#his cloak wrapping around him like a fucking cocoon???

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

ngl outside of the obvious jokes i will never understand this shitting on the beast's transformation like he's a human again, but i am sorry it's worth it alone for literally one of the most beautifully animated scenes to ever exist.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤlate nights ﹏

NOW STARRING : hockey bf Suguru x male!reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤyour boyfriend can't help himself before the big game, he has some sort of jinx!

✙ warnings — thigh fucking, size difference, use of "prince," hand-job

notes ,, tbh I know nothing about hockey i just wanted to make an au with suguru that isn't just the normal jjk plot... / also this was inspired by Jinx manhwa... the sex jinx thing you know

1:00 AM

The room is cloaked in the silence of the night; the soft light of the moon filtered through the half-closed blinds casting gentle shadows across the walls. The air is still, filled with the faint scent of lavender from the nearby candle. On the bed, you and Suguru lay intertwined, your bodies molded together with you as the little spoon, and Suguru as the big spoon. The soft fabric of the sheets cocoones the both of you in warmth as you find solace in each other's embrace. At this point you're already fast asleep, lulled into a deep slumber as you lay in Suguru's arms. However, no matter how hard he tried to push the growing heat beside, he was kept awake from the raging boner he had.

With one arm wrapped around your waist while the other propped his head up, he watched your chest rise and fall steadily. You looked so peaceful. The pale hand placed on your waist snaked down to your thigh, caressing it slowly. "Hey, wake up, prince" He shook you awake gently, not wanting to jolt you awake but his saccharine, honeyed voice was enough to pull you back to sleep. A light hearted chuckle left his chest when he saw your sleepy eyes blink to conciousness, and the way your nose scrunched like a kitty was adorable to him.

Suguru's palm kept massaging your thigh as his breath tickled your neck, "I can't sleep," He whispered, groaning softly when his hips involuntarily grinded against your ass. It was an accident he swears, it wasn't his fault he couldn't sleep because of his erection... it didn't help how you were still half asleep, trying to process what was happening. You realised immediately when you felt something poke your back. "I'm tired..." you mumbled, your words barely reaching Suguru's ears. It was 1am, of course you'd be tired. "How about your thighs? I'll do all the work," you knew Suguru had a thing for your thighs, he would always squeeze and grope them any chance he got. He mentioned something about how it was the warmest and softest part of your body but you never really understood his rambles.

"You have a game tomorrow, Suguru," You scold but don't push away his grabby hands. You know about his "jinx" but to be honest it was most likely just an excuse to fuck you before games; it was probably a way for him to get rid of his stress. "I won't win if I don't feel you," He groaned, his fingers dipping in-between your thighs, trying to hoist them apart. At this point you let him, too overcome by your sleepiness to care.

The noise of fabric shuffling filled the otherwise quiet room as Suguru slots himself in between your thighs, pushing your plush flesh together to secure him. You could tell he enjoyed it as you heard a shaky and breathy moan from behind you. To be honest, you got off on it too, seeing the way his tip would peak out from in-between your thighs. You always knew he was big but it never failed to suprise you each time.

Slowly, Suguru moved his hips in a thrusting motion, drawing them away before pushing back in with a small noise of his skin making contact with yours. His breaths stuttered with each movement and his hands wandered up your shirt, caressing and feeling your stomach underneath his fingertips. Suguru wasn't extremely vocal but with the small grunts and huff he lets out when he's enjoying himself... drives your body insane and you can't help but grow aroused as well.

"You lonely?" Suguru chuckled, his hands moving down to the waistband of your pyjama pants. With a small mumble of 'there we go,' he slips off your pants, tossing them aside carelessly. He continues his thrusting, slipping his dick in-between your thighs rhythmically. With every thrust, you could feel Suguru's cock slip along the underside of yours. It was such a light feeling that it almost tickled. Suguru coos in your ear, whispering sweet nothings that barely register in your sleep-ridden brain. All you can focus on is his warm palm trailing to your cock. His hand clamps around you as he cradles it in his hand for a bit, allowing you to really feel the warmth from his hand. God you were already leaking. "Hah... feels good Sugu'"

"Does it now?" he hums in a sickeningly sweet and innocent tone, but the way his hands pumped your cock was far from innocent. His movements get faster, his hips went from slow and calculated thrusts to slamming his hips against the back of your thighs, chasing his pleasure alongside with your own. Both his hand and his dick sliding in between your thighs made whimpers slip out your lips. Suguru uses his other hand to hold you close to him, pressing his palm flat against your stomach to push you flush against his body.

"Gonna come," he grunts, his voice getting louder and more raspy as he keeps thrusting. The hand wrapped around your cock was still pumping with vigour, like he wanted you to lose yourself with him. Your voice wavers as moans flow out of your throat — Suguru's hands are way too skilled for their own good. You feel a knot forming in your stomach and your cock twitches in Suguru's hand. Your tip is so red its practically begging for him to have mercy but he doesn't stop. He wants to see your pleasure as much as he wants to feel you. Suguru's voice breaks slightly as he groans, white spurting out of his dick and coating your thighs as well as the sheets. He keeps pumping his hand until he feels you pulse and twitch before you come, "Mm... good boy, yeah just like that."

With a few more slow thrusts, Suguru finally stopped. He wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug-like way, letting his face fall into the crook of your neck. He littered kisses all over your cheek and your jawline before speaking, "I'll do well tomorrow, thanks prince," Suguru chuckled softly, letting his eyes close while he settled down with you to catch up on the sleep he missed beforehand.

♡ little gift — X nsfw video that inspired this !!

a/n : this was meant to be an oc fic but decided I wanted it to be suguru...

[tikosblogg]

Scream..18+ (Winner)

*Pic from Pinterest*

Summary: Noah has been obsessed you with you from the minute he met you. So he decided to do something about it.

Warning: B&E, chasing, slight dubcon at first(DO NOT READ IF THAT TRIGGERS YOU), turns to full consent, smut, piv, unprotected sex, oral (F&M receiving), choking, dirty talk.

A/N: 13 cameras will be posted next because I already have half of it written!! Anyways plz enjoy 😉

The wind howled outside, rattling the old shutters of my home like a ghostly chorus. It was Halloween night, and while the neighborhood was alive with laughter and the sounds of trick-or-treaters, I found myself alone, comfortable in my solitude. As I settled onto the couch, the flickering light from my favorite horror movie cast eerie shadows on the walls. The protagonist's scream echoed in the back of my mind, but tonight, I felt safe, cocooned by the familiarity of my home.

Then, the phone rang.

I hesitated. Who is calling me this late?, glancing at the caller ID. No one. Just an unknown number. Curiosity pulled me in. "Hello?" I answered tentatively.

A low, distorted voice crackled through the line. "What’s your favorite scary movie?"

I huffed a quiet laugh, at the obvious prank call “Um, it’s probably ‘The Shining,’” I chuckled, deciding to entertain the mysterious caller. “What’s yours?” He chuckles darkly before answering.

“Nice choice. I bet you'd look pretty in the shower, just like Lia Beldam…I guess I’d say Halloween " he replies, the raspy tone sending a chill down my spine. I felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. "Who is this? This is getting a little creepy." After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke.

"Just Someone who's been watching you. And tonight, I couldn't resist calling to hear your voice." A sense of dread settled in my stomach. My heart raced as I tried to picture who this mysterious caller could be.

“I’m hanging up, you’re starting to freak me out.” I breathed, my hands started to shake uncontrollably. "Don't hang up." I froze as his voice turned hard, almost threatening. "I want to play a game. I'll be watching you, and you'll never know when I might show up. It's like your own personal horror movie."

I hung up instantly, my heart pounding as I set the phone aside. My mind raced with thoughts of that distorted voice, each word wrapping around me like a cold shroud. I tried to shake it off, pushing myself to focus on the movie, but it lost its charm amidst my rising anxiety. Why am I getting so worked up over this?

Time passed, and I decided I needed a hot shower to wash off the unsettling feelings. I stepped under the spray, the warmth enveloping me like a protective barrier. The familiar sound of droplets against the tub was comforting, and I closed my eyes, letting the water tumble me into a sense of relaxation.

Suddenly, a noise echoed through the house, ripping me from my peaceful thoughts. I froze, my heart racing as I strained to listen over the sound of the running water. There it was again—a loud thump. My breath quickened as I shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around me.

“Hello?” I called into the silence, but my voice shook with fear. I tiptoed towards the hallway, peering into the dark corners of my home. It was empty.

As I rounded the corner, my breath caught in my throat. There, standing in the dim light of the living room, was a figure cloaked in a black robe, their face hidden behind a white mask. My pulse thundered in my ears, and for a moment, time stood still.

“What the fuck!?” I screamed, my voice sharp with terror.

With a sudden movement, he lunged towards me. I spun around, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I sprinted toward my bedroom, heart pounding against my ribcage like a caged animal. I could hear his footsteps behind me—heavy and relentless, echoing like a death knell.

I barely reached my room, slamming the door shut just in time. As I fumbled for the lock, I could hear him banging against the door with a terrifying ferocity. Panic blurred my vision, and I felt a lump in my throat as I sprinted across the room.

I stumbled backward in horror as the door splintered under his assault. With one final push, it broke free, and he charged into the room, tackling me onto the bed.

The room spun as I landed, the weight of him pinning me down. I screamed, fighting against his grip, but it was futile—his strength overpowered me.

“Why are you doing this?” I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Because I wanna hear you scream,” his familiar voice made me freeze. He reached forward, his gloved fingers wrapping around my throat.

My heart stopped at the tattoos that ran up his arms. The tattoos I’ve admired many times in the past. "Noah?” I whimpered. fear, confusion, and excitement running through my veins at once. “What the hell are you doing?" I gasped reaching up to tear off his mask.

His brown eyes darkened with intensity as he smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. He was breath taking, but all I could focus on was why he was doing this. I met Noah a couple months ago, at a bar in town. We had exchanged numbers, and even hung out multiple times.

I had just started a new job, and became extremely overwhelmed. I eventually stopped texting him, and seeing him, not having time for a relationship. "I couldn't stay away any longer, Y/N," he said, his voice low and rough. "I've been watching you for months, fantasizing about this moment.”

I was shocked by my body's reaction to his words. I should have been terrified, kicked him out, even called the police, but my skin tingled with desire. Noah's eyes burned with a feral hunger as he traced a finger down my neck, sending shivers through me.

"I want you Y/N," he whispered, his hot breath caressing my face. “Let me have you.” He groaned, rutting his hips against mine softly. Before I could respond, his lips crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding. I moaned into his mouth, my body betraying my fear. His tongue danced with mine, and I tasted the sweet desperation for me on his lips.

His hands roamed over my body, his touch sending sparks through my veins. He yanked my towel open, exposing my naked flesh to his hungry gaze. His fingers traced my curves, making me arch into his touch. I could feel his dick pressing against my thigh, a reminder of the danger and excitement of the moment.

Before I could respond, his lips crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding. I moaned into his mouth, my body betraying my fear. His tongue danced with mine, and I tasted the sweetness of desire mixed with a hint of darkness.

Noah's hands roamed over my body, his touch sending sparks through my veins. He untied my towel, exposing my naked flesh to his hungry gaze. His fingers traced my curves, making me arch into his touch. I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh, a reminder of the danger and excitement of the moment.

"You want me Y/N?" he growled, his voice hoarse. "Tell me you want me, beg for it"

I nodded, unable to form words as his hand slid between my thighs, his fingers finding my wet slit. He stroked it slowly, building the tension until I was squirming beneath him.

"Please, Noah," I begged, my voice hoarse. "I need you." He chuckled, a dark, wicked sound, and slid himself down between my thighs. He pressed his tongue against the inside of knee, dragging up towards my throbbing core.

He ghosted his lips over my sensitive clit. His hot breath making me shiver. I ran my fingers through the top of his hair, gently tugging his head closer. He let out another low chuckle before finally licking up my soaked slit. “Oh fuck..”‘I whined breathless.

“You like that baby?” He grinned up at me, gently circling my clit with his finger, before pushing it inside of me. “Uh huh..” I whined, unable to form a coherent sentence. He leaned back in, sucking my clit into his mouth softly. He added a second finger, pumping them faster.

“Cum for me y/n, cum all over my fingers baby.” He groaned, flicking his tongue faster. “Fuck Noah…I’m gonna cum.” I moaned, my back arching from the mattress. “That’s right baby.” He mumbled, nipping at the insides of my thighs.

My whole body tensed as I finished, my walls clenching hard around his fingers. He groaned, fucking me through it. Once I came to, I sat up grabbing his face and pulling up towards me in a heated messy kiss. I flipped us around, straddling his thighs as he looked up at me in shock.

“My turn.” I smiled, kissing his lips softly. The white mask laying beside us caught my eye. He watched carefully as I reached over to retrieve it. “You wanna wear it?” He laughed gripping my hips, dragging my cunt over his hardened bulge.

I smiled running my hand through the side of his hair. “I want you to.” I whispered, my lips brushing his. His eyes shot up in surprise, a small smirk covering his lips. Without another word, I slipped the mask back over his head.

I kissed his lips over the mask, before pushing him down onto the mattress. I slid down his thighs, making myself comfy between them. I heard him groan as I kissed his dick through his pants. His hips bucked up as I continued teasing him.

“Please baby…I wanna feel your mouth.” I instantly gave in, not being able to wait any longer. I unbuttoned his jeans and freed his length, feeling it throb in my hand.

I stroked him slowly, enjoying the way his breath hitched beneath the mask. His dick was hot and hard, veins popping as I pumped my fist up and down. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, and I leaned down, to lick it off teasingly. The salty taste of him on my tongue made me moan, and I knew I had to take him into my mouth right then.

Lowering myself, I took the head of his cock between my lips, swirling my tongue around the smooth crown. His hips bucked off the bed, trying to fuck my mouth, but I held him firm, setting the pace. I wanted to drive him crazy, push him to the edge of sanity. My lips slid down his shaft, taking him deep, until I felt his pubic hair tickling my nose.

The sound of his muffled moans filled the room as I sucked and teased, using my tongue and the warmth of my mouth to drive him crazy. I could feel his thighs trembling, his control slipping away. His hands gripped my hair, as he slowly thrusted up into my mouth.

I softly squeezed the base before pulling off his dick with a pop, I teased the head with my tongue, swirling and flicking, before taking him back into the wet heat of my mouth. I looked up at him through the slits of the mask, as his hands fisted my hair tightly.

Before I could do anything else, he quickly jerked me up and flipped us over and slid himself down between my thighs. With one swift thrust, he filled me up. I cried out, my nails digging into his back as I felt every inch of his throbbing dick.

Noah pounded into me relentlessly, his tattoos a blur as he moved with primal urgency. His hands gripped my hips, leaving marks on my skin, a reminder of his possession. I matched his rhythm, meeting his savage thrusts with my own, our bodies becoming a tangle of sweat and pure animalistic need.

"You're so fucking tight, baby," he grunted, his hand coming up around my throat. "Whose pussy is this?” He grunted, not letting up. I whined, at the feeling of his dick stretching me out deliciously. “Yours…” He stared down at me through the mask, squeezing my throat tighter. “And don’t fucking forget it.”

His words ignited a fire within me, and I clawed at his back, urging him on. Each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. His fingers found my clit, and he rubbed it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, sending me spiraling towards another release.

"You gonna cum baby?," he commanded, his voice a growl. "I can feel your pussy squeezing me." He groaned, laying his forehead against mine. I reached up, tearing the mask off for the second time tonight, desperate to feel his lips again. I felt my orgasm coming, as his tongue explored my mouth. He groaned fucking me harder. “Good fucking girl.”

His words sent me over the edge. I cried out his name as my orgasm ripped through me, my body shaking uncontrollably. He grunted above me, his body tensing as he filled me up with his hot cum.

As our breathing slowed, Noah collapsed onto the bed beside me. I turned to face him, my body still humming with pleasure. “Stay..” I whispered, lightly running my finger down the tattoo on his throat. He smiled, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. “Of course…I’m not finished with you yet.”

[hollowember]

Shadows and flame// Azriel x female Vanserra OC

Fluff, Vanserra OC and Azriel stuck in an enemies to lovers cycle.

This is a prelude to an idea that's been kicking abt in my head for a while...

--

She was worn out, the shadow singer usually put her through her paces but... it had been a while.

His scarred hands brushed over her hair as they both panted for breath. She let herself enjoy the warmth of his bare chest beneath her cheek. Many a time, had they tried to kill one another, the irony lay in how safe she felt against him, cocooned in his arms that cradled her to his chest, his pale, muscle-padded skin.

She peered up at him through hazy eyes. His lips quirked at the corners, but he pushed her head gently back to his chest. "You're so good for me." He whispered.

It was so fucked up. He was insane. She loved him.

She had a duty to her house and court, he was the enemy, his court power-hungry and dangerous.

He scooped her up softly, shadows or wings or some other darkness shielded her from the lights as he carried her through hallways that twisted like a labyrinth. She should count the turns, memorise the path make sure he couldn't trap her here but then shadows whispered around them and a cold breeze pinched her skin and they appeared somewhere new entirely. She didn't have much time to take it in but she knew there was a bed, a soft wide bed that swallowed her whole pulling her into the depths of sleep as the Shadowsinger pressed his body against her back, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

---

Briar woke with a jolt and a gasp. Leaves crunched beneath her yellow, gold, orange and red filled her vision. Not soft, dark bedsheets. Leaves. Rotting leaves. She was back in Autumn.

Her tunic and pants that she had worn before seeing the shadow singer were back on her body, and her heavy deep red velvet cloak was wrapped around her. Briar pushed herself up to sit, leaves crumpled beneath her, and something in her palm crumpled, too.

She unfolded the note left in her hand, it read: Better luck next time, A

Heat filled her cheeks and her chest went tight as she stared at the handwriting. She burnt the note right there in her palm, the ash staining her hand.

She inspected the pack he'd left by her side, some food, water, her dagger, and a change of clothes. She took her dagger and burnt the rest of the pack, kicking the ashes and covering them with dead leaves before stalking into the forest.

She knew this forest, despite how the trees and shrubs would move to create a labyrinth of trickery. She knew the paths to take, knew that while the forest moved with the winds, the streams, rivers, and lakes remained the same.

She found a stream she'd always been fond of and striped down, submerging herself in an icy blue pool that had been created by a short waterfall. 

Briar washed the Shadowsinger off of her. She stole days like these every decade or so, but the last time had been much longer, over half a century had passed from the last time she had seen the Spymaster to now. They had been far too close and with that, too close to being caught. She hadn't risked it since. Her father had only just allowed her on hunts alone again, his suspicions and grudges had held firm for decades, and she'd played the game for long enough in order to get out of the court for a night.

If she'd played well enough, she wouldn't be interrogated, if not...

Briar sighed, rinsing her hair through. Along with being the only female, she was the only sibling who didn't have her mothers fire red hair. No, her hair was dark like her fathers and eyes green like her mothers.

Azriel's hazel eyes were etched into her memory, the ring of pale brown/green closest to his iris was nearly impossible to see last night. She doesn't know how he returned her so soundlessly to Autumn, but she remembered every moment up until sleep took her.

She didn't particularly like the Shadowsinger, but their paths had crossed enough times for them to come to this unspoken arrangement.

[noxspost]

it is not weak to cry after tragedy

it was weird in the cabin of Ares because there would be some form of music like rock or some of band. yet this once threating place that was filled with the aura of tough and strong Ares kids, felt hollow cold and sad there was darker since they black out the windows that makes it seem like it was a cave cold and big. frank was staying for the sake of trying to help the grieving warrior who was in the bunk in the corner.

she looked like a worm. she was staring into nothing and her eyes were glossy thanks to her tears which haven't fallen yet and she just cutch her cocoon tighter.

Clarisse was wrapping herself back into a cocoon of her blankets and cloaks. mark and Sherman looked at each and Sherman walked over and sat down next to his sister "well how are you fairing?" he looked at her eyes don't have her usually spark but are now dull and theirs is dark with hurt, regret and guilt, she looks at him and spoke her voice broken like she had been screaming for a long time.

"They took the only meaning of my life and killed her before my very eyes." her brother nodded and then he wraps a arm around her and said, "hey it is okay to cry and mourn the loss she fought bravely."

this makes her looks at him with a wide eye looks and she spoke sounded scared and trembling which was mixed with guilt "i should have fought sooner and maybe she wouldn't have died. i fucking failed and she had paid the price i fucking fail!" her voice was choked and she just broke-down crying as if that her breaking point and then Mark went to his sister and said "you did not fail." she was leaning into his touch as all of her tears fell.

she was shaking and she was now grabbing her hair which Frank let go and his face was twisting in fear and worry as he was trying to help but Clarisse was trying to hurt herself and sparrow one of the daughters of Ares was now holding her hands in her scared hands. "Listen to me Clarisse don't pull on your hair. you are not in danger you are safe in the cabin." her voice was low and soft as she was rubbing Clarisse's knuckles.

Mark was looking to the others, and he walked to grab a vulture plushie which was sitting next to a trans egg. this was a gift from Ares. he was smiling as he gave it to Clarisse, and she took it fast from him. 

Clarisse was breathing heavy and she was still looking at her and she looks at them "why do you care i am a monster." this makes her just snarl as she was trembling and then her other sister spoke "why do you think that?" her voice was kind and soft but Clarisse knew why foxglove was dangerous, she was more of the Cabin mother than a fight but her bracelets on her could turn into the twin fist of Malphon a gift from Zagreus. 

"Well i killed so many people when i pulled an Achilles and i am a Ares kids and trying to tell others that i am not a monster... it like getting the boulder up the hill."

they all looked to her with empathy as they knew that too the strange and annoyed looks from the others and sure the toilet thing was a bad thing to do. Foxglove and Sparrow didn't get those looks but they had seen those looks which were always at their siblings.

"well if they treat you like a freak and a monster might as well be the monster they so much want." spoke Frank who looked at them with eyes fill with sad and shame then Clarisse spoke her voice was gruff and low "you are not a freak not at all why must you put yourself down."

she sounded more tried and like she had given up on trying in the world and it had 6 days since they buried Silena. Clarisse only drank water and maybe a few crackers. then Sherman spoke "okay that is enough of starving yourself." she was shocked, and her jaw tighten.

he was holding her in a hug from behind and he had felt how thin she was. it had been 4 months after the battle she did eat but enough that she wouldn't die but still it worrying.

Sherman always gave the best hugs with his muscular build and sparrow was the best spar partner and Mark was the best at being the annoying brother that would have your back and was best at making you smile yet here was Clarisse who the most like her father a monster and funny enough both of them were trans.

Ares was aggressive spiteful and fought and he wasn't one to not getting dirty. he was a freak and a asshole, Clarisse was a freak and a monster, so it made sense that she got a bit of his curse, and his anger and wrath and she hated it...

he then went to grabs from bread since she hadn't eaten in while he gave her something small. Clarisse looked down in shame and remorse. Sparrow didn't have pity but she did hold fear and anger in those green pools but not at her sister but herself.

"well Clarisse you are not weak only grieving and i believe Silena doesn't want you to die." she was careful of her words but all that did was make Clarisse cry more but then she tried to stop saying "i am not weak and shouldn't be crying."

when Foxglove looked at her then Frank went to the door making sure it was locked and she spoke as she pushed gently Sparrow out the way and she did move getting the hint and then Foxglove held the other girl in her arms which was hard since Clarisse had done a move called pulling a Achilles.

Foxglove met the other glazes and then they got what she was wanting and they went out of the cabin and locking it behind them leaving Foxglove and Clarisse alone "look people don't cry cause they're weak, they cry because they've been strong for too long."

she was crying more and Clarisse spoke "i know but i can't protect her and Beck..." she was so shakily and Foxglove didn't speak but only bushed the hair out the way of her sister's face. "Yet all of them don't respect us and our dad even though he does most of Athena's dirty work in the wars and he was in the middle of the 2nd world war!"

she was nodded and Clarisse spoke again "why does everyone think that i am a monster and i didn't ask to be a bully and i just a hug from dad... but of course i am failed so many times that he hates me and he did said that he was disappointed with me."

she said as Foxglove who had Ares's white and peach hair, her eyes looked like her mother's one was a blue and the other one was brown and she was had Ares's dark skin.

"i think maybe you will," spoke Foxglove as this makes Clarisse to turn to her and she looked the most confused and angry "listen how can that happen? our dad is busy and he--" 

"well i don't where you got the idea that i hate you is beyond me." spoke a familiar voice which was sharp yet calming "dad?!" they both see Ares who was wearing a tank top and a pair of jean legging and his black combat boots. he had some of Deimos's hair clips in the white and peachy colored hair which was long and buzzed on one side but the other side was buzzed and shaved, his eyes were they normal pools of black and red like apples. 

his skin wasn't cloaked to be white or white passing but it dark and rich color. his bird bee was on his shoulder where a shoulder amor pad was. he looked at his kids and sighed "i was disappointed since you didn't tell off that Percy kid for making those comments about me not being controlled by Kronos in that fight."

he walks to them and sits down and he was now next to both of them and he had his messenger bag and his face was sharp and he had a resting bitch face but his eyes sparkle with worry and he spoke "Clarisse come here, out of the cocoon i want to see all of you." she did and she was in her pjs which was sweats and a bagged short sleeve shirt.

"okay dad." then he grabbed both of her hands and he said "now you are going to shut up while i will tell how you are wrong to doubt yourself and yes i can felt it rolling off like waves."

Clarisse was smiling bitterly and then asked "why you have better things to do, i am just being weak and not strong." she got a look from Ares and he wasn't trying to anger her but comfort "well for one, when i look at you i see myself and just with less family trauma you still have those metal scars and wounds from us. yet you haven't let the other hurt you all the way you still show kindness and trust just not to all like if i was you with my mental shit... now tell me what you see that you think bad about yourself?"

Clarisse felt the warmth in her father's hands and there were the semicolon tatts on both hand on the back. "Well i hate my hands and arms they look to big and scared. look at how the arms look so many scars and big i have seen the looks some of the kids who see me and i hate some of the kid starting a rumor about me being..."

Ares sat down and listen "well what i see with your hands and arms well it shows how strong you are, and those scars shows that you have gone through the dumb bull shit that we have through at you and so what my daughter who were amazon were strong women and there are the spartan women were strong and powerful women who were clever. i don't see a monster only a strong battle beaten teen who loves like her father. you should have been 16 teen age year when you should have be trained and yet i glad you haven't change."

this makes Clarisse cry, and he hugs her in a strong beat hug "well i was born a boy how do you feel about your "daughter" being a freak born in the wrong body?" her voice was muted by her face in his shirt, and he had his hand in her hair, and he had another arm around Foxglove as he held both of them in his arms. his wings were out.

he was shielding both of them in his wings "well Clarisse that is enough out of you! you are a girl not a boy you know that better than your mother's family and i am glad you told me and another thing do you see me as a woman since i was born with woman's parts?" he asked and Clarisse sniffed and then she spoke "well no you are Ares the god of war?" 

this makes Ares laugh "well when i look at you i see a daughter not a son. a woman can have muscle." this makes Foxglove smile as she speaks "yeah and also dad why in the photos you wear the dresses and skirt and more traditional femmie things?"

Ares smiles "well i don't have dysphoria with that type of clothing. also, men have worn dresses and skirts and makeup. it is fun to dress like that." he was holding Clarisse and then he spoke "well Clarisse i am sorry that you lost Silena. you would have my blessing if she ever asked for your hand and trust me when i said it is okay to grieve but not okay to hurt yourself i have been down that road and it got Artemis and mama Hestia so scared and mad. Mama Hestia never let me go from her home till i was better. grams got involved." 

Clarisse nodded and she spoke "it is just so hard to not being it is my fault that she died, she let herself get killed because i had to not fight, i wasn't trying to be labeled as a blood thirsty freak... by some of the Athena kids." Ares sighed "same kiddo, Athena is the worse and she acts all high and mightily when most of the time she acts just like Zeus, and she makes me sick... i can said that since i am also like that but that she choice because she wanted you to live trust me i visited her trying to stop it but then Athena tried to be an ass."

this makes Foxglove laugh which was like bone snapping "also i am not a complete blood thistly freak too because it is pointless without the chance of death. Clarisse us gods die but is temporary some of gods come out of the Styx or the celestial pools. i crawl out from the Styx into the house since i got disowned by Zeus." this makes Clarisse speak "so we are all rejects of the gods, mortals and fate?"

"well no you have a family of a coffee addict Hypnos and a kind god named Zagreus and siblings." Ares said as he was smiling "well yeah i guess we do..." Clarisse was feeling better as she was eating some more bread and drink a water bottle "also don't tell Percy this but i was about to kill Kronos or at least try since back then i was a wreak when i was trying to find Thanatos since mortals were dying but not free so i could feel the pain and panic. i am glade Thanatos was saved from this again."

Foxglove nods and Ares spoke "welcome them back in and yes frank too."

---

after they were talking more the other kids came back in and Annabeth see Ares asleep with his kids and also Frank shielded in his wings and arms and Clarisse was hidden in two thin blankets and her dad's arms.

this was strange for her to see and Ares looked peaceful and calm no longer fighting and killing. he looked too mortal for her since she saw the scars and then Chiron walked in "so i heard Ares was here--oh since he needed some rest. too much panicked for him glad he is a better than his own family." then he walked out with Percy standing in the door frame.

"Wow Ares looks a lot like Foxglove." Annabeth rolls her eyes as she walks to him "well seaweed brain, that is his real form he just hid because it was easier for the gods." they were soon closing the door to the den of warriors resting after war. they got the glares from the birds and boars which sit at the door.

[thefunnyrabbid]

for the hurt/comfort prompts you should do the "ive got all night" one

for a romantic mlm pairing

omg yesss here we go

cw for r@p3

———

griff was huddled under a blanket in the middle of the carpeted floor, arms wrapped around his knees like twin boa constrictors. his breathing was unsteady and his shoulders shivered despite the thick plush fabric covering him.

cyrus sat in front of his partner, a few feet away, legs crossed. he was keeping himself as calm as he was able, but the seething anger and panicked concern was bleeding through. he was leaned forward over his legs slightly, wishing to touch griff’s shoulder, give him a reassuring gesture, but he knew that would make it worse in this particular situation.

cyrus did really have all night. it was a friday night, so he didn’t have work in the morning, and there was no chance he’d be able to fall asleep now. not after seeing the man he loved more than anything reduced to a shuddering ball of fear.

a nearly silent sob came from griff’s throat. “i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry,” he mumbled in a weak, high-pitched voice.

“don’t- don’t be sorry, you did nothing wrong. nothing,” cyrus said again with a firm but gentle emphasis. “you didn’t deserve this.”

griff was walking back home from work, which was a small karate dojo. this was one of two jobs, and he only taught karate classes on wednesday and friday nights. those were the only two nights he walked home in the dark, down roads lit only by flickering streetlamps and the moon. he’d never met any shady characters on his commute before, but he was always acutely aware that it was a possibility.

tonight, he was sore and tired, and the only thing he wanted was to get home, fall into bed with his boyfriend and doze off in his arms. the mental image made him smile as he stared at his feet, which were setting a leisurely pace that didn’t bother his thighs and calves as much as a quicker speed would.

they came out of nowhere.

well, not technically nowhere- griff had walked past a pitch black alleyway between a barber shop and a restaurant. as with all the alleys around the small town, there were no security cameras outside.

a large man grabbed a fistful of griff’s long, tangled hair and yanked backwards, dragging him into the alleyway. before he could cough out a cry for help a strong hand covered his mouth roughly, pressing down hard enough that griff couldn’t open his mouth to bite.

once his assailant and him were both cloaked in the alley’s shadows, the man lifted griff off the ground an inch or two by his hair. his mouth was still covered.

“what a pretty little boy,” the man murmured, his voice surprisingly soothing. “i’ll turn you into my slut, and fuck the living shit out of you, alright?”

to his dismay, kicking and scratching did nothing but anger the stranger. the man’s knee hit hard into griff’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. then a punch to the face silenced him before he could speak, a flash of pain searing across his face as he blacked out.

cyrus had left their apartment when griff had been late getting home by 20 minutes. he found his partner on the ground in the dark, shaking and crying and scared, and naked.

it took a minute to coax griff up, and by the way he walked it was evident that despite his desire to be home and be safe, he was in a great deal of pain and couldn’t speed up much at all. cyrus was silent, fuming. if he had arrived early enough to see griff’s attackers he’d have mauled them.

griff did not want to be touched. he wanted to disappear, he wanted to tear his skin off and burn it. he wanted to take a shower but he couldn’t bring himself to come out of his blanket cocoon that cyrus had provided for him.

he couldn’t stop feeling guilty. the emotion crashed over him like unruly waves. if he hadn’t gone home alone, if he had brought his pocket knife, if he had fought harder…

“griff. do you want to tell me what happened?” cyrus’s voice was dangerously loving, the anger at what happened to griff struggling to stay hidden. but, the last thing cyrus wanted to do was make griff more anxious.

griff just shook, whimpering as he stared at his shoes.

“hey, griff. i’ve got all night. okay, love? i’m here to help.”

griff didn’t want to say what happened. he didn’t want to think about the two other men that emerged from the shadows, tore off his clothes and scratched and sucked at him as the large man pounded into him. they had been delighted to find that griff was trans, and had been on testosterone long enough to have significant bottom growth. griff was dry and completely unaroused, but his assailants didn’t seem to mind, much to griff’s horror. the three men disappeared when they heard cyrus searching for him, first kicking him across the ground and then disappearing into the darkness, somehow gone. griff was sobbing, snot and tears and saliva blurring his vision. his clothes were gone, but cyrus had worn a large sweatshirt that covered griff enough to walk home. griff didn’t speak.

griff didn’t speak for nearly an entire week, except for choked apologies and unintelligible sobbing. mostly, it was just silence.

then, one night when cyrus was watching a show on the couch, griff came into the living room after a shower. he was wearing the same pajamas he had worn since the incident, baggy and soft plaid pjs that belonged to cyrus. he held his coffee mug squishmallow tight to his chest as he walked up behind the couch.

after a few minutes of a calm quiet, griff moved around the couch and sat next to cyrus, draping his arm around his shoulders and leaning into his shoulder.

cyrus froze. this was the first time griff had touched him in a week.

after a few minutes cyrus realized his boyfriend was crying. carefully, gently, he wrapped his arms around griff and held him firmly, kissing the top of his head.

“you’re okay, love. you’re okay.”

“i know. i’m… i f-feel safe.”

cyrus choked up, his eyes wet. they sat in silence for a while, tears falling.

“you cry as long as you need, griff. i’m here, i’ve got you… i’ve got all night.”

[husbandhoshi]

thinking of joshua who, after making sweet love to you, wraps you up in blankets like a cloak so you stay warm before getting up to grab all the aftercare necessities (he even carries you around, blanket cocoon and all which he definitely teases you for since you look so cute and soft in his arms, because he doesn't want you to waste any more of your energy)

"put me down!" you squeal, unwilling to leave what feel like the softest sheets you’ve ever laid in (although they are freshly laundered, something joshua insisted on despite the fact that you both know it wouldn’t really matter when it came down to it).

the blanket he’s draped over you is also right out of the dryer, and it makes your heart feel a little funny that you've fallen for someone so meticulous.

god, his linens must be so fucking expensive, is your first thought. your second involves something about how he's picked you as if you were a feather, and you certainly don't weigh like one.

instead of listening to you, he kisses your forehead. "what makes you think i'd let you walk all the way to the bathroom? do you even know where it is?"

"can't be far, i hope." with the size of his place though, it might as well have been a mile away.

you start to wonder how you've never connected the dots on this one. the fancy dinners, the nice car, that humongous watch on his wrist—it made sense how they were all attached to a rich dude, but even after almost a month of dating joshua (more humble than you would ever be if you owned half the shit he did), you never really comprehended that this was your life now.

he plants another kiss on your nose, and your tummy does a somersault.

"can you even walk?" he teases. "kinda made sure of that one."

"very romantic. i'm actually swooning right now." you roll your eyes, and he smiles, all goofy and charming.

you tighten your grip on his shoulders so he can free up a hand to flip on the light switch.

"nice place," you remark. you think his toothbrush costs more than your entire rent, but you're not about to say that just yet. not after you just railed for the first time.

"thanks, i bought it." joshua sets you down on the counter and turns to the bath to start the water. "lavender or rose?" he holds up two clearly unopened bottles of bubble bath.

"mmm...rose." you kick your feet back and forth, enjoying the feel of the marbled counter under your skin. you admire him as he runs the bath, the strong plane of his bare back and his tousled dark hair, looking like some cover model. it genuinely makes you dizzy all over again.

and then you think about businessman joshua hong, standing in line to buy some soap he'll never use, just to impress his girlfriend visiting his place for the first time. "you're sweet, you know."

joshua turns to you, and you can swear there are hearts in his eyes. it kind of shocks you—undoubtedly, your hair's a birds nest, your makeup is probably smudged to hell, and you're literally drowning in a swaddle of sheets. you think you look like the caterpillar from alice in wonderland.

still, he cups your cheeks in his big hands and brings you in for a kiss. and another. and another, until you tell him the water's overflowing, to which he replies, i don't care, and kisses you again.

(needless to say, you do get to witness the treat of watching joshua on his knees, toweling up bubbly, glittery water. it's a wonderful excuse to invite him into the bath with you.)

[mox-writes]

Baby It's Cold Inside (Bucky Barnes x Reader) MoxMas Day 30

Warning: some language, fluff, shirtless Bucky

Word Count: 1,684

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x Reader (no pronouns/nondescript)

Summary: You find warmth in your roommate Bucky's bed.

Prompt: Crawling into their roommate’s (S/O’s) bed because it is too cold in their own and they want cuddles.

A/N: MoxMas is a shitshow lmao, I finally found the motivation to write a full-length story, and only because I already had 400 words of this written on Christmas. Crossposted on moongoddessmox! All feedback is very appreciated, thanks for reading!!

MoxMas Masterlist | Prompt List 2

It was Christmas Eve, and Lord did the universe want it to be a white Christmas. The blizzard outside the large windows was blinding and deafening. The wind sounded like a train as it rattled the glass, and the pelting snow was like tiny bullets that you thought could shatter it at any moment.

Fuck. You couldn't get comfortable, flipping and wrapping and flipping and wrapping, until you were cocooned in your fluffy duvet. The temperature read a crisp 17 degrees Fahrenheit on the digital thermostat in your room. You struggled to get warm, pushing yourself as far as possible into the corner of your bed, surrounded by pillows and other blankets. Anything to provide some kind of warmth.

You watched the white flurry, imagining it was a warm and sunny island. Somewhere that you could bask in the sun for some much-needed vitamin D. Mm, vitamin D, you know who could give you some D? Your roommate Bucky. You shook the intrusive thoughts from your mind, coming back to reality and seeing the cold death outside again. You groaned, flipping over to stare at your door.

It had been seven months since you moved in with Bucky. You were a rough, emotionally damaged mess of an assassin when he and Sam took you in from Madripoor. Your life had never known peace, just criminal dealings such as theft, spying, counterfeiting, oh and a big one, murder. You had run into them while working with the Power Broker, and after they needed your help and vice versa, they had offered to bring you back to the States for “rehabilitation”. You were anxious at first, never knowing the feeling of love and friendship, but it was something you had grown to welcome.

Since Bucky was all alone in New York, he figured you could stay with him until you got your bearings. As the months went on, it became increasingly obvious that you both liked each other and he didn’t want you to move out. Though, it was only obvious to those around you. Both you and Bucky were oblivious to the mutual pining and it had surpassed being annoying to others since you acted like a couple that was on the brink of marriage.

You clicked your tongue, deciding whether or not to go find Bucky for warmth, running all the scenarios through your head. What if he gets weirded out? What if he’s already asleep? Surely, he is, I don’t want to bother him. What if he’s masturbating? Does he masturbate? Does he use the metal hand? I wonder if he has more stamina if he does…you shook the thoughts from your mind, springing up out of bed with your blanket wrapped around you like a cloak. You anxiously tiptoed out of your room, peering around the corners to investigate for any signs of life.

Sometimes Bucky would be awake, unable to sleep because of the nightmares and he would just sit on the floor in the living room. You practically had to beg to get furniture so there was actually a couch in there now. When you didn’t notice any signs of him outside of his room, you went to his door, hesitating before gently tapping your knuckles to it. No answer. There was no light under the door and no sound, so you figured he wasn’t in any sexually explicit positions. You gently knocked again, this time you opened the door slowly. Peeking inside you saw a lump on the bed. Curled up under the blanket was a sleeping Bucky.

You tiptoed over to him, seeing the lump of his body slowly rising and falling with each calm breath he took. You smiled, your body rushing with warmth at the sight. His resting face was so peaceful, his eyes gently closed and mouth slightly agape; his lips were pink and looked soft, so soft. You couldn’t see any of his body because he had the blanket pulled up to his chin, just as you had, so you figured he was probably freezing as well. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself for the closeness and hoped not to scare him, then you pulled his blanket back enough to slide into the bed.

Bucky immediately felt the dip in the mattress as you climbed in, whipping around startled to see you like a deer in headlights. Your descent into the bed was already in motion, so when he turned around, you toppled over and fell right on his chest. Unexpectedly, he let out a very loud scream which caused you to audibly gasp and start choking on the air that whipped into your throat. The noise he made surprised even him, causing his cheek to burn red with embarrassment. You were tangled in your blanket and pressed against his chest as you tried to calm your cough, Bucky was frantic, unsure how to help or even register what was happening. He tugged your blanket away from your body as you squirmed, trying to get out of it, and finally, he got you free.

You calmed down and sat up, sitting on heels and covering your face with the blanket.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” your voice was shaky and coarse, riddled with humiliation as you tried to hide under the thick fabric. Bucky was equally as embarrassed, maybe more. The last time he remembered screaming like that was when he fell off the train.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to scream at you like that, oh god…” he covered his face with his hands, trying desperately to stop the painful blush that turned him into a tomato, “what are you doing in here?” he asked through his hand, not wanting to make eye contact with you.

“Oh–oh yeah, I was just cold…I thought we could be warm together…” your sentences were broken by long sighs. You peeked over your blanket to look at Bucky. He had separated his fingers to glance at you but upon meeting your gaze, he shuddered away again.

“I see, well, if you’re not too weirded out, you can stay. I’d actually love the company,” he moved his hand and you could see how red he still was, it was cute. Your own embarrassment subsided as you were overtaken by how sweet and innocent he looked. Bucky only grew more red as you stared at him. He was sure you were making fun of him in your head, probably laughing at how he was blushing, but you were actually awestruck. His dark hair was messy and blue eyes were illuminated by the snowy moonlight that leaked into the room.

“What are you looking at?” he braved the question, worried about the answer.

“You’re gorgeous,” you said immediately, eyes widening as the words fell haphazardly from your lips. Bucky’s eyes twitched wider, the blush getting brighter as it took over his whole face. He was speechless. That was not at all what he was expecting you to say but he couldn’t help but love hearing it.

“Sorry…that was, oh god, sorry. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room,” you rustled around the blankets to get up. You needed to hide, to get away from him, why would you say that?? Now he knows you like him, you idiot. You’re going to have to move, he’s never going to want to talk to you again, oh god, oh g-

“You’re gorgeous too,” the words struck the thoughts right out of your head. You looked at him, your blanket wadded up in your arms like a child holding too many toys. Bucky was sitting up now, his body turned toward you. He was shirtless, in the fucking winter? Seriously, Barnes, and had extended his arm out to you. “Stay, please?” His voice was soft and inviting.

You took his hand, dropping your blanket and climbing in next to him. Bucky helped cover the both of you with each blanket and wrapped his bare arm around your body, pulling you against his skin. You rested your head on his shoulder and laid your hand on his chest before hesitantly pulling it away, unsure if he wanted you to touch his naked body.

“Sorry,” you whispered, settling your hand between your bodies with it tucked under your ribs. Bucky chuckled, reaching his metal hand over and pulling your wrist until your hand was free. He laid it over his heart, his palm against the back of your hand, fingers gripping it tightly.

“After you had to hear me scream like that, I think we’ve crossed over the ‘just friends’ border. Next thing you know, I’ll be taking you on a date,” Bucky laughed, looking down to meet your eyes. He wanted to see if the words scared you off at all, or if you’d be into going out with him. When your eyes lit up, he smiled, the knot in his stomach relaxing.

“Good, because I don’t usually lay naked with people I’m not dating,” you winked.

“Technically we’re not laying naked together seeing as you still have your clothes on, but feel free to change that,” he returned the wink, eyes traveling down your body for a moment.

“Maybe after the date, Barnes,” he scrunched his nose with a big smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzled his neck, glad you decided to come to his room, you were already so much warmer. Bucky broke the peaceful silence, the earlier event still on his mind.

“Did you even knock? I could have been masturbating,” he questioned, eyes still closed. You laughed, looking up at his face. The movement caused him to look down at you.

“Ah, so you do masturbate. Do you use the metal arm?” he pulled his eyebrows together for a moment, a million questions running through his mind. He didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes with a smile and shook his head in disbelief. You shrugged and rested your head back on his shoulder. After a few long moments, Bucky kissed the top of your head, whispering low.

“Yes.”

[suicidalslasher]

𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠 ➤  𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙. & 𝑠𝑡𝑢 𝑚.

In which the reader comes home, completely broken-hearted and her two friends, Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, come in to put a smile on her face and show her how much they love her.

WARNINGS:  This is a smut but not well written, lol. It’s mainly just oral, both receiving and giving. (male and female.)  Also, if you squeeze your eyes really tight, you may get a glimpse of slight foreshadowing in which Billy and Stu killed the guy that broke the reader’s heart but blink and you might miss it. Anyways. Enjoy.  

(Y/N) lied upon a soft feather mattress, cocooning herself in the silk sheets. A sad sigh surpassing her lips as the realization settles in, hitting her like a ton of bricks, like a cold bucket of water was thrown on her. She's alone. The room feels empty. Wait, no, scratch that. 

It is empty.  It's dark and cold and lonesome. As many blankets that surround her and although she has many draped around her body, her skin still somehow prickles with goosebumps and she's shivering.  

Though, she knows it's not because she's cold. She isn't shaking because of that. Not really. Before she could stop herself, her eyes start to glisten with tears, the corner of her eyes pooling with water and slowly but surely, they slide down her skin, wetting her cheeks. Goddammit. God fucking dammit, she thinks, reaching over and grabbing the duvet comforter,  she slides it over her head. Broken, silent sobs then proceed to escape past her lips, although she oh so desperately tries to hold them back. She fails miserably.  Then, out of nowhere, she hears a little knock, followed by another.   Rolling over to lay on her stomach, (Y/N) buries her face into the nearest pillow, causing mascara tears to soak and stain the cushion as she continues to cry and sob. Before she realizes it or even can acknowledge it, the window to her bedroom is being pulled up and her friends, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, step inside her bedroom.   "(Y/N)?" (Y/N) is quick to flip around upon hearing her name, her heart hammering wildly against her chest. 

 "S-Stu? Billy? What the Hell are you guys doing here?"  She relaxes, having  seen her friends standing by her bedroom window rather than the man everybody was fearing lately in Woodsboro.  

A masked man with a dark cloak and a spine-chilling voice. She was lucky she hadn't heard what he sounded like, she had enough nightmares as is. It was hard to say whether or not it was a man behind the mask but regardless, whatever sex the person was, they were crazy, inside and out. End of story. (Y/N) makes a mental note, reminding herself to lock her window next time and to keep track of that before she gets comfortable and goes to bed. Especially with what was happening everywhere in Woodsboro. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."  Billy said, walking over to the girl as he sat down next to her,  the mattress sinking beneath his weight. Stu followed, nodding happily as he shows a few VHS tapes, gesturing them over to (Y/N).

 "We brought movies to watch and snacks, too!" He exclaimed as he then pulled out a small plastic bag, dumping out the items onto her bed. 

There was chips and candy and they were all her favorite flavors and brands, too. (Y/N) felt the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes again at the sweet gesture her friends were sharing with her. "Oh... c'mon, don't be such  a cry baby." Stu snickered but he wrapped his arms around (Y/N) and pulled her into a side hug, Billy following right behind, hugging her from her right. 

 "We love you, we've got your back, always, okay?" "What Stu said. Besides, this world doesn’t deserve an angel like you, (Y/N).” "Mhm." Stu nodded.   "I really liked him, that's all..... I should've known it was a set up to get back with his ex." (Y/N) said with a sniffle, running a hand over her face as she tries to rid herself of any left over makeup, especially getting rid of the mascara, although, if she were positive, that and her eyeliner were most likely now resting on the pillow she had cried into rather than on her face. "Well, he's a fucking idiot." Billy growled.   "He doesn't see how perfect you are, (Y/N)." "Billy and I see that, though." Stu said, taking his hand off from her shoulder as he now rests his hand on her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze. It made (Y/N)'s breath hitch in her throat and she bites on her lower lip, nervously. 

What were they doing....? She thinks. “We would do anything for you. Absolutely anything.”  Billy said. "We'd do anything just to see you happy, just to see you smile..." Stu continued. "You deserve nothing but the best, deserve nothing but happiness." "So, please... (Y/N)... let us give you that. Let us show you how beautiful and loved you really are. We love you.... we love you so much-" "We love you so much we'd kill for you." Billy looks over at Stu, giving him a questioning glare and (Y/N) goes to ask what that stare meant but her words are loss and any train of thought she had left the building once she feels both hands of Billy and Stu's on her thighs.

 One on her left, the other on her right. "So.... no movies then?" (Y/N) asked jokingly. Her heart, like earlier, was pounding so loud she swore both boys could hear it against her chest. Her body was trembling as it had done earlier but now, it wasn't from sadness or feeling broken but rather hot and bothered. 

She did always have an attraction to Billy and Stu, she'd be a liar to say she didn't. "We can watch them later. Right now, we want to see those legs of yours sprawled out, give us a view of that pretty pussy." (Y/N) whined softly but she obeyed, and while she did, Billy grunted while Stu spoke softly, "Such a good girl for us. You're our good girl, aren't you, sweetheart?" (Y/N) nodded as she stretched her legs on either side of her. All she was wearing was a thin gown, one that matched her sheets, being the fact both were silk.  

 "Oh.... so pretty, so beautiful." Stu purred, licking his lips, his eyes growing darker while Billy's did the same. "Naughty though.... aren't you, baby? Not wearing any panties." Billy chuckled as he stood up, feet landing on the carpeted floor with a soft thud as he walks over to (Y/N), undoing his jeans and the belt that had been neatly placed in the hoops of the pants.  

"Is it okay if you suck me off, darling? You want to be a good girl, don't you?" (Y/N) says nothing, she's unable to speak. It was as if a cat had captured her tongue and ran off with it, and she couldn't get it back from the creature. She feels paralyzed, too. Everything feels as if it's going by too fast.

 What an odd day.... she thinks. She didn't expect this to happen, not now, not ever. But she wasn't angry at it or the outcome of tonight's misfortune. It was just crazy how fast the night changes. "Baby? I asked you a question... If you know what’s good for you, you better answer me.”   "Y-yes." (Y/N) stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.  "I'd love to suck you off, please, may I?" "Oh!" Stu chirped, giggling as he shook his head from side to side, a wicked grin playing out across his lips. "She's got manners, fuck - we really found the perfect girl, haven't we, Billy?" "Mhm." Billy said, pressing his cock to her lips. "Open up, sweetie. Let's see how pretty you look with a mouth full of cock." While (Y/N) parts her lips open, and as Billy pushes himself in her wet and warm mouth, (Y/N) feels heat against her clit and before she can put two and two together, Stu's devouring her pussy with his tongue and she squeaks, bucking her hips up into his touch.   "Fuck! She tastes incredible. Can't believe I haven't gotten to you sooner." Stu said before pressing his face back in between her thighs, licking and lapping her cunt with his tongue, making her tremble and shake. 

(Also makes her almost choke and gag on Billy's cock as he presses his cock further down her throat.) Above, Billy nodded as he rocked his hips back and forth, eyes half-lidded, not quite shut but not all the way open either, as he grunts out an answer; "She's good with her mouth too, Stu." He said.  

"Not sure I can last long, sweetheart..." He warned and right as the words slip from his lips,  it didn't take less than a second until (Y/N)'s mouth is being filled with Billy's creamy, white load.

 "Oh.... fuck!"  He grunts, pulling back  as he drops down next to her on the bed.

 "Go on, baby. Cum for Stu. You wanna be good for him too, don't you? Go on and cum.... cum all over his tongue, beautiful. I'm sure he'll love the taste of your juices, exploding into his mouth." And fuckfuckfuck.....

FUCK~!!

"O-Oh!"  (Y/N) mewls, bucking her hips into his mouth once more as the sweet release of her orgasm floods out of her and into Stu's mouth. Happily, Stu licks every drop up, pulling back with a very much pleased and satisficed smile.  

 "Both her and her pussy are so sweet." Stu complimented, now crawling up onto the bed and resting beside her, tucking his face into her neck as he presses a few  ghostly kisses on her skin. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

"And what about me?" Billy said with a playful pout.

"I love you too, Billy Loomis." (Y/N) admitted, grinning as she scooted a few inches over, patting the empty spot next to her. "Sleep with us?"  

Billy smiled in reply as he plopped down next to his now lovers, curling up in (Y/N)'s side and kissing the other side of her neck, the way Stu had done previously.  

 "I'll treat you to a good time too,  tomorrow," (Y/N whispered, mainly to Stu but she turned and repeated the sentence to Billy as well. The boys look at each other with a smirk, giving one a knowingly glance before they turned back to (Y/N). 

"Sounds like a plan, baby." The smile she wore across her lips falls into a frown and the boys are quick to sit up, having seen the smile turn upside down. "Baby, are you okay?" "Yeah." "Babe....don't you lie to us." "I'm not." She answers truthfully. "But.... this- I mean, us three, it's real, right?" She gestures in the air with a wave of her hand.  "You won't play with my feelings and hurt me-" "Baby." Billy's voice is rough and cold,  and his grip on her is far from affectionate and soft. "We'd kill for you, remember?" "We love you so much, (Y/N) you have no idea to what limits we'd go to prove that to you.” She didn't understand why the two kept repeating that very first sentence but she didn't question it, didn't think anything of it. She smiled and nodded, rubbing at her eyes now tiredly.

 "I love you both, too. Now... before I get too tired, can we watch those movies you rented?" Billy laughed softly as Stu scrambled up and on his feet, grabbing the candy and the films that had fallen on the bed off of the floor and goes to set the VHS player up, clicking the TV on with a push of a button. 

"You're gonna love these, (Y/N)! It's a new horror movie that came out!" "As long as it's not a slasher with a mask like the one that's hanging around in Woodsboro, I'm fine with anything. Whenever that monster goes away, I'll be fine and more than happy to watch slasher films again... just not now." She says with a laugh. "Don't worry, baby. With us around, you’ll be safe and sound. We’ll protect you.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

[moongoddessmox]

Baby It's Cold Inside (Bucky Barnes x Reader) MoxMas Day 30

Warning: some language, fluff, shirtless Bucky

Word Count: 1,684

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x Reader (no pronouns/nondescript)

Summary: You find warmth in your roommate Bucky's bed.

Prompt: Crawling into their roommate’s (S/O’s) bed because it is too cold in their own and they want cuddles.

A/N: MoxMas is a shitshow lmao, I finally found the motivation to write a full-length story, and only because I already had 400 words of this written on Christmas. Crossposted on mox-writes for notification purposes! All feedback is very appreciated, thanks for reading!!

Masterlist| Mox-Writes | MoxMas Masterlist

Prompt List 2

Fuck. You couldn't get comfortable, flipping and wrapping and flipping and wrapping, until you were cocooned in your fluffy duvet. The temperature read a crisp 17 degrees Fahrenheit on the digital thermostat in your room. You struggled to get warm, pushing yourself as far as possible into the corner of your bed, surrounded by pillows and other blankets. Anything to provide some kind of warmth.

It was Christmas Eve, and Lord did the universe want it to be a white Christmas. The blizzard outside the large windows was blinding and deafening. The wind sounded like a train as it rattled the glass, and the pelting snow was like tiny bullets that you thought could shatter it at any moment.

You watched the white flurry, imagining it was a warm and sunny island. Somewhere that you could bask in the sun for some much-needed vitamin D. Mm, vitamin D, you know who could give you some D? Your roommate Bucky. You shook the intrusive thoughts from your mind, coming back to reality and seeing the cold death outside again. You groaned, flipping over to stare at your door.

It had been seven months since you moved in with Bucky. You were a rough, emotionally damaged mess of an assassin when he and Sam took you in from Madripoor. Your life had never known peace, just criminal dealings such as theft, spying, counterfeiting, oh and a big one, murder. You had run into them while working with the Power Broker, and after they needed your help and vice versa, they had offered to bring you back to the States for “rehabilitation”. You were anxious at first, never knowing the feeling of love and friendship, but it was something you had grown to welcome.

Since Bucky was all alone in New York, he figured you could stay with him until you got your bearings. As the months went on, it became increasingly obvious that you both liked each other and he didn’t want you to move out. Though, it was only obvious to those around you. Both you and Bucky were oblivious to the mutual pining and it had surpassed being annoying to others since you acted like a couple that was on the brink of marriage.

You clicked your tongue, deciding whether or not to go find Bucky for warmth, running all the scenarios through your head. What if he gets weirded out? What if he’s already asleep? Surely, he is, I don’t want to bother him. What if he’s masturbating? Does he masturbate? Does he use the metal hand? I wonder if he has more stamina if he does…you shook the thoughts from your mind, springing up out of bed with your blanket wrapped around you like a cloak. You anxiously tiptoed out of your room, peering around the corners to investigate for any signs of life.

Sometimes Bucky would be awake, unable to sleep because of the nightmares and he would just sit on the floor in the living room. You practically had to beg to get furniture so there was actually a couch in there now. When you didn’t notice any signs of him outside of his room, you went to his door, hesitating before gently tapping your knuckles to it. No answer. There was no light under the door and no sound, so you figured he wasn’t in any sexually explicit positions. You gently knocked again, this time you opened the door slowly. Peeking inside you saw a lump on the bed. Curled up under the blanket was a sleeping Bucky.

You tiptoed over to him, seeing the lump of his body slowly rising and falling with each calm breath he took. You smiled, your body rushing with warmth at the sight. His resting face was so peaceful, his eyes gently closed and mouth slightly agape; his lips were pink and looked soft, so soft. You couldn’t see any of his body because he had the blanket pulled up to his chin, just as you had, so you figured he was probably freezing as well. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself for the closeness and hoped not to scare him, then you pulled his blanket back enough to slide into the bed.

Bucky immediately felt the dip in the mattress as you climbed in, whipping around startled to see you like a deer in headlights. Your descent into the bed was already in motion, so when he turned around, you toppled over and fell right on his chest. Unexpectedly, he let out a very loud scream which caused you to audibly gasp and start choking on the air that whipped into your throat. The noise he made surprised even him, causing his cheek to burn red with embarrassment. You were tangled in your blanket and pressed against his chest as you tried to calm your cough, Bucky was frantic, unsure how to help or even register what was happening. He tugged your blanket away from your body as you squirmed, trying to get out of it, and finally, he got you free.

You calmed down and sat up, sitting on heels and covering your face with the blanket.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” your voice was shaky and coarse, riddled with humiliation as you tried to hide under the thick fabric. Bucky was equally as embarrassed, maybe more. The last time he remembered screaming like that was when he fell off the train.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to scream at you like that, oh god…” he covered his face with his hands, trying desperately to stop the painful blush that turned him into a tomato, “what are you doing in here?” he asked through his hand, not wanting to make eye contact with you.

“Oh–oh yeah, I was just cold…I thought we could be warm together…” your sentences were broken by long sighs. You peeked over your blanket to look at Bucky. He had separated his fingers to glance at you but upon meeting your gaze, he shuddered away again.

“I see, well, if you’re not too weirded out, you can stay. I’d actually love the company,” he moved his hand and you could see how red he still was, it was cute. Your own embarrassment subsided as you were overtaken by how sweet and innocent he looked. Bucky only grew more red as you stared at him. He was sure you were making fun of him in your head, probably laughing at how he was blushing, but you were actually awestruck. His dark hair was messy and blue eyes were illuminated by the snowy moonlight that leaked into the room.

“What are you looking at?” he braved the question, worried about the answer.

“You’re gorgeous,” you said immediately, eyes widening as the words fell haphazardly from your lips. Bucky’s eyes twitched wider, the blush getting brighter as it took over his whole face. He was speechless. That was not at all what he was expecting you to say but he couldn’t help but love hearing it.

“Sorry…that was, oh god, sorry. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room,” you rustled around the blankets to get up. You needed to hide, to get away from him, why would you say that?? Now he knows you like him, you idiot. You’re going to have to move, he’s never going to want to talk to you again, oh god, oh g-

“You’re gorgeous too,” the words struck the thoughts right out of your head. You looked at him, your blanket wadded up in your arms like a child holding too many toys. Bucky was sitting up now, his body turned toward you. He was shirtless, in the fucking winter? Seriously, Barnes, and had extended his arm out to you. “Stay, please?” His voice was soft and inviting.

You took his hand, dropping your blanket and climbing in next to him. Bucky helped cover the both of you with each blanket and wrapped his bare arm around your body, pulling you against his skin. You rested your head on his shoulder and laid your hand on his chest before hesitantly pulling it away, unsure if he wanted you to touch his naked body.

“Sorry,” you whispered, settling your hand between your bodies with it tucked under your ribs. Bucky chuckled, reaching his metal hand over and pulling your wrist until your hand was free. He laid it over his heart, his palm against the back of your hand, fingers gripping it tightly.

“After you had to hear me scream like that, I think we’ve crossed over the ‘just friends’ border. Next thing you know, I’ll be taking you on a date,” Bucky laughed, looking down to meet your eyes. He wanted to see if the words scared you off at all, or if you’d be into going out with him. When your eyes lit up, he smiled, the knot in his stomach relaxing.

“Good, because I don’t usually lay naked with people I’m not dating,” you winked.

“Technically we’re not laying naked together seeing as you still have your clothes on, but feel free to change that,” he returned the wink, eyes traveling down your body for a moment.

“Maybe after the date, Barnes,” he scrunched his nose with a big smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzled his neck, glad you decided to come to his room, you were already so much warmer. Bucky broke the peaceful silence, the earlier event still on his mind.

“Did you even knock? I could have been masturbating,” he questioned, eyes still closed. You laughed, looking up at his face. The movement caused him to look down at you.

“Ah, so you do masturbate. Do you use the metal arm?” he pulled his eyebrows together for a moment, a million questions running through his mind. He didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes with a smile and shook his head in disbelief. You shrugged and rested your head back on his shoulder. After a few long moments, Bucky kissed the top of your head, whispering low.

“Yes.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

I just wanna give you a prompt that is essentially just permission/a challenge to get as fluffy and smoochy and sappy as possible and make the SOFTEST, SWEETEST, make your teeth ACHE fic you can. Go all out. Pure chinchilla fluff, make this bitch S O F T. I do require smooches (and preferably geraskier) but beyond that: you have permission to make a fic out of candy floss.

don’t let your brothers bully your bard

tw: minor snowball related injuries

---

Geralt dodges to the side, laughing brightly, and realizes his mistake a moment too late. His quick thinking leaves Jaskier unprotected and the enormous snowball, thrown with all of Lambert’s Witcher strength and aimed at Geralt, slams against the back of the bard’s vulnerable, unenhanced skull. The force of the blow sends him crashing forward into a large drift of powdery white; all three Wolf Witchers go totally still. Lambert inhales once, sharply, and then they all fly into motion.

Eskel dashes towards the kitchen door, already shouting for Vesemir, while Lambert and Geralt approach Jaskier. The bard makes soft whimpering sounds but is otherwise unmoving and unresponsive to their quiet entreaties. “Jaskier? Are you okay?”

Only another quiet moan answers Lambert’s question. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt murmurs, suddenly terrified that this one silly day in the snow has led to tragedy. 

Then the bard rolls over, grabs both bent Witchers by their collars, and yanks them down into the snowback on either side of him. Their shouts of alarm are quickly muffled by mouthfuls of snow and Jaskier laughs, beaming more brightly than the winter sun, and darts up towards the protective walls of Kaer Morhen. He gets most of the way to the door before stumbling and swaying, slowing to a stop and dropping to his knees. 

Geralt recovers from his surprise in an instant and rushes to kneel at Jaskier’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“I got up too fast,” Jaskier giggles, still beaming. “I’m dizzy.”

“You might have a mild concussion,” Lambert says, jogging up beside them. “Sorry about that, Buttercup. I really didn’t think Geralt would move out of the fucking way like that; I figured he’d remember just how damn squishy you are and take the hit like a fucking gentleman.”

Geralt growls up at his brother and Jaskier gently sets his hand on the White Wolf’s arm, silencing him instantly. “Now, Geralt, I don’t think I’m going to make it up those stairs alive. Do you mind carrying me, good sir knight?”

The Witcher’s cheeks flush a light shade of pink, as close to a blush as Witchers ever get, and nods solemnly. “I can do that.”

“Good, because I can no longer feel my fingers or toes.”

Geralt scoops the bard into his arms like a pair of newlyweds and carries him up to their tower room, apologizing to Vesemir along the way for any undue panic their antics may have caused. Eskel leans in the kitchen doorway and shoots his younger brother and father a knowing look. “That Witcher is in it deep, eh?”

Vesemir nods sagely before his expression changes and he cracks a conspiratorial grin. “How long do you think it’ll take him to figure out the lad is half nymph?”

“Fifteen more years,” Lambert says. 

“I’m saying eight,” Vesemir adds. “He recovered too quickly from that blow for Geralt not to notice. Eight years is about what it takes for him to have important revelations.”

Both of the younger Wolves guffaw at their brother’s expense. Eskel finally decides on: “Ten, because I think Jaskier will get bored with the game and admit it.”

“Alright, lads. You two don’t have companions to take care of; off to the kitchen so we can get a decent spread on the table tonight.”

---

Geralt peels every layer of their wet clothing away one-by-one before briefly wrapping Jaskier up in a dry cloak. He settles them both down in front of the fire and pulls a heavy fur blanket around his own shoulders, cocooning Jaskier within his arms. He tugs the bard up against his bare chest, “Are you feeling better, Julek?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier smiles, pressing their naked torsos even closer together. “I think so. It might take me another minute or two to warm up.”

“Alright,” the Witcher intones seriously. He nuzzles down into Jaskier’s damp hair and breathes in the gentle floral scent that emanates from him so naturally. Like a patch of wildflowers right after it rains. “I love you, little bird.”

“And I love you, Witcher mine.”

“Am I really yours?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier glances up, “Are you?”

Geralt leans forward and presses their lips together for one long, slow, comfortable moment. He smiles at his bard and tightens the fur around them a bit more. “Always.”

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “Kissing is Disgusting”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Eight ~ “Kissing is Disgusting”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; angst; threats of violence; alcohol consumption

word count: 12.7k

chapter summary: after waving goodbye to life on arvala-7, you anxiously continue along your journey to nar shaddaa... but when tensions erupt and dangers arise, your bond with the mandalorian is put to the ultimate test.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: fluff and angst awaits!

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Eight: “Kissing is Disgusting”

Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian… Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you’re already back to flirting with a vengeance.

You will never learn, will you?

“Not bad, Ka’r’ika.”

You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.

“Not bad? Kriff it, Din! Look at that!” You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. “My vibroblade hit the inner target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!” You spin around, glaring daggers at him. “How about you give me just a little bit of positive praise for once?” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. “Or would that kill you?”

The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. “I did give you praise,” he grumbles through his vocoder. 

“Not bad? You call that praise?” You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. “Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone anything before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, long-suffering sigh that slips beneath his helm. 

“Fine. You’re doing… okay.” His voice is dry, utterly unbothered by your grievances.

“Well, if I’m still not meeting the Mandalorian’s standards-” you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- “you’ll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step.” 

You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.

The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and tired. But you’ve spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the amusement layered within his tone.

Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest. 

Maybe it was a tad conniving of you, but…

You’ve been, uh… faking bad throws… Lots of them.

In fact, you really didn’t require any training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.

But, well, let’s just say you have a reason- a good, though admittedly mischievous reason- for feigning incompetence at the moment… 

“Okay, Ka’r’ika-” Din’s gloved hand glides around your shoulder, gently inching its way down your right arm. He pauses at your wrist. “Relax this,” he rumbles right above your ear, his left hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. 

“And stop tensing.”

Oh, karking hells. You clench your teeth, trying to ignore how big and warm and close he is. How the kriff are you supposed to just not tense with the Mandalorian glued to the back of your body like a blasted Mynock? 

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” you squeak. Okay, maybe you had been holding your breath, but, again, he’s glued to your back like a Mynock leeching off electromagnetic energy. How the hell are you supposed to just blasted… breathe?

“Loosen your stance,” he whispers in your ear, releasing your wrist. He takes a step back, and you frown at the loss of his comforting- though admittedly distracting- presence.

You stare at the bullseye, letting your eyes drop-drop-drop down to the outer ring. 

There. 

Your target. With one last little smirk, you fling your arm back, shift your body weight forward, and give a sharp snap of the wrist.

Bang.

You hit exactly where you intended, the outer ring. Holy shavit, your dad would be proud! 

“Hell yeah!” 

You catch Din staring at you, head angled curiously at your elation over an apparently even worse throw than before. “Oh, um-” you shrug, flipping your grin for a scowl- “Din, I, uh, I’m just really bad at this. Please, let’s practice hand-to-hand defense now. I’ll have more use for that anyway.”

“No,” he grunts, stalking towards the target to yank your blade out. “You aren’t healed enough.”

“Come on, Din!” You drop down into a fighting stance as he slowly strides back towards you. “I am perfectly healed. Omera’s slathered me in enough bacta to heal a chopped-in-half dewback.” 

He moves closer, and you playfully reach out to slap the back of your hand against his Beskar-armored chest. 

“Come on, Mandalorian, what are you- WHU- HEY!”

He’s bent you over backwards, trapping you against his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“OOF! DIN!”

“This is what you wanted.”

“Let me go! I wasn’t ready!” 

“You weren’t?”

Stars, you hate that stupid smugness in his voice! You wiggle against his hold, but he only presses you tighter under his arm.

“Blast it, Din!” You fling out your hand, landing a sharp smack against his ass. “Let me go, you rusted tin can!”

He drops his hold, and you stumble out from under his arm. You promptly flip around, shooting daggers into his darkened visor. He just stares right back, resting both hands on his hips, all cool and calm against your fire.

You reach up, bunch your hat in your hand, and smack it down against your thigh. “Din Djarin!” you snap. “You take too much pleasure in dominating me!”

He does not answer. Just… stands there- his visor latched on you. 

You open your mouth to speak, but you slap it shut when he sharply angles his head to the side. “Ready to try the blade again?” His voice is gruffer than usual, gravelly. Deep and, blast it, okay! 

Fucking sexy.

You yank the hat back on your head, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Yeah, sure,” you mumble, averting your eyes from him. “And I will hit that karking bullseye.”

You will. Kriff it. You’re done playing your little flirtatious game for attention. It’s time to show the Mandalorian what you’ve been holding back. Make him bloody well proud of you…. Not that you care to make him proud or anything…

You dig the heel of your foot into the dirt, marking your distance from the target. “Watch and learn, Man-do.”

A hand slips under your arm, gripping your elbow from behind. “Relax this time,” Din rasps, low and deep, into your ear. He releases your elbow as swiftly as he had grabbed it. You swallow, ignoring the little lurch in your stomach.

Stars, this man is a menace.

You shake your head, trying to clear it of… uh, distraction. Sighing under your breath, you stare out at the target.

There.

The bullseye.

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw-

“Hello!”

“Pablo!” you yelp, watching as your vibroblade flings well above the target, missing the board altogether. “You absolute dune worm!” Spinning around, you stomp straight up to where Pablo stands a few feet behind Din. 

Pablo leaps back, hands forward in surrender. “Wait, what did I do?” He points a finger at himself.

“You-” you slap his hat back- “made me miss!”

With a sharp snort, he leans down to stare you directly in the eyes. “Maybe you just need more practice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, look who’s talking!” You push against his chest. “A man encased in carbonite until I saved-”

“Oh, here we go again! I told y-”

“Din kicked your ass.”

“I was distract-”

“Froze your ass.”

“He was lucky-”

“And I melted your ass.”

“Now look-” 

Pablo stills, slapping his mouth shut.

At the same time, a heavy shadow drapes over your body, cloaking you within a protective cocoon. You look to the right.

“Mando,” you smirk up at Din. “I’ve changed my mind. Teach me to use a staff. Then I can keep Pablo six feet away at all times.”

You hear a puff of modulated air. “As you please, Ka’r’ika.” The words are husky through his helmet’s vocoder. He hooks a finger in his belt. “But not until you’re completely healed.”

“Works for me,” you grin, letting your lazy outer rim accent slip forward. “Pablo, scram, blurg-brain. But get my blade first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pablo sighs, throwing you a half-hearted salute.

“You did well today.”

The grin on your face grows, practically ear-to-ear. You peek out from under your hat’s brim, meeting the Mandalorian’s dark visor boring into your eyes.

“You’ll be as good as me one day.” The Mandalorian says it so low, so quiet that you could barely hear it over the breeze whipping through the homestead. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns to watch Pablo walk up, your vibroblade extended from his hand.

Pablo winks as you take the blade from him. “Later, sweetheart.” Chuckling, he strolls towards the hut, thankfully leaving you and Din alone once again.

“Come on now-” you turn back to Din- “I could never be a professional such as yourself.” You snort before continuing, “I mean, how long have you been learning all this Mandalorian stuff? Years, I imagine.”

Din drops his hand from his belt, slowly turning, pausing upon finding a few of the children running in the distance. “See the children?” 

You nod. 

He drops his visor away from your face. “I wasn’t much older than they are now-” his voice slows, warming with each word he speaks- “when I was taken in as a foundling.” 

You blink. “Oh.”

You might not be able read his face, but you recognize the raw emotion hidden in his tone all too well.

“I owe them my life,” he rasps, the words scratchy through the vocoder. “After my parents died, the Mandalorians took me in as one of their own.”

Silence.

Oh…

You- you hadn’t realized. Din mentioned his parents died during the Clone Wars, but not that the Mandalorians had rescued him, taken him in. The thought of a young Din, alone and scared, trapped in the middle of a war a child could never comprehend…

Kriff. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. It… hit too close to home.

“We really do have a lot in common,” you mumble, your eyes drifting along the gleaming sunlight crowning his Beskar helm.

He barely nods at your words.

Then the air turns… awkward, tense… neither of you knowing what exactly to say or do next. You mindlessly flip your vibroblade over in your hand, afraid any words would make the air even more uncomfortable. I mean, what do you say? Hey, Din! It’s great we can bond over our dead families?

“To be honest-” you nearly drop the blade at Din’s voice- “I… didn’t learn much about blade throwing from the Mandalorians.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the hesitation in his voice.

“When I was younger, a woman... a Twi’lek…” He shuffles his weight back and forth, looking everywhere, it seems, but at you.

Oh. 

Oh. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“A woman?” You smile a bit too sweetly, nudging the Mandalorian with an elbow. “A lover, perhaps?”

He stares out at the distance, but you think you notice a slight shrug.

You force a laugh, more a bark, to be honest. 

“Was she pretty?” 

Silence.

You lean forward, tapping his armor with the end of your blade. 

“Did she… break your heart?”

He looks at you. 

“She tried to stab it.” 

You sheath the blade.

“Well,” you puff, “that’d certainly kill a relationship.” 

Yanking your blade back out, you fling it over and over and over in your hand, trying to ignore the burn searing up your throat. 

Whoever she is, blast her.

Kriffing blast her.

You gasp- a glove shot out, gripping your wrist before you can toss the blade again. 

“Are you trying to lose a finger?”

You rip your hand away, twisting around to hide the warmth exploding across your face. “Don’t coddle me, Din. I’ll never learn if I don’t face peril.”

He makes a noise you cannot decipher. 

“My dad taught me,” you blurt, eager to change topics. “With knives, a little bit, I-I mean.” You slowly turn back to the Mandalorian, finding him still, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You bite your lower lip, picking at the edge of your sleeve with the blade. “But I never took his lessons very seriously. I…I just wanted to make him laugh at my stupid antics, which, of course, he would.” You smile wryly. “But, still, I wish I’d taken a lot of things more seriously back then... I was too busy being a terror.”

Din makes a noise. A breathy “not surprised” slips out from beneath his helm.

You crinkle your nose, choosing to pretend you didn’t hear that. 

Spinning your blade a few times, you stop, sheathing it once again. “You know, he’d sneak me up into the ice caves sometimes. Stars, from as young as I can remember. Taught me to use vibroblades and, eventually, even how to swing a staff. I guess he had it in his head he could turn us into little snow warriors or something.” 

You throw Din a cheeky, lopsided grin. “But then me and my sister started beating each other with big sticks when we’d get angry at each other. Then we’d gang up on my middle brother- two sticks against one.” You burst into warm laughter at the memory. “Kriff, did we ever get a long lecture. Even longer than the time I taught my siblings to use the curse ‘kark’.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed much.” The Mandalorian’s tone is layered with amusement, and a hint of… something else.

“No,” you snort. “That’s the problem.” You crouch down on the ground, pretending you’re aiming in the distance with a weapon. “But he loved showing me how to use his hunting rifle the best, even though I had horrible aim…. Uh, still do, actually.” You let your eyes droop closed, releasing a heavy breath into the air. “That thing was his baby.”

Damn it.

Damn it. 

You miss him.

The clank of Beskar forces you to open your eyes. The Mandalorian’s standing in front of you now, a hand stretched out.

“I thought he was a herder.”

Taking Din’s hand, you let him pull you back up. 

“Oh, he was,” you chirp. Bending down, you brush the dirt off the knees of your pants. “But weapons were his hobby, practically his religion, as my mother would tease.” With a small smile, you toss the Mandalorian a pointed look. “I think he would have liked you. Or, at least, your big-ass rifle.”

The Mandalorian just shrugs.

“Well,” you sigh, staring out at the target again while simultaneously removing your blade from its sheathe. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of this now.”

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw.

Slam.

“Not bad,” you sniff, staring at your blade protruding from the center bullseye. “You’re a good teacher, Din. We’ll have to find something else for you to teach me.” You slap him on the back. “I have a few ideas.” You turn to walk away, biting back your giggle.

You hear him make a noise, barely audible with the distance.

“Looks like you could teach me...”

-------

You’re gunna throw up.

You can’t believe you’re leaving this- this haven tomorrow… for kriffing Nar Shaddaa.

Holy Hutt. Nar Shaddaa-

The planet you actually just fled from with only the clothes on your back…

Oh, flutterplume at a festival feast! 

You’re insane. You’re actually insane.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting hard to restrain any sign of outward distress. After all, if there’s one lesson the galaxy beat into your brain, it’s that you never, ever show any sign of weakness. Got to keep the upper hand. Got to stay ten steps ahead… Or, in your case, at least appear to be… 

No, as far as anyone on Arvala is concerned, you’re excited for Keolith.

…Kriff Keolith.

You release a heavy sigh, continuing to bounce the child up and down on your knee, a small smile growing on your face with every little giggle that falls from his mouth.

“Make sure to take it easy, not overdo it,” Omera calls at you from the other side of the room.

“Mhm,” you mumble, barely paying her any mind.

“I mean it. Din, make sure she obeys, okay?”

He makes a noise. “I’d wager-” the Mandalorian lays his rifle down on the table- “it’d be easier to wrangle a varactyl.”

“Din Djarin-” you keep your eyes focused on the baby, wincing as he yanks on your hair- “did you just call me a varactyl?”

“… No.”

“I give up,” Omera groans, taking the chair across from where you sit. “I learned a long time ago; patients never listen-” she sighs- “until they’ve reinjured themselves.”

You lift your eyes to meet her own. “Wait, Omera, you were a doctor?”

She laughs at the question. “I suppose it’s safe to say so, now that the Empire is gone.��� She rests her elbows on the table. “I was a nurse in the Rebellion, which is where I met my late husband, a patient of mine. When I found myself expecting Winta, we felt it was time to step away together, leave the battle behind.”

“Pin two ears on a gundark!” You lean back in your chair, laughing in amazement. “No way! I knew I liked you!”

The Mandalorian angles his head to the side, eyeing Omera up and down. 

“Don’t give me that look, Din,” she chuckles, giving his shoulder a light shove. “You never asked.”

“Maker-” you shift the baby to your opposite knee- “sounds like a story straight out of a holo. Meeting the man of your dreams in a rebellion, nursing him back to health.”

“I suppose,” Omera smiles, that certain gleam in her eyes you’ve seen before.

Uh oh.

“What about you?”

“Me? What about me?”

Omera smiles, not about to let you get away with your game. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been in love before.”

Oh Maker. 

Dangerous.

This conversation is dangerous. 

“Maybe,” you grumble, bouncing the baby on your knee again.

Oh kriff.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll find someone.” You can see Omera is trying her absolute hardest not to laugh, but she’s obviously failing. 

Stars.

Someone. 

Anyone. 

Help! 

As if answering your plea breathed into the force, Winta dashes over, pulling on her mother’s hand and whispering for assistance. Omera nods at you, that sly smile still etched on her face, and steps away from the table.

Oh, thank the Maker! Bless all the little children. 

With a weary sigh, you sneak a glance over at Din from the corner of your eye. He’s watching you… intently, helmet angled to the side in that curious Lothcat way of his. He begins to lean forward, as if he’s about to ask you a-

No. Kark that. 

Kark that shit!

You’ve had enough awkwardness for one day!

You burst up from your chair, cradling the baby against your chest. “We’re going to take a walk,” you speak to Din as much as to the baby. You shoot him a quick glance.

He’s still leaned forward, visor still trained on your face. He’s motionless, but relaxed, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the way they do when he’s tired. You read his silence as permission, and so you turn and walk out the door, trying to ignore the lingering sear of heat on your back, that lingering prickle of being watched.

Once you are through the door, you put as much distance between you and Kuill’s hut as quickly as possible, worried the Mandalorian might try and follow you outside. Grumbling under your breath, you stop at the fence line. You point up at the moon and stars, whispering for the baby to look up at them along with you.

“See those?” you whisper, grinning as the child’s large, soulful eyes fill with the reflections of hundreds of sparkling stars. “You’re just as special as those stars. Your force abilities are special, a gift.” You feel your heart swell with familiar, motherly warmth. “Special- just like you are to your father.” 

You tap your finger against his nose, and he bursts into a fit of giggles. “You little womp rat, quit laughing.” You shoot him an exaggerated frown. “It’s against the law to laugh.” 

He laughs even harder. And so you start laughing.

“The child’s grown fond of you.”

You startle at the voice, relaxing when you see it’s just Kuill, limping forward to stand beside you at the fence. “Yes-” you turn your eyes back to the baby’s face- “I suppose, like most children, they’re drawn to whomever shows them the most attention, ya little attention-seeking womp rat.” You caress his ear, smiling wistfully. “Mando doesn’t hug you enough, does he?”

“You’re very good- with all of the children,” Kuill rasps, leaning his weight forward on his cane.

“Yeah, well, I had four little siblings.” You throw Kuill a pointed look, and you continue on with your ramble. “They were such little monsters.” You grin. “And then there’s all the children from my village. Oh, and I often helped the other mothers with the children in the camp and-” 

You freeze. 

“…I- I mean-”

“Labor camp?”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “H-how did you-”

“Omera described the tattoos on your arm to me. I understood their meaning, immediately.”

“Oh, no,” you breathe, panic bubbling, swelling up in your chest. “I- I can explain-”

“I did not tell Omera- their meaning, and I suggested, for your privacy-” Kuill waves his hand aside- “she should not discuss them with anyone else.” 

No. No.

Blast it. 

Blast it!

Kuill reaches out, resting a hand on your arm. “Do not concern yourself. It is your story… to tell when and if you wish. I myself- have spent time in such places. You were a victim of the Empire… as we all were.”

Raw emotion… grief… guilt- bubbles up your throat, threatening to cut off air. Choking. Suffocating. 

“No, Kuill,” you mumble, barely audible. You place the baby down on the ground and use your free hand to tug up your sleeve.

Kuill brushes his fingers, gentle and light, across the marks, lifting his eyes to meet your face. “A life sentence.”

You rip the sleeve back down, resting both hands on your hips. With a sharp intake of air, you pull on a mask- the tough, outer rim girl persona: the same one that’s simultaneously kept you both safe and in trouble for far, far too many years. 

“And I did what the Imperials sent me in for.” Your voice is hard, tired. Hells, you are so blasted tired. 

You shake your head. “I didn’t deserve to have my sentence commuted by the New Republic, once they took the camp over-” you rub your eyes a little too hard, filling your vision with blurring, swirling lines- “b-but I guess they figured it’d be easier to release everyone than to try sorting between the political prisoners, innocent families, and… actual criminals.”

Plus, there was the issue of the children to consider…

“I’m-” your words catch in your throat, sticking against your tongue, afraid to emerge fully from your lips. You force your eyes closed. “I’m… not as a good a person as you think, Kuill.”

Kuill grunts, tapping his cane against the fence. “I’d think your recent sacrifices-” he motions the cane towards the child, toddling beside your feet- “would contradict that statement.” 

“Maybe,” you mumble, avoiding looking Kuill in the eyes, “or maybe I’m still the same.”

“I think not.” Kuill rests against his cane. “For when you’ve lived as many years as I have-”

“-you learn to recognize patterns in behavior.” You smile wryly.

“It seems the galaxy has smiled upon you… given you a second chance.” 

“Well,” you sigh, pressing your forehead against the top of the fencepost. “I’ve been doing a fine job of botching it up already, I’m afraid.” 

Stars…

“I’d say you have one path open to you at this moment,” Kuill grunts. “But what will you do with it?” 

“I appreciate it, Kuill, but… I can’t stay here.” You give him your classic, lop-sided smile. “Gotta keep exploring this big galaxy, ya know?” 

Kriff the galaxy.

Kuill chuckles under his breath. “That wasn’t the path I was referring to.” He reaches out, patting the top of hand. “I wish you luck… my child.”

You blink, watching as Kuill moves away. You wait until he’s just far enough in the distance before releasing a strained breath of air. 

Maker…

A light coo, a tug on your pants, shifts your attention away from yourself, away from your tumultuous thoughts. With a small smile, you reach down and pull the baby up against your neck, letting him nuzzle there as you glance back up at the stars.

Always running. 

You’re always running.

But one day- one day, you will choose your own damn path.

-------

“Wipe your eyes, Birdie-” you ruffle the top of his head- “or you’ll flood the planet and put Kuill out of business.” 

Birdie launches straight into your legs, knocking an oof from you.  

“But- but what if I n-never see you- you again?” He buries his face in the fabric of your pants.

Dropping down to your knees, you peal Birdie off of you, holding him back by his shoulders. “Of- of course I’ll see you again, hm?” Your heart throbs as you speak the lie into the air, wishing it would just carry away on the desert wind.

Karking hells.

Your heart explodes, pain seeping from every new little crack. You tug Birdie into you, wrapping him up in your embrace just as new set of arms snakes around your neck from behind. 

“We-we’ll miss you!” Winta says between sniffs.

“Come now,” you chirp, straining your voice to be as easy and care-free as you can muster in your compromised state. “I’ll have a thousand new stories to share when I come back, hm?” Your empty promises are apparently working, the heaviness easing off of their shoulders before your very eyes.

An approaching presence shifts your attention away from the children.

“All of us, the parents, felt like you should have this.” You blink, eyeing the satchel in Omera’s outstretched hand. “We owe you so much more, but-” Omera’s face tenses- “it’s a thank you to remember us by, to help you get started on Keolith.” She slides an arm around Winta’s shoulders, pulling her against her skirt.

You can’t do anything but… stare at the bag, stunned by the absolute generosity of the gesture. “I-I can’t take anything for-”

“Please.”

You don’t want it. 

It feels… wrong to take it.

But you won’t risk insulting them by outright refusing their kindness. 

“Go into town-” you give Winta and Birdie a sly wink- “and buy the children something fun. To remember me by. To make them laugh.” You wiggle your hat back and forth, pulling it tighter against your scalp. “That’s my payment.” 

A good decision, or so the little sunny grins on Birdie’s and Winta’s faces tell you. Omera hesitates- then smiles. An agreement. And so, you return the expression with equal warmth. 

“Kekthar, Rukia.” 

You gasp- eyes tearing over to discover… Kuill?

Sularian. 

A Sularian farewell.

You haven’t heard your native language spoken by another in, well… years.

“Kekthar, Sudbia,” you return, a small smile tickling at the corner of your mouth. As you share the smile with him, a silent understanding, a knowing, passes between your eyes:

You are always welcome in my home.

You will never deserve such kindness.

“Thank you, Kuill,” you whisper, bowing your head with respect.

As you continue sharing goodbyes, your heart grows heavy with each one spoken aloud. Part of you wants to just barrel into the Razor Crest, dive into the bed, and hide under a blanket just like the baby. 

Stars, goodbyes reek.

“Be careful, Din.” A faint conversation to your left shifts your focus away from your misery. “Come back as soon as you can.” You turn, eyes widening as you watch Omera wrap her arms around Din, enveloping him in a warm, heartfelt embrace. He returns the gesture, going as far as to… rub her back… affectionately.

A pang.

A punch in the chest.

Shavit. 

Just… shavit!

Spinning around on your heel, you stomp towards the Razor Crest, grumbling under your breath like some bitter old man.

Blasted seven Corellian hells- just-

Stoopa. Stoopa!

Kriff everything a-and-

You stop.

Kriff, wait, what is this? Corellian hells, what- 

Oh.

You blink, gritting your teeth.

You’re… jealous?

…

You’re jealous.

You groan, yanking your hat low across your eyes. You have got to stop bantering so much with the Mandalorian… flirting. You’re- you’re getting too attached. And there’s only one way this could possibly end:

Like a nuna at a Hutt roast… 

Uh, not so good, in other words.

You turn and frown, watching the pair speak in the distance.

Omera is… incredible. That Beskar idiot should marry her. Settle down. Have a family. He… deserves to have that. To be happy. 

He’s a good man.

“We really need to get going,” Cara grumbles, walking up beside you to stack a crate next to the ramp. “I’ve gone way, way over schedule, and Karga is breathing down my neck, even though he knows I lost my ship.” Cara pauses to sigh, leaning forward against the stack. “He says the town has gone to hell without me.”

Blinking away any lingering physical signs of your jealousy, you slip on an indifferent, bored expression. 

“Why so, Cara?” Your voice hardly veils the tension brewing in your head, but Cara, thankfully, does not seem to notice.

“I’ve been acting as a sort of-” she waves her hand in the air- “part-time Marshal, in a sense, on Navarro. Cleaning out a lot of the criminal rings scumming about,” Cara sighs, rubbing her face. “Still have a long way to go, but-” she lifts her eyes, giving you a sly smile- “I think I’m going to talk to Karga about dropping the Guild work completely, instead working full-time cleaning the streets. Maybe get a school up and running. And a doctor’s office; we need that too.”

“Cara,” you chuckle, stooping down to sit on a crate. “You surprise me. A dreamer lurks under all that brawn.”

“Maybe,” Cara chuckles. “But even so, my reason for visiting Arvala is dead, and I’m needed on Navarro.”

You blink. “Dead?”

Cara shoots out a hand, pointing at a lone Pablo approaching with his satchel. “Dead, according the Guild registry, that is.”

A bright grin bursts across Pablo’s face. He throws his hands out at the side, spinning around until he is facing the approaching Mandalorian. “Hey, shame you and Cara lost such a priceless bounty, right, Mando?”

The Mandalorian saunters up to Pablo, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.

“I was paid for killing you.” 

The Mandalorian knocks into Pablo’s shoulder as he moves past.

One glance at the panicked expression on Pablo’s face, and you burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. He twists, shooting you a murderous look, which you happily return with only sweetness and a smile. 

At least, on the bright side, you now have someone new to torment besides Din.

After all, it’s the little things that matter.

-------

“Dad!” You climb up on top of the huge fallen log, waving wildly to your dad in the distance. “Look! Watch!”

He pauses at your words, giving you a cheeky, lop-sided grin. “Okay, Starlight-” he leans forward against his rifle- “I’m watching.”

“You’re watching?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, don’t look away!”

“I won’t.”

“Still watching?”

“Starlight-”

With a grunt, you spin backwards off the log, landing a perfect backflip… 

…straight into a hidden snowdrift.

“DAD!” you shriek, buried up to your hips in snow. You continue to wriggle, desperate to free yourself… to only sink down further with every shift. “Dad!” you yelp. You hear a rustling noise, and you jerk your head up.

Your dad- ever the helpful, supportive parent- is leaning over the top of the log… 

laughing at you.

“Starlight,” he chuckles, “very impressive. Ten out of ten for style.” He crosses his arms across the log, angling his head to the side as he stares down at you. “But you made that fatal flaw we’ve talked about before.”

“Dad!” you growl, in no mood to be lectured nor teased. “Get me out of here! I don’t care!”

“What’s that fatal flaw?” 

“I don’t care!”

“Starlight?”

You shoot him a pathetic frown. “I didn’t observe my surroundings first.” You twist your head away, pouting your lips. “I acted before thinking.”

Gloved hands wrap around your arms, lifting you up out of the snow drift.

“Good girl-” your father pulls you up against his side, rubbing your back. “Remember-”

“-think first, show off second.” You release a puff of air, watching as it crystalizes in front of you. 

Your dad laughs and slips you that characteristic sly wink.

“My little snow warrior-” he grabs your hand, leading you back towards the mountain path- “such a little show-off………”

-------

“I’m not a show-off!”

Pablo flashes you a grin. “Come now, princess-”

“Okay, fine.” You crinkle your nose, lifting your hand up, two fingers spaced closely together. “Just a little bit. But still, it’s true.” 

“Oh sure.”

“Yes! I could out-drink both of you, and ten Corellians on top of that.” You shove against Pablo’s shoulder as you move past, sitting down beside him.

“Speaking as a Corellian man, that’s big talk, sweetheart,” Pablo slides his glass of whiskey back and forth on the table between his hands. “But are you willing to try and prove it?”

“Pour me some of that-” you tap your fingers on the table, smirking at Cara- “before you and Pablo wipe out our supply.”

Cara pours and slides you a glass, a questioning expression on her face. You take a deep breath, lean back, and down the whiskey in one shot.

“Oh-” cough- cough- “wow, that’s-” cough- “that’s defi-” cough- “de-definitely Corellian.”

Cara smacks her hand down on the table, clutching her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. “Oh, dank farrick, your face!”

Pablo snorts. “Still think you can out-drink ten Corellians?” Resting his elbows against the table, he slides the bottle towards you. 

Feeling your face flush with warmth from the shot of whiskey, you can only grin and tilt your head. “I’m certain of it.”

Pablo leans back, chuckling as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine. The minute we land on Tatooine-” he points at you, raising an eyebrow- “I’m dragging you into the first cantina we find.”

Your smile plummets.

“Tatooine?” You fling around in your chair, gawking over at the Mandalorian on the other side of the hull. “Tatooine?”

He stops cleaning his blaster, lifting his helmet to meet your eyes.

“He didn’t tell you?”

You spin back around, now gawking at Cara. “Obviously no. I thought we were heading to Navarro!”

“No.” Cara shrugs, leaning back against her chair. She lifts a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Tatooine is closer than Navarro. We’ll jump transports from there, letting you and Din continue on to Nar Shaddaa.”

“Hell,” you breathe, flopping back against your chair. 

Tatooine?

“I’ll be loath to part from you all.” Pablo lifts his glass in the air. “I’ve grown so attached to everyone…. Well-” he raises a brow at you- “minus one.”

“You know, Pablo-” you jump forward, slapping both hands down on the table- “you’re being awfully rude for a man who’d be cargo right now if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, don’t start on-”

“I will!”

“You know good and well-”

“You’re so rude!”

“I am not!”

“Carbonite man.”

“Don’t call me-”

“HEY!” You both rip your heads towards Cara. 

Silence.

She slowly leans forward. “Are you two done?”

“Absolutely,” you sniff. Leaning into the palm of your hand, you release a long, heavy sigh, choosing to just ignore Pablo. 

“Stars,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, beginning to reminisce. “I haven’t been to Tatooine in, well… years. Pretty sure I still owe some people money,” you grumble. “Dank farrick, I got into so much trouble there.”

“As an exceptional speederbike racer.”

Your eyes rip up, trailing the Mandalorian as he sits beside Cara. “That is, if I remember correctly.” His tone light, almost… airy compared to his typical grumpy snaps. 

Oh. He’s teasing you. 

You raise an eyebrow.

You know you should stop. Stop teasing him back. 

But…

“I’m better than you, Din Djarin-” you lean across the table, smiling slyly as you stare him down- “that’s for certain. I’m the damn best, too.”

He shifts back, folding his hands against his stomach, just…. gazing at you.

“Damn best, huh?” Cara takes a shot of her drink. “Then you should have joined the Nar Shaddaa professional circuits. High risk, high reward.” She slides the bottle of whiskey towards you. “I imagine the violence, death, and insanity would have been right up your alley.”

“Well…” With a small sigh, you drop your eyes, beginning to play with the edge of your shirt. “Actually I- I would have.” You lower you chin. “But… uh, had someone I needed to stay alive for,” you discreetly add under your breath.

Cara grins and lifts her glass at you. Din, on the other hand, stretches his neck, dark visor pinned to your face. You snap away, staring over at the slightly tipsy Pablo instead.

“Boyfriend?” Pablo mumbles, taking the whiskey bottle for himself.

You only smile.

“Well, either way-” he sloshes his glass high- “to Tatooine!”

“Hell,” you grumble.

You lift your own glass.

To Tatooine.

…

Dank farrick.

-------

The darkness moves in. Closer. Suffocating. Gnawing away at the light.

…

“I know why you chose this.

… 

You love power. 

…

Crave it.”

…

You bury your face in your hands. “Shut up! You know nothing!”

…

“You can’t hide forever.

…

I know what you’ve done.

…

And you’ve seen what I’m capable of………”

…

Something presses into your neck.

…

Shit.

Your eyes blast open. 

Can’t-

Can’t breathe!

Wriggling and squirming, you claw at your neck, kicking the covers off Din’s bed as you twist and turn and push and fight.

“Urf! C-Cara,” you hiss, slapping at her arm slumped across your neck. “Move!” 

Cara snores louder, oblivious to the fact that she’s, you know, smothering you. She mumbles something in her sleep, pulling her arm back to flop over to her side of the mattress. Launching up from the bed, you gasp, sucking in deep gulps of air. A few more seconds, a few more gulps, and you glare over at Cara.

You can put up with snoring.

But you draw the kriffing line at actively trying to suffocate you in your sleep.

“Stars…” you hiss, pressing a palm to your forehead before pulling it back, blinking at the sweat dripping from your hand. 

You’re… drenched. Trembling, shivering- your soaked nightshirt and pants stinging like ice in the cool air. Sliding down to the foot of the bed, you wrap your arms across your chest, squeezing tightly in a vain attempt to slow the trembling tearing at your body. 

You groan, your head sloshing with exhaustion and fatigue and tension, but then… the threat from your nightmare slips past it all, the memory growling in your head-

You can’t hide forever…

Your throat catches.

Oh hell.

Oh hell.

You slap both hands over your eyes.

You’re dead…

-------

Some people turn to religion. 

Some people talk to a therapist. 

But your newfound cure for anxiety?

Apparently, the smell of Andorian Mountain Roses. 

Specifically, the faint scent of Andorian Mountain Roses lingering on the Mandalorian’s flannels.

After Cara’s murder attempt, you waited several minutes on the edge of the bed for the trembles, the shakes, to dissipate… but no such luck. Desperate, wet, and cold, you had peeled off your soaked nightshirt, swapping it out for a flannel shirt stolen from a heap on the floor.

You bury your nose into the sleeve of the thick shirt, inhaling deeply as you pad gently across the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull. 

It smells like Din.

…

You’re safe with him.

…

He promised.

…

“Ka’r’ika?”

You freeze, dropping your arm at the faint voice, low, barely a rasp.

You tiptoe closer to the base of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “Din?” you whisper, staring up into the dark void above.

“Come up.”

Biting your lip, you tentatively rest your foot on the bottom rung. One hesitant breath, and you scamper straight up.

“Din?” you question again, poking your head up into the space above. You blink, your eyes shifting towards the cockpit windows, smiling as you admire that familiar sparkling, dancing hyperspace light bouncing off everything within the cockpit.

Your eyes follow the streaking lines… forward… straight to the Mandalorian. He’s turned around in his chair, studying your every move.

“Hi.” You smile, a bit… shyly. 

Hm. That’s new.

Resting back against in the pilot’s seat, he folds his hands- gloveless hands- across his stomach.

Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, you gently pad into the cockpit. A sharp glance to the left- you smile. The pram is sealed again, cocooning the child as he sleeps. 

You glance back to Din, and as you step closer, you notice his right pauldron is missing. “Hey-” you slip into the right co-pilot’s chair- “I hope I didn’t wake yo-”

“I was already awake.”

“Oh.” You blink, chewing on your lower lip. He seems so… close. Stars, you didn’t remember the cockpit being quite this… uh, tight. 

“Um, I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, not wishing to risk waking the baby. After all, from the looks of Din and his missing pauldron, it must have taken quite some time to get the baby to sleep.

You slide forward, resting on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. “Between Pablo’s and Cara’s snoring-” you grimace- “it’s like trying to sleep in a kriffing zoo down there. They’re both drunk off their socks.”

Din makes a noise. “Really?”

“Yeah, Cara tried to smother-”

“No-” the Mandalorian dips his helmet at you- “…is that really why you can’t sleep?”

“Am I really that easy to read?” you huff, raising a brow.

Silence.

“…You’re afraid.” 

You blink, falling quiet. Of course you’re afraid... 

You’re terrified.

You hear him shift in his chair, but you do not look up. 

“…Why did you leave Tatooine?”

How can his voice sound so gentle, so soft, even when modulated? Stars, you can only imagine it without the distortion… You glance down at the floor, spinning the chair back and forth, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Grandpa yanked us off overnight,” you blurt, a bit surprised by how the words hurt as they emerge. You continue spinning in the chair, this time in full circles. “…Because I was a damn idiot.” You stop rotating, and face Din’s seat. Your eyes trail down his helmet… down his arms… to those hands.

Large. 

Tan.

Scarred. 

And warm- so warm… 

Karking hells, you’ve spent too much damn time thinking about how warm they felt that day… How he brushed your chin- confident, no hesitation. And so blasted gentle, like you were made of glass.

…Oh, seven Corellian hells…

You’re done for. 

Thank the Maker your warming face is hidden in the dim light. 

A shift of movement draws your focus back over to the pilot’s chair. Din leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs- a silent invitation.

Groaning, you pull a foot up into your chair, tucking it under your chin. “After… after it was just me and Grandpa-” you wave your hand in the air- “I, uh, had a talent for getting into… situations.”

You turn your eyes away, fearing you might not have the strength to continue if you shared even just one glance with him. “Grandpa- he kept having to pull us off planets. I’d always get mixed up with the wrong crowds, gangs, whatever. We could never stay one place too long.” With every word you speak, your throat tightens- constricts.

Your… your Grandpa deserved so much better than you.

“I just… kept acting out more and more the older I got.”

Stupid.

So stupid.

Flopping your head back against the chair, you stare up at the ceiling. “By Tatooine, I was pretty much… unmanageable. He tried- he really did- but, in a way, I think- I think he had given up on me. He stopped asking so many questions when I’d be gone for hours, sometimes days, at a time. He was… he was so used to me running off.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, you continue. “Remember the boy I told you about? The speederbike racer?” You venture a glance at Din, finding him in the same position, leaned forward against his thighs. He gives you a light nod.

“He…he was part of an illegal racing club. He got me in- I was good, great at it.”

“Damn best?”

You smile at Din.

“Hell yeah,” you chuckle, pulling your second leg up into the chair, tucking it under your chin. “I pulled a lot of ill-advised stunts. Got me noticed by the right, or rather wrong, people. A Hutt sponsored me as his challenger in the biggest speeder race Tatooine had seen in years.” 

You groan, burying your face in the palms of your hands. “And, under no uncertain terms, I was to win… or else. And, of course, my stupid self thought-” you throw both hands in the air- “‘Great! I’ll win, no big deal! Win lots of money and fame! What an honor to be a Hutt favorite!’”

You shoot Din a knowing look.

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his thigh. 

“What… happened?” His words are hesitant.

 “I karking won, of course.” You cross your arms. “What else did you expect?” 

He just stares at you- tilts his head to the side.

You make a noise. “Grandpa flipped when he found out. He knew how’d things would inevitably end- entering those kinds of races, working with the Hutts.” You let out a dry laugh. “He yanked me off that planet, kicking and screaming. I thought he was ruining my future. Turns out, I did a fine job of that on my own.”

Stars… you can’t think about Grandpa right now- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry-

“A-anyway-” you force a laugh- “um, enough about me.” You lift your chin, tossing Din a forced grin. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Such as?” 

A slight smirk grows on your face. Actually… there is something you’ve been dying to ask him, but… it just never felt appropriate- you felt too intimidated to question. But here, draped in the dancing blue hue of hyperspace, he somehow feels less like a Mandalorian and more like… just a man.

“Can you ever take that helmet off?” you blurt. You instantly cringe, regretting the words the second they leave your lips. “You don’t ha-”

“I can.”

You blink.

He spins around away from you, facing the console. “For my children.” He flicks a switch. “And a… a wife.”

“…Oh.”

You tilt your head to the side. Huh.

“Stars, wait-” you shoot up in your chair- “does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone before?”

He freezes. 

One second-

Two seconds-

Three seconds-

“Sorry!” You press a hand against your cheek. “Sometimes I- I blurt before thinking.” You flop backwards, sighing heavily. “Anyway, you’re not missing a thing. Kissing is disgusting. Think about it- swapping spit? Touching tongues? With another person?” You crinkle your nose. “It’s nasty.”

You lean forward, eyes widening. “Oh, my Maker! One time, I was dared to kiss a Gungan, and I think I’ve had lingering trauma ever…. uh, since…” You press your face into your knees, your face warming. “Ah, um, you know what? Never mind.”

Kark- maybe try thinking before speaking just once- JUST once?!

The Mandalorian resumes fiddling with the switches on the console, as if you hadn’t been speaking at all- thank the force. 

After all, the Gungan story was rather hard to explain.

 A few minutes pass, no word spoken aloud, and the cockpit falls into a stillness.

A calm stillness.

Just… tranquility.

You suck in a deep breath of air, sinking deeper into your chair. Even with your awkward blunders, you feel more comfortable, safer in this moment than you have in far, far too long. 

Eyelids drooping, time begins to swirl around you, mixing, blending with the hyperspace light. Lost in the realm between consciousness and sleep, you are barely aware of a lingering presence that looms beside you.

You drift away from sleep, sailing closer to consciousness. Parting your eyes just enough to see, a small smile slips onto your lips. He- Din- hovers over you. He reaches up, removing the cape from his back, and drapes it over you as your eyes slip back closed. You feel the weight of it pause halfway. 

A slight tug- a pull- on the edge of your shirt.

Your eyes part, your groggy smile returning.

“Keep it,” Din rasps, barely a whisper. He continues rubbing the fabric of his shirt you wear between two fingers. “Looks… nice.” 

The weight of the cape moves up, fully cocooning you, safe, warm, much like his son that sleeps beside you.

“Sweet dreams… Meshla.”

“Mmf,” you mumble. “What’s… th-at… mean?” 

Skin traces the outline of your ear.

“Nuisance.”

“Kriff… you.”

“Go to sleep.”

You smile, letting your mind sail back towards the shoreline of sleep.

-------

“HEY! Get away from there! You know he doesn’t like droids!”

You lumber down the ramp after the Mandalorian, squinting against the unforgiving rays of the twin Tatooine suns. You lift a hand to your eyes, blinking as a woman- head full of tight curls- marches towards the Razor Crest. 

“May as well let them have at it,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “The Crest needs a good once over.”

“Oh! So, he likes droids now. Well, you heard him.” The woman waves at a crew of droids. “Give it a once over!... I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos Eisley.”

The Mandalorian pauses in front of the stranger with Cara, Pablo, and yourself gathering around him. 

“Well, looky here! You’ve made new friends!” The woman narrows her eyes, leaning in towards Pablo. “Hopefully you three won’t try and kill me like the last one this Mandalorian dragged in here.” 

She leans into you this time. “If you ask me, I think your Mandalorian here needs a good group of friends,” she whispers under her breath. “The man doesn’t live well.”

You slap a hand over your nose, pressing to muffle your burst of laughter.

But then Pablo laughs, and you just can’t hold it in.

The Mandalorian sighs, not sparing the two of you a glance.

“I’m Peli.” The woman nods again, oblivious to the effect her words have had on you and Pablo. “I am a very- OH ho!” Peli launches forward, swooping the baby out from the Mandalorian’s satchel. “I’ve missed this little one! Let me guess, I’m needed for babysitting services? Don’t ask! Yes!” She rocks the baby against her hip, and the baby, delighted by the attention, grins and giggles- clearly very pleased to see Peli again.

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The Mandalorian reaches out, stroking the child’s ear. “The girl and I need to resupply. I’d rather leave the child here.”

“I have a name, Mando,” you grumble under your breath, shooting him a glare.

He keeps his head straight, focused on Peli, ignoring your protest.

“Of course!” Peli shouts, walking several feet away as she rambles away to the child.

“Mando-” Cara touches his arm- “I’ll catch up with you later today before we leave Tatooine. I’m taking Pablo with me.” She eyes Pablo, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “He claims he has a contact, can get Navarro hooked up with a good supplier.”

“Of course!” Pablo flings his hands out, grinning ear to ear. “Old Bolbo is a close friend! He completely forgave me for that incident with his sister in Anchorhead!”

Cara stares at him.

“Oh, hell.” She adjusts the rifle on her back. “Let’s get this over with.”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as Cara and Pablo walk off towards the exit.

“Peli-” the Mandalorian walks after her- still dashing back and forth, rambling to the child. “I want you to keep the doors secured until I get back.” He hooks a finger in his belt, his helmet following Peli back and forth, back and forth. “Don’t open them for anyone you don’t know.”

“Oh!” Her eyes brighten. “I actually have a defender droid now! 4PO!” she shrieks, waving her hand in the air. “Come on! Come on! Wa-iting.”

Your eyes widen, watching with a mixture between disbelief and dismay, as a silver droid stumbles forward- red light radiating from its joints. “Um,” you bite your lip, fighting against the laughter swelling up your throat. “Isn’t… isn’t that a protocol droid?” 

“It’s been refitted!” Peli slaps the droid with her free hand. “4PO! DEFENDER MODE!”

The droid wobbles back and forth- bolts and screws raining down, bouncing across the floor. You blink. “Is- is th-”

The droid’s head snaps to you.

“<death is but a relief from our meager existence>”

…

…

…

The Mandalorian looks at Peli.

“Keep the doors secured.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, pushing you towards the exit.

“Blast it, 4PO!” Peli’s shouts from behind, pulling a giggle from your lips. “I can’t believe you’ve embarrassed me like this! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“<i am trapped in this shell. i cannot die.>”

“4PO!”

-------

Ah, Mos Eisley Spaceport:

Dangerous? Yes.

Scummy? Yes.

Entertaining? Also yes.

You grin beneath the scarf wrapped around your face, gawking at all the activity and interesting faces that swarm past you on the street. You are so enraptured with the sights and sounds that the Mandalorian is occasionally forced to grab your arm and pull you against his side.

“Stay close,” he’d grumble… before you’d inevitably leave his side again five minutes later.

“Mando!” you call from the top of a store’s steps, waving across the street for him.

He sweeps forward, stopping beneath you just at the bottom step. 

“Stop disappearing.” 

His voice is hard, all bounty hunter.

“What?” You grin, skipping down the steps to stand beside him. “The bounty hunter can’t hunt me down? Keeps losing me?”

He releases a heavy, long-suffering sigh and angles his head down at you.

“Move.”

Giggling under the scarf, you allow the Mandalorian to lead you inside the store. You don’t wait for instructions nor directions- you know what you want, and you’re going to get what you want. The Mandalorian finds you a minute later. He doesn’t say anything, just stands on the opposite side of the rack as you claw through the hangers.

You stop long enough to give him a look. “The baby needs clothes, Mando.” You continue clawing through the limited selection. “That sack he wears is ridiculous. Now go, leave me alone. I don’t need you hovering.”

He throws his head to the side, a small sigh slipping out- but he obeys your command.

You sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, a lop-sided smile stretching across your face. He’s off to the side, trying to appear occupied, but you know what he’s doing:

He’s not letting you get further than ten feet away.

The hovering- the lingering, keeping an eye on you…

It’s… kind of cute.

…But irritating.

Still, considering the incident on Arvala, he has good reason to hover… You’d do well to remember that yourself.

After making a few selections, you spin around, expecting to find the Mandalorian where you left him. But he’s gone.

“Hm.” You twist your head around but spying him nowhere in the store.

Fine.

Guess he took your command seriously this time. You make your purchases and step outside the door. Just as you go to sit on the top step, the clank-clank of Beskar jolts you around.

“Mando!” You throw both hands on your hips in mock frustration. “You left me.”

He rests a hand against his holster, and chuckles. “Make up your mind, Ka’r’ika.”

You drop the frown, trading it in for a blooming grin. “Fine. What was so important that you left me behind?”

His helmet angles down, his hands fiddling with something hanging off from his belt.

“I was next door… I… saw this.” He reaches out, presenting you what’s in his hand. “Thought it… suited you. Better than the one I have. Mine’s… too long. This suits your size. Suits your height… better.”

You tentatively take the plain metal bar, no longer than the length of your hand. “Ah, thank you, Mando! I… love it.” You blink. “Um, what is it?”

He points to a switch on the side.

“Is tha- OH!”

A blade slices out from the end. “Seven Corellian hells!” you laugh. “This is- wait, what’s this do- OH KRIFF!”

You nearly throw it from your hands. One flick of a switch, and the bar the length of your hand grows to be three, maybe even four feet in length

“Din!” you hiss, tapping the staff down onto the ground. “You bought me a weapon to kill people with!” You flick the switch again, grinning as it collapses back to the size of your hand. “I’m going to cry!”

The Mandalorian grunts, angling his head to the side. “Weapon to defend.”

You flick the switch again, grinning as the blade slides away, hidden within. “Well.” Hooking the bar onto you belt, you look up at him with an impish smirk. “Now you’re trapped. You have no choice but to train me with a staff.”

“That’s the idea.”

You can’t help but grin like an idiot.

-------

“Where are you going?”

“Refresher,” you shout, continuing to march away from the Mandalorian and straight towards a cantina. You step inside, grimacing at the smack of stench that punches you in the face.

Uhg, what’s with cantinas and unwashed masses?

Shaking your head, you let your eyes sweep around the dim, dingy, and nearly empty cantina. Ah, there’s th-

“OH!” you squeak, pulling away from the hand grasping your shoulder. “Din!” you hiss, pushing against his arm.

“I said stay close.”

“You can’t use your bounty hunter voice on me and expect it to work.” You march away. “Unless you’re coming with me into the refresher, wait for me out here.”

-------

You are only gone a few minutes, but you are frustrated to find yet again- yes, again- the Mandalorian has disappeared within that time frame. With a heavy sigh, you sit down at the bar, ignoring the other patrons beginning to trickle in as Tatooine’s work hours for the day come to a close.

“Hello there, miss.” A young man sits next to you at the bar. He throws you a smile. 

Ah, he’s cute.

“Never seen you here before. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

A sly smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. 

An idea.

“I never refuse a free drink.” 

You flick your eyes back towards the cantina entrance. “Come on, Din. I want to have fun with you.”

“Say,” the man leans towards you as the bartender slides you your drink. “How about we go somewhere, hm?”

You crinkle your nose, lifting the drink to your lips. “No thanks.”

“But I bought you a drink-”

“I don’t remember leaving with you being part of that deal.”

The man’s facade drops, his expression twisting into irritation. “Girl, you hav-”

“Unless you want to talk to my husband into letting me go with you, I just can’t.”

You bite away the grin that begs to explode across your face as you watch the man’s eyes widen twice their typical size.

“Husband?”

You twist your head, and stare across the bar-

-directly at a looming, hulking, intimidating, Beskar-donning Mandalorian.

The man leaps from you, his eyes not leaving the Mandalorian- not for one second. “Uh, um, look I- I didn’t mean anything.” He throws his hands up.

“Honey-” you take another sip of your drink- “could you watch the kids so I can go with this gentleman?”

The Mandalorian’s visor is glued to the man- searing him to the ground. 

A bird stalking prey.

“You know the kids don’t listen to me, Cyare.” His voice is quiet, dangerously contained. “So, you chose.” 

He stalks around the bar, slowly, deliberately… 

“Do I string him up for the rancors… or do I shoot him now?”

“I like rancors,” you chirp, twisting to look up at Din. “They’re kinda cute.” You turn back-

“Hey, he’s gone!” You groan as the Mandalorian wraps his hand firmly around your upper arm, pulling you off the barstool. 

“Let’s go.”

“Just when I was making friends.”

“I’m getting you back before you get yourself shot.”

“But I have my stick now!”

“Staff, Ka’r’ika.”

“Yes, staff- a big stick.”

A beaming grin bursts across your face at the pained, long-suffering sigh that erupts from his helmet’s vocoder. He continues to lead you in silence through the streets of Mos Eisley, only coming to a stop after pulling you aside in an alley.

“I can handle myself, Din,” you teasingly smile, pressing your back up against the wall.

He hovers over you, tilting his head forward. “You’ve yet to convince me of that.”

You bite your lower lip, mischief tickling in the back of your mind.

“I’m fast, remember?”

He leans forward, closer into your face. “So you always say.”

You let your smile slowly drop… drop… drop…

His hands shoot out-

You lean back-

SMACK.

You laugh as Din stares down- stunned- at the staff held sideways in your hands, blocking him from grabbing you. You push the bar against him, ducking sideways to escape his grasp.

“Nice try!” you growl through your gritted teeth as you bolt down the alley. “Race you to the hanger!”

Burning every drop of adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, you blast through the twisting turns of the alleyway labyrinth, hissing each time you think you see a gleam of Beskar from the corner of your eyes.

Blast!

You slide sideways across the dirt, narrowly avoiding bursting through a vendor’s cart, cackling as the vendor hurdles curses at your fleeing back. Taking a sharp turn, you speed into another alley, sliding across the loose dirt as you stumble to a halt- unable to continue another foot without passing out.

“K-kriff!” you pant, twisting your head back and forth, spying for even just a hint of shining Beskar in the empty alley. 

“I’m out- out of… shape! I- I can’t- AHRG!”

You fall forward, hard, against the ground to escape what dropped from the roof behind you.

“DIN!” you shriek, baring your teeth at him.

“Keep up.” 

He spins around.

Kark that! 

You launch forward, grabbing onto his cloak, and- yank! 

“Bitch, get back here!”

  You stumble into his back and wrap both arms tightly around his neck- bursting into a fit of giggles as Din lifts you up and keeps moving forward. He reaches his hands back, pulling your legs up around his waist- essentially carrying you piggyback.

“Din!” you yelp between barks of laughter. “I-I’m slipping! OH!”

You plummet to the ground. You roll over on your back, rubbing the tears from your eyes. “S-stars! Oh.. oh kriff! I- I’m hu-hurting! From… la-laughing! Oh, ouch! O-Ouch!”

Your eyes finally clear of the blurring tears-

There he is- kneeling beside you- looking down- laughing at you.

“Din!” you giggle, slapping a hand up against his chest. “Jerk! You dropped me on purpose!”

His laughter gently fades away- and he stands, reaching a gloved hand out for you.

“Come, Ka’r’ika,” he rasps, his tone… deeper than usual. “Let’s get back to the hanger.”

You grin, looping your arm around his. 

“Anywhere you say, Din.”

Truly, anywhere.

At this point, the man could lead you straight into a rancor’s din, and you’d jump in if he did too.

-------

Something’s wrong.

You know how he normally walks- confident and striding.

…Something’s wrong.

“Din?” You tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. “What did Peli tell you? What’s…?”

He stops- pausing just before the cockpit ladder- and angles his head at your voice. 

“There’s a Mandalorian to the north. Mos Pelgo.” He turns around and starts slowly walking towards you.

“…Oh.”

You lower yourself into a chair, not exactly sure where this is going…

“That’s… good, I guess?” Crossing your arms together, you chuckle. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine there’s more than one of you.”

He rests both hands against his hips, turning to face the hull wall.

“I’m going out there.” He throws you a quick look. “After Cara returns to keep you safe. I’m… taking the child with me.”

“Ah, sure?” 

He’s leaving something out… 

“But… why, exactly?”

“I’m hoping a Mandalorian can… lead me to someone. The child-” Din’s voice quiets. “He’s… special.”

Oh.

“Is this about his force abilities?”

“Force?” Din rips his head around. “You mean… Jedi?”

With a small smile on your face, you pull both legs up into the chair with you. “Jedi use the force. Think of it as-” you wave your hand in the air- “like an energy thing. The force binds all things, connects all things… real mystical stuff.”

Din does not move. Just… stares at you.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” His voice is quick.

You grunt, shifting your eyes to the floor. “I know they’re all dead now, for the most part. Hunted like animals by the Empire." You force a dry laugh. “They- they didn’t stop at the adults. No-” you shake your head- “slaughtered the children too. Kriffing creeps. Hunted down each last survivor- any force user- one by one.”

Silence.

“How… do you know this?”

“My Mom.” You release a heavy sigh. “She wanted more- more excitement than what life on Sularia offered. She was intelligent, and her intelligence earned her a job as a civilian contractor with the Republic during the Clone Wars.” You smirk at Din. “Grandpa was not happy with her.”

You tilt the chair backwards, staring up at the ceiling as you speak. “She worked among the Jedi. Friends with many of them.”

You hear Mom’s weeping in your ear… her eyes radiating such… pain and loss. You dig your fingers into your palm, willing the memories away, your eyes sliding closed-

“He must be trained.”

Your eyes blast open, flying straight to Din. “What?” 

“After Arvala- what he did to the woman on Arvala-” Din lowers his head, avoiding your glare- “I knew he was strong, but… 

“Din,” you grit your teeth- “you must forget he’s special.” You throw your hand out. “Forget Arvala ever happened.”

“A Jedi can train him.” Din is speaking more to himself than to you. “After I leave Nar Shaddaa, I will return to my quest. Find the kid a Jedi.”

Silence.

“What?” You launch up out of your chair.

“If what you say is true-” Din’s voice is level and even, barely audible even in the silence- “I can’t protect him. He… needs to be trained.”

“Trained?” You voice strains in your throat, tightening with every word. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s too dangerous to let him follow that path!”

The Mandalorian faces you. “Danger is all he’s ever known.” He turns and begins to stalk away. “I was wrong to not follow my quest. I… must follow my creed.” He stops. “This is the way.”

“The way?” You race over to his side, staring up into that emotionless visor. “To give up a child that loves you? That you’ve called son?” You grab his arm. “Refuse him a happy, normal childhood?”

“His life with me is not normal. It’s no life for a child.”

“And- and life as a Jedi isn’t either!” your voice raises. “They aren’t allowed to express love- hold attachments!” You clench your fists, willing your breathing- and voice- to level back out. “That is no way for a child to be raised.”

“That is their way.” The Mandalorian rests a hand on a ladder rung. “And… this is mine.”

Blood explodes in your ear.

“How can you be so cold!”

The Mandalorian’s head shoots to you. 

“If you cared about him, you’d- you’d keep him- fight for him- love him every day- thank the Maker he’s there every morning when you wake up!” Furious tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you wipe them away with your sleeve- refusing to let them fall. “Grateful you have more than just your memories and dreams of him to hold!”

“I do care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice cuts dangerously calm. “But unlike you, I can’t be selfish.” He steps forward, forcing you to take a step back. “Doing whatever I want; whatever I please.” He stops, his voice quieting. “I… I cannot give him what he needs. He… needs more than me.”

Selfish? Selfish?

The decaying stench of Nar Shaddaa wafts down the streets as you walk lower, deeper into the underbelly of the rotting city center. The tears have now dried on your cheeks, but you know the streaked mascara staining your cheeks will give their existence away. You will have to duck into the sink first before heading into your dilapidated apartment- you can’t let her see any evidence of your suffering.

It’s all for her, and that’s all that matters.

“You-” you swallow the lump cutting off your air, pressing your hands behind your back to hide their trembling- “You know nothing of my life! And frankly, you know nothing of me, Mandalorian.”

“I know enough.” His tone matches your still, quiet coldness. “You’d put your feelings and attachment over what’s best for him.”

“How can you say that while I stand here-” you jab at your side- “carrying scars I took for that child!” 

He takes a step forward, his hands raised almost as if in regret, but you cut him off.

“You sound just like a Jedi!” you shout. “Maybe you would be the perfect teacher for him!” 

His hands drop.

“I… will not dishonor him by denying him his way- his people.” He lowers his head to the floor, almost as if speaking to himself again. “I can’t let the way you are influence me.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hiss, the blasting blood deafening in your ears.

“You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions.” The Mandalorian’s words slice your heart, cutting you down to the core. 

“You never take the bigger picture into account, the greater implications of your actions. Some things are more important than you or I want.”

“What about what he wants? You’re his father!” you yell, giving up on restraint. “That is more important than anything!”

“He… he will forget.”

You blink.

“A child-” your voice drops, quiets- “never forgets love.” You shake your head, nausea brewing in your stomach. “How can you be so cold? So… callus?”

He scoffs at you.

“You’re being foolish.” 

He turns to leave.

“Mandalorian-” your eyes are on fire, burning- “You’re the only fool I see. You’ve been given a gift; do you know what I’d give to have that again?”

He stares you down.

“But- but because you’re scared- you’re scared of failing him- you want to just dump him off on the first Jedi that crawls into your path!” You shake your head, using every ounce of control to keep from exploding.

You fail. 

“You’re the one being selfish, Mando! A coward!”

“I’ve sacrificed everything for him.” His voice takes on that dangerous tone again- warning you with every word spoken. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

“I thought you were more than a heartless bounty hunter under all that armor-” you sneer, tapping a finger against his chest- “but I guess I was wrong!”

Silence.

“You were wrong to assume anything about me,” he rasps under his breath, leaning into you. “I don’t have to explain myself or any of my decisions to you. We’re done here.”

He jerks around, sweeping up into the cockpit of the ship

“And I’m- I’m sorry I ever assumed I could know you, trust you!” You shout from the base of the ladder, hands trembling against the rungs. “Y-you don’t deserve the light you have been given!”

You burst away from the ladder, racing straight into the sleeping quarters and slamming the doors closed. You slump down into the corner, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest.

The nightmares, the memories, the voices, echo- scream- in your ears…

“Mama!”

-------

You stare straight ahead.

Exhausted.

You’re… exhausted. Emotionally. Physically.

Just- exhausted.

Ever since the Mandalorian left with the child for Mos Pelgo, you’ve been stewing alone in the cockpit, trying to make sense of your tumultuous emotions.

You- you just don’t understand. How…?

You lean forward in the pilot’s seat, burying your face in your hands.

How could he-

“Mando?”

You gasp, tearing your head up. The blue hue of the holo-display showers the dark cockpit in twinkling light.

A man- a stranger- stands in the display.

“Answer the holo, Mando.” He places both hands on his hips. “It’s important.”

You blink.

Hesitantly, you reach forward, flicking on the switch.

“Hello?” you question.

The man stares at you, taking in your unexpected appearance.

“I need to speak with the Mandalorian.”

“He, uh, he’s not here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” You lean forward, raising an eyebrow. “Can I… give him a message?”

“I assume you’re the girl from Taek?”

You slowly nod.

Silence.

“I wasn’t going to talk with you about this-” he glances away, his voice lowering- “but it appears I have no choice… Do you know who I am?”

“Ah, no.” You lean back in the pilot’s seat. “Should I?”

“My name is Greef Karga-”

“Oh, yes!” you interrupt. “Cara’s spoken highly of you.”

“Then you know my line of business.” He takes a few steps to the side, as if considering his words. “I was just visited by three individuals that should be… of interest to the Mandalorian… and you.”

“Oh no,” you breathe. “Is this about Taek again? Stars! They- more trouble from Nar Shaddaa?”

Greef slowly crosses his arms. “Not exactly.”

You blink. “Then I don’t… understa-”

“They sought you.”

Your blood freezes.

You- you can’t breathe.

“I told them nothing, of course. I informed them the Guild had no files, no information whatsoever. That you had never been on our radar.” Greef leans forward, his voice falling low. “They left most displeased.”

“No- don’t tell me this.” You press your head down into your knees. “Don’t tell me this.”

“I suggest you tread carefully, my dear-”

You lift your head.

“-they were Mandalorian.”

-------

You slip around the corner of the stone building, sliding right past the dumpsters lining the Mos Eisley street. You tighten the scarf around your face as you tip-toe into an alley- jumping at any hint of movement like a Lothcat on spice.

“Stars,” you hiss, tightening your arms across your chest, collapsing in on yourself as you walk.

Your life-

-is a disaster.

But it’s your disaster, for you to face. You will not endanger the child, put anyone else in the line of fire. 

With Mandalorians after you… Leaving- running away- it’s your only choice.

A sob erupts, and you slap a hand across the scarf covering your lips, pushing against the fabric.

You can’t give in. Not now. Not now.

You sink down into the dirt, pressed up against the wall tucked back behind a stack of boxes.

Trembling… You can’t stop trembling.

Something hard presses into your leg, and you glance down.

Your staff…

Din.

You take it off your belt, pressing it against your cheek. Groaning, you slide your eyes closed.

You’re- you’re going to miss him. All of them. You- you-

You part your lips, all the pent-up fear and heartbreak and pain and frustration bleeding out in in one long wail, the tears flooding, drowning your cheeks.

You’re all alone.

You’re all alone again.

You’re all fucking alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the comments)

a/n: I know what you’re thinking: OH NO! I forgot to get wille-zarr a Christmas gift! 

No problem! You can leave me a comment instead lol!

But seriously, OH. MY. STARS. The comments on chapter 7- you have NO IDEA how that pushed me to write this. I’ll be honest, this chapter probably would have taken another 1-2 weeks to write if it wasn’t for the love and comments last chapter! I spent countless nights staying up till 3AM trying to get this done. Again, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me- your comments fuel my writing! I love hearing from my regular readers! 

Special thanks for @sana-katarn​, whose endless knowledge of Old Republic terminology I inquired of endlessly while writing… really this entire story! She’s actually the best.

Also, this story will NOT being following season two. At times (such as in this chapter), some events from chapter two may pop up. But not often at all.  We’re going  for an ✨original plot✨ here. ;)

One last thing before I move into season 2 finale spoilers: next chapter, the action/angst kicks up- AGAIN. Like wow, I am so excited for everyone to read it! Things are kicking into gear! (And don’t worry, we will see the Arvala family again very soon!)

SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: ------- Okay, so W O W. That finale. Let’s talk.

I am 100% serious, I had this chapter, the scene where Din and reader fight over the child training to be a Jedi, planned out WELL before the finale! So, imagine my shock that this chapter and that particular scene in the finale happened to fall so close together! I felt a bit bad leaving chapter 8 on a sad note so soon after the finale, but it couldn’t be avoided. So, I’ll just say: trust where I’m going with things! It’s going to be surprising- in a good way! :)

[normaltothemax]

@lovepurposed​​

  He blinks once, and then twice for good measure, trying to let his brain catch up to spoken words, a foreign accent. Is she a sorceress? What is…Google? He shakes his head, accepting that the workings of his mind are a little dusty. Has he been poisoned? He feels well enough. He hasn’t had a drink from a strange goblet or the likes.  She will, of course, need to be taken to Camelot and dealt with, whether she is peasant or sorceress…or, a working girl. She cannot just stay out here, ready to steal the next unlucky passerby’s horse. Or go about poking people’s swords. She could be hurt.

  Warily, he sheathes his sword and unclasps his cloak, offering it to her before averting his eyes. “Please,” he asks kindly, before continuing, “Surely you must know there’s no village for at least half a day’s ride? Camelot is much closer, I can take you there. As long as you don’t mean to cause trouble or steal anyone else’s horse or food. My servant, Merlin can fetch you some proper clothes and a warm meal.  I am Prince Arthur, and I mean you no harm, only to see you to safety.  Where are you from?”

   And why so eager to escape?

  He realizes he’s been most unkind in his judgments. It is something he’s working on. A better understanding of his people, and the circumstances surrounding them. They all have stories, and it might be worthwhile to hear the girl’s if he can decipher any of the foreign words she’s using. “Speak slowly, your use of language is difficult to understand.”

God, he was really committing to this little bit, wasn’t he? He even looked confused by her words. Fuck a duck. But if that’s what it took to get her out of the damn woods, Max would suck it up and play along. Heaving a sigh, she accepted his cape and forced herself to give him a small smile and a quiet, “Thanks.” Seeing as his face was almost as red as the cape, she draped it over her shoulders and wrapped it around herself, essentially cocooning herself in it.

Whatever, she was cold anyways.

“I didn’t know that, actually. And I wasn’t stealing anything.” Seriously, where would she even keep a horse in the city? “This is the first time I’ve ever even seen a horse, and I figured, they don’t live in the woods, right? So that means people. Or...” she gestured to him, “person, I guess. I was just letting him sniff me---I didn’t wanna get bit.” Now that she was saying it out loud, it did sound kind of stupid. A light pink dusted her cheeks with the realization.

She decided not to comment on the whole Merlin thing, choosing instead to raise a brow at Prince Arthur. Of all the characters to play, he picked royalty. Full of himself much? As he had yet to point out which way she needed to go, however, she held her tongue. “Well, good. I’d hate to have to kick your ass, if you tried hurting me.” Big talk from a small woman, especially since he had a sword---that actually looked sharp, what?---but if he was allowed to be a prince, then she could make shit up too. As far as he knew, she could totally be an expert fighter. “I’m Max. From California. Here’s hoping that’s not too far away from Camelot.”

[florencwrites]

aphrodite 〚technoblade〛

in which his love finally returns to him, the voices trailing not far behind

(!) voices, mentions of trauma (!)

His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, heart in his throat. He knew very well that he was one of, if not the, most skilled warriors of the realm, however anytime an unexpected guest found their way to his chalet, he couldn't help but worry. Worry for not only his own but Phil's safety, too.

He moved stealthily, a thing he'd always been skilled in, stepping on just the right planks in his home. Letting his eyes roam over the surrounding lands through every window. A single pair of footsteps could be detected in the relatively fresh blanket of snow. It wasn't a straight line at first, it started right by the treeline. Phil was still sound asleep, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon after all.

They've found you.

Not a single noise could be perceived from anyone hiding outside, he was sure of it. He made sure of it. The path ran all the way to the walls of his base, despite that, his front steps were clear of any marks. He held his axe surely by his side, realizing that this might not be just any morning for him, after all.

With careful precision, he pushed his door open while immediately double-checking for any marks on the balustrade. None. They weren't in his house, he was sure there was no other way to enter. He'd learned that the hard way when he came back from one of his little adventures, one day.

They're here.

He remembered it quite vividly, the sweat that ran over his forehead, trailing from his eyebrows to his cheekbones before running down his neck. The blood spatter that had physically and mentally blurred his vision, the way he couldn't get a word in through his own running mind. He had just finished reinforcing his doors, there was no way anyone could've gotten in; how could they if he wasn't even capable of doing it himself?

He'd frozen his ass off that night, having no choice but sleep with his trusty steed in the muddy hay. Thankfully, Phil was supposed to arrive back at the cottage right before dawn, the savior of his own demise, many a time. He'd pulled him from the literal horse feces and dragged him to the stream just a while north, quickly rinsing him before hoisting him back into bed. Phil was nothing short of a father to Techno, he was sure they were meant to be. Phil was everything Techno had always wanted to be, brave, kind, caring, and vicious. Unpredictable, underestimated.

You'll never be half the man he is.

The fresh snow crinkled beneath his sturdy boots, his eyes were wary of any and all movements. Rabbits in the distance, a moaning undead somewhere beneath his feet. The clacking of hooves, restless whinnies. He pressed his back against the freezing concrete of his home, ducking a little before daring to peek around the corner. His eyes hovered over the stable, immediately taking notice of Carl's agitated sighs and disturbed snorts. The prints led right to the gate.

A very faint shush whispered itself out of Techno's mouth, barely loud enough for the horse to hear, nonetheless, it calmed him instantly. He crouched down right behind the shed, letting his fingers trace over the prints that lead into the stall. He delicately hovered over them, inspecting the trail that seemed to run through the footprints. A cape of some sorts, perhaps a dress, had been dragged through the snow. The prints themselves weren't made by any warrior boots, either. They seemed to have been any regular riding ones, leather, most likely. They hadn't been imprinted into the snow deep enough to belong to anyone of normal weight, nor anyone wearing armor. Not even iron armor would be able to lead to these featherlight touches in the frost.

You will die today.

His ears perked at the sound of soft snores coming from right behind the planked wall, rustling of hay, too. His senses were on high alert, his hog-like nose easily discerning the stench of lavender from horse dung at this distance. God, he needed to clean that fucking stable again soon. Perfume, they were wearing perfume. Nobody wore perfume around these parts, any parts really, except for.. L'Manburg.

Slowly, he rose to his feet again, making the tiniest of steps to the entrance of the stable. A deep, silent, breath. His eyes squinted at the sight before him. Right next to the watering trough, that desperately needed a refill, was a small body. Completely cocooned in what seemed like a brown cloak of some sort. Little tufts of hair stood from where their head was situated against the wooden structure. "Erm."

Just kill them.

"Hello?" His voice was still rough with sleep, way raspier than usual. He hid his snout into the seam of his cape a little, not immediately wanting to give away his person to whatever stranger decided to drop anchor in his stable. The body stirred a little at his comment, now revealing an icy hand from underneath the hem of the cloak. A dull undertone to the skin made him realize just how hypothermic they must've been, being out in the cold for God knows how long. he slurred his vowels a little as he tried again, "Hello."

This time the body turned around hastily, complete terror resting on their features. The cloak was still tightly wrapped around their torso, brown riding boots barely peeking from underneath it. A woman. A horrified woman. "Please don't hurt me."

Kill them.

"Give me one good reason why not to." He sternly spoke, not meaning a word he meant. He truly, utterly felt for her, no foe would choose to sleep in a goddamn stable when he was sleeping just two floors up, comfortably surrounded in feathered comforters, shielding him from any harm.

"I won't hurt you." She assured him hastily. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her vow, immediately reiterating in a tiny, meek voice, "You promise?"

"You're mocking me." Her voice wasn't any stronger at this point, he could even follow the line of a slight tremble in it as she spoke.

He crossed his arms over his torso, kicking the gate open with his foot. "C'mon." He mumbled, barely resisting the urge to dramatically roll his eyes. No movement from the stable, though, except for Carl's nervous trampling. "If I was going to slice your throat I'd have done it already."

A soft mutter rang from behind him as he made his way up the stairs to his home. "Fair point."

You can trust no one.

He held the door as she stumbled her way into the house, "Why didn't you call for me?"

She stumbled over the uneven planks in his home, quickly being caught by two large hands on her shoulders. He steadied her, meeting her eyes. His demeanor was soft, gentle. "I didn't- don't want to be a bother."

"You're always a bother." His hands still rested on her shoulders, he hesitated. He'd missed her so fucking much, all these weeks he'd been tucked away in the tundra, he'd longed for her warmth on his side. Were it her chest pressed to his back when they were riding through thick blizzards, or her ankles crossing over his when they slept. Her tiny hand in his when they ran from angry shopkeepers, he even missed her cold feet, pressed to his thighs in the middle of the night. Her eyes teared up a little, staring right back at him. He slid his arms around her neck, pulling her into a breathless hug. "You smell different."

"Do you like it better?" Her words were muffled against his chest, silently thanking God for his huge animalistic ears, he let out a croaky laugh. "Haven't decided yet."

❄  ❄  ❄

"She's safe here, Techno." Phil assured him as he hammered away at some sort of new contraction the older man had thought up. "She's safer with you than with them, you know that."

"Do I?" A harsh hit against the wood. "Do I know that, Phil?"

He was the worst-case scenario for her, he knew it. He was a goddamn war criminal, he shouldn't be taking in anyone, let alone her. She deserved a goddamn kingdom, a realm, but all he could offer her was a loosely woven bed in the attic. His bed, that is, but that didn't make it suck any less.

He'd sleep in the snow every single night if it meant she was safe inside. Right like she was right now, he'd pushed her up the ladder to his very own chamber, cladding her in his clothes and tucking her into bed. She hadn't been there for most of it, fast asleep in his arms as he hoisted her into the bed. He made sure to wake her before helping her change, "You've done it before." She softly muttered to him, eyes barely able to keep themselves alert.

He'd smiled down at his lap as he lifted some socks onto her freezing feet, "Just because it was okay then, doesn't mean it is now." He had gently taken her other foot, bringing the sock to almost halfway up her calf. Rather quickly, he exchanged the comforter for a pair of soft, almost corduroy-like trousers. She laid back into the pillow, letting her body fall limp as he handled her into a comfortable position. He crouched right by her head, tucking the blanket in so that she was completely encased in it.

"It's always okay for you." She sighed softly, her eyes closed with a whiff. She was gone, he knew it. He couldn't help but let his fingers carefully push a strand of hair from her face. "Get warm."

"Just because you can't trust yourself, doesn't mean we can't." Phil's mellow voice returned him back into reality, immediately cursing himself for drifting away in thought like that, losing his focus when they were both here. It wasn't just about him anymore, he needed to stay alert, keep them safe.

He huffed in annoyance at the man, secretly rolling his eyes as his back was turned towards him. "That's exactly what it-" Before he could fully finish his sentence, he heard a loud yelp come from behind him. He acted completely on instinct, already wielding his axe above his head, his other hand pressing a glowing, burgundy-colored potion to his lips before he could even truly process the sound. He hastily let his eyes shoot over the scenario, seeing no one near Phil. His eyes perked searching for any trace of the foe, his nose scrunching up; desperate to find a hint of despair in the slight tufts of wind that slid by his face.

"See." A smug expression plastered itself on the blonde's face, not even bothering to look up to meet Techno's eyes from where he was sat, replanting his crops. "She's got nothing to worry about."

Snap his neck.

And for the first time in a long while, he agreed with the voices that echoed through his head.

❄ ❄ ❄

"Morning." He tried his best to wake her as gently as he could, he even practiced it downstairs a few times, but his voice was too.. distinct. The croakiness of his words made her stir in the slightest, not enough, though. He placed his hand on her forearm as she continued her slumber, laying on her side with her arms somewhat crossed over her chest, burying her chin in the blanket. He couldn't help but let a faint smile crack through his normally hard facade as her tiny hand suddenly appeared from beneath the covers to rest itself on his own. "Princess."

A soft hum ran through her body, he could feel the tremble of it on her arm. "Just a little longer."

Nostalgia took over his body, something that had been happening quite often since she returned to him yesterday. Emotions he couldn't even distinguish ran rampant through his head, his veins filling with giddy youth. "Five minutes, that's it." He bit back a smile, taking his hand from hers, steadying himself to disappear down the latch again.

"C'mon, I know you're cold, too." She smiled, suddenly seeming a lot more alert than a few seconds ago. The corners of her lips tugged up almost unnoticeably, her eyes remaining screwed shut. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she cut him off, "Don't argue, just lay down."

"Fine." He spat out with feigned agitated disinterest, meanwhile, his heart was bonking out of his chest. "Four minutes."

He moved to lay behind her in the tiny, extremely unstable, bed. She immediately went to share her blanket, making sure to cover him in her warmth. She laid on her side, still facing away from him, while he just rested on his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, for him at least, he was convinced she'd already fallen back asleep. He laid intertwined his hands on his stomach, fiddling with the rings on his fingers to steady his unnecessary nerves. He could feel the bed shift from beside him, but he noticed only some of the most minuscule movements, right before he felt her warm hand take his, pulling his arm around her frame. He let it happen. She intertwined her fingers over her heart, keeping him to be her big. spoon. She knew very well that he hated being the smaller one, it made him feel inferior; useless. She shuffled in her place, desperate to feel his entire body flush against her, and he couldn't agree more. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, trying his best to let his soft inhale go unnoticed. God, he'd missed her. "One minute." She whispered softly into the darkened room, he could practically hear the stupid grin playing on her lips, barely resisting a snort at her. Complete silence engulfed them, only their beating hearts and shared breaths filling the room.

She opened her mouth to announce that it was time to get up, moving to free herself from his arms, assuming he had places to be. However, his gruffy voice quickly sounded from behind her. "Don't move."

"God, you've always been so easy to rile up-" He clamped his hand over her mouth, effectively shutting her up immediately. "Don't. Move."

She moved to playfully bite his hand, right as she heard it, the hammering downstairs had stopped for the first time in hours. Phil was adamant about not taking a break before he finished the entire thing, so something must've caught his attention. Techno held his breath, letting his eyes screw shut almost painfully so as he heard his friend's voice from the garden.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dream."

You should kill them before he does.

And for the first time in forever, the words that ran through his mind scared him. Not because of their meaning, or their tone, no because he hadn't been bothered by them all day. Which was exactly when he realized that they had stopped the second he had safely tucked her into his bed.

When she was safe, so was he.

[unbridgeabledistances]

soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

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Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.