If people were looking for what was wrong then they weren’t appreciating what was right. You were satisfied. Not happy, but satisfied would suffice.

Grabbing the belongings you would need for the night, you stuffed them inside your clutch and called for an Uber to pick you up.

Half an hour later and you were around the corner from the venue where you had agreed to meet your date for the night. You fidgeted nervously with the hem of your sleeves, wondering how long he was going to be. You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, opening up your last conversation.

Y/N: Heyy, how long do you think you’ll be? x

B: …

You watched as the dots appeared, then disappeared just as quick. Letting out a resigned sigh, you put your phone back in your bag, settling for watching the world go by as you waited. You played the game of imagining why each person was doing what they were doing, who they were going to see or where they were headed.

Finally after what felt like forever, a black car pulled up beside you and the passenger side window rolled down. You leaned forward to see who was in the car when Sam’s head popped out the window, a smile on his face. “Well don’t you scrub up well! Hop on in!”

“Oh, I was supposed to be meeting-”

“I know. He’s in the car.” Sam said with a smile. “I didn’t think it was right for you guys to walk to an awards ceremony.”

You nod your head as Sam disappears back inside the car, opening the back door and scooting yourself inside, trying not to crease your dress. No more than two minutes later and you had arrived at the venue. A red carpet was rolled out and there were photographers clambering for the best shot. You could feel your palms getting sweaty and rubbed them against the side of the seats, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself.

“See you kids in there.” Sam chimes, climbing out of the car as a barrage of flashing lights streak across your vision.

As the lights begin the fade, you look across at the man next to you, a small smile spreading across your face. “You cut your hair!” You exclaim, noticing how much younger he looks with his hair cropped short.

“Well, I decided to see if I did feel like a different person with shorter hair.”

“And...?”

“I feel lighter that’s for sure. A different person not so much.” He says with a chuckle before a soft quiet falls over us. He looks outside the window for a moment before turning back to you. “I think its our turn. Ready?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You let out a nervous laugh. “As I’ll ever be.”

He reaches for the door handle, a small click sounding as it opens.

“Buck?” You whisper just loud enough to grab his attention. He stops and looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Don’t let me fall.” You whimper, your voice giving away how nervous you really were.

Shaking his head, he steps out of the car, painting a smile onto his face as he walks around to your side of the car. The door opens slowly and the camera lights are flashing so quickly you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Bucky holds out his hand for your and you take it willingly, holding on to him as tight as you could for fear of falling. Bucky shuts the car door behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you towards the doors of the venue.

“You look beautiful.” He whispers, giving you a quick squeeze and making it feel like butterflies could explode out of your chest. “Let everyone else see it too.”

You come to a stop in front of a small ‘x’ and look up at Bucky wondering how someone who had endured so much pain could still have so much more left to give to the world. “I guess we need to smile for the cameras and pretend like we’re not shitting it.”

Bucky lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head, “Got it in one.” He says, plastering a smile on his face.

You follow his lead, smiling for the cameras and following what the photographers suggest before heading inside with Bucky. The second the doors are closed behind you, you feel your legs turn to jelly and rely on Bucky entirely to get you to the closest seat. Your heart is beating erratically as you sit down, trying to focus on your breathing rather than where you are and how many photos must have been taken of you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, sitting down beside you.

You nod your head, trying hard to breathe in for 7, hold for 6 and breathe out for 5. You can faintly hear someone else’s breathing only slightly louder than usual and find yourself starting to match their breathing pattern, your heart rate eventually slowing down.

“I read somewhere that sometimes it helps to use someone else’s breath pattern to sort of reset your own.” He says, placing a hand on your knee.

“Well, in this case it worked.” You say breathily, your cheeks reddening a little from embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It happens to the best of us. We just have to find the right way of dealing with it.”

You nod your head, smiling a little. “Buck, I’ve not really had a chance to say this yet but I’m glad you blipped back. I really like having you in my life.” You say, avoiding his eyes in fear that if your gaze met your face would be redder than your dress.

“I’m glad to have you in mine.” He says, taking the hand that was on your knee and wrapping it around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and you can feel your heart speed up again for an entirely different reason, the butterflies threatening to escape once again.

“Took you long enough!” Sam’s voice booms from around the corner.

You look up, quickly scooting away from Bucky ever so slightly, directing your attention towards Sam. “What do you mean?” You ask, a confused expression crossing your face.

“Oh.. uh y’know, getting inside from the car. You know I was stuck talking to spiderboy whilst waiting for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you stood up from your seat. “You really need to ease up on that kid. After all he did beat your ass.”

“That was one time!” Sam exclaims, storming off to wear he came from.

You shook you head as you watched him go, feeling Bucky stand behind you.

“You know that’s not what he meant right.” Bucky whispers, his mouth inches from your ear.

You turn around, a small smile playing on your face. “Oh, I know. “ You say, readjusting Bucky’s tie so that it laid straight, your hand lingering against his chest. “Maybe someday you can show me somewhere a little more personal?” You say, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’d be my pleasure.” He says, taking hold of your hand and pressing a kiss to it.

You feel a blush creep up under your skin, pulling your hand away and clearing your throat. “Maybe we should save Sam from the kid.” You say, turning around and heading in the direction Sam went.

“You’re probably right.” Bucky says, falling in step with you.

“I don’t know how much help you’ll be though considering he kicked your ass too…” You say, trailing off as a smirk plays at the edge of your lips.”

“Again, that was one time.” Bucky says with a chuckle, wrapping his arm around you.

[happyhearthooligan]

Master List Nov Edition 2019

(2/2)

This half contains Classic Undertale headcanons, Multiple AU asks, other headcanons that didn’t quite fit the first half, and franstastic-ideas’ other posts

The first half contains AU-centric headcanons excluding Classic Undertale

franstastic-ideas - November Content (Continued)

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

Classic Undertale

Nov 1

Would Papyrus ever supplex Chara

Yandere Papyrus vs Yandere Asriel head cannons?

Do you think Papyrus would swear around Undyne?

Nov 2

What were Sans' initial thoughts on Undyne's potty mouth?

(1/2) Canonically, Sans tried to make a quiche.

(2/2) Wait he didn’t make a quiche he made a pie, my bad. 

How close was Asriel to his mother?

Nov 3

Why Flowey stayed in the ruins

Chara flirts with Papyrus through Frisk.

Why would Frisk ever want to do a Genocide run

If Sans and Frisk had a kid, what would they be like?

How would frisk react if she encounters a bitty sans

Sans tells Frisk that she'd be dead where she stood…

Why Gaster has holes in his hands

Would Papyrus try to emulate Undyne’s fighting style?

Papara/Frans reaction to a kitten sneeze

Gaster’s holes and pain

More about Vivaldi

What happens if the store is out of chocolate?

Nov 4

Does Papyrus knows the exact extent of Sans’ depression?

Papyrus and Asriel would turn the kitchen into a total disaster area

What do you think Papyrus’ costume was supposed to be?

How would the skellies react if Frisk/Chara gave a soft no?

Sans’s time as Gaster’s intern here was… an experience

What was everyone's reaction when hearing Sans’ kitten sneeze?

Did Asriel or Chara made the mistake of confusing “cups of butter”?

Yeah, that does sound kind of like Sans

Nov 5

Why does Sans no longer feel hopelessness

Does Flowey still believe that "It's Kill or Be Killed"?

About the kids that come from the Frans and Papara ships…

Does Asriel rely on Chara to make decisions for him?

Nov 6 - Do married papara still have butterflies in their stomachs?

Nov 14 - How’s Chara when being complimented by the boys?

Nov 15 - Skelebros when Frisk/Chara get their wisdom teeth out?

Nov 16

Sans has caused Flowey his "fair share of resets”…

Provide thee with thy Frister hcs frometh multiple AUs please?

How do you think everyone's skating level is?

Would Frisk or Chara try to lift up their bonefriend?

Dr. Gaster was actually never confirmed to be a skeleton.

Nov 17

Would you please tell us more about Henry?

Forgive me, Madame, for I, instead of reading…

How do the skeletons react if their girlfriends get hurt?

“Sans has a nightmare about Frisk marrying [Gaster]…”

What started Gaster's obsession for humans?

Nov 18 - Would Asriel ask Papyrus to be his best man?

Nov 19

Are the monsters genuinely unable to tell Chara and Frisk’s gender?

How would younger monsters react to Frisk/Chara wiping dust off?

Monsters might not overly familiar with humans' anatomy enough…

If Frisk never left the underground, married Sans, and had Vivaldi. 

What is Sans riding in the True Pacifist ending?

Nov 20

How would the monsters react to the modern human technology?

Married Frans Life hcs please?

UT Chara and Papyrus go on their first date

Nov 21

Where do you think the skeletons were living prior to Snowdin?

Where do you think Sans gets the money?

Does that mean Sans and Frisk will live in a mansion type house?

Nov 22

MK is uncertain if "that weird skeleton" is a kid or an adult…

Is Sans actually unable to open his jaw or just chooses not to

Nov 24

Is Frisk technically a princess?

What relationship did Asriel have with Sans early-on?

How did Frisk cross the barrier in the Neutral Run?

Do you think that Toriel will ever truly forgive Asgore?

King Asgore couldn’t really take the proclaim back

Press the attack key once and Flowey will be struck multiple times…

Nov 25

Do Toriel & Asgore punish Chara by not letting her have chocolate?

"Nobody can bully Asriel except for ME"

Nov 26

How much do you head cannon Sans owes Grillby on his tab?

Do you head cannon Chara or Asriel being the older sibling?

Is Frisk wearing a striped shirt a coincidence?

About how much is G worth in the human currency?

Nov 27

University AU Frans/Papara head cannons?

Asriel mentions that "a world without Chara" had no place for him…

You mentioned that Asriel had a "slight-older woman fetish”…

Nov 28

If Asriel and Chara were brought back to life…

How do you head cannon Toriel and Asgore got together?

Nov 30 - What do you head cannon everyone sounding like?

Multiple AU Headcanons

Nov 1

Would other Sanses have collections?

What does Frisk thinks these collections?

Nov 2

Who do you think are the closer skelebros? UT or US?

What do the Sanses/Papyri call their human?

Nov 3

What gifts do the skeletons love receiving from their human?

What does the Sanses feel about buttercup flowers?

Frans: If human monster relationships were forbidden

Papara: If human monster relationships were forbidden

Nov 4

What relationship do Sans and Chara have in the other AU's?

How do the other AU skelebros mess with each other?

Do any other Frans/Papara couples or rivals have a "Dere Type"?

Nov 5 - Do the skelebros know about any of the Pokemon games?

Nov 6 - US and SF Chara's personality

Nov 14 - What types of parents are the Frans and Paparas?

Nov 15

Chara would probably play with Asriel's ears…

Is there any rivalry between the Papyruses, and the Asriels?

Nov 17 - Who are Sans’ and Frisk’s other next-door neighbors?

Nov 19 - Throw me any head canons that comes first in mind please 

Nov 20 - How do the other Papyri feel about their respective Tobys?

Nov 24

How do the Frisks feel about chocolate?

If Chocolate was taken off the market, how would each Chara react?

Nov 25 - What made the Frisks/Charas fall in love with the boys? 

Nov 28 - How did the Sanses react to Frisk using them as a pillow?

Nov 29 - How would the Papyri respond to Chara's compliments?

Other Headcanons

Nov 3

One More Tale AU introduced

Horrotale skelies/humans reacting on each other’s sick days

What’s this 'One More Tale' AU I hear?

Nov 4 - How much of an appettite can a little bitty have?

Nov 6

How would G react to having the same iris color as Frisk?

What about Frans cuddles, but with bitty Frisk instead?

How massive Muffet’s family is implied to be

Nov 8 - Webber from my Bittyverse fics

Nov 14

Any ideas/prompts for Storyshift Frans and Papara?

I wanna ask- would the tarantula lady a ginger?

Random au prompt? 

Tarantula lady has the ultimate hug power

How many monsters have not been revealed to us?

Nov 15 - Undertale, but with MORE SPIDERS!

Nov 17

Could you give us some flirts/puns exclusive to Attorneytale?

Shopkeeper Frisk vs traps, Adgore, and Omega Flowey

Nov 18

Mermaid Sans x normal Frisk living alone on an island?

In the Bitty Bones au, would Frisk ever adopt a Red sans?

Nov 19 - Random Prompt time plz

Nov 20

Bittybones Headcannons?

Can I ask for some love-dunce Frisk and shy Sans?

In the scenario where monsters were never trapped underground...

Nov 24 - “Nothing Tibia-fraid Of" Frans headcanons?

Nov 25

Do you think Narrator Chara laughs when Sans pranks Frisk?

Bitty Frisk: Mother Hen (Henri) vs Mother Goat (Toriel)?

Nov 26

*picks Classic Sans up then throws him into a Frisk pile*

Can we have frans/papara hcs for Cybertale?

Can I ask for Tainted Love headcanons?

Nov 30 - What about some Flowerfell headcanons?

Other types of posts

Nov 3 - Monster dream boyfriend

Nov 4

I can assure you that the most anon asks is not by one person

I wish there were a ukagaka of all your Frans and Papara AU's

*pokes then runs away*

Nov 5

Do you do headcannons on UT and AU characters in General?

This tumblr user now has a bucket over their head-

How do you feel about Charisk (Chara x Frisk)?

Nov 7 - I got my first ever paycheck today

Nov 9 - Masterlist plan of the past (link to it) 

Nov 11 - Why does Sword and Shield have a level cap for...

Nov 14

So how do I do taxes?

The difference between envy and jealousy

The more spiders in this family, the better!

Fun spider fact!

Another Spider Fact

Nov 16

But I have so many AUs already…

Moth Man or Jersey Devil?

Have you seen the whole of Gravity Falls?

Nov 18

Would it be alright if I wrote a fanfic about WT Swap Frans?

Favorite au from our lovely semisolidmind?

Papyrus is a nice guy

Nov 19

How would franstastic-ideas react to getting tickled ;3

How familiar are you with Warrior Cats?

Remind us of your nicknames please?

Nov 20

What job did the wonderful wonder of you get?

Do you know if there are any fics that are similar to Convergence?

Nov 21

Yandere Altertale fic thoughts

I’ve been looking at Pokémon Sword and Shield 

Nov 26 - How are so many of your head canons so damn cute?

Nov 28

I actually enjoy photography as well

Pokémon Sword and Shield’s Galar region is based off of the UK…

Nov 30

Webber, every time he sees my phone:

A random out-of-boredom-question...

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

Found out that all the links work when I'm looking at it on my own page, but if I open it up in a seperate page, they will all disappear if there are too many

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 2: The VR Zone Has a Hell Ton of Trees

Alright guys I am regretting the hell out of this teriyaki ramen bowl I just ate, so it’s a better time than ever to go back into this VR arc. Now that the Big 5 have made their speech, all of them quite fat and one with a cane although he doesn’t even have a body anymore, they are ready to send everyone down a series of...plot-shaped holes.

Like they were JUST in some sort of tropic zone, to go back to here and then go somewhere else and so like--this is still VR I think? Like I’m assuming they went VR the moment they entered this room but it is quite vague at what point they were officially in VR. Was it when their vision went fwisssh and everyone split into RGB layers or was it that they got knocked out with gas quite a long time ago and were just unaware that it happened? Probably a bunch of these things.

With this announcement we find out that everyone--and I mean everyone--has to play cards now, although I’m pretty sure half of them have duel disks and the other’s are like...not equipped? I mean it’s VR, so hypothetically no one at all needs a duel disk anymore but you gotta sell toys, so no matter what, Yugi’s going to be lugging this heavy sharp thing on his wrist, even when he knows he will soon be shot down a wacky hole.

The title of last episode, ps was “VR Nightmare,” but like, it’s actually fairly pleasant, compared to the blimp hell we were dealing with just a few episodes back. I mean I guess people are actively trying to kill us here but when are they not?

The audacity of this show. Every state in the US has huge ass fake castles in it leftover from the Rockefeller era. Where else are our Moms supposed to drag us on Day Trips so we can get our history credit for Girl Scouts?

Americans are hella good at creating fake historical sites--all you need is a 50+ year old house and some turret work possibly made by a reasonably well known architect and it’s like “yeah that’s a good enough castle for me! Can we say it’s haunted, too? It’s hella haunted! Come to my castle B+B!”

(read more under the cut)

Tea landed in some concept art that kind of looks like the underside of a mushroom. I dunno how I’d classify this rock structure.

And then Kaiba landed in his worst nightmare which was being in a normal park with one single straight road but somehow still completely lost. At least Mokuba managed to fall into the same hole as his brother to ensure that Seto wouldn't be lost for like the rest of this arc. Which was actually kind of an unintentionally hilarious animation.

*rare shot of the Kaibas actually taking a break*

Man, this is the closest they’ve gotten to a real hug in kind of a while. Like when was the last time these bros hugged? Pegasus’ castle?

Meanwhile, Noah is admiring his work from this throne room and it would be a whole lot more intimidating if he wasn’t in calf-high black socks.

His outfit is like a white school uniform so what gives with the black socks? Like of all the things to complain about on Yugioh (especially since I see Yugi’s hair looking right at me in the next cap) those socks though. Those are pretty inappropriate with this outfit, Noah. Especially matched with this God Throne you’ve got going on. Did not see socks like that matched with a chair like this.

Meanwhile Yugi is all by himself but that doesn’t matter at all because he is 2 (3) people. This strategy to isolate everyone only really worked on Serenity and Joey, TBH, since Tea is also accompanied by slightlylessevil!Marik (who hasn’t really said anything since the VR started).

I knew Bakura would be out for a while, but I didn’t realize it meant everyone else wasn’t even going to once acknowledge it, it is baffling. I mean I get they’re super distracted right now but your friend is DEAD.

Honestly I would not mind if the big 5 succeeded and we had to see some old men try and work with Yugi’s hair and alt rock clothing, deal with Pharaoh sassing them from a brain labyrinth, go to Yugi’s school where people get savagely beat up like every other day, deal with Bakura and Marik trying to body snatch and other magic assholery during class breaks, and through all that watching the Big 5 attempt to take over the world with their megacorp that no longer sells guns but actually sells like...children’s entertainment supplies which include the dueling roombas from S1. How on Earth do they actually think that getting a body would help them at this point? They would be Yugi Muto and that is the last face anyone would ever take seriously.

Pharaoh pops up and is like “I guess we’re doing this right now? Really wish we weren’t doing this right now.”

Anyway, because they don’t physically exist in this digital world, neither do God Cards, or any other card in their deck. So, now they have to make new decks out of a pool. Very convenient for the writing team, bad news for Kaiba’s intense and vaguely romantic relationship with his Blue Eyes. Really glad we spent a full season talking about how much these cards meant to all these people, from the magicians, to Joey’s Red Eyes, and then that one card that was Mako Tsunami’s Dad or something--really glad we learned all of that to just completely erase it this arc.

I sounded sarcastic just now, I actually wasn’t for once, I am so glad to just purge my mind of all those card memories for a little while. Just allow myself to forget. Ah. My mind is already so much clearer. It feels so good. I am very much ok with this soft reset, I kinda needed it.

Since Yugi is supposed to choose a Deck Master from his set of cards for this particular type of duel monsters duel, he goes right for the dark magician--since that’s his MO, but for some reason Kuriboh chose himself? Like this greasy thing just hopped out of the card and played himself.

Anyway Kuriboh is now their new Pikachu and well...this show has done worse cute-character-that-does-literally-nothing-else type things to me, speaking of, lets see what Serenity is up to.

This is a digital hellscape, Serenity.

Serenity, you are going to die here.

Serenity.

So because I just realized just now in Season 3 that Duke’s necklace is a hot, over designed disaster (much like Duke himself) I figured I should like...see what this necklace is supposed to look like. So I typed into Google “duke devlin necklace” and guys, turns out there is a LOT of Yugioh jewelry--and I don’t mean like fanart (which there is also a lot), I mean like officially, a lot of people in this show wear a lot of jewelry and so it was sort of hard to find a good pic of a Duke Devlin specific necklace--especially since it feels like most people just go for the dice earring because that’s way easier.

But what’s interesting about the Duke Devlin necklace, at least from my quick search, is that when we bring it to the real world, it gets a little lost, like a game of telephone.

Cuz I assumed that was a clown on his necklace--and there’s quite a few clown necklaces, but I’m also seeing skulls, I’m seeing gothic crosses, I’m seeing spikes and knives instead of crosses. Bro thought it was a flower for some reason--I kinda blew his mind just now when I pointed out it was a clown. Some people think it’s made of silver, other people think it’s sort of painted? (I assumed the cross was entirely blinged out with rhinestones--my honest assumption) No one can actually agree. Especially since Duke apparently changed his necklace for the movie. I know that because it looks a lot like the Legend of Zelda emblem, and some people had the actual Legend of Zelda emblem mis-tagged as Duke Devlin. Which sucks a whole lot for their SEO, and sucked a whole lot for me in my search to find a real actual Duke Devlin necklace.

Like, feel free to attach a link to a reply -- is there an official physical Duke Devlin necklace that Yugioh inc sells? Like I just want to know--officially--what the hell I’m looking at.

Anyway, back to the show, much like everyone else, these two are hopelessly lost.

Kaiba seems to keep forgetting that his Dad is clearly behind all this and would obviously have his old tech but like...Kaiba forgets so much I can forgive him this.

So, faced with roads that lead no where, Tristan decides to do his tried and true method of solving all of his problems.

And at the other end of the VR zone Tea is getting kidnapped after...being kidnapped by Noah while she was already kidnapped by Marik. This is three levels of kidnap, yes?

OH SHOOT IS THAT A ONCE DOOR. DID SOMEONE DO WHAT I HOPE THEY DID? OH SHOOT.

I will read their fanfiction start to end I swear to you I will do it if it exists and I will report back to you who dates Captain Hook and who is related to Henry Mills.

OMG It didn’t exist.

You have got to be kidding me.

I am beside myself, this is the only property known to man that has not been turned into a OUAT fanfiction.

Incredible.

That or I’m just really bad at searching for fanfics since I haven’t actually read any since my LiveJournal days. Like, when you’re basically immune to shipping, as I am, you just really lose the desire to read about 90% of fanfiction.

Anyway, the closest we have to a OUAT Yugioh fanfiction, to my knowledge, is that cap I made just now right there. Your welcome, Once community.

This is absolutely made of load-bearing drywall. Why do none of the sets of windows line up with each other and how many stories is this? Like 2.5? And you can stand on the roof I guess because it has handrails? It’s super weird.

Anyway, I just made a OUAT joke and maybe it’s because I knew shortly after we were gonna get--that’s right--an orphanage flashback. OUAT was basically 6 seasons of effed up orphan flashbacks so I feel pretty well prepared. Like bro was worried how I’d handle this filler but y’all, I watched the Lily arc in OUAT. I can do anything.

*slaps hands together*

Totes ready for these boys to have been given up for adoption via a magical tree and a memory curse, only to find out their real parents are 3 years younger than them because of a time loop. Make it weird, Yugioh!

Anyway, as always, if you want a link to read these from the beginning in Chrono order and without any comments and all that jazz here’s a link

[starsgivemehp]

Tag’s Multiverse - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Tea Party

Word count: 2,266

Warnings: none (I think?)

Characters: Vega (Classic Sans), Alka (Alterfell Sans)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101227

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

- - - - - - - - - -

The door made a soft chiming sound, and the sweet, homey fragrance of various teas washed over Vega. He glanced around, his hands easily slipping into the pockets of his parka. Assorted boxes and jars of tea were neatly stacked, arranged by type. A few places had tea pots on little burners, and samples of certain more popular teas on display for testing. Behind the counter sat a skeleton monster, much like Vega himself, his back perfectly straight. He looked to be dressed in a robe of some sort, the hood and sleeves red, arms tucked into the opposite sleeves. He seemed harsher in appearance, teeth sharp, one glinting gold. There was a lateral crack down his right socket, splitting and tapering underneath. Though Vega’s own face was unmarred, his teeth flat and harmless, he wasn’t surprised. The sharper skeletons had a big district, but not all of them chose to stay there.

The sharp skeleton’s eyelights were a muddy sort of cerulean, and that told Vega plenty about the kind of person he was already. He shuffled up to the counter, noting that the shopkeep’s pupils never left him. Was that wariness, or just interest in the only current customer? The harsher monsters tended to be jumpy. And yet, this one’s posture was relaxed. ‘alka,’ the nametag on his chest dubbed him, in a familiar, all-lowercase font.

“golden flower is on your right,” Alka informed him, his voice deep, almost husky, with a touch of that drawly accent his type had. A much clearer cerulean poured from the words, and Vega couldn’t help but grin. Familiar endless patience.

“actually, i wasn’t looking for golden flower.”

“oh.” His brow raised slightly. “my apologies, most skeletons coming in here have quite a fondness for it. how can i help you, then?”

Despite the light drawl, his words had a deliberate quality about them, a more formal speech pattern than younger monsters (and humans) bothered with. This guy had to be several centuries old. Vega must have worn his amusement on his face, because the man’s sockets narrowed after a moment.

“how can i help you?” he repeated, and Vega watched the perfect cerulean of the words darken, even take on a faint hint of muddy green.

“heh heh. sorry, just remembered something funny. yeah, i’m actually looking for a kind of tea to wake me up, not put me to sleep.”

“oh. coffee not to your tastes?”

“nah. too bitter.”

“right.”

The other skeleton got up and came around the counter, and Vega could see the rest of his appearance. The robe was long enough to cover his feet, tied with rope at the waist. He was only a few inches taller than Vega, which was unusual - the softer skeleton stood at a pretty 4’6”. Even as Alka reached out to switch on a burner, his hand never became visible. Vega couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to an injury - it always seemed to be something like that.

“you’ll want black tea, for the caffeine. i take it you don’t like flowery shit?”

The casual swear even in such a formal conversation… Vega could just hear the chiding “LANGUAGE!” Solstice would chirp. He tried not to snort at the imagery.

“um, not really.”

“not fruity either?”

“nah.”

“mm. i have a few you can try. but it’ll take a bit for them to steep. you’ll have to be patient.”

Vega grinned wide, lifting his chin up with a gleam of amusement in his gaze.

“no worries there, pal. i’m always patient, heh heh.”

“you say that like it’s a joke, somehow.”

There again, Alka’s brow rose a little. Vega shrugged, closing one eye to look down at the teapot slowly getting heated up. Black, stone of some sort. Very fancy and professional. Clearly, this guy was no pushover about this stuff. Funny, how… no. Say that out loud.

“funny how a sharp guy like you can have so much… tranquili-tea.”

There was an undignified snort from the other skeleton, and he turned away to laugh into his sleeve.

“brew think you’re funny, huh?”

“oh yeah. i’m tea-ming with puns.” Vega grinned wider, and his opponent only snorted again, a little smirk coming onto his face.

“i leaf-t that one out for you.”

“well, i still have a cup-le of more.”

“you can chai to outpun me, but you’ve got oolong way to go.” The shop's owner was smirking behind his covered hand now, his sockets narrowed in amusement rather than irritation.

“i guess i’m in hot water now.”

“don’t strain yourself, it’s a steep climb out.”

“now you’re just taking pot shots.” Vega pulled out a hand to put to his chest, as if wounded by that one.

“ah, kettle load of that one.”

“you sugar you haven’t met your match?”

“please, i’ve got this in the bag.”

“eh, i’ll milk you dry eventually.”

“hehehe.” The sharper skeleton turned off the burner now, and pulled out a tea bag to settle into a cup. Then the kettle was tilted, the hot water pouring into the cup. “technically, the proper way to brew your tea is to put it in the kettle and let it steep there before pouring. but since you want to try a few different types, it’s easier to steep it in the cup.”

“yeah, sure. i’m not picky.”

“make sure you do it the right way when you’re at home.”

“yessir.” An easy shrug, as he held out his hand. Alka handed the teacup over.

“this one is ceylon. give it two or three minutes to steep, and then try it.”

As Vega took the teacup with a nod, the other skeleton grabbed another, and rooted around in the samples for another kind. A second tea bag was found quickly, and settled in the second cup. He then poured water into that one as well.

“this one is yunnan. neither of these are flowery or fruity. they're richer. almost have a bit of a chocolately taste to them. that one you're holding, the ceylon, has a bit more spice to it. if it's too much, you might like the yunnan better.”

Vega nodded along, though he honestly wondered if he'd taste much difference at all. He pinched the square tab starting the string, and shifted the bag in his cup a few times, causing more of the flavor to seep out. Then he took a sip.

“...huh. not bad.”

“yeah? well, try this one too.”

The second cup was held out, and Vega obediently took it to give it a try. The warm drink rushed through his non-throat, and he hummed lightly in approval.

“even better. guess i'll take this one.”

“good. go ahead and finish that cup. i'll take the other off your hands.”

“sure, okay.” Vega handed off the first cup again, and Alka took it to absently sip as he reset everything at the little taste-testing station. Vega couldn't help but smile again, seeing that bright yellow accent the cerulean. Shining, triumphant. Genuine.

The shorter, softer skeleton let his eyes wander around the store again, as he savored the rich taste of the tea. Way better than coffee, he felt no need to add any sugar or milk to throttle the flavor. He wandered off, looking at decorations on the walls. Mostly tea motifs, though there were also some posters of human and monster bodies, displaying energy movements through the body, describing magic flow. There was a guide to meditation plastered on another wall, with steps laid out and encouragements to keep trying if nothing was achieved the first few attempts. He wondered if the owner had plastered these sorts of posters around the place because they fit the theme, or if the guy really did meditate and practice energy flow and other such inner-tranquility things. Seemed an oddly… peaceful type of hobby for a fell type. Maybe he was misjudging thelem.

“do you meditate?”

Vega tried not to jump, realizing the other skeleton had approached while he was spacing out.

“oh, uh, no,” he said, finding himself sounding almost apologetic. “honestly, i'd only fall asleep if i tried.”

Alka clicked his teeth, and Vega realized after a moment that he was holding back a chuckle.

“if it helps you fall asleep, you've at least gotten part of it down.”

“heh heh, i can fall asleep easily anyway.”

“that's fair. what about fighting?” Alka asked, and Vega blinked in confusion.

“huh?”

“fighting, do you know how?”

“uh. well…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, debating how to answer. Technically, yes, he knew how. He had very good magic control, though not as amazing as his brother's. But on the other hand, he'd never exactly had to test it. “...i do well enough,” he said eventually, before drinking another gulp of his tea. He felt Alka's gaze bore into him again, and kept his own gaze on the nearly-empty cup.

“you know the rec center just outside of the arts district?” Alka asked next, and Vega had to cast around in his mental map to remember where the arts district was in relation to him. Music seemed to hum in the air constantly there, as if everyone who lived there generated it with their bodies.

“oh, yeah, i know where that is.”

“i teach kung fu there.”

“really?”

“technically, there's some tai chi mixed in with my style, but yes. every tuesday and friday from 7 to 9 in the evening is my monster class. humans come on mondays and thursdays.”

Vega stared at him for a long moment, a little dumbfounded. Logically speaking, this made sense. Not only was violence of some sort a very typical hobby or skill of the fells, the specific kind he was speaking of - some Eastern kind he couldn't place perfectly - paired with the meditation and tea drinking perfectly. Still… he had just been beginning to think there was not a fighty bone in this skeleton's body. Alka waited for a long moment, clearly waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat to speak again, his voice a bit softer. A swirl of green replaced the yellow as accent to his voice-color.

“throwing around bone attacks and dodging is one thing. you might even be perfectly safe like that, up here. but you never know. learning how to properly dodge, block, and attack physically is very useful. especially since, given your stats, you'd probably want to avoid killing from relying on magic attacks too much. who knows when fighting skills would be put to the test? things are peaceful for now, but… besides, the doctrine is not to be aggressive and hurt everyone you come across. kung fu is meant to protect yourself and deal only the damage to need to for your attacker to leave you alone.”

Vega scratched the side of his skull thoughtfully. He had no interest in fighting at all, and despite what Alka said, he was fairly certain he'd never have to do it. But that being said… his brother's determined voice rang in his head, proclaiming his lifelong desire to join the guard. He still was not a part of it, and he had set his sights on other goals. But even so… It sounded like something he might enjoy.

“tuesday and friday at seven, you say?”

“that's right. interested? the first class is free.”

“mmm. i guess i'll come take a look. s’ it okay if i bring someone?”

“of course,” Alka assured. “the more the merrier.”

“heh. alright. then, i'll be there.”

“excellent. could i get your name and your friend's name?” Alka went back to the counter and pulled out a clipboard. Vega hummed quietly again, finishing the tea and setting the cup down. Then he hovered near the wall of tea.

“the name's vega. his name is solstice. which, ah…?”

“the yunnan. vega and solstice. very well.” The names were scribbled down, the clipboard tucked away again, and then he rung up the box of tea Vega had brought up. The G was slid over for Alka to pocket, and then he sat himself back down, his sleeves once again meeting in front of him. “have a nice day, vega.”

“you too, buddy.”

Vega left the store with the tea box in hand, wondering how Friday night would go.

- - - - - - - - - -

Alka settled himself in his seat properly again, making sure that his back was as straight as he could make it. The pain was not so bad today. But of course, he had been keeping to his routine for a while now, that was to be expected. He closed his sockets, letting his awareness expand to cover the whole store, and even a little beyond. People passed by on the street, and he could hear their chattering, their footsteps, see which direction they were headed and if any of them might step into his shop. Absently, in the back of his head, he contemplated why he had been so eager to get the soft skeleton to come to his classes. In the end, it was probably the same reason he had tried to save each child, the same reason he had fiercely defended Frisk from all of the dangers on their journey to freedom.

He was a softie for the innocent ones. It was the big brother in him.

He hoped Vega would actually come. The guy looked like he couldn’t dodge more than five hits before he got knocked flat or killed.

He wondered if ‘Solstice’ looked anything like his dead brother.

[yeehawdante]

Heaven on a Landslide pt. 11

June 15th, 12:36

Penelope’s eyes fluttered open, a dull ache pulsing through her entire body and she grimaced when she moved to stand up from the floor. The events of earlier smacked her like a ton of bricks and she shot to her feet, all previous pains completely forgotten as she burst out of the van. Her chest felt tight when she picked up on a familiar voice as she walked around the van. She came to a halt when her eyes fell on the red leather jacket, her breath stuttering. 

Whatever conversation had been transpiring before she showed up came to a sudden halt when the group noticed her standing there. She was painfully reminded of that day in the office...when Dante had lied right to her face. That said man noticed her presence and turned around to face her, his face breaking out into that big, dumb and beautiful grin and his arms opening to welcome her in a hug. It almost felt like a dream, the scene playing out just like every painful fantasy that played through her head when she thought he was dead. She started toward him, and with every thud of her boots against the ground, she recalled pieces of their last moments together; every blatant lie, all the worry she’d felt. She had eventually broken into a sprint, her blood boiling like magma beneath her skin. 

“Dante!” His smile vanished, eyes growing wide when she growled his name. It was far too late for him to realize he had really, really misjudged her mood. Too late to run now. 

She swung her fist before Dante could beg for mercy, her knuckles connecting with his jaw and emanating a loud crack. He toppled backward to the sound of Nero snickering from the sidelines. 

“You fucking asshole! How dare you lie to me!” Dante opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a groan, his hand coming up to rub at his jaw. 

“Ow, fuck me.” 

“Damn, think you dislocated his jaw, mom,” Dante shot a glare in response to the younger devil hunter’s smug grin. Penelope sighed and put her hands on her hips, her fury simmering down to disappointment. She actually felt a little guilty...a little. 

“Alright, I’ll reset it on three, okay?” She took hold of his head, inwardly grimacing at how greasy his silver locks felt, “you count.” 

“Okay, o-” everyone watching the scene unfold cringed at the loud crack that sounded from Dante’s jaw, and the man in red let out a rather creative string of curses.  

“Fuck, what happened to three?” She scowled at him. 

“I don’t know, what happened to an honest relationship built on trust?” He sighed, she had a point. He hadn’t even known what he had expected, for her to fall into his arms like some sappy romantic movie? Maybe she would have if he hadn’t of lied to her. 

“Yeah...guess I deserved that,” he let his hand fall to his lap. He slowly rose to his feet. 

“You bet your ass you did! I can’t believe you lied to me. I thought I was gonna-I thought I’d have to go my whole life not knowing,” her voice cracked, composure breaking down fast, “not knowing what hap-happen-” Dante’s shoulders slumped in guilt and he reached out for her, pulling her against his chest. She let out a shaky breath and grabbed fistfuls of his black shirt, clutching at him like she was afraid he’d disappear. The flimsy dam holding back the downpour of tears was destroyed when his lips pressed to the top of her head. She buried her face in his chest in a hopeless attempt to muffle her sobs. 

“I’m here,” he murmured against her hair, heart splitting in his chest at the way her body shook in his hold, “I’m here.” She sucked in a deep, shaky breath and pressed her ear where his heart was, willing the steady beating to calm her. 

Dante held her until her cries simmered down to sniffles and soft hiccups. She suddenly removed herself from his arms, clearing her throat and casting her eyes to the ground. She was now painfully aware that everyone had seen her break down and hastily wiped at her tear stained cheeks. 

“So, uh, what now?” She put her hands on her hips, scanning her group of companions as she waited for an answer. She felt a little relief when she noticed Trish, happy to see she was safe as well. 

“Trish just told me our friendly neighborhood demon king went to the top of the Qliphoth, so I’m going after him,” Dante answered, and she eyed the sword leant against his shoulder in curiosity, that was new. Nero suddenly appeared at his mother’s side, a look of determination on his face. 

“I’m gonna go, too.” Penelope’s head snapped in her son’s direction, opening her mouth to protest but her boyfriend spoke before she could. 

“Why don’t you sit this one out?” 

“Oh, let you call me dead weight again? No thanks,” the woman stood between them raised her eyebrows at Dante. “I’ve got all the power I need, right here,” he held up the intricate replacement for his arm to further his point and Dante let out a sigh. 

“You don’t understand, it’s not what I mean-” Penelope stuck an arm out when Nero growled in frustration, ready to hold him back like she’d done a thousand times. But a voice caught everyone’s attention. 

“Let him go, Dante.” V warily rose to his feet, approaching them, “time is a luxury we can no longer afford. We must chase after him, post-haste.” 

“What, does that mean you’re going too?” It was only when he was close enough did Penelope notice the horrible state V was in. His skin was cracked all over, eyes sunken and dark. Penelope’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, she’d have to check on him when she had the chance. 

“I have a duty to see this through,” Dante let out another sigh, his gaze meeting with his girlfriend and he threw his head back with a groan when he noticed the look on her face. 

“You’re...you’re going too,” she crossed her arms and gave a firm nod, silently daring him to argue. The ache in his jaw made his decision for him. He ran a hand down his face, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Alright, we’re gonna go my way, and you guys can go yours,” he started to back up, “let’s just say that’s best for the cause,” he saluted before walking off, grasping Penelope’s hand in his and pulling her along with him. 

The legendary devil hunter rolled his eyes when the two men landed next to them. Nobody ever listened to him. The others disappeared into the hole in front of them, and Dante went to follow only to be stopped when a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned to the woman in blue, light eyebrows raised slightly. Her eyes wandered over his face, spotting how thick his stubble had gotten-and how much longer his hair was. He looked pretty good for being knocked out in a ditch for a month. 

“What babe?” 

“You called Nero dead weight?” She crossed her arms, and he could sense a spat coming on. The soft smile on his face fell to a frown.  

“He wouldn’t get outta there when I was losing! Kid only had one arm and wanted to fight Urizen, it was just the heat of the moment. I panicked,” the crease in her brow softened, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging on her cheeks. 

“I hear you, just wanted to know what he was so worked up about,” the taller man nodded, spinning on his heel and joining the others down below. Penelope landed with a thud beside him as he noticed the room had already been emptied by their unwanted sidekicks. 

“When are you going to admit to yourself that you care about my son?” He watched with far too much interest when she let down her wavy hair, watching the blonde ends of her dark hair cascade down her shoulders. She pulled her hair back into her hair tie as Dante chuckled in place of an answer to her question. “He still thinks you’re his father, you know?” The legendary devil hunter paused for a moment to look at his lover. He’d never say it out loud, some idiotic masculine part of him wouldn’t allow him to but he really wished the kid was right. He’d give anything to take away the guilt Penelope felt over her son growing up without a father.

“Can’t blame him for thinking that,” his voice came out softer than he had intended. 

“I definitely wish you were,” she murmured and his chest twisted up at the sincerity of her words. He took her hand in his, squeezing it before interlocking their fingers. She opened her mouth to scold him, he always had such a bad habit of PDA when they were working but spending a month thinking he was dead made it difficult to let go. She could let it slide that time. 

“Hey!” Nero called out to them, standing in front of another entrance to the lower levels of the Qliphoth, “you two gonna make us do everything?” 

“Thought you wanted to play hero?” Dante taunted and Penelope audibly sighed next to him. They couldn’t go two seconds. She released Dante’s hand and lightly elbowed him in the ribs, stepping towards her grumpy son. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” she ruffled his hair before she jumped down through the hole, leaving the two white haired men to glare at each other. 

A whole plethora of demons and six blood clots later and they were even lower in the tree. Penelope had an absurd amount of energy, traversing the Qliphoth with a bounce in her step she hadn’t had for a month. It was hard to believe she had been five seconds away from death an hour ago. She landed in the middle of Dante and Nero, nearly stumbling and chuckling when both men instantly reached out to catch her. 

“Looks like we still got a long ways to go.” Dante confidently strode forward, the group following close behind. The ground started to quake beneath them, the five devil hunters plummeting below when the ground split apart beneath their feet. 

Penelope landed with a swear, it was a miracle her back wasn’t broken considering the pounding it had taken throughout the past month. And as if that wasn’t enough, Dante came crashing down right on top of her-eliciting a string of curses from the small woman. 

“Fuck me, you haven’t eaten in a month how the fuck do you still weigh a thousand pounds?!” She pushed at his chest, pushing him off of her. He propped himself up on his elbows, lifting himself enough to stop crushing her but didn’t move away. A smirk played on his handsome features as he looked around. 

“Can’t help but notice we’re gettin’ some alone time,” she gave him an exaggerated eye roll as he tilted his head towards her until the tip of his nose was brushing against hers, “and you haven’t given me an apology kiss for breaking my jaw.” 

“Dislocated,” she corrected. 

“Either way it hurt like a bitch-” he let out a muffled noise of surprise when she yanked him into a kiss, lingering far longer than she had originally intended. She couldn’t help but giggle when she pulled away and he tried to chase her lips. She clasped her hand over his mouth before he could steal another kiss. 

“Come on, we’re wasting time,” he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand before jumping to his feet, heaving the woman in blue up from the ground like she weighed nothing. She peered down the hole in front of them, letting out a loud sigh. “They couldn’t of just had an elevator that took us right to the top? Or bottom-whatever,” Dante chuckled as he joined her side. 

“Think that’s a demon king exclusive, spitfire.”

The couple spent more time jumping down further into the Qliphoth than they did vacating the demons in their path. Penelope was almost grateful for a fight when it happened, the repetitiveness of the structure making her antsy. Dante could sense her anxiousness and tried to put her at ease by recounting what had happened to lead up to him rescuing her. 

“So, you...stabbed yourself with the Rebellion? And unlocked your crazy super awesome demon powers?” She asked as she jumped down onto the ledge he was standing on, his arms held out to catch her. 

“Yeah…” he noticed the odd she was giving the sword in her hand and pointed a finger at her, “don’t even think about it, babe.” She looked up at him like a cat that was about to knock something over. He went to grab for the sword, forgetting momentarily the flaw in his plan. He yanked his hand back with a hiss when the blade scorched his skin. She doubled over and clutched her stomach, the force of her laughter nearly making her drop Hellreaver. 

“Oh...I was hoping you’d try that,” he tried to glare at her, he really did but god damn if he didn’t love her laugh. He broke out into a laugh of his own, shaking his head before taking another long jump to the platform below. 

Even more layers below in the Qliphoth, and they came upon quite a dangerous room of lizard-like demons Penelope had never seen before. 

“There is a serious overpopulation of reptiles in the Underworld,” she sighed and drew her sword, taking note of the deadly blades attached to the demon’s arms. 

“You take the red one, be careful, he likes to teleport,” Dante patted her on the back before busying himself with the other demonic reptiles in their way.

Penelope was still dealing with the red skinned demon when Dante had finished off the last of the spinning death lizards. She stood still, her head cocked like she was listening for something. In a flash, the lizard was behind her ready to swing but she spun around on her heel, holding up her sword in defense. The demon’s blades elicited a sharp clang when they collided with Hellreaver, and the lizard nearly toppled back from the impact. With a grunt, she kicked the demon back and swiftly swung her sword, slicing its head clean off. She could feel Dante’s eyes on her back, turning around with a cocked eyebrow. 

“What?” He was leant against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest with a look of pure adoration in his icy blue eyes. 

“I love you,” a blush crept up her face and she blinked in surprise. She recovered quickly though, shaking her head with a laugh. 

“You’re such a sap,” he moved from the wall to stand in front of her, holding back a smirk at the fact she had to strain her neck so much to meet his eyes. 

“Hey, I went a whole month without you. I missed you,” she scoffed. 

“Please, you were out cold the whole time.” 

“But I dreamt about you,” she stopped for a moment, chewing her lip and he smiled smugly, “give it up babe, you only do that when you’re trying not to smile. You’re lovin’ this,” he stumbled when she stuck her foot out in front of him. He straightened himself hastily just as she snorted. “Oh, I’m not falling for that agai-” she nearly fell over herself from her laughter when Dante face planted, somehow not smart enough to look out for her foot a second time. 

He hopped to his feet, a maniacal grin forming on his face and Penelope subconsciously backed away. 

“Oh, it’s gonna be like that, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” she chuckled, still backing away from him as he stepped toward her.

“You know what happens-” 

“Dante, no.” 

“When you fuck with me-” she squealed when he lunged for her, trying to scoop her up in his arms but she narrowly avoided him. She remembered the last time he got a hold of her after she embarrassed him, her sides hurt for hours even after he’d stopped tickling her. 

The lighthearted moment was cut short when the doorway she’d gone through was closed off by strange web-like vines. She could see Dante’s look of panic from the other side, he tried to strike the wall with his sword a few times but the strange vines were unaffected.  

“Oops,” she smiled sheepishly. “You go on ahead, I’ll find another way.” 

“Fine,” he sighed, “you hurry your ass up, don’t be late.” She left the gate, sighing to herself. He just had to try and tickle her.