#inside din's mind

[rizzanon]

06 | ANOTHER SUFFOCATING DAY

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The sharp cool air bit at your cheeks as you walked down the streets of Gotham, the din of the city surrounding you. People rushed past, bundled up and hurried, but you barely noticed. Your thoughts were too loud, replaying the awkward lunch with Barbara.

And Dick.

You knew they planned it. It wasn’t a coincidence. Dick showing up just as Barbara tried to soften you up? His concerned eyes, his cautious tone, the way he leaned forward every time he spoke—as if proximity could somehow mend what was broken. It was calculated. All of it.

You didn’t hate them for trying. But you couldn’t sit there and let them pick at the wound they’d left in you.

The moment Dick started talking about “your life” and how “you both haven’t spent some time together”, you felt your chest tighten, the coffee in front of you suddenly too bitter to swallow. You hadn’t meant to leave so quickly. But the words had stuck in your throat, choking you. You made some excuse about having plans and got out of there as fast as you could without outright running.

It wasn’t a lie. You did have plans. Caitlyn and Adrien were meeting you at the library later. But “later” was still a few hours away. You could’ve stayed and talked to them. You could’ve let them say whatever it was they needed to say.

But you couldn’t do it.

Why couldn’t you?

The question burned in your mind, eating away at the edge of your thoughts. You didn’t understand it entirely. Sure, you had expected to feel awkward seeing them again after all this time, maybe a little angry. That much made sense. But what you felt in there was something else entirely. Something heavier. Sharper.

It was like a storm had cracked open inside of you, filling your veins with rage and grief that didn’t belong to you.

It didn’t feel like you. No, that wasn’t right.

It did belong to you—it just wasn’t yours anymore. It belonged to someone you used to be, someone you thought you’d left behind.

Sixteen year old you.

That version of you, when your father had been lost in the timestream—presumed dead—and the weight of Gotham’s shadow had fallen heavier on your shoulders. On everyone’s shoulders. When you threw yourself into every mission and patrol, desperate to prove yourself. To prove to everyone else that you were useful—that you could help. The one that was benched and replaced, the one who’d walked away with more bruises inside than out… that’s what you’d felt.

Your older self had moved on—or at least you thought you had. You weren’t that angry, reckless kid anymore. You’d told yourself you understood why Dick and Barbara did what they did, even if it hurt. You had buried whatever sort of negative emotions you felt back then. You’d told yourself you forgave them. Because they meant well.

They only did what they thought was right at the moment.

But sitting across from them just moments ago, seeing their faces, hearing their voices—it all came rushing back. The raw, unfiltered pain. The bitterness you thought you’d buried. The feeling of being left behind by them.

And it wasn’t fair. Not to them, and not to you either. But it was there, clawing at your chest, screaming for attention.

None of this matters, you told yourself.

It shouldn’t matter.

Not now. Not anymore.

You weren’t sixteen. You weren’t the same girl who needed their validation to feel whole.

So why was that old pain refusing to go away? Why was it still clawing at your chest like it was desperate to be heard?

Was it because you were back in this time? Back to when the wounds were still fresh, when everything was falling apart?

The ache throbbed like a second heartbeat, making you grit your teeth.

You exhaled sharply, willing yourself to focus. None of this would matter in a few hours when you were with Caitlyn and Adrien. For now, you just needed to clear your head.

As you walked, your mind wandered aimlessly through the noise of Gotham’s streets. You were too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice much—the chaotic honking of cabs, the sharp clatter of hurried pedestrians, or the faint scent of roasted nuts from a street vendor. Everything was muffled, distant, like the city itself was trying to fade into the background.

That’s why the sudden impact took you completely off guard.

“Whoa!”

The force slammed into your side, nearly knocking you off balance. You staggered a step, your boots scraping against the pavement as you barely managed to steady yourself.

Blinking, you looked down to see a small figure sprawled on the sidewalk.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, your voice softening as you knelt down to check on the kid.

The kid on the ground, no older than nine you think, was rubbing his back, wincing. His round face scrunched up, his wide brown eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, blinked up at you.

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking up at you. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

You sighed, offering him a hand. “No, it’s okay. You just caught me off guard. You sure you’re not hurt?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding, though his wince when he tried to stand made you narrow your eyes. That’s when you noticed it—a scrape on his shin, the fabric of his pants slightly torn. A thin trail of blood trickled down his pale skin, standing out starkly in the cold light of the afternoon.

“Hold on,” you said gently, guiding him to a nearby bench. “Sit here for a second, okay?”

The kid obeyed, his small legs swinging idly as they dangled above the sidewalk.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, already heading towards the convenience store on the corner.

Inside, you quickly grabbed a small bottle of antispetic, some wipes and a pack of bandages, rushing back to where the kid sat. The boy was still swinging his legs, humming softly to himself as he traced the patterns on the bench.

“Okay,” you said, kneeling in front of him again. “This might sting a little.”

The boy just shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

You arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. As carefully as you could, you wiped the scrape clean, dabbing at the blood with gentle precision. He flinched only once, biting his lips to keep from making a sound, but his tiny hands gripped the edge of the bench tightly.

“There,” you said after pressing a bandage over the wound. You patted his knee lightly and smiled. “Good as new.”

The boy tilted his head to look at his leg, then back at you. His big brown eyes practically sparkled with wonder. “Thanks! You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure, I did, you replied, leaning back on your heels. “It was my fault you fell and scraped your knee, after all.”

He giggled, a soft, bubbly sound that melted through the cold air. “It wasn’t your fault! I wasn’t watching where I was going. I was running.”

“Running, huh?” you asked, tilting your head. “Why the rush?”

He puffed out his chest a little, trying to act tought almost. “I like running! It makes me feel like a superhero!”

The earnestness in his voice made you chuckle. “A superhero, huh? Well, superheroes need to be careful too, you know. Especially in Gotham. You don’t want to go running into the wrong kind of person.”

“I won’t!” he promised, his little hand lifting as if he were making a vow. “I will run really fast, so no one can catch me!”

“Good plan,” you said, giving him an approving nod.

He kicked his legs again, glancing around the bustling street. “My name’s Elliot, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliot. I’m (Name).”

“Nice to meet you too!”

He tilted his head, studying you with a curious look. “You’re really nice. Are you from around here?”

“Yeah. I live nearby.”

You studied him for a moment, his small frame dwarfed by the oversized coat he was wearing. “What about you?”

“I live at the orphanage,” he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The casualness of his tone tugged at your chest. “The one down the street?”

“Yeah.”

There was no sadness in his voice, no hesitation. Just a simple fact.

“How long have you been there?” you asked, leaning back slightly.

He shrugged. “I dunno. A while, I guess. I don’t really remember anything else.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and uncomfortable. The casual way he said it made something twist in your chest. You cleared your throat. “Well, you should be more careful running around out here. Gotham’s not exactly the friendliest city, you know.”

He nodded earnestly at your words.

“Just don’t go running into any supervillains, okay?”

He giggled. “Okay!”

Satisfied that he was okay, you stood and brushed off your jeans. “All right, kid. You’re good to go. Take care of yourself.”

“Okay! Bye, (Name)! Thanks again!” he said, hopping off the bench.

You watched as Elliot disappeared into the crowd, his small figure weaving through the bustling pedestrains with ease. The city swallowed him up in seconds, his bright energy and carefree smile lingering only in your memory.

And then all of a sudden…. something hit you.

Flashes. Sharp and sudden, like a flood of images pouring into your brain.

You saw Elliot. But not on the street. He was in a dimly lit room, his wide eyes filled with fear. Shadows moved around him—figures closing in. You heard muffled cries, the sound of something heavy scraping against the floor.

And then it was gone.

You gasped sharply, your breath catching in your throat, as you clutched the back of the bench for support. The world tilted for a moment before steadying again, but the ache in your chest hadn’t left.

“What the hell was that?” you muttered, your voice trembling.

You glanced back toward the spot where Elliot had disappeared, your pulse racing. The flashes still lingered in your mind like afterimages, vivid and unshakable. You could still feel the weight of his fear, the sharp edges of the shadows closing in on him.

It felt real. Too real.

But it couldn’t be.

Could it?

Your chest tightened as you wrestled with the questions clawing their way to the surface. What was that? A vision? A hallucination? You’d never experienced anything like that before. There was no warning, no explanation to what you just experienced, just those flashes of something you couldn’t comprehend.

Your gaze darted over the crowded street, searching for the small boy, but he was long gone. A part of you wanted to chase after him, to grab his hand and demand answers—even if you weren’t sure what those answers could possibly be. Another part of you felt frozen, stuck in the swirling chaos of your own thought.

Even if you did catch up to Elliot, would he be able to give you the explanation you needed? From the looks of it, the kid seemed fine. He looked content with where he was, content with his life. Nothing seemed amiss.

Nothing…?

No. There was something amiss.

His clothes.

They weren’t in terrible shape, but they were clearly old—faded fabric, a few loose threads, and patches in places that made it clear they weren’t new. Passed down. Not what you’d expect from a child living in an orphanage funded by Wayne Enterprises’ charity foundations.

Your father’s charity had strict guidelines. Proper care, sufficient resources, and decent clothing for all the kids under its wing. That much you knew. Elliot’s oversized coat and scuffed shoes didn’t fit that picture.

But that wasn’t proof. You had no solid foundation for your suspicions—just flashes of fear and shadows that may not have even been real. For all you knew, it was nothing. Your mind could have been playing tricks on you, filling in blanks that didn’t exist.

Still, the thought gnawed at you, refusing to let go. There was more to this. There had to be. And you knew it. You had to check this out. You had to investigate this—

But then came the reminder: you weren’t Batgirl anymore.

You clenched your jaw at the thought. You’d quit that life, stepped away from the vigilante world and everything that came with it. You’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t go back—not for anyone, not for any reason.

But what if there was something deeper here? What if those flashes were real, not some random trick of your mind? You couldn’t ignore it. Not completely.

A sigh slipped past your lips as the internal battle raged on. Investigate? No, that wasn’t who you were anymore. And yet, you couldn’t just let it go.

For now, there was only one thing you could do without crossing the line you’d set for yourself: check out the orphanage in the Batcomputer’s database. If there was something wrong, there’d be records—staff changes, supply reports, funding discrepancies. Something that could confirm or deny the flicker of unease twisting in your chest.

You’d start there. That much, at least, was safe.

You had other plans with Caitlyn and Adrien. Whatever this was, it would have to wait until later.

…..

Damnit. You couldn’t wait. This couldn’t wait.

With that, you turned to head towards the orphanage down the street. You had to see with your own eyes that Elliot was okay. That what you experienced was a figment of your fucked up imagination.

The orphanage loomed ahead as you walked down the street, its iron gates standing tall, though not imposing. A modest building of faded red brick with large, neatly trimmed hedges lining its perimeter, it seemed well-maintained. The kind of place that didn’t scream luxury but gave the impression of care.

You hesitated just outside the gate, your fingers curling around the cold metal bars as you peered inside. The soft sound of laughter drifted through the crisp air, and you spotted a handful of kids running around in the garden. A boy and girl were tossing a ball back and forth while another group of kids crouched near a flowerbed, clearly engaged in some secretive game.

And then you saw him.

Elliot.

He was in the middle of the yard, darting between two other kids as they played an energetic game of tag. His oversized coat flapped as he ran, his laughter echoing through the space. His carefree smile, his bright energy—it was a relief to see.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

He was fine. He looked fine. And so did the rest of the kids.

Maybe you were imagining things after all. Lack of sleep? Stress? Yeah, probably. The flashes you’d seen earlier couldn’t have been real. There was no sign of fear here, no shadows closing in. Just kids being kids, carefree and safe.

Still, you couldn’t shake the unease simmering in your chest. The orphanage itself didn’t give off any bad vibes. The garden was tidy, the kids seemed happy, and the building looked well-maintained. But something about it all still felt off.

You leaned against the gate, lost in thought. Was it guilt? Anxiety? Or was there actually something here you were missing?

“Can I help you?”

The sudden voice startled you, making you flinch.

Your eyes snapped up, landing on an older woman standing just beyond the gate. She was thin, with silver hair neatly pinned back, and she wore a pale green cardigan over a plain blouse. Her sharp, gray eyes studied you with polite curiosity.

“Oh, uh…” you stammered, stepping back from the gate. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—uh, I wasn’t—”

Her expression softened, and she offered you a small smile. “No need to apologize, dear. It’s not every day someone stops to stare at the children playing.”

You cringed internally at her words. Damn, the way she put it made you sound like a creep. But before you could say anything more, she stepped forward and gestured for you to follow. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea? It’s much warmer inside.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the kids before nodding.

Inside, the orphanage was cozy but simple. The hallway walls were painted a soft beige, and framed pictures of smiling children lined the space. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mixing with the aroma of freshly brewed tea.

The woman led you into a small sitting room with worn but comfortable-looking furniture. A sturdy wooden table sat in the center, and on it was a tray with a teapot and two mismatched cups.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs as she poured tea into the cups. “I’m Mrs. Cole, the warden here. And you are?”

You introduced yourself, feeling a bit awkward under her steady gaze.

“So,” she said, handing you a cup before settling into her own chair. “What brings you here today?”

You hesitated, your hands warming against the cup’s surface as you searched for the right words. “I, uh… I was just… checking on one of the kids. I bumped into him earlier on the street, and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Her brows lifted slightly, and then she chuckled softly. “I see. Spying on children, were you?”

The way she said it—lighthearted and without malice—made your shoulders relax, but the heat still rushed to your face. “That sounds so bad. I didn’t mean—ugh.” You groaned, cringing at your own words. “I didn’t mean to make myself seem so suspicious and creepy.”

Mrs. Cole waved a dismissive hand, a warm smile on her face. “It’s quite all right. You don’t seem the type to mean any harm. Which child was it that you were worried about?”

“His name’s Elliot,” you said, setting your cup down. “I just wanted to check in, that’s all.”

“Oh, Elliot,” she said, her tone light. “He’s a lively one, isn’t he? Always running around, full of energy.”

You nodded, watching her carefully as she took a sip of her tea. “Yeah. He seemed pretty happy.”

“Of course,” she said with a soft chuckle. “We do our best to make sure all the children feel safe and cared for. It’s not an easy task, but it’s rewarding.”

Breathing is steady.

No rapid blinking.

Stance isn’t rigid.

No notable pupil dilation either.

Either she’s telling the truth, or she’s an excellent liar.

“Has he been here long?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Elliot? Ah, yes,” she said, setting her cup down. “His parents passed away in a car accident when he was only a few months old if I remember correctly. There was no next of kin, and he ended up in my care. He’s grown up well. A sweet boy, really. A bit of a dreamer.”

You nodded slowly, forcing a polite smile. “That’s good to hear.”

But it wasn’t. The pit in your stomach only grew. You wanted to believe her, to convince yourself that everything was fine, that you were overthinking this. But the image of Elliot’s oversized coat and scuffed shoes kept gnawing at you. And then there was that flash—the fear in his eyes, the shadows.

You glanced around the room, taking in the neat but modest surroundings. There were no obvious red flags, no signs of neglect or mistreatment. And yet… something felt glaringly wrong.

“I don’t mean to pry,” you said carefully, “but I noticed his coat seemed a bit… old. Do the kids get new clothes regularly?”

Mrs. Cole’s smile didn’t waver, but you noticed her fingers tighten ever so slightly around the handle of her cup. “We do our best with the resources we have. Of course, donations don’t always cover everything we’d like.”

“Right,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “Well, it’s great that you’re doing so much for them. I’m sure it’s not an easy job.”

Mrs. Cole inclined her head, her smile firmly in place. “It’s a labor of love, as they say.”

You nodded, though your mind was already racing. Something about her demeanor—the way she’d hesitated when you mentioned Elliot, the overly smooth responses—set off alarm bells.

Her words sounded rehearsed, like something you’d hear at a charity gala. Polished, pleasant, but impersonal. Something in your gut twisted. You didn’t have proof—nothing concrete—but the flashes from earlier refused to leave your mind.

But maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were projecting, letting your own guilt and unresolved issues cloud your judgment. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye.

You finished your tea quickly, standing up and offering a polite smile. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Cole. I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, rising to her feet. “It was lovely to meet you. Do stop by again if you’d like to volunteer. The children always appreciate new faces.”

You nodded, murmuring a quick goodbye as you stepped out into the cold air. The sound of laughter still drifted from the garden, but it felt distant, almost hollow.

Your mind raced as you walked away, replaying the conversation over and over. The flashes you experienced, the shadows closing in—they didn’t feel like random visions. They felt like something real, something you couldn’t ignore.

And then there was Mrs. Cole. Polite, warm, and perfectly pleasant on the surface. But there was something beneath it all, something she wasn’t saying. You were sure of it.

You glanced back at the orphanage, its brick walls bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

You weren’t Batgirl anymore. You weren’t a detective or a hero. But right now, none of that mattered.

Something was wrong here. You didn’t know what, but you were going to find out.

Tim stared at the coffee cup in front of him, the steam long since gone cold. The café was quiet, save for the hum of conversation and the soft clatter of cups against saucers. But his mind was loud—too loud. Gotham’s shadows seemed heavier lately, the air thicker, and even though crime rates had started to level out with Bruce’s return, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe it was just him. Bruce was back. Dick was Nightwing again. Damian was still Robin. Everyone seemed to be slipping back into their old roles, their old dynamics.

Everyone except him.

He stirred his drink absentmindedly, watching the ripples swirl and fade. Red Robin was his now, his own identity carved out of necessity. He wasn’t exactly proud of what he’d built with it, but the question lingered: what did Red Robin mean in a Gotham where everything was supposed to be falling back into place? He wanted to feel like things were normal again, but there was an unease in his chest that he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the way Bruce had been lately—colder, more distant, like the time apart had left cracks in the foundation of their already-fragile relationship. Maybe it was the weight of managing Wayne Enterprises on top of everything else. Or maybe it was something deeper, something he hadn’t figured out yet.

“Tim.”

The voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Cassie standing across from him, arms crossed and a brow raised. She tilted her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Brooding even in a café. Classic Tim Drake.”

“Cassie.” he said, blinking away the fog in his head.

Tim hadn’t even noticed the time pass until Cassie slid into the seat across from him. “Did you forget the whole reason we invited you out to eat?”

Tim glanced up from his coffee. “You mean forcing me to postpone my work and dragging me out to eat?”

Cassie shrugged unapologetically. “Same thing.”

Tim sighed, already feeling the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold. He hadn’t wanted to go out, hadn’t wanted to leave his thoughts behind. But here he was, surrounded by familiar faces. The air of the café was warm, the clinking of cutlery and cups acting as a faint soundtrack to his spiraling thoughts.

Cassie leaned forward, eyes softening as she looked at him. “So, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Just the usual.” Tim tried to brush it off, shifting his gaze away. But Cassie wasn’t buying it. He felt like he was wearing his discomfort like a badge, too heavy to ignore.

“Don’t even try it. You’ve been cooped up with work, patrols, and whatever else Gotham’s been throwing at you. But this is something else. When’s the last time you got out of your own head?”

He hesitated, looking down at his cup. “I’m fine, Cassie.”

“Tim.” Her voice softened, and when he looked up, her expression was tinged with concern. “You don’t have to do that with me. What’s going on?”

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but his mind flickered to Gotham once again—its fractured streets, its shadows that felt even darker now. He leaned back in his chair, taking a long breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s Gotham. It’s everything. Bruce is back, Dick’s Nightwing, Damian’s still Robin, and I’m… Red Robin.” He let the words hang in the air, not fully knowing what to make of them. “It’s just—where do I fit in all of this? Everyone’s falling back into their roles like nothing’s changed. But I’m not sure I fit anywhere anymore.”

Cassie raised a brow, clearly sensing the deeper meaning behind his words, but she didn’t push him too hard. Instead, she tilted her head and spoke in a gentle, teasing tone. “Are you sure this is just about Gotham? Because if it’s only Gotham, that’s a lot of caffeine for someone who’s just having a ‘midlife crisis’ at, what, eighteen?”

Tim let out a half-laugh, the first hint of relief he’d felt all day. He was grateful for the distraction, but the nagging feeling at the back of his mind wouldn’t let go. Gotham was one thing, but there was more to it, something beneath the surface. He couldn’t stop thinking about how things had shifted within the family, how everything had changed after Bruce’s return. Even with Stephanie as Batgirl now, there was something unsettling about the way Bruce had leaned into her role, leaving you behind.

You.

Tim’s grip on his drink tightened.

Maybe that’s what’s been off.

You had been Batgirl, the title was yours before Bruce being lost in the timestream turned the whole family upside down. When he returned, Tim thought it would bring you relief—that it would give you the chance to be Batgirl officially again, to rebuild what had been fractured. But instead, it seemed to push you further away.

Tim wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed how Bruce had interacted with you, how he seemed to choose Stephanie over you, without even saying a word. Tim had noticed the way Bruce seemed to regard Stephanie as Batgirl more openly, more comfortably, than he ever had you. It wasn’t spoken out loud, but the difference was there, in the little things Bruce did—or didn’t do. And Tim knew better than most how much that could sting. How it could make you question whether you really had a place at all.

And that was what gnawed at him the most. He knew that feeling intimately. And unlike him, you hadn’t fought back.

No.

You had fought back.

But it hadn’t been enough. Not really.

And now, you’d chosen to step away completely. And Tim couldn’t fathom why.

That wasn’t all that had changed.

Something about your recent behavior, the way you’d started to act differently, unsettled Tim in a way he couldn’t explain. The day he’d seen you and Damian talking had only made things worse. You’d apologized to him over something. And Damian—he had actually apologized too. That alone had been jarring enough, but the way he leaned into the small pat you gave his head afterward? The way he smiled—actually smiled—when you walked away?

Tim couldn’t wrap his head around it. You and Damian, who were once at each other’s throats constantly—more him than you—were suddenly… close?

Maybe not that close. But whatever had shifted between you two, it felt monumental. And it only made Tim’s unease grow.

He couldn’t help but wonder if your connection with Damian was what solidified you decision to quit being Batgirl.

Tim hated not knowing for sure. Hated feeling you were slipping further away while he stood on the sidelines, powerless to understand why.

You had stepped away, and the world kept turning, and yet, Tim was left here wondering why he was the only one who noticed how wrong it all felt.

Why was it so easy for everyone else to move on?

Why did it feel like you were disappearing right in front of him?

And why—

Why did it bother him so much?

Tim exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face, barely registering the scrape of his palm against the stubble on his chin.

He was spiraling. Overthinking. Doing exactly what Cassie didn’t want him to do when she dragged him out here.

“Still with me, Drake? Or am I interrupting a brooding session?”

Tim didn’t even look up, though he felt a sense of relief wash over him at the sound of his friend’s familiar tone, watching him slide into the seat next to Cassie. “What do you want, Kon?”

“Food. And maybe some actual conversation?” Kon’s grin was sharp, teasing, but Tim could hear the undercurrent of something else beneath it. Concern, maybe. Annoyance. Behind him, Bart bounced in, all energy and bright eyes. “Hey! You really went out and left us all wondering if we’d get the invite back into your brooding circle.”

“You’re late,” Tim deadpanned. “I’m already way ahead of you in the ‘feeling sorry for myself’ game.”

“Yeah, that’s a surprise,” Kon muttered, tossing a fry into his mouth. “So, what’s up, man? You finally coming to terms with how much Gotham sucks?”

“Do I look like I’m ‘coming to terms’ with anything?” Tim said dryly, running a hand through his hair.

The words sat heavy in his throat.

Because no. He wasn’t coming to terms with anything. He was still stuck in that place between knowing something was wrong and not knowing how to fix it.

He wanted answers. He wanted to understand.

Because this wasn’t just about Gotham, or Damian, or the changes in the family.

It was about you.

The words about you were sitting just on the tip of his tongue, but something was holding him back. Was he ready to say it out loud? Was he ready to admit to them that the problem wasn’t Gotham, but you?

“I don’t know,” Kon teased. “You don’t look nearly as miserable as you usually do when you get all angsty. Cassie’s worked her magic on you?”

Cassie rolled her eyes, but before Tim could reply, he felt Bart’s gaze flickering over to him with that sharp energy he always carried. “So, who’s the real problem? Because I’m guessing it’s not Gotham, but you’ve been keeping something from us.”

Tim hesitated, his hand tightening around the cup in front of him.

He hadn’t meant to talk about this.

But the words were already there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, refusing to be swallowed back down.

“It’s nothing,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “It’s just… (Name).”

There, he said it.

The words hung in the air.

“You mean your sister?” Bart questioned.

Tim paused. The simplicity of the question caught him off guard.

Your sister.

The word sat strange in his chest, like an ill-fitting puzzle piece forced into place.

Was that what you were?

Of course, that was what everyone thought. What everyone had always assumed. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? Easier to slap a label on something so tangled and complicated and pretend it all made sense.

But did it?

Because the truth was, the two of you had never really acted like siblings. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way Dick had been like an older brother to him all these years, not in the way Bruce had been a mentor and partner to him. There had always been distance, always something unspoken and unresolved. You were just… there. Always there. Not quite a sibling, but not not one, either.

You weren’t like Stephanie, who shoved her way into his life until he had no choice but to care. You weren’t like Cassandra, who slipped into the role of family so seamlessly that it felt inevitable.

You were just… there.

Sometimes close. Sometimes so far away he couldn’t even read you.

And yet—

Yet, there had been moments. Quiet ones. The kind that didn’t fit into any neat, easy definition of family but still meant something. The nights after patrol when neither of you spoke but just sat in the bat cave in companionable silence. The rare times you had backed him up without hesitation, without question, even when no one else had. Moments where, in your own quiet, detached way, you had shown that you cared.

Hadn’t that meant something? Or had he just imagined it?

Tim faltered, staring down at his hands. The words felt heavy in his throat.

“No, she’s—”

He stopped.

He couldn’t say it.

Because what was he going to say? That you weren’t his sister? That you had never really felt like one?

Or that you were, that you always had been, even if neither of you had ever been good at showing it?

He couldn’t say it, because at the end of the day, you were his sister. Maybe not in the way that everyone assumed. Maybe not in the way that was easy or simple or made sense.

But you had been there. And Tim didn’t just let people go. He couldn’t just let people in his life go.

No matter how far away you seemed now.

“Whatever,” Tim said quickly, brushing it aside. “That’s not the point.”

“Sure, sure,” Kon said, his tone full of mischief. “Whatever you say, Tim.”

Before Tim could respond, Bart’s eyes suddenly widened. He tapped the table, pointing past Tim toward the window. “Oh, wait, isn’t that her right there?”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

He turned.

And there you were.

Walking past the café, completely unaware of the inner turmoil that had just been about you.

What were the chances?

“Oh yeah,” Kon said, leaning back in his chair as he squinted through the glass. “That is her.”

Tim felt his grip tighten around his cup.

Cassie tilted her head, watching you as you passed by the café window. “Oh, she cut her hair. Looks good on her.”

Tim barely processed her words, too caught up in the sheer coincidence of it all. Or maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all. Maybe Gotham was just cruel, always forcing things in front of him that he wasn’t ready to deal with.

“Should we invite her over?” Kon asked casually, already shifting in his seat.

“No—” Tim started quickly, panic flashing through him.

But Bart was already gone.

A gust of wind, a sudden rush of air—

And then you were there.

Hair windblown, eyes wide with confusion, breath still catching up from the sudden shift in space.

“The hell—” you started, blinking fast, clearly trying to process the fact that you’d just been yanked off the street and dumped at their table.

Tim didn’t even have time to glare at Bart for pulling this before your gaze finally settled on him.

Tim met your gaze on instinct.

And just as quickly, he wished he hadn’t.

Because the moment your eyes landed on him, your expression shifted. Slightly. Just the smallest shift. It was subtle. Barely even there. Just a small, fleeting change in your features.

Just enough that someone else might have missed it.

But Tim saw it. Of course he saw it. He always saw it. He felt it.

Like a blow to the chest, knocking the air right out of him. Like something sharp was twisting in his gut.

He barely kept himself from wincing.

Well, this is already going great…

Your visit to the orphanage had left you feeling unsettled. You kept replaying the conversation with Mrs. Cole in your head, dissecting every word, every glance, every hesitation. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with you. Something about the way she had looked at you, the way she spoke, like she knew more than she was letting on.

But before you could dwell on it any longer, you suddenly heard someone call your name.

You barely had time to turn, to see who it was, before—

Everything blurred.

The world around you shifted in a rush of wind and color, and the next thing you knew—

You were inside.

Inside a random café, sitting at a table surrounded by familiar faces.

The scent of coffee and something sweet hit you first, warm and inviting, but your brain was still playing catch-up.

Your eyes landed on Bart, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Ta-da!”

You blinked.

What.

Your eyes then landed on the others at the table.

Cassie, Conner, and—

Tim.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach twisted.

It took you longer than it should have to realize what was wrong, why seeing Tim like this felt off.

Because this wasn’t the Tim you remembered.

This was a Tim who was younger, just as you were younger now.

It was the first time you were actually seeing him like this since you had found yourself back to when you were sixteen.

And god, did it feel weird. It never stopped being weird.

“Hey!” Bart grinned, all bright energy and no regard for personal space. “You looked like you were gonna wander around aimlessly, so I figured—why not save you the trouble?”

You blinked. Your brain was still trying to process what the hell just happened.

Kid Flash. Right. Speed. No sense of boundaries. No concept of asking first. Should’ve expected that.

You inhaled, barely holding back the urge to sigh, schooling your expression into something neutral, something polite. “Right. Thanks for that.”

“Oh nice! You didn’t scream,” Bart noted cheerfully, plopping into the seat next to you. “That’s an improvement.”

You turned to him, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“Y’know,” Bart waved a hand. “Last time I zoomed someone into a new location without warning, they kinda freaked out. You just looked mildly horrified.”

“That’s… comforting,” you said dryly, still adjusting to the sudden shift.

“Glad to be of service,” Bart chirped.

You exhaled sharply, finally taking in the people around you.

Cassie, smiling, looking a little amused.

Kon, grinning, elbows on the table.

Tim, staring at his coffee like it suddenly got so interesting.

You weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

The café was warm, the scent of coffee and pastries filling the air, but you felt off, like you didn’t belong here, like you had been dropped into a scene that wasn’t meant for you.

Because you weren’t close to them. Not really.

Sure, you’d fought alongside them before, shared battlefields, been in the same circles because of Gotham and Tim, but outside of that? Outside of the life you’d left behind? There was nothing. No real connection. You weren’t friends.

Cassie leaned forward slightly, her expression open, easy. “You cut your hair.”

You blinked at the casualness of it. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Looks good on you,” Kon added, resting his arm on the back of his chair like he had all the time in the world.

You stared at them for a beat too long, trying to figure out if they were messing with you. If this was some kind of setup.

But their expressions were… genuine.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

Why were they even being this nice?

Why were they looking at you like they actually wanted you here?

“…Thanks,” you said eventually, the word feeling foreign in your mouth.

You’d never really talked to them before. Not beyond polite small talk or necessary battle strategy. But now they were trying to make conversation, pulling you into their little group like you belonged there.

You watched as Kon casually elbowed Tim, who hadn’t said a word. Not once.

“What? Not going to say hi to your sister?”

Tim’s posture stiffened, like he hadn’t expected to be dragged into this.

You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t look at you.

The tension was immediate.

Cassie sighed, kicking Kon under the table. “The one time I’m asking you to not make things awkward..”

“I’m not the one..!” Kon tries to argue, but he backed off under Cassie’s glare.

Bart, either oblivious or just not caring, was still watching you with that bright-eyed curiosity, like he was studying something interesting under a microscope. “So what were you doing before I heroically saved you from walking around alone?”

You tensed, caught off guard by the question.

“I wasn’t—” You cut yourself off, shifting in your seat. “I was just running errands.”

Not a lie, exactly. But not the truth, either.

Mrs. Cole. The orphanage.

That wasn’t something you were about to share. Not yet.

Bart hummed, clearly not convinced but also not pushing it. “You sure? You looked pretty deep in thought.”

“Yeah,” Kon added, tapping his fingers against the table. “You weren’t exactly giving ‘casual stroll.’”

You glanced at them, at their easy camaraderie, their familiarity with each other. With Tim.

He still hadn’t said anything.

You could feel his presence across from you, a steady weight pressing at the edges of your awareness, but you didn’t look at him.

Not really.

You weren’t exactly ignoring him, but you weren’t acknowledging him either.

It was easier this way.

Easier to pretend like there wasn’t a tension suffocating the air between you two, like his presence wasn’t pressing against your awareness like a phantom touch.

But his friends?

They definitely noticed.

Of course they did.

Bart’s gaze flickered between you and Tim, curiosity written all over his face. Cassie’s smile faltered slightly, like she could sense the awkwardness and was trying to find a way around it. Even Kon, usually laid-back, was watching the both of you a little too closely.

Not subtle in the slightest.

And you hated it.

Hated that they were trying to figure you out.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew how this worked.

They were trying to get something from you, weren’t they? Information? They were being nice because they wanted to know something. About you. About Tim.

But why?

You barely even knew them.

Sure, you’d crossed paths, had mutual connections, but that wasn’t enough for them to care. So why were they acting like it was?

You didn’t want to be a part of this.

Didn’t want to be here.

“Y’know,” Cassie begins, breaking the silence. “You had this really intense thinking face on. Do you always look that serious?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “I—”

“I bet she does,” Kon interrupted before you could finish. “Bet she’s just like Tim—probably broods in her free time, too.”

Tim, for the first time since you joined the table, finally acknowledged the conversation, shooting him a glare. “She doesn’t brood.”

Kon raised a brow. “You sure? Because I was getting major brooding vibes when she was outside.”

“I don’t brood,” you said flatly.

“See?” Tim muttered.

Kon just shrugged. “Alright, alright. Serious vibes then. That better?”

“Not really.”

“I dunno,” Bart chimed in, resting his chin in his palm. “I kinda like the serious vibe. Makes it even more fun to mess with you.”

You gave him a blank look. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Bart grinned. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”

Cassie sighed, shaking her head. “Ignore them. They get like this when they meet new people.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “New people?”

Cassie shrugged. “I mean, kinda? We’ve never really hung out before. Outside of fighting crime, that is.”

And that was true.

You had crossed paths before, sure. But actual conversation? Actual interaction? It had been minimal.

Which made this—whatever this was—even stranger.

You were still trying to figure out why they were doing this.

Why they were talking to you.

Why they were being nice.

You weren’t stupid.

They were fishing.

For what, you weren’t sure.

But you didn’t want to find out.

So you took the out when you saw it.

“I should go,” you said abruptly, pushing your chair back.

Kon blinked. “What? But you just got here.”

“Yeah, well I have other plans.”

Cassie frowned slightly. “Are you sure? You don’t have to rush off—”

“It’s fine,” you reassured, already standing. “It was nice seeing you guys.”

Your voice was polite. Empty. And you still didn’t look at Tim. You barely spared him a glance.

Cassie sighed, but didn’t push. “It was nice seeing you too, (Name). See you around?” You gave a polite nod at that, and then turned to leave.

But for a second, just a second, as you turned to leave, you felt it—

The way Tim’s gaze lingered on you.

You saw something flicker in his expression.

Something that looked almost like—

No.

You didn’t let yourself think about it. Didn’t let youtself feel anything about it.

It was something you didn’t have the energy to unpack.

So you didn’t.

You just walked away.

Bart let out a low whistle as the café door shut behind you. “Well, that wasn’t awkward.”

“Bart,” Cassie scolded, elbowing him lightly and shooting him a pointed look.

“What? It’s true.” He gestured at the door. “Did you see that? I mean, I was expecting a little awkwardness, but that was painful.”

Cassie sighed, giving Tim a quick glance, but he wasn’t reacting. Not outwardly, at least. She knew what was bothering him. They all did. It was impossible to miss, the way his shoulders were slumped, the way his hands fidgeted with the cup in front of him, his gaze unfocused as he stared down at the table like he was trying to break it apart with sheer willpower, the weight of the encounter settling heavily in his chest.

It wasn’t like Tim didn’t know things were weird between you two. But that—that was something else. His mind kept returning to the look on your face, that tiny flicker of discomfort as you’d stepped into the café, only to fade into polite indifference.

Indifference. That’s all it was.

He’d expected… what? That you’d at least acknowledge him more? That you wouldn’t act like he was just another person at the table?

Because that’s what it had felt like. Like he was just another acquaintance, someone who happened to be there, and nothing more.

You were polite, careful, giving Cassie, Kon, and Bart the same level of conversation you always did. But with him? It was like you had a wall up so high he couldn’t even see over it. And what made it worse was how easy it was to see through it. You weren’t ignoring him outright, but you also weren’t letting yourself interact with him beyond the bare minimum. It was deliberate.

Which meant you were doing it on purpose.

Which meant you didn’t want to talk to him.

And the worst part? Tim couldn’t even pinpoint why it bothered him so much. He’d seen you pull away before, but this felt different—he could see it in your eyes, the way you actively avoided him, the way you kept your answers to him curt, brief. Every word from you seemed to fall flat, like you were already somewhere else, mentally preparing to leave. He hadn’t expected an embrace, or anything dramatic, but this? It felt like an emotional wall, one that he wasn’t sure how to scale.

Tim swallowed, shaking the thought out of his head before it could get too deep.

Kon, likely sensing the shift in mood, stretched his arms over his head and leaned back in his seat. “Anyway, how’s everyone’s food? Because my burger is phenomenal.”

Cassie gave him a flat look. “Seriously?”

“What? I’m just saying, good food is good food.”

Bart, thankfully, jumped onto the change in conversation. “I knew I should’ve ordered the burger…”

Tim let the conversation fade into the background, keeping his expression neutral. He should just move on. It was one interaction. One awkward conversation. Nothing worth thinking about.

Except he was thinking about it.

He couldn’t help but compare it to the way you were with Damian.

That still didn’t make sense to him.

Because while you barely even looked at Tim, you were actually getting along with Damian now?

You’d apologised to Damian. Damian had apologised to you.

Tim had seen the way you pat Damian’s head, how Damian had smiled at you.

Damian, who used to view you as nothing but another obstacle, another person he had to prove himself better than. Damian, who you used to dismiss just as easily.

Tim gritted his teeth slightly.

When did that change? How did that change?

What had he missed?

And why did it even matter to him?

You were your own person. He had no right to dictate who you were close to, who you let in. It wasn’t like he had a claim to your time or attention.

But it did matter. Because for all the years you’d spent working together, for all the time you’d spent in the field, all the fights you’d fought—together—he’d never once seen you look at him the way you’d looked at Damian. Like you trusted him. Like you cared.

He shut his eyes briefly, then exhaled. No.

He was overthinking it.

He had to be.

He forced himself to let out a short breath, fixing his expression into something neutral before glancing back at Kon, who was now dramatically going on about his burger.

Tim let himself nod along, pretending to listen, pretending everything was fine.

But his mind was still on you. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, the feeling sat heavy in his chest.

“Ever going to turn to the next page?”

Adrien’s voice cut through the haze in your mind, snapping you out of whatever daze you’d fallen into. You blinked, realizing your eyes had been stuck on the same paragraph for—who even knows how long? Right. You were in the library. With Adrien and Caitlyn. You should be focusing on this now. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t. Not after the absolute mess of a day you’d had.

“Right. Yeah.” You muttered, hurriedly flipping to the next page even though you hadn’t actually processed a single word from the last one.

Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a glance. You didn’t see it, but you could feel it. That unspoken concern. You weren’t exactly the most talkative person on a normal day, sure, but this was different. This reminded them of before. When you were on the brink of exploding. When you pushed them away because of everything that had happened.

And Caitlyn? She was having none of it.

She leaned in slightly, keeping her voice low for the library’s sake. “Okay, what’s up with you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just exhausted.”

Adrien snorted quietly. “You say that every time you don’t want to talk about something.”

“Because I am exhausted,” you shot back, but your voice lacked any real weight behind it.

Adrien didn’t buy it. “Uh-huh. And I’m Batman.”

That earned a small huff from you. “No, you’re an idiot.”

Caitlyn smirked. “He can be both.”

Adrien gasped, mock-offended. “Et tu, Cait?”

“You were literally just shoving the cart return door for five minutes before realizing you had to pull it open,” Caitlyn deadpanned.

“Okay, but in my defense—”

“You have no defense,” you and Caitlyn said at the same time.

Adrien groaned. “Okay, you two suck. I’m being bullied.”

It was lighthearted, easy. A familiar rhythm. But it didn’t last long, because the next time Caitlyn looked at you, her expression softened again. “Seriously, though. You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“Liar.”

“I’m—”

“Liar,” Adrien echoed.

You let out a sharp breath, the sudden pressure getting to you, and the next words left your mouth harsher than you intended. “Can you two just drop it?”

There was a brief pause. Adrien and Caitlyn both stared at you, taken aback.

You sighed, immediately regretting it. “I’m sorry. I just—there’s a lot of bullshit going on.”

Caitlyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “You wanna tell us?”

You hesitated.

Where would you even start?

With the lunch you had with Barbara? The way she invited you out, how it seemed normal at first—until Dick showed up and you realized it was a setup? That it wasn’t just a casual lunch, but an intervention in disguise? Dick trying to talk to you like you weren’t avoiding him, like things weren’t still awkward between you two? The way he looked at you, like he still saw that younger version of you that needed him, and not the one that knew how to work without him now?

And the worst part? You could tell Dick actually believed he could fix things between you. That he could sit across from you, act like things weren’t broken, like he could just talk and that would somehow be enough to undo everything that happened.

Or maybe you should start with bumping into Elliot? How after your little encounter with the little boy, your head had suddenly filled with these flashes—images? Visions? Hallucinations? Images that weren’t yours but felt too real to be just dreams. You didn’t know what they were, only that they left you feeling unsettled, disconnected from your own reality.

And that was what led you to visit the orphanage. Where you met the warden, Mrs Cole. How something about Mrs. Cole didn’t sit right with you. How everything about her felt too perfect, too practiced, too pristine—like a picture frame with something ugly hidden behind the glass. Like she was playing a role rather than living a life. Something about her had unsettled you, made your skin crawl in ways you couldn’t even articulate. You weren’t sure if it was paranoia or instinct, but something about her wasn’t right. And that thought had lingered long after you left.

And then, of course, there was Tim.

Tim and his friends.

That whole encounter had been worse than you could’ve expected. When Bart had suddenly whisked you into that café, you hadn’t even had time to process it before you were sitting across from Tim and his friends, completely caught off guard.

Superboy. Wonder Girl. Kid Flash. You weren’t close to them. You had barely interacted with them, and yet they had acted so welcoming—too welcoming.

And Tim?

Tim barely spoke.

And neither did you.

You answered questions too quickly, too politely, all while making a conscious effort not to look at him. And Tim—he did the same. The two of you danced around each other, careful and distant, as if eye contact alone would shatter whatever fragile thing was left between you.

And the more you thought about it, the more it frustrated you, because—why had it been so awkward?

It shouldn’t have been.

There was nothing to be awkward about.

And that was exactly the problem.

There was nothing to be awkward about.

No bond. No closeness. Nothing substantial.

If anything, the two of you had the kind of dynamic distant coworkers would have—barely interacting, only speaking when necessary, a mutual awareness of each other but not much else.

So why had it felt so suffocating? Why had it felt like you were both tiptoeing around something?

And you knew it wasn’t the current you feeling like this. It was your sixteen-year-old self.

And you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

Maybe it was because of everything that had led up to that moment. Maybe it was because of what happened before all this.

Because despite everything—despite the distance, despite the lack of an actual bond—there was still something there. Something unspoken, something unresolved.

And that was what made it awkward.

That was what made it feel like more than just an uncomfortable run-in.

It was why you had left as soon as you found an opening.

It had been a mess. The whole day. One tangled, suffocating mess. And even now, hours later, you could still feel the weight of it.

There was no way in hell you could tell Adrien and Caitlyn all of that.

You let out the biggest sigh, slumping back against your seat. The sound was loud enough to earn multiple hushed scoldings from around the library. You muttered out a quick, hushed apology before running a hand down your face, fingers threading through your hair.

Adrien nudged your foot under the table. “Hey. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Caitlyn nodded. “You don’t have to tell us everything. But just—don’t shut us out, okay?”

You swallowed, the guilt creeping in. Because they were right. They were always there for you, and yet here you were, keeping them at arm’s length. Not because you didn’t trust them. Not because you wanted to. But because dragging them into your family’s secrets—into the chaos that surrounded you—would only do more harm than good. For both them and your family.

Some truths just weren’t meant to be shared.

You exhaled through your nose, glancing between the two of them. “I know. And I appreciate you guys. Really.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes. “That felt like an ‘I’m not actually going to tell you anything but please don’t be mad at me’ appreciation.”

You let out a small, dry chuckle. “It’s exactly that kind of appreciation.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”

Silence settled between you.

Yet, you found your thoughts drifting towards Elliot once more. The flashes that you still couldn’t pinpoint whether they’re real or just a fucked up hallucination. The orphanage that felt off in ways you couldn’t quite put into words.

You couldn’t let it go.

You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on.

You needed an excuse. A reason to go back. A way to investigate without drawing too much suspicion.

And then, suddenly, something clicked in your mind.

You looked up at your two friends, a new thought forming. “…What do you guys think about volunteering at an orphanage?”

FInally done with this chapter ohmygod…. thank you all for being patient with me and hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter 🥰 lmk your thoughts on this chapter lol. also, this was definitely more of a world-building/plot developing chapter (yes! the plot is finally moving lesgo!!) expect more of young justice core 4 and uf trio in chapter 7 as well as two surprise people soon 🤭

reader 🤝 tim — overthinking things to the max (i actually hope i did his character justice 😬)

also i promise i’ll answer my inbox soon 😭 there is just so much stuff to reply to but i’ll eventually empty it out sooner or later

taglist is closed ‼️

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[coffee-and-geto]

A DISTRACTION? OR A DUTY-FULFILLING BOYFRIEND?

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

pairing: professor!gojo x f!reader

summary: what could be worse than giving your all to a school assignment only to see yourself fail with no chance of catching up? helplessness is a real haunt. but having a boyfriend under your arm who fulfills his duties, that’s just downright better.

warnings: MDNI +18 ONLY, smut, nsfw, angst, fluff, fingering (f! receiving), sex p in v, unprotected sex, spoon position, morning sex, teasing, love making, overstimulation, creampie, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 3,749

masterlist | next part

Among all the sensations you may have studied during your PhD years, never, as a student, has the idea of feeling the world crumble around you in front of your powerlessness crossed your mind to the point of being a victim.

In fact, it’s more accurate to call it your world.

The Earth hasn’t stopped spinning, there are no earthquakes, no one is screaming or running away from the university to take refuge anywhere.

It’s just you, standing in front of a white lab bench littered with glassware of all shapes and sizes, from Erlenmeyer flasks to tubes and test tubes — there’s hardly any space to rest a hand. The oppressive silence seems to come alive despite the luxury of the large space provided by your university’s funds, which ensure that you always have the best equipment available for your students.

But it doesn’t matter when the silence wraps its anxiety-laden hands around your neck to strangle you like a sleep paralysis that urges you never to wake up from your nightmare.

Oh, if only it were a nightmare.

In your hand is your phone, the screen lit with a white light, leaving words typed in black ink at your attention, with nothing to defend you against, nothing.

No ammunition, no power, no control except an imposed acceptance in response to your research grant sent over a month ago that has perhaps 200 words to explain for the one word that remains etched in your retina was written, typed, and sent with the utmost cruelty:

Refused.

Once you’ve imprinted the word in you, everything collapses around you.

The clock in the room never stops ticking, advancing its hands with constancy, regularity and rigidity. Nothing stands in its way.

Whereas for you, it’s as if the world has stopped.

Nothing in you responds. All your limbs move, pick things up, move forward, backward, away. But something remains off.

The almost empty corridors of the few strolling students are invisible, the occasional muffled chatter in your ears, the cold wind scratching your face as pale as a sheet is nothing compared to the din your head produces.

No, no, no, no…

It’s a nightmare…

Just wake up…

The door to Satoru’s office swings open, the strength of the wood and your grip creating a draught that blows away sheets he’s carefully stacked to slip into his bag to end his day.

“What’s going—”

Remaining standing in front of the door, which you soon close with more force than you’d like, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down in front of him, even though the urge is more than seductive. Your heart is pumping wildly in your ribcage — so hard, in fact, that the thought of tachycardia crosses your mind.

There’s little light in the classroom laboratory, so it’s the yellowish glow of the lights that melts onto your skin, casting tired shadows on Satoru’s face.

He scrutinizes you, cautious and hands still frozen just above his desk where his papers still lie. His normally impeccably pressed white shirt is slightly creased beneath his black tie. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms with colored veins sinuating his milky skin.

His mouth parted for a second, the words hanging on the tip of his lips but stopping all sound in their tracks.

“What happened?” he finally mouths.

The hand holding your phone tightens its fingers around the screen, which threatens to crack under the force of your pressure, and then the muscles in your face are the first to betray you.

Chin trembling, the lips curved downwards, eyebrows and eyes crinkled in a vain attempt to suppress tears, and a silent sob escaping like a sellout.

Immediately, Satoru’s two large, powerful and familiar arms encircle your body as it collapses against him. More sobs join the burning tears dripping down your cheeks, some of which crash onto his shirt while others get lost who knows where.

“Hey, hey. I’m here my love, I’ve got you.” Your boyfriend’s warm, comforting breath caresses your hair with the utmost tenderness. His embrace tightens slightly as you flinch. “Let’s go home together, okay?”

You nod feebly. An unpleasant headache tenses your skull and one thing is all you need: your home.

Your home is Satoru and his home.

The journey blurs through your eyes. The darkening sky is bleak, as is your mood. A few raindrops splash against the windscreen of Satoru’s car, driving with a certain tension and stiffness in his gestures.

One of his hands is busy driving while the other remains on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles on the fabric of your pants as his serious gaze alternates between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. Confronted by your ponderous silence, Satoru doesn’t utter a word, leaving you to curl up in your seat, your temple resting against the icy glass that relieves your headache a little.

In his apartment, the routine continues. Usually, you both shower, eat dinner, go about your university duties — him preparing lectures and correcting papers, and you studying lectures and doing homeworks. But just after the shower he gives up on swallowing anything when you shake your head as he beckons you to question your appetite.

And so, at 9pm, the two of you are curled up in his fresh blankets, your exhausted head resting on his comfortable chest.

He listens for a good hour as you tell him that your research grant has just been rejected — the one for which you’ve sacrificed your sanity, hours of sleep and even your social life to make it as perfect as possible — and that there’s nothing you can do about it. Your tears flood Satoru’s T-shirt as he listens intently, blowing your own nose when your sobs clog it red and runny. He wipes away all your tears, kisses your whole face, your hair, your neck, whispering words of comfort.

“You’re not a failure, love,” he whispers against the shell of your ear as you go silent after getting all your sorrow off your chest. “Just because you were rejected doesn’t mean you failed.”

“I failed,” you insist in a hoarse voice, eyelids closed. “Other people were taken, and I wasn’t. I deserved it, Satoru...”

“You did not.” He kisses your cheek and then your temple. “The person who turned you down may have been unfair, but you didn’t fail. Missing an opportunity doesn’t mean you’re doomed. Missing something doesn’t make the world stop, love.“

The words hit as hard as a punch, but fall as softly as an umpteenth kiss.

“There’s nothing stupid about your project, it’s perfect. It just needs to be seen by the right people.” One of his hands slowly strokes your hair, each finger passing between your strands as he gently detangles them. “You’re capable and brilliant, don’t ever doubt it.”

Your lips — swollen from your earlier tears — moisten again with more silent weeping. Under your weary nod, he sighs softly and adjusts the comforter over you both, making sure it covers you up to the shoulders.

“I love you, remember?” He peppers your head with soft kisses, closing his eyes as he feels you sniffle against his t-shirt. When you nod a second time, he lifts up your chin between his thumb and forefinger to press another slow kiss against your lips.

Your heart flutters by the second. With equal tenderness, you return his kiss, humming to keep from laughing as his hands slide up your torso to tickle you while he steals your breath.

Lips against lips, you feel Satoru’s stretch into a smile at your reaction and he releases you with an even firmer, more reassuring embrace.

“Love you so much, baby.”

“Me too,” you mumble, face buried into his neck.

He sighs, still stroking your hair back and forth while staying silent. In the bedroom, there is no sound. The simple silence of your love, which needs no words to express itself.

~~~~

Early the next morning, Satoru’s eyelids flutter open, bothered by the orange sunbeams that have managed to sneak in between the slats of the blinds at his windows.

His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, which earned him a smile of triumph: a delight — a luxury even — that even the wealthiest like him couldn’t always afford. Waking up before his alarm goes off is one of Satoru’s favorite moments in his life.

He can admire your sleeping face, still savoring oh how comfortable it is to hold you in his big, spoon-shaped arms in bed, how soft the steady sound of your heart beating peacefully in your chest is, or how steady your breath is, like a lullaby to him.

Then, taking advantage of the moment’s peace, he pulls you a little tighter into his arms, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as it drifts from your hair and nestles his chin in the hollow between your shoulder and neck. The warmth of your two hearts is enough to melt him.

He places a gentle kiss on your cheek, close to your jaw.

The action has the immediate effect of waking you up almost involuntarily. Of course, he wants to let you rest before tackling the long day ahead with him, but he also wants to be able to cover you with his love while you’re conscious.

A soft hum escapes your lips and you squirm a little, sticking your back even more to Satoru’s torso for added warmth.

A smile cracks his lips and he holds back a gasp when your ass rubs against his crotch. “Morning, sweetheart,” he manages to whisper close to your ear with a little raspy voice. “Did you sleep well?”

Keeping your eyelids closed, you continue to rub against him, a smile as amused as it is relaxed in his protective arms.

“Mhmmm…”

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, kissing your jaw, fingers creeping up your chin to make you face him.

“Need you,” you pant back, trying to take off the cover lazily because the heat on how turned on you’re getting is choking you, but it’s harder when Satoru is now pressing his mouth against yours with firm kisses.

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

He helps you free yourself from the comforter and himself at the same time before running his hands up your shirt and pressing his already hard erection against your ass.

For a few seconds, the room is filled with nothing but breaths, a little heavy after the last one, warmer and faster. Sounds of wet kisses and rustling clothes too. Just your two bodies rubbing against each other in search of more until your first moan echoes louder when Satoru decides to play with your breasts, pinching a sensitive nipple under your t-shirt.

The gesture sends a delicious wave of electric pleasure to your crotch. In a reflex stride, you discard your pajama pants for a better sensation of friction, in hope to chase your highest pleasure.

“Oh God, you don’t even have to ask.” And Satoru gets rid of his own pajama pants and leaves himself in just boxers and a T-shirt. This is what he’s been loving in his daily life since you came into his life. Those warm mornings when you let your bodies do the talking for you.

Apart from the thin fabric separating your bodies, there’s nothing to stop you going further, but Satoru likes to savor and tease before tackling the main event. Sliding his palms first over your hot, soft-skinned hips, you take the opportunity to spread your legs without getting out of your spooning position with him, which makes things even hotter.

Access made free, Satoru’s fingers find their way to the wet spot on your underwear. A shiver runs through you, and you freeze, waiting for him to stimulate you in earnest. Slowly, his forefinger moves down your clit, wet with your active arousal. He taps it gently at first, then circles around it, spreading more and more of your juices as much on your core as on the fabric.

“Need me here?” he breathes in your ear, admiring how your face went from a pout to a little parted lips face and eyelids half-closed. “Or here?” He smirks. His index finger glides over your soaked panties to stop at your entrance. “It's pulsing, baby.”

“Need you on both,” you whisper in a breath. Your head is spinning like a dizzy woman drunk on pleasure. Or rather drunk on your boyfriend.

“As I see, I need to relax my girl to fulfill my duty.” He pushes your underwear to the side, and you gasp when his finger finds you, slipping easily between your folds. You moan, grinding into his hand, every nerve alive with the pleasure of his touch. He smirks, moving his fingers just how you like it, circling with precision.

He’s gentle in his gestures, but also teasing. He caresses with tender your most intimate parts — through your sensitive folds, rubbing your clit, and finally sinking a long, thick finger into you. From the last time the two of you had sex, Satoru doubts a second that it was longer ago than expected. Because God, you are so tight.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he whispers, the words sending a jolt of heat through you. He knows how to push your buttons, how to make you feel like you are falling apart in his hands. And you are — completely lost in him, in the moment.

Your walls squeeze his finger as if your life depends on it. He can barely pump at all with how it is sucked.

“Relax, darling, you’re tight.” As if to punctuate his sentence, he places butterfly kisses on the side of your neck, his breath tickling your jaw.

At the end, you obey, breathing out as your muscles unclench. Satisfied, Satoru resumes his activity and pumps his finger deeper into you, the pad looking for the sweet spot that will make you scream his name — as always.

Your moans multiply, little sounds that you try to muffle without much success as Satoru fingers you more and more, reveling in your sounds. A tight little knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a sign that you’re not long for coming.

“Satoru— Ah, ’m close,” you gasp, your hands gripping his wrist and forearm with all your might to keep from losing your head. “I’m—”

But your own cry cuts you off as your orgasm crashes over you, exploding around Satoru’s finger. The latter doesn’t stop yet, keeping it inside while it’s moving in and out of you until you’re dripping all over his knuckles buried deep.

Your breaths contrast, despite the fact that the room temperature feels like it’s risen by ten degrees. Yours is heaviest and fastest, in response to the aftermath of your perfect orgasm. Satoru’s is faster — slightly — due to the fact that he’s getting hotter and hotter by the arousal you’re giving him without doing anything (madly boys in love effect).

Slowly, Satoru withdraws his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth. You wince when he licks them as if they were covered with the most delicious flavor in the world. He punctuates each lick with a suction noise.

“You gross,” you mumble, feeling how weak your legs feel now. You try to sit up, but Satoru is quicker. He wraps his arms around your waist to hold you close. “What are you—”

You can feel his cock straining against his boxers, and the sound of his breathing growing heavier against your nape makes your own body ache with anticipation. Satoru’s grip was still soft, but there was an urgency to it now — like he is just as desperate for more as you are.

“Don’t you dare leave me like that, darling,” he threatens with a still playful, dangerous tone. “You’re not done with me yet.”

You swallow thick. Your heart hammers in your ribcage, anticipation coursing through your body like an electric circuit.

“Need you, sweetheart,” he breaths. “May I?”

“Just fuck me already, Satoru,” you mutter, ass grinding against his erection. He hisses, fingers clenching around your hips and waist.

“No fuck today. Love making only.” He peppers small kisses on your warm cheek before taking off his last cloth and guides his hard-rock and painful cock against your dripping slick. The fat head rubs teasingly against your entrance, tempting and enticing to make you ache and lose your mind. At every stroke, your walls squeeze around nothing, begging for something to stretch them.

“Don’t tease— Ah,” you whimper, lowering your hips for more. But it keeps the tip from sinking. So you pout slightly, a cute frowning your eyebrows. “I hate you.”

“Love you more,” he chuckles, still holding his length, brushing off how it’s twitching for you, as wet with pre as you are. “First, you need to say that you need me.”

“Satoru!” you protest.

“You know how I am,” he chortles. You wring your neck to meet his entertained eyes, a gleam of neediness but also frustration in your that turns him even more. “Beg, sweetheart.”

“I need you,” you mumble, your breathing hot brushing his lips.

Fuck.

He mouths, “Where?”

“Inside me.”

“Ask nicely now.”

You sigh in frustration. “I need you inside me now, please.” And to make him fall for you, you blink with your doe eyes, which work every time. “Satoru.”

He parts his lips, entranced by all your features, eyes lost into your soul. Lord, you are the most beautiful woman on the earth.

“Lift your leg for me.” It’s an order. But you happily comply, offering him your leg, every detail of which he worships, and take it under his arm to gain access to your welcoming entrance. When his cock stands there, ready and twitching just at your heat radiating like fire. “Ready?” You nod.

Then, in one smooth motion, he is inside you, and you gasp, your back arching off his back as he stretches you open. Satoru’s mouth finds your neck again, kissing and sucking as his hips begin to move up, slow and deliberate at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of him filling you completely.

“Fuck,” you moan, the stretch of him feeling so right, so perfect, that you can’t help but tighten around him. Satoru groans in response, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a faster pace. One of your hands finds his forearm and holds it like a life preserver from his thrusts that are making the bed creak underneath the two of you, and the other tangles the nearest sheets.

“You’re so tight, so fucking tight,” he murmurs, his voice strained with effort as his thrusts grow harder, more urgent. Your nails dig into his forearm and sheets as you pull him closer, your legs trembling to the rhythm of a crescendo, one trapped because slightly lifted up by Satoru’s arm as you take him deeper.

Every thrust, every movement is a sweet, slow burn that makes your entire body shiver with need. In the wake of his thrusts, Satoru’s lips manage to find yours, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, worshiping you like you are the only thing that matters.

“I love you so damn much,” he mumbles against your swollen lips while another deep slam into you drags you out a cry.

And then, without warning, Satoru shifts, adjusting his angle just enough to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You gasp, your back arching off his back again as your body trembles before his.

He smirks against your lips. “Found it,” he whispers.

You can’t form words — only moans and gasps as he repeats the movement, his cock hitting that sweet, perfect spot with each thrust. Your nails dig into his back as you feel your body tightening, the pressure building in your core.

Satoru’s pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and relentless as he took you closer and closer to the edge. His breath was ragged in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips, and you could hear the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

“You feel so good, baby” he groans, his voice strained. “Don’t hold back.”

You can’t stop it — can’t stop the way your body reacts to him. The way the pressure in your core is building, until you are teetering on the edge of something incredible. Satoru’s name escapes your lips in a breathless cry, and that’s enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your entire body shaking as the wave of pleasure consumes you.

Satoru doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his hips not stopping rutting up against yours and his hands never leaving your leg up and hip as he continues to chase his own release. He’s close, so close, and you can feel it in the way his thrusts grew sloppier, the way his breath hitches in your ear.

With a final, deep thrust, he cums, filling you completely with a groan that sends a wave of satisfaction through your own body. You both stay laid down for a moment, catching your breath, still glued together as you slowly come down from the high.

You turn over painfully on the bed to face him, his member still softening inside you. Your limbs are still trembling from the intense physical activity, and Satoru takes the opportunity to pull you even closer by the waist. His forehead rests against yours, his hands gentle on your hips as he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he kisses your forehead.

You smile, still breathless, but feeling that delicious satisfaction spread through you. “Another round before heading off to uni?” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing his chest.

“We’ll be late, you know?” He traces the contour of your face with the tip of his fingers and pecks a kiss from time to time.

“Maybe my professor won’t blame me this time, will he?”

“You little spoiled princess,” he snorts, pressing another kiss on your nose. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You smirk. “And you’re so lucky to have me.”

“I will never deny that.”

a/n: hellooooo!! how are you guys? 🥹 first, i’m sorry for my inactivity :(( i’ve been busy with school and all (+ i wasn’t ovulating lol). i wrote this little part 1 because i was frustrated about a competion i lost (law will make you cry your soul, trust me). also sorry for the little angst, i can’t help myself lmao. i hope you enjoyed this and see you soon!

likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

for the tag list, i’ll try to add more ppl when i’ll have the time, i’m sorry in advance for those who came after i temporary closed it <3 you’ll be tagged for the next part for sure :) if you want to be tagged, pls put your age in bio and ask here.

tag list: @izumkay , @lostfracturess , @nariminsstuff , @superdonkeypatroleggs , @0hisu , @iheartgojoo66 , @cax-per , @not-aya , @petalsrdead , @kimkimoruo , @indiewritesxoxo , @paolarox01 , @reverrieee , @billiondollarworth , @myahfig4 , @lilac-witch , @markliving , @sukunaslilsocks , @hyori2 , @lilychan176 , @yvesdoee , @redbambii , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @princess-bblgm , @oh-my-god-donald , @etsuniiru , @ethereal-moonlit , @lymsfm , @mutsu422 , @bearwithmoo , @chiiiiiichan , @ziggy0stardust , @purplegemadventures , @shibataimu , @chich1ookie , @c-moon20-12 , @cyrenees , @tbzzluvr , @kimvmarvel , @leabyjulia , @flowerpot113 , @luvvcho , @nanaosaki3940 , @rriwyu , @heybeebax , @satorugojoisamenace , @euhphoq , @aleviia , @hellowoolf , @petalshxwer , @gojo-caturo , @ssrist , @winniethepooh-lover , @kiriyue , @your-mum3000 , @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 , @satorusmochis

[dindjarindiaries]

Distraction

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: "You need to distract me. Do something, anything." & Kissing as a distraction

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

Din's visor tilted at the sight of you, his modulated voice as charming as ever as he greeted you at your doorway. "Hey."

All you could do was blink at him in response, your gaze transfixed on the sight of his gloved hand clutching the hilt of a blade that was lodged between his shoulder and his chest.

"Can I come in?"

His words finally snapped you back into action. You all but tugged him inside, the anxious knot wounding itself even tighter within your chest when you heard him grunt at the movement. After securing the door closed, you turned back to Din and properly assessed the situation.

Your eyes weren't deceiving you. There was still a blade lodged inside his flesh, and he didn't seem worried about it whatsoever—despite how much crimson you saw staining his flight suit. "Shit, Din." You fussed as you practically ran around your flat in search of your medpac. "Shit."

Din huffed. "Don't you want to know how it happened?"

You fixed him with a look across the room. "You can tell me while we're fixing it."

Din hummed as you approached with the medpac. You eased him into the nearest chair and set the supplies on the table. "I'm gonna need a better distraction than that."

Your furrowed your brow, but didn't step preparing everything you would need to assist him. "What do you mean?"

Your stare remained on your hands as they sorted through the supplies in record time, but you were forced to stop when Din set his gloved hand over them. You looked back up at his visor, watching as he nodded towards the hilt of the blade. "I need you to take this out for me."

Your throat tightened with panic, but you spoke around it. "You... don't want to do that yourself?"

"I can't. It'll be too painful." Din tilted his helmet at you. "Haven't you done this before?"

Your voice was so strained that it was just a squeal. "No!"

Din's hand tightened around yours. "Listen. It's gonna be just fine. Once it's out, the pain will be more than manageable."

He took one of your hands and guided it to the hilt. Your racing heart plunged into your stomach, threatening to make you sick as you instead swallowed hard and focused on Din rather than yourself.

"I only need you to do two things for me. Okay?"

You nodded, more than happy to let Din's soothing voice guide you. It came as no surprise to you that he was the calmer one in this situation, despite the fact he was also the one with the weapon in his shoulder.

"You need to pull this out, and you need to distract me while you do it."

Your gaze searched his visor. "What kind of distraction do you need me to do?"

You instinctively tightened your grasp on the hilt, causing a tight groan to slip through Din's modulator that had clearly caught him by surprise. His next words were curt, but not angered. "Do something. Anything."

You nodded and gently adjusted your grasp. You thought through all your options, looking upon Din for something that you could use to distract him. If talking wouldn't be enough, then there had to be something more powerful.

Your gaze caught on the lip of his helmet. It would be a risky move, but with the fogginess of your panic for him blinding you, you didn't bother to consider the consequences. All you cared about was blinding his pain.

The first move you made was straddling him on the chair, which Din clearly didn't mind, based on the quick way he secured you there. Then, with the hand not clutching the weapon in his shoulder, you lifted his helmet just enough to press your parted lips against his.

It was sweet relief, an acknowledgement shared in the sighs between you, and for a moment it made you forget why you had done it. But the weight of the hilt in your hand still remained, even if the warmth of Din's mouth was a strong distraction.

You were right to make this choice. If he was enough to distract you, then you were no doubt more than enough to distract him.

Your hand on his jaw, which still balanced the metal rim of his helmet, tilted his head back further to deepen the kiss. The moment you pushed your tongue into his mouth, you tugged hard on the blade, freeing it from his shoulder.

Din released his groan into you, his teeth capturing your lip as he did so, but he never broke away from you. Instead, after a few heavy breaths, he simply returned the favor by exploring your mouth with a passion that left you breathless.

But again, the weight of the blade in your hand was too heavy to ignore.

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your brow shooting up as you did so. "That's enough of the distraction, Din." You showed him the blade in your hand. "It's out. We need to fix it now."

Din's gloved hand wrapped around the back of your neck. "It's fine. I can survive for a few more minutes."

When he made the move to kiss you again, you stopped him by setting your thumb over his lips. "Din." Your eyes were at least double their usual size. "You're bleeding out."

Din paused, his hand only leaving your neck to take the lip of his helmet from you. He removed it from his head completely, leaving you to gape in an entirely different way than you had before. His brow rose as his brown gaze burned at you with the same flame of desire that you had lit deep within yourself.

If the sound of Din's natural voice wasn't enough to make you melt on top of him, then the words he spoke certainly were. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

You yet again blinked at him in surprise, unable to do anything except let the blade clatter to the floor as you willingly went back to him again. You kissed him like your lives depended on it, because—in a way—Din's did. And that's the way he wanted it.

He had just proven that you were more tempting to him than life itself, and that's what made it impossible to put an end to this "distraction."

[ddejavvu]

Hii hope you’re doing well, I was wondering if I could request a criminal minds blurb where reader is Penelope’s best friend and they’ve met for lunch in a cafe near Quantico, and reader is telling Penny about this new guy she hooked up with a few nights ago, reader tells Penny how big the guy was and then a few minutes later Spencer walks in and reader is like “P omg that’s the guy!!” And gestures towards Spencer who’s the only person ordering at the counter? I just feel like Penny would be equal parts both shocked and horrified that her sweet innocent boy Spence has a sex life but also that he’s HUNG?? I literally love you and all your Spencer works and I feel like you’d write this perfectly 🫶🫶

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Penelope is absolutely enraptured by the play-by-play you're murmuring to her over the low din of the cafe's patronage. The whirring and grinding of the machines behind the counter only further aid in your attempt to keep your conversation private, and you can smell sweet strawberries on the bubbly blonde when you lean in to give her details.

"And he reached for his fly- ooh, Penny, the way his arms looked," You gush, remembering the thick veins that had corded his bone while he'd wrestled with his belt, "He whipped his belt out of the way, and- stop!" You urge her when she wriggles her brows at you, "He took his pants off, Penny, and I swear to god I've seen thighs thinner than that dick."

Her resulting squeal is much less hushed than you'd managed to keep the rest of your conversation, and you swat at the arm that's not holding her coffee. She gets the message but resorts to stamping her feet beneath the table instead, a repeated clicking that blends in much better with the mechanical whirring of the baristas' handiwork.

"He was so thick, and Jesus- Penny, he was long, too, just big all around," You recall, insides throbbing with a phantom ache at the memory of what you'd taken last night, "I swear he had me seeing stars," You sigh, glancing down at the pale pink ring of lip gloss around the mouth of your cup, "I'd beg him to come over again tonight, but I think I need a week to recover."

"A week," She breathes dreamily, "I could barely feel the last guy I had."

"Oh, I could feel him," You laugh, "It's like I still can, I'm pretty sure he bruised- oh fuck!"

"What?" Penelope's brow dips instantly, concern etched into her pretty features, "What's wrong?"

"It's him," You grip her hand, nails digging into her skin, "It's the guy from last night!"

"Big dick dude?" She asks, and your frantic nod confirms her theory.

She tries to be subtle, bless her, when she turns to see him, but when the only person that she sees standing in line for a drink is her coworker, her brain chugs along slower than normal.

Where's big dick dude?

Oh, Spencer's here!

I don't see big dick dude.

Spencer is-

You're not sure even the most talented actor could ever recreate the sheer horror swimming in her gaze when she turns to face you again. Her eyes are blown wide and her mouth, lined in a pretty fuchsia paste, is downturned in a grimace.

"Please tell me you're not talking about the skinny mess in the sweater vest."

"That's exactly who I'm talking about!" You gush, trying to avoid his gaze lest he thinks you're trying to follow him around, "Penny, isn't he dreamy?"

"That's- oh my god," She recalls your descriptions, thicker than thighs, longer than you've ever seen, "I have to resign."

[merchelsea]

Could you write something really fluffy about Lando Norris x reader? Maybe something were their relationship is fairly new and it’s only like the 2nd or 3rd race week the reader has been to and she starts to get sick. She doesn’t feel well at all and try’s to hide it from lando so he can focus on the race but he eventually finds out and is all worried and cuteee

worried sick — lando norris

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: it’s her first time attending a grand prix and also flying and she doesn’t want anything to ruin her boyfriend’s race, but she gets sick in the process.

author’s note: sorry for taking so long to get to the heart of your request (fluff) but i needed to give context to his worriess

word count: 3k

warnings: curse words

masterlist | requests (open)

you sat on the dinner table, unable to speak. the fork fell from your hand the moment you heard lando's proposal and your eyes followed it's trail.

lando genuinely thought this would be a good idea, but seeing your reaction, with his eyebrows lifted, he may have changed his mind.

you had been dating for quite some time, four months and sixteen days, to be precise, but you were still a little aprehensive about the attention.

from the start, he warned you and gave you an easy way out of his life, but your love overpowered your fears.

even in a relationship, you and lando did everything you could to keep you out of the public eye, and it was working. no one knew about you and him and you liked that. but you were aware that he wanted you by his side while facing the adventures that his job provided him, and that he didn't want to keep you as a secret forever.

so when he made the invitation, it didn't surprise you, but you had to think about it.

you looked at him, he was wearing some jeans and a white hoodie that made him adorable in your eyes. he was looking at you, and you could notice him telling you it was okay to say no with his look.

but there was still a glimpse of hope in his beautiful green eyes, and in your mind you took another look at the pros and cons.

you could scratch out a couple of cons... like the fact that you liked being private. it was true, but you didn't mind not being a secret, and you would never like the idea of having famous and stunning women thinking that your boyfriend was available.

so with a soft look, in that modernly decorated dinning room in his home, you nodded your head.

"i think we could go to china together, yeah." he gave you a confused glance, but refrained from questioning you, afraid you would change your mind.

"great!" he stood up and walked over to you, "i love you," he whispered, pecking your lips before taking his empty plate to the sink.

you watched him come back and sit with you while you finished your own plate. you couldn't say you were hungry anymore, a hundred and one scenarios of what could go wrong in the hard launch of your relationship played in your mind.

lando's presence made it a little easier for you, though. you could only be thankful.

you had never traveled by plane before, so you were pretty nervous.

china was really far from monaco, and your boyfriend told you that the flight would take 11 hours minimum, so you couldn't help feeling anxious.

he held your hand when he noticed your strange behaviour and you immediately intertwined your fingers together.

"it's going to be okay, love." norris kissed the back of your hand and you walked inside of the plane, hand in hand.

of course lando booked the first class seats. he knew about this fear of yours, so whatever he could do to help you out, he would.

you sat down and lando closed the little blind on the window by his side, so you didn't see how far from the ground you were.

you had your headphones on and lando held you close as the plane started moving. you were still not off the ground but the plane shaking scared the fuck out of you. you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the music. it wasn't easy. it was only when the plain stabilized in the air that you could open your eyes again.

"do you want water, food, anything?" your boyfriend asked as he noticed you were a little more calm now.

"water, maybe." you answered, still not feeling completely safe. "and can you open the blind please, i want to see."

"'you sure?" he asked, his hand already on the end of the blind.

"yup."

lando opened up the blind and you peeked through the window. you were already far from the ground and instead of feeling anxiety, that view actually made you a little more calm.

"it's beautiful." you whispered, body leaning towards lando so you could see it better.

the british boy's eyes were on you when he whispered back. "it really is." with a smile.

eventually you sat properly in your seat again and talked to lando as time passed.

you fell asleep with and lando carefully laid your chair back, took out your headphones and covered you with a blanket. he laid his chair back as well and watched you as you slept peacefully. you still had nine hours left and he knew you would be awake for the landing, which he didn't want.

you could only manage to sleep for 2 hours and when you woke up, you noticed your boyfriend sleeping. so the next hours were spent playing games in your mobile phone while you listened to taylor swift.

it wasn't as painful as you thought it would be, and it was only when landing that you felt the uneasy feeling come back. lando held you close through it, as he was used to it.

"it's okay, baby." he whispered. "i'm right here." his reassurence meant more to you than he imagined, and it helped as well.

everything went better than expected and you left the airport hand in hand just half an hour after getting out of the plane.

you felt tired, but it was still morning in china. lando seemed okay, he was already used to all the time changes, since he did this for a living.

"what d'you think about breakfast?" he asked as you passed a coffee shop.

lando was driving to the hotel you two would be staying in, and you honestly just wanted to rest. but you could'nt say no to a good breakfast.

"oh, great idea. i'm starving." you said and he chuckled.

"me too." he stated as his hand found place in your thigh. it stayed there until he needed to use it, to change gear.

he parked the car in front of the cute shop and you both walked in.

you both ordered and sat down talking to eachother until the food came. the driver explained the goods and the bads of the race here. and told you what he liked most about china.

you had done some research about the place yourself because you wanted to take profit of your time here.

as lando would probably have some meetings with the team and you would be alone, you decided to visit some interesting places of the city and even near cities.

you ate in a comfortable silence and left for the hotel as soon as you could. his team took care of the check in so you and him were able to just go straight to your room.

you felt yourself a little too soft, but never said anything because you didn't think it was anything serious and worrying him was something you were not going to do.

deciding to take a nap before doing anything, lando wrapped his arms around you and pulled the blanket over your bodies.

"i love the feeling of having you here." he murmured to your ear.

"i love being here with you." you told him honestly, falling asleep some moments later.

lando though it was weird, since you normally took some time to get to sleep, specially in new places.

when you first stayed the night at his place it took you two hours and a really boring movie.

he remembered it could've been caused by the flight or the time difference. the british was now used to it, but it was your first time, and it was a long flight.

he fell asleep thinking about it because, being honest, you were both more than exhausted.

you woke up just a couple of hours later, coughing, and imediately realized you had gotten sick, and were just in the first stages. you got up from the bed and went to the bathroom so you didn't disturb lando's sleep.

"this can't be happening" you whispered to your reflection in the mirror.

'it can be just a cold, everything will be okay in time for the race' you thought to yourself, trying to calm down.

it was frustrating, to be fair. you had been avoiding coming to his races for months, and when you finally decided to come you got sick.

however, you did not want that to get in the way of lando's weekend, so through the next two days, in which your boyfriend had free practices and qualifying, you pretended to be okay. it was not so easy because norris made every effort to make you feel okay there. that means he talked to every one of his mates and asked them to talk to their own girlfriends, to see if they were interested in meeting you, for his delight but not so yours, they all said yes.

so you were not only busy with pretending to be healthy but also trying to be nice to everyone and making people like you.

it wasn't that hard, you all just found something in common, that was your love for fashion and animals, and talked about it. you were pretty satisfied with the outcome of saturday, and so was lando, managing to get himself on fourth position, with two cars ahead he knew he could get out of his way.

he was starting to find your behaviour a little weird, as soon as you got home you took a really quick shower and got yourself comfortable in bed. he asked you if you were not going to get dinner with him and you told him you would just take a little nap, and asked him to wake you up once the food arrived.

the brit did as you said and tried to wake you up, but you told him you were not hungry in the moment. he made you eat anyways, because tomorrow was a big day and you didn't really have the energy to argue with him.

you both had a good dinner and what was his surprise when you got back to your bed and immediately fell asleep.

he tried to push his suspicions away but he was seriously getting worried. he laid next to you and held you close with one arm, the other resting behind his head as he thought. not only about you and your strange sleeping schedule but also about the circuit.

there was this one curve that he just couldn't get right, and he needed to get it tomorrow. or else he'd lose his chance of a podium or even a win.

he would never want to lose a podium, but with you here, the pressure was different. he wanted to do better for you. he needed to, after dragging you all the way to a new country and making you face your fear of planes.

he eventually fell asleep, your body so close to his comforting him and calming his mind that was going probably faster than his car.

you woke up first, in the morning. but, unlike the other two days, where you managed to get it together and pretend you were okay, today you had a huge headache along with an unbearable malaise.

immediately realizing you were not okay, you decided to not go to the track with lando. you were still planing to go, yes, but later on, after you took some medicine and felt better.

he was a little reluctant in letting you all by yourself because something inside him still thought that something was off. sleeping a lot, not feeling hungry, avoiding his touch and kisses (you did that once, but he still took note), it all felt a little weird.

but you convinved him, telling him that he no longer had time to wait for you and you still needed to get dressed and do your makeup.

"i'm going. but message me as soon as you get to the track, please. i want to see your pretty face before getting in the car." he asked you, his beautiful green eyes focused on yours.

you nodded your head and he pecked your lips. smiling, he turned around and left the hotel room. you decided to take a shower to see if it helped in any way.

it didn't.

you grabbed your phone and searched for lando's personal assistant's contact. someone needed to be informed about this, but you didn't want to alarm your boyfriend just before the big moment of the weekend.

he was really sweet to you, and suggested you stayed in bed and watched the race from the hotel. you were a little apprehensive about how lando would feel about this but he tried to calm you down as best as he could, telling you he knew the driver would understand and probably even be more worried than anything else.

he also promised to only tell lando once he couldn't do anything about it. of course you had asked.

was he going to be pissed? probably. did he love you more than anything and would he forget about all the rest in order to check up on you? absolutely.

once he was told about it, the only thing he could do was text you, so he ran to his phone and quickly wrote a message to you.

'baby i was just informed. i'm so sorry for not noticing.'

your heart clenched in your chest as you read his text. it was not his fault and you felt bad for making him believe that it was.

'it's not your fault, lan. and i'm okay'

you added a little heart at the end and sent it, automatically seeing the 'read' under the blue text baloon.

'you sure?? i can get someone to get you to a doctor'

you smiled at the screen, behind that smile was the way he didn't even hesitate to show you he cared and he worried.

'there's no need, i took some medicine and i'm better now. but good luck on the race. i'll be rooting for you.'

on the other side of the screen, lando sighed, he hated that he couldn't do anything about it but knowing you were okay comforted him a little. so he smiled and typed to you.

'thanks babe! i will be coming back to you as soon as i can, promise you.'

you simply liked his message, letting him focus before the race.

on the bed, you watched the entire race, as you always did. and you were so genuinely happy and proud of him for finishing second, that for a couple of minutes you even forgot you were sick.

you watched the podium celebrations and couldn't help but notice that your boyfriend wasn't as happy as he should be. of course he smiled receiving the trophy, and sprayed champagne on the other podium sitters, which were max and checo, but you knew him, and his smile wasn't as wide as usual.

you sat through and watched the interviews on sky sports. it seemed that you were not the only one who noticed his under-excitement, because that was the first thing the journalist questioned.

"so, lando norris. you just came second here in china. first of all, congratulations. second of all i have got to tell you that all of us were expecting a different reaction from you. you don't seem very excited."

he looked at the woman behind the camera atentively, but anyone with functional eyes could see that his mind was elsewhere. he smiled briefly at the end of her statement.

"well, thank you. and yeah, i'm not in the best mood but that has nothing to do with the race. i know i did my best out there and gave everything i could. unfortunately, max was still there, but we'll keep working, as a team, to get to him."

he smiled and the interview continued, as usual he discussed some technical stuff and gave his perspective on some bits of the race.

"right now i just want to go back to the hotel, to my girlfriend, who isn't here because she got sick, and give her all the love she deserves."

he smiled to the camera and left, leaving the space for others. you saw him walking with oscar behind alonso, who was now giving his own interview.

it didn't take long before you got a message from him, telling you he managed to escape some media duties to go back to you.

you smiled to yourself before answering, and then distracted yourself until you heard the door being unlocked.

jumping from the bed, you rushed towards your boyfriend when he arrived.

"easy there, baby." lando pulled you into a hug, one of his hands in your hair while the other circled your body.

"amazing race, my love." you whispered into his neck. he smiled and when his grip loosened, his lips met yours in a quick but lovely kiss.

"you've got me worried sick, you muppet." he smiled, but looking into his green iris you knew he was serious.

"didn't mean to worry you, i'm sorry," he shook his head and softy kissed your temple.

"don't be sorry. but nex time it happens, let me know. i wouldn't have made you go to practices and quali, and you could've rested."

his fingers caressed your hair and he pulled you to lay your head in his chest. you would never know how worried he got, and how he could only rest his mind after having you in his arms.

"i just didn't want you to worry unnecessarily. i thought i could go through it." your eyes made it possible for him to know that you were being honest. he let out a sigh.

"it's not unnecessarily, you stubborn thing. i love you and i care about you, and i wanted to be here for you." you pull your head back and lock eyes with him.

"i love you too. and thank you."

he kissed you again, all smiley.

you both decided to just lay in bed and do nothing for the rest of the day. you ordered dinner hours earlier, so you didn't have to worry about it later.

lando told you all about his race. from the lights out to the checkered flag he talked you through his decisions and his process of thinking in the moment.

he also kept asking you from time to time how you were feeling and if you needed anything.

you realized just how much you loved him and appreciated the way he cared for you.

once he fell asleep, you smiled out of pure happiness for having him by your side. no matter how much you had liked being kept a secret for a while, in that moment all you wanted was for people to know you loved him.

cause you did, more than you thought you could.

© merchelsea

if you'd like to be tagged in any of my future works, let me know ;)

[azrielstaylorsversion]

Unspoken fights

Azriel x reader

Feyre wonders why Azriel and his mate aren't speaking to each other. Rhys explains about there unusual communication habits and she feels the need to fix it.

There were still two empty seats around the dinner table. Everyone had started eating already, not wanting to wait another half hour for Azriel and Y/N.

It didn't take much longer before they came walking in. Feyre quickly noticed them walking a few feet apart from each other. At least not as close as they usually were with each other.

Y/N walked in front of Azriel, her face showing no sign of emotion. She walked straight for Cassian's seat instead of the two empty ones on the other side of the table.

Azriel sighed softly and took a seat in one of the empty seats, immediately filling his plate with food. He didn't even acknowledge his family.

"Move." Y/N ordered Cassian, leaving no room for any argument. To Feyre's surprise, Cassian listened and moved over to the seat next to Azriel, leaving Y/N to sit next to Mor.

Cassian turned to face Azriel. His mouth opened to say something, but Azriel cut him off before he even got the chance to. "Don't even start." he said to his brother, not bothering to look at him.

Feyre watched the mated couple with concern. They never acted like this. At least not to her knowledge.

Feyre reached for Rhys mentally. 'What is going on with them?'

Rhys also watched the two and sighed, shaking his head. 'Probably a disagreement. This never lasts long. They will make up and talk about it tonight and tomorrow it is as it never happened.'

Y/N had now started eating as well, ignoring Cassians pointed look for claiming his seat. Azriel on the other hand had stopped eating and was just staring at the wall with a grumpy face.

'Does this happen often?' Feyre questioned.

'Not really. Maybe once a year.' Rhys answered. 'They have their disagreements and differences, but they always talk about it immediately. They never let it get as far as... whatever this is.'

After dinner everyone went their own way. Except for Y/N, who decided to stay in the dinning room even when Azriel had left.

Feyre had seen Azriel glance at his mate for a moment, hesitating to walk towards her before he continued to walk out.

It was well past midnight when Feyre decided to get something to drink from the kitchen. She noticed the lights in the dining hall still being turned on.

Feyre poked her head inside, finding Y/N still in the same place she had last seen her. She was staring at the wall in front of her, an empty glass of wine on the table.

"Y/N?" Feyre said softly.

She almost jumped from the sound of her voice. "Oh, Feyre. Sorry I didn't see you there."

Feyre stood in the doorway. "Are you okay?" she asked her friend.

Y/N stayed silent for a short moment, her face filling with emotion. "Yes. Everything is okay."

Feyre could tell that the answer wasn't true.

"I actually wondered if I could stay here for the night?" she asked.

The question shocked Feyre a bit. As far as she knew, Y/N had never voluntarily slept away from home. Away from her mate.

"Yes, of course. But are you sure you don't want to go home?" she still decided to ask.

Y/N stood from her seat, making her way towards the door Feyre was standing.

"I'm sure. If you don't mind, I'll be going to my old room." she said, giving Feyre a tight mouthed smile and walking past her.

She obviously meant her and Az's old room. She always called it that.

Feyre decided to leave it for the night and return to her own mate, who was waiting for her upstairs.

The next morning Y/N ate breakfast with her, Rhys and Nyx. Her mood was definitely off.

She normally wasn't much of a talker, but now she was just quiet. She also looked extremely tired, as if she hadn't slept at all last night.

'Shouldn't they be back to normal by now?' Feyre asked Rhys mentally.

'Honestly, the fact that she even chose to sleep here last night does worry me.' Rhys told me.

Feyre debated saying something about it, but Rhys warned her before she had the chance. 'They'll be back to normal by tonight.' Rhys told her promising, even when he didn't sound so sure herself.

Y/N had disappeared during the day. Probably off to her normal duties.

Feyre felt surprised when she entered the River House in the afternoon and found Y/N sitting in the living room, with no sign of Azriel.

She greeted Feyre with a soft smile before sitting down on a chair by the fire.

"So did you do anything fun today?" she suddenly asked.

"I took a walk with Nyx and helped Rhys with work. Nothing more." Feyre asked with a smile. "What about you?" she asked with hesitation.

Y/N sighed, staying silent after. Then she just shrugged. "Not really. I just feel.. I don't know."

Feyre suddenly understood why she started a conversation. Y/N wanted distraction.

"It's okay to miss him. Even it's been a day." Feyre decided to tell her. Y/N just avoided her eyes at that.

She stayed silent for a good ten seconds.

"It's just so stupid." she said.

"What is stupid?" Feyre questioned.

"This whole pointless fight. I mean I started it. I got mad about something that wasn't even his fault. And I just wanted to be right so bad." she started speaking quickly. "And I made him feel so bad and I didn't even mean it like that. I just felt jealous. And now I ruined everything and-"

"Calm down a second. You're just spitting out your words at this point." Feyre chuckled. "Why were you jealous?"

Y/N stared into the crackling fire, hiding her face from Feyre. "A Fae woman stopped Azriel on our way to dinner to ask him something. She touched his arm." she told me. "And he immediately pulled away. He was just being polite by answering her. But I still got so mad and it was just stupid."

Feyre did understand her jealousy. She had experienced it with Rhys countless of times before.

"Even after being mated for decades I still sometimes get periods where my instincts are worse than normal. Just before we entered the River House I decided to ignore him. And just to prove a point I stayed away from him last night. But now I feel so guilty. And he's probably mad at me at this point." she sounded disappointed with herself.

Feyre moved over to her friend. "Of course he's not mad at you." Feyre told her reassuring. "It's Azriel. He loves you too much to be mad at you over this."

Y/N slowly moved her eyes to look at Feyre. She nodded to herself. "Yes. Yes, I hope so." she said. "But I haven't acted this childish in years. So I can understand if he were mad at me."

"Trust me, I would've had the same reaction as you." Feyre told her with a small laugh. "Why don't we ask Azriel to come here so you can explain it to him? I'll be here if you need me."

She nodded. "Yes. That'll probably be a good idea." she answered. "I'll see if I can get to him through the bond."

It didn't take very long before the front door of the River House opened and closed. The sound of it was soft, like someone who usually came in with no sound.

Azriel definitely let his presence be known by his footsteps, which were heavier than usual.

When Azriel entered the room, Y/N immediately stood from her seat.

"Az, I'm sor-"

"I'm so s-"

They both cut each other off.

Y/N stared at Azriel. "What do you need to be sorry for? It was me who did it." she took a step closer to her mate.

"Yes, but I still have to apologize for even letting that woman get close to me, I shouldn't have."

"No, you don't need to apologize for being kind towards a woman. I could see you pull away. And she only placed a hand on you. I am the one who should be sorry."

Azriel went quiet for a few seconds. Y/N stared at him with emotion in her eyes.

Who knew that the two of them had arguments like this. I was just sitting in a chair, watching them.

"This is so stupid." Azriel said.

A small smile formed on Y/N lips. "It is." she told him. "But I understand if you're mad at me."

"Of course I'm not mad at you. I did the same thing at the start of our relationship, remember? And that was before we were even mated. So I understand." he told her. "Come here." he opened his arms for her to walk in to.

I could hear Y/N whisper some things to her mate, but I soon felt like I was invading their privacy.

Azriel noticed my awkward look and smiled. He placed a hand on the small of Y/N's back. "Let's go home." he told her softly.

She nodded and let him lead her out of the room.

She threw a quick look over her shoulder, mouthing thank you to Feyre.

[lady-phasma]

Fangtober Day 3 - Ejactulation

Rockstar!Lestat x fem!reader

Summary: Rockstar!Lestat picks you out of the crowd at his concert and smut ensues, plot if you squint. It isn’t exactly perfect for the Day 3 prompt, but it still works. 3.7k words.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, graphic sex, unprotected sex/creampie,

a/n: reader is afab but not described, I wrote this to fulfill this request and the amazing and wonderful @aemondsbabe collaborated with me and provided the scenario, ty ilysm! I may pick this up for a future prompt this month, we’ll see.

Lestat couldn’t stop looking at you. There, near the front row, not screaming and crying, but singing along and smiling. That smile… so utterly unselfconscious. He couldn’t resist. His glance returned to you time and time again until he finished the set and strutted off stage.

As you exited the venue, a young woman with a lanyard and shirt bearing STAFF across the back approached you.

“Miss?” She spoke softly, but loud enough for you to hear over the crowd. “Would you follow me?”

“Me?” Like a cliche, you pointed at yourself and looked around you.

“Yes miss, right this way.” She turned and started to walk toward the backstage area. Your heart thundered in your ears and sweat threatened your palms.

What the fuck have I done? you thought, assuming you were in trouble, but you couldn’t think of a thing. As she led you through a door and down a hallway, your mouth went dry. The rooms you passed looked suspiciously like dressing rooms.

The woman stopped at a door near the end of the hall and tapped her knuckles lightly against it.

“Monsieur de Lioncourt?” she paused, waiting for a reply.

“Entré.” How one word could sound so melodious, you weren’t sure, but that thought was fleeting as the door opened and the woman waved you inside.

Lestat sat on a sofa against the wall. The only light in the room was a floor lamp in the corner. A dim respite from the lights of the stage. But his eyes caught all of the low light in the room and shimmered a nearly translucent blue.

“Ah, I see they found you. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. His movements were fluid and graceful, slower than his frenetic on-stage energy.

“Thank you,” you managed as you sat. You tried to get ahold of yourself when he asked your name and you replied with only a slight quaver in your voice.

“I would very much like for you to accompany me to my hôtel this evening. Would you be amenable to that, mademoiselle?” His accent was delightful and didn’t appear to be an affectation. Perhaps that part of his persona was genuine.

“I would be honored,” you never spoke so formally, but something about him brought it out in you. You smoothed your hands over your pants nervously, but you held his gaze.

“Bien.” The word was short and clipped and he stood up more abruptly than you had expected. You tried to do the same but your head swam, not just from the quick rise from your seat. Is this happening? I could pinch myself. Another cliche flew through your mind.

He flashed you a smile and beckoned you to follow him out of the room. You were hardly aware you were doing it at all and then you were outside the backstage exit amidst a crowd of fans. Lestat slid so effortlessly into the limo, one moment he was on the pavement with you, the next only an outstretched hand appeared from the open door. You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into his. Before you could exhale the din of the fans was gone and the door shut behind you. He sat opposite you, his back to the driver and absently gazed around him, seeming to be disinterested in this arrangement.

“So…” his voice was thick, oily, his tone slightly aloof. “You enjoyed the show.”

You swallowed and managed a nod. His eyes flicked up to yours, his dark, smudged makeup making the blue, which was somehow bright in the dim backseat. He leaned forward resting his forearms on his crossed legs.

“You know every word,” he whispered, causing you to lean forward slightly. “Do you sing along as you drive to work, go to the gym, or… in the shower?” Lestat’s smile was unsettling and you felt your entire body go hot. You instinctively crossed your legs. “Humans do so enjoy singing in the shower.”

“I… I, um,” you had never stuttered in your life. Get a grip! you thought. Lestat chuckled softly and you looked at him quickly then away.

“I listen to your music while I do a lot of things. The words just stick. I guess I sing along sometimes too.” You looked back up at him as he reclined back against the seat.

As if the universe saw fit to release you from your embarrassment, the limo slowed and stopped. When the door opened Lestat gestured for you to exit first. The hotel was sleek and modern at first glance. The building had a facelift at some point in the recent past, but the lobby was sumptuous and elegant.

You felt out of place and then froze mid-step when you remembered why you were here and who you were with. Lestat strode past you without stopping and you sped up to catch back up with him at the elevators. The doors slid open and you stepped in after him. A meticulously manicured finger pressed the penthouse button and he then did the most mundane thing possible: he tapped his room key against the panel. It seemed like a lot of work for him to keep up this vampire persona, especially when he was doing everyday things for himself.

You took a moment to look him up and down for the first time since the concert. He was lithe but not slim, his hips jutted seductively just at the waistband of his pants, which you could see because of the slightly too-short-to-be-practical shirt he was wearing. He was disheveled from the concert, possibly even sexier like this and this close. He glanced at you as the elevator neared his floor. He pushed off the wall of the elevator where he had been leaning and took a step toward you. You thought he might speak, but he didn’t. He turned and faced the elevator doors when they opened.

“Siri, play Alexis Ffrench,” Lestat commanded as you entered the penthouse suite. Delicate and entrancing piano music flowed from the speakers. He walked into the living room and sat on the couch. You followed, tentatively beginning to sit in an arm chair across from him.

“No, chère, here,” he gestured next to him. You accepted his offer and sat down. “Now, where were we?” He mused. He looked at you inscrutably now. You glanced around the room, taking in the opulence. There were bottles of water on the coffee table.

“Um, may I?” you asked as you reached for one.

“Of course,” he replied. “So…” he began as you opened the bottle and took a sip. “Are you suitably impressed?” His smile was sly, underlining his jest. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and crossed his legs. He was so casual, at ease, the total opposite of your own posture.

“I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been in a hotel room like this before.” You looked around again, then back to him. “Would you like one?” you asked holding up the bottle.

“Moi? Non, merci, I haven’t had a sip of water in a century.”

You furrowed your brow, put the lid back on the water bottle, and sat it on a coaster on the coffee table. You tried to get comfortable on the sofa but it was hard to look directly at him while sitting so close. You turned and sat on one of your legs, your foot behind your knee.

“Is that so?” you raised an eyebrow at him, taking the bait. “So you keep the act up as long as anyone is around?” You waved your hand in his general direction when you said ‘act,’ indicating his entire person.

“The act? Hmmm,” he smiled softly and examined the back of one hand and his nails. “Do you not find it appealing?” He dropped his hand to his lap and leaned slightly closer to you.

“Oh it definitely works for you.” You felt your face go hot and almost reached for the bottle of water, but Lestat moved closer to you on the sofa. It was impossible that he moved that fast, you swore you must just not have been paying attention.

“Ha! Oui, it has ‘worked’ for me for quite some time,” he laughed and his once-blue eyes looked almost pale lavender. You blinked at him. Maybe it’s a contact high from the concert, you told yourself.

“No,” Lestat reached his hand out and touched your jaw, holding your gaze with the lightest pressure of his fingertips. “You are not intoxicated by anything. You just refuse to see. May I show you?”

You nodded and swallowed. You felt entranced. This was more than physical attraction, he was magnetic. Before you had time to truly register what he had said and what he was doing, Lestat leaned toward you and kissed you softly. His fingers slid up your jaw to cradle your face in his hand. He lingered for just a moment before murmuring something that sounded like belle and then sat up straight again. His hand moved to your neck, his thumb stroking just below your ear. You watched with a mix of horror and arousal as fangs, actual fangs, appeared in his mouth.

“How…” you began, but the sound barely came out and you couldn’t have finished anyway before he was kissing you again. His lips were cool and hard against yours. He guided you closer to him, seeming to move you himself. Your knee pressed against his now, the inches that were between you completely gone. You felt yourself lean into his kiss, reaching out to rest your hand on his leg, as if to steady yourself. You felt momentarily dizzy and pulled back to catch your breath. Lestat began to cover your neck in kisses and you gasped.

“I…” you took a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” Your words came out almost as a sigh. You closed your eyes. You instinctively moved your hand to his arm as he pressed against you.

“’S’okay,” Lestat murmured against your neck. “Relax. Enjoy.” You groaned quietly as his lips and fangs grazed the skin just above the collar of your shirt. You arched your back when he moved a hand behind you, supporting you.

You began to give into the sensations, to suspend your disbelief, let him continue to play the vampire. Who cares? He’s hot and talented and crazy usually comes with the territory.

“We shall see about that,” Lestat said. He replied as if he has heard your thoughts. Not possible, but again, who cares?

“Fine, whatever, just don’t stop,” you moaned and ran your hand up his arm, over his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

Suddenly, startlingly, Lestat stood, guided you with him, and scooped you up, one hand behind your knees. Okay, he’s strong, you thought, trying nearly-futilely to make sense of him, but not caring all that much. You were in the bedroom before the thoughts were finished running through your mind.

Lestat sat you on the bed and looked at you for a moment, then he sat facing you. He slid your shirt up, his hands on your sides and you raised your arms to allow him to slip it over your head and off your arms. You were moving fast with him in a way that was exhilarating. You still felt half in a dream, but you wanted this, may have even allowed yourself to daydream about this before, a fantasy for millions of fans.

Immediately his mouth went to your breasts, kissing and nipping on them through the fabric of your bra. His hands moved quickly and effortlessly to your bra closure and unclasped it in one movement. You let him slide it off your shoulders. He exhaled softly before taking one of your nipples in his mouth. He held you still with his hands on your back and licked your nipple before grazing his teeth against it. He moved to the other and sucked it between his lips quickly and you gasped. The sensation made you clutch at him, trying to steady yourself. You ran a hand up the back of his neck into his silky hair. The pressure increased and you dug your fingers into his skin.

“Oh god, yes,” you moaned and let your head fall back as he sucked. Slowly he slid his a hand to your other breast and squeezed, not quite roughly. Every movement he made was elegant and deliberate. Before you realized it was happening, Lestat was laying you back on the bed. He slid one thigh between yours and pressed against you slightly. His strength made the movement effortless, his mouth never leaving your breast. You arched your back against him, feeling the wetness between your legs as you tried to grind against his leg. He pulled his other hand from behind your back and cupped both breasts in his hands. Moving from one to the other, he drug his lips along your chest. You felt the gentle scratch of his fangs on your skin.

“You taste fantastic ma petite,” he whispered against you. He ran his thumb over the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth. You pressed your chest up toward him. You wanted to touch him all over, but settled for reaching down to tug his shirt up, trying to get to bare skin. You grazed your fingertips up his sides and around to his back. He moaned around your nipple and goosebumps spread over your body. You dug your fingers into his back as he reached between you to unfasten your pants. Your heart raced and you squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations. Suddenly Lestat pulled back and sat up to kneeling, both hands in the waistband of your pants. With no effort at all, he peeled them off and tossed them on the floor, taking your panties with them. A small chuckled had escaped your lips as you had lifted your legs to ‘assist.’ You covered your mouth with the back of one hand.

“Non, chère,” he murmured and moved your hand from your face. You opened your eyes at his touch. He kissed your lips gently then slid off the bed and stood next to it. You felt incredibly odd for a split second and then you were absorbed in his movements, nearly forgetting your own nakedness. He pulled his shirt off, shaking his blonde hair lightly as the shirt left his head. Far too slowly, he hooked his thumbs in his pants and began to slide them down. You involuntarily licked your lips as he revealed his hip bones. You shifted your hips on the bed, rubbing your thighs together slightly. His eyes darted from yours to your legs then back to meet your gaze. His pants hit the floor and he stepped out of them as he moved to get back on the bed. He slid a hand between your knees and opened your legs again, moving between them.

Your eyes were transfixed on his perfect cock. You noticed the V-shape of his torso, of course, but it only forced your eyes downward to the tidy curls of dusty-blonde hair and absolutely beautiful cock. You tore your eyes away and looked up at his face. He was smirking, completely vain and self-satisfied. You couldn’t care less. You spread your legs a fraction wider and smiled back at him. He looked down the full length of your body then leaned forward kissing your chest and stomach again.

Lestat’s hands roved everywhere. You lost track as he moved against you. You ran one hand into his hair, let the other touch every available inch of his skin. Gently you tugged him upward, encouraging him. His lips found yours and kissed you deeply, fangs grazing your lips. You moaned as his tongue slid between your lips. You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair. He propped himself up on one hand by your head and reached between you with the other. Still kissing you, he slid his cock between your wet folds. Something like a groan came from his lips, vibrating into your mouth. The head of his cock nudged your clit and you lifted your hips.

“So needy,” he muttered as he broke the kiss. You felt him move further back and press against your entrance. His hand slid up your side and grazed your breast as he slipped his hand under your shoulder. You looked at him, eyes almost glazed over with desire, and bit your bottom lip. His lips parted slightly and he exhaled as he began to slide into you. He took his time, savoring your wet heat.

“Mon dieu,” Lestat moaned softly. You moved the hand not in his hair to his lower back and urged him on. You tilted your head back and sighed as he pressed into you completely. Lestat stayed there, filling you up, for a brief moment, then he began to move in short strokes. He kissed down your jaw and neck as he moved. You gripped his hip and pulled him toward you. He lengthened his strokes and made the most delicious sounds next to your ear. You fingers neared the top of his buttocks as you lifted a leg to his hip.

“Yes, fuck, you feel amazing,” you rambled. Lestat slid his hand down your body and behind your thigh, guiding your leg higher. He tilted his hips to find a new angle and his cock rubbed against that spot deep inside you. The sounds you made were unintelligible. You clenched around him, perhaps trying to keep him in place, but he increased his pace, returning to that spot over and over again. You may have groaned his name, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t control the sounds that tumbled from you.

Still propped on one hand, Lestat slid his hand from behind your thigh, across your hip, and down to your belly. Your hips twitched against his. His fingers traveled lightly between you. He found his goal expertly and slid slowly over your clit. The pressure was too gentle and you whined, in truth, an embarrassing sort of sound, but he seemed to enjoy it. He drew the sound from your lips again with a couple more light strokes before increasing his pressure.

Lestat sped up the movement of his hips and didn’t quite match the rhythm with his fingers. He lifted his head and watched you through the curtain of his hair. Your fingernails grazed his scalp and he groaned. You rocked your hips as he made small circles on your clit, meeting his thrusts, chasing the friction and the overwhelming pleasure.

“Just like that that, chère,” Lestat whispered as he watched your face. You couldn’t continue to look into those blue-lilac eyes and squeezed yours shut as you felt your orgasm begin at his fingers. You wanted it desperately, but you also never wanted this to end. Your hand moved to his ass and on his next stroke pulled him as deep as you could. He moaned and dropped his forehead to yours. He never ceased his movements against your clit and your body shook as your climax started to wash over you. You weren’t sure you had ever felt so good. You would think about it later, but the twitch of your hips and ab muscles every time his fingers passed around your clit was a new experience. You thought you heard him chuckle.

His hips moved quicker now, not slowed by your clenched muscles around his cock. You tightened harder around him. Your body curled as you came and you threw your arm around his neck. Your forehead nearly rested on his shoulder, putting your ear next to his lips. He muttered delicate French words you didn’t understand. He finally moved his hand from you and slid it around your waist, holding you close to him. You cried out softly as he pounded into you and were so spent, so delirious from the intensity of your orgasm that you didn’t hear his question the first time.

“Where do you want it?” he repeated. You groaned. How could you answer that? You already knew what you were doing was risky, but your birth control flashed in your mind and you whispered your answer in his ear.

“Come inside me.” Those three little words were enough. Lestat’s hips never stuttered or faltered. He fucked you smoothly through his orgasm, moaning your name. You thought you might have been able to come again, but then you felt his hips stop and his release spill into you. He cursed and stroked into you a few more times before gently laying you back on the bed. He looked down at you, tilted his head, and tucked one side of his hair behind his ear. Then he stroked your cheek and moved back to kneeling. His movement inside you made you groan with the renewed stimulation, but he only smiled at you as he pulled out. It was a fond smile, not exactly taking pleasure in your soft whine as he left you empty, but not not enjoying it.

Lestat lay down on the bed next to you. He didn’t pull you close to him, but he put his arm out for you to lift your head. You lay back, head resting on his arm, your sides touching down the length of your bodies.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered as you caught your breath. “I mean it. Holy fuck.” Lestat chuckled at your exclamation.

“Perhaps that was not enough proof, but I think you might be more open-minded now, no?” His fingers trailed over your upper arm and shoulders, the fingernails grazing your skin.

“Honestly, does it matter?” You looked at him, but you weren’t sure you still had doubts. Your rational mind told you vampires couldn’t exist and he was insane or, at the very least, eccentric. Probably the only thing that would convince me would be him drinking my blood and I might be up for that. He’s a weirdo but he’s fucking gorgeous.

“That could be arranged.” Lestat’s soft laugh caused goosebumps to race over your skin. Your eyes were wide as he turned to lay on his side, propping himself on his elbow to look at you.

Fangtober 2024 prompt list • Main masterlist

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret ☆

A MANDALORIAN SERIES MASTERLIST

[ COMPLETED ]

✩ a bodyguard!din x princess!reader fic ✩

series summary :

Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

18+ mdni

do you like kitschy, campy romance novels? if you're reading this, I hope so.

behind the scenes & chapter notes + other extras (spoilers) :

chapters 1-5

chapter 6-15

spotify playlists

Lysa & Elaine information

the bks screen adaption

bks q&a

bks what if's

reader is generally not described past being picked up a few times, and having hair long enough to be put up

✩ chapters containing smut!

chapter one : honeymoon (6.7k words)

[ Absurd.

That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” ]

chapter two : silent treatment (7.4k words)

[ Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. ]

✩ chapter three : the smitten paladin (4.6k words)

[ You’re starting to think the planet isn’t the reason you’re so hot all the time.

You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought you’d be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had you’re gonna take that as a win. ]

chapter four : sarad'ika (6.8k words)

[ Sarad'ika. 

You won’t forget it this time, you can’t. So you write it in your book, just under Mando’s favorite color you write the two little words that have been keeping you up at night. ]

✩ chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (5.0k words)

[ Absurd.

It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. ]

✩ chapter six : torment (5.1k words)

[ Okay, maybe you didn’t think this through. 

You didn’t think he’d actually come in and now suddenly the door is shut and you’re alone with him. ]

✩ chapter seven : just friends (3.1k words)

[ Maker it feels like it’s been an hour and you’re both just laying here. He was just inside of you; it shouldn't be so hard to find something to talk about at this point. ]

chapter eight : solar markets (5.3k words)

[ It’s nice to wake up excited again. 

You wish you could say that it happened more often but hopefully it will from now on. It’s going to be your first time leaving the castle grounds since you got here. ]

✩ chapter nine : shuk'la rules (5.6k words)

[ You need sex.

Normally you would be satisfied for quite some time after getting off but for some reason with Mando it was different. But it’s only been two days and you need more. ]

✩ chapter ten : lunar interlude : briikase gote'tuur (4.1k words)

[ He’s grateful for the break from you, even if brief. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isn’t real. ]

chapter eleven : he loves me not (4.6k words)

[ Something is wrong. 

All day it’s been wrong. 

He’s different. Distant. ]

chapter twelve : pretend (4.4k words )

[ Two days.

That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. ]

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (3.5k words)

[ He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever? ]

chapter fourteen : condemned (4.9k words)

[ You’re having trouble sleeping. 

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. ]

chapter fifteen : two tea parties (5.4k words)

[ “What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly. 

“Excuse me?” ]

chapter sixteen : absolution (4.6k words)

[ There’s a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons. 

The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that today’s your husband's birthday. ]

chapter seventeen : the apostate’s cabin (3.5k words)

[ Just Din. 

It’s sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. ]

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (5.4k words)

[ It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline. ]

✩ chapter nineteen : reverence (7.3k words)

[ You really want to. 

You couldn’t possibly want to more than you currently do. 

It’s actually a bit mean. That he’s left you here in this state. ]

✩ chapter twenty : like real people do (8.4k words)

[ Mando and Din. 

All you can think about right now is how there must be two of them. 

You’re playing with his curls. ]

✩ chapter twenty one : te mirci't (9.0k words)

[ “It means I love you.” 

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor. ]

✩ chapter twenty two : it’s you that i lie with (11.3k words)

[ Naboo has several trading ports. 

You could get him on a cargo ship. That would be the most inconspicuous form of transport. It would help if he was willing to ditch his armor. ]

✩ chapter twenty three : lunar markets (15.0k words)

[ Sneaking out of the castle gets easier every time you do it. 

It only takes a few minutes and you’re walking outside towards the forest trail, Din’s hand in yours, still giddy. ]

✩ chapter twenty four : lunar interlude : riduur (7.8k words)

[ He doesn’t deserve this.

How could he possibly be deserving of you? Yet somehow you make him feel as if he is. With your soft touch and the way your eyes get just a little bigger when you see him. ]

✩ chapter twenty five : wedding bells (11.7k words)

[ Four days of Leo. 

You were upset that Din was leaving you but you got over it rather quickly with the promise of his hasty return. ]

chapter twenty six : crucifixion (12.7k words)

[ “My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” ]

chapter twenty seven : the apostate (6.0k words)

[ Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain. 

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. ]

✩ chapter twenty eight : a place for us (8.4k words)

[ You’d spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him. 

Every time you managed to get close he’d simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on. ]

chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue) (6.1k words)

[ The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. ]

[pucksandpower]

I’ll Be Waiting

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Hedeby, 952

The crackling fire casts long shadows across the great hall as Toto sits upon his ornate wooden throne. His piercing brown eyes scan the room, filled with boisterous warriors celebrating their latest successful raid. But his gaze keeps returning to you, his most favored thrall, as you move gracefully among the revelers, refilling their horns with mead.

“You there,” Toto calls out, his deep voice cutting through the din. “Come hither.”

Your heart quickens as you approach, head bowed respectfully. “Yes, my Jarl?”

Toto leans forward, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Tell me, how fares the celebration? Are our warriors content?”

You risk a glance up, meeting his intense gaze. “They are in high spirits, my Jarl. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“And what of you?” Toto asks, his voice lowering. “Are you content in my service?”

A flush creeps up your neck. “I am honored to serve you, my Jarl. There is no greater joy.”

Toto nods, satisfied. “Good. I have a task for you. Meet me in my private chambers after the feast.”

As you turn to leave, a hand grabs your arm. It’s Ingrid, Toto’s wife, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What did my husband want with you?” She hisses.

You try to keep your voice steady. “He merely asked about the celebration, my lady.”

Ingrid’s grip tightens. “Do not think I am blind to the way he looks at you. Remember your place, thrall.”

She releases you and you hurry away, your mind racing. As the night wears on, you can feel Toto’s eyes following you, and the weight of Ingrid’s glares.

Finally, the feast winds down. With trepidation, you make your way to Toto’s private chambers. You knock softly.

“Enter,” comes his voice from within.

You step inside, finding Toto standing by the window, silhouetted against the starry night sky.

“Close the door,” he says without turning.

You obey, your pulse quickening. “You wanted to see me, my Jarl?”

Toto turns, his expression unreadable. “I did. Come closer.”

You approach cautiously, stopping a respectful distance away. Toto closes the gap between you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Do you know why I summoned you here?” He asks softly.

You swallow hard. “No, my Jarl.”

Toto’s hand cups your cheek. “I think you do. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. It mirrors the way I look at you.”

Your eyes widen. “My Jarl, I-”

“Shh,” he interrupts gently. “You need not speak. I know your heart, as you know mine.”

He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours. “Tell me to stop and I will. But know that you hold my heart in your hands.”

Unable to resist any longer, you close the distance, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the world falls away, and there is only Toto and the fire he ignites within you.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. You jump apart to see Ingrid standing there, her face contorted with rage.

“I knew it!” She screams. “You treacherous whore!”

Before either of you can react, Ingrid pulls a dagger from her belt and lunges at you. Pain explodes in your abdomen as the blade finds its mark.

“No!” Toto roars, catching you as you collapse.

He lowers you gently to the floor, pressing his hands against the wound. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, but only a gurgle escapes your lips. The world starts to fade around you.

“Guards!” Toto shouts. “Fetch the healer!”

But you know it’s too late. As your vision darkens, the last thing you see is Toto’s anguished face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I will find you,” he whispers fiercely. “In this life or the next. I swear it.”

With your last breath, you manage to whisper, “I’ll be waiting.”

As your eyes close for the final time, you feel Toto’s lips press against your forehead, sealing a promise that will echo through lifetimes to come.

Vatican City, 1493

The opulent halls of the Vatican echo with hushed whispers and the rustle of silk as you make your way through the winding corridors. Your heart races, not with the excitement of a bride-to-be, but with the desperate resolve of one about to take a drastic step.

As you round a corner, a strong hand grasps your arm, pulling you into a shadowy alcove. You find yourself face to face with Cardinal Toto, his eyes filled with concern.

“My love,” he whispers urgently, “what are you doing here? The wedding is but hours away.”

You place a trembling hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the rich fabric of his robes. “I had to see you one last time.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Speak plainly, I beg you.”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “I cannot go through with this farce of a marriage. My father may sell me to the highest bidder, but he cannot sell my heart.”

Toto’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you planning? Tell me you haven’t done anything foolish.”

You pull a small vial from the folds of your dress. “It is already done, my love. The poison courses through my veins even as we speak.”

“No!” Toto gasps, gripping your shoulders. “How could you? We would have found another way!”

Tears well in your eyes. “There is no other way. My father’s ambition knows no bounds. This was the only path left to me.”

Toto pulls you close, his voice breaking. “Then I shall follow you into the darkness. I cannot live in a world without you.”

You push him away gently. “You must live, Toto. Live and remember me. Perhaps in another life, we will find each other again.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I will not let you go. Not again. I’ve only just found you in this life, and I refuse to lose you once more.”

Confusion flickers across your face. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

Toto cups your face in his hands. “I’ve had dreams, vivid as memories, of us in another time. A great hall, a celebration ... and a tragic end. I swore I would find you, and I have. I will not be parted from you now.”

You sway on your feet, the poison beginning to take effect. “Toto, please. You must let me go. Your life, your position ...”

“Mean nothing without you,” he finishes firmly. “Come, we must get you to a physician. Perhaps there is still time to counteract the poison.”

As he tries to lead you away, you stumble, your legs giving way beneath you. Toto catches you, lowering you gently to the floor.

“Help!” He calls out, his voice echoing through the halls. “Someone, help us!”

You clutch at his robes weakly. “It’s too late, my love. But know that I go to my death with a heart full of love for you.”

Footsteps approach rapidly. A group of guards rounds the corner, led by your father, Pope Alexander VI. His face contorts with rage at the sight before him.

“What is the meaning of this?” He thunders. “Cardinal Wolff, explain yourself!”

Toto looks up, defiance blazing in his eyes. “Your daughter lies dying, Your Holiness. Will you not call for aid?”

Your father’s gaze hardens. “My daughter knows her duty. She will marry as I have decreed.”

“She has taken poison rather than submit to your schemes,” Toto spits out. “Is your ambition worth more than your daughter’s life?”

For a moment, shock flickers across your father’s face. Then his expression hardens once more. “Guards, seize the Cardinal. He has clearly bewitched my daughter’s mind.”

As the guards move to comply, you summon the last of your strength. “Father, please. Let me die in peace, with the man I love.”

Your words give the guards pause. They look to the Pope, uncertainty in their eyes.

Your father’s face twists with conflicting emotions. “You would throw away everything for this ... this upstart Cardinal?”

“I would throw away everything for love,” you whisper. “Something you have long forgotten the meaning of.”

A tense silence falls over the group. Then, to everyone’s surprise, your father waves the guards away. “Leave us,” he commands.

As they retreat, he kneels beside you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it in years. “My child, what have you done?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I have chosen my own fate, father. For once in my life, I have made my own choice.”

Toto holds you closer, his tears falling freely now. “Is there truly nothing to be done?” He asks, his voice raw with anguish.

Your father shakes his head slowly. “The poison she favors ... it is swift and irreversible. I had thought to use it on our enemies, not ...” He trails off, unable to finish the thought.

As your breath grows more labored, you turn to Toto. “Promise me something, my love.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Live,” you whisper. “Live and do good in this world. And when your time comes, look for me in the next life. I will be waiting.”

Toto presses his forehead to yours. “I swear it. I will find you again, in this life or the next.”

With your last ounce of strength, you pull him into a final kiss. As your lips part, you feel the life leaving your body.

The last thing you hear is Toto’s anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the halls of the Vatican, but across time itself.

As darkness claims you, a strange sense of remembrance washes over you. You’ve been here before, you realize. And somehow, you know you’ll be here again. For your love is one that transcends death itself, destined to play out across the ages until, at last, you and Toto find your happily ever after.

Virginia, 1863

The makeshift field hospital buzzes with frantic activity as wounded soldiers are brought in from the front lines. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Amidst the chaos, you move with practiced efficiency, your nurse’s apron already stained with the day’s grim work.

Suddenly, a commotion at the entrance catches your attention. Your heart stops as you recognize the unconscious figure being carried in on a stretcher.

“Toto!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

The soldiers carrying him look grim. “It’s the Commander, ma’am. He took a bullet meant for one of his men.”

You quickly assess the wound, your medical training warring with your rising panic. “Put him here,” you direct, indicating an empty cot.

As they lay Toto down, his eyes flutter open. “Y/N?” He murmurs weakly. “Is that you, my love?”

You grasp his hand tightly. “I’m here, darling. You’re going to be alright.”

Toto manages a pained smile. “You always were a terrible liar, my dear.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you scold, fighting back tears as you begin to clean his wound. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t allow it.”

He chuckles, then winces. “If only your determination could heal bullet wounds.”

As you work, you keep up a steady stream of conversation, partly to distract Toto from the pain and partly to keep your own rising fear at bay.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You ask, your hands moving swiftly to staunch the bleeding. “At that ridiculous ball in Washington?”

Toto’s eyes soften at the memory. “How could I forget? You were the most beautiful woman in the room, and I was the fool who spilled champagne all over your dress.”

You laugh despite yourself. “And then you insisted on giving me your jacket to cover the stain, even though it was three sizes too big.”

“It was worth the embarrassment,” Toto says softly. “It got you to talk to me.”

A sharp intake of breath from Toto makes you pause in your ministrations. “I’m sorry, love. I know it hurts.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing your best. You always do.”

You blink back tears, focusing on the task at hand. “We have so much left to do, Toto. Remember our plans? The house by the lake, the children we talked about ...”

Toto’s hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. “Tell me about them. Our children.”

You swallow hard, playing along even as your heart breaks. “Well, there’s little Torger, of course. He would have your eyes and your stubborn chin.”

“Poor lad,” Toto quips, his voice growing fainter.

“And our daughter,” you continue, your voice wavering. “She would be as smart as her father and as headstrong as her mother. Heaven help us when she would’ve gotten older.”

Toto’s eyes begin to drift closed. “They sound perfect.”

Panic seizes you. “Toto? Toto, stay with me. Please, darling, you have to fight.”

His eyes open again with visible effort. “I’m trying, my love. But I’m so tired.”

You look around frantically. “Doctor! We need a doctor here!”

But the overwhelmed medical staff are all occupied with other critical patients. You’re on your own.

“Look at me,” you plead, cupping his face in your hands. “Do you remember what you promised me on our wedding day? You said you’d love me in this life and the next. You can’t break that promise now.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face. “The next life,” he murmurs. “Yes, I remember. I’ve always remembered, somehow.”

Confusion mixes with your fear. “What do you mean?”

Toto’s gaze becomes distant. “I’ve loved you before, Y/N. In other times, other places. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.”

You shake your head, tears flowing freely now. “You’re delirious, my love. Save your strength.”

“No,” Toto insists with surprising force. “Listen to me. This isn’t the end. I will find you again. I swear it.”

His words stir something deep within you, a sense of déjà vu so strong it takes your breath away. “Toto, I-”

But before you can finish, Toto’s body is wracked by a violent coughing fit. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“No, no, no,” you chant, redoubling your efforts to save him. “Don’t you dare leave me, Toto Wolff. Don’t you dare.”

Toto manages to lift a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “My brave, beautiful Y/N. How I wish we had more time.”

You lean into his touch. “We will. You’ll get better and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

But even as you say the words, you can feel Toto slipping away. His breathing becomes more labored, his skin growing cold beneath your touch.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. “One last time.”

Choking back a sob, you lean down and press your lips to his. You try to pour all your love, all your hope, all your desperation into that kiss.

As you pull back, Toto’s eyes meet yours one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” he breathes.

And then he’s gone.

For a moment, you’re frozen in disbelief. Then a wail of anguish tears from your throat, echoing through the hospital tent.

As you collapse across Toto’s still form, sobs wracking your body, a strange sensation washes over you. It’s as if you’re remembering something you’ve never experienced — other lives, other deaths, other heartbreaks.

In that moment, you know with absolute certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Toto will find each other again.

As the chaos of the field hospital swirls around you, you whisper a promise against Toto’s cold lips. “I’ll be waiting for you, my love. In this life or the next.”

And somewhere, beyond the veil of death, a spark of hope ignites. The wheel of time turns, and two souls begin their journey once more, drawn together by a love that refuses to die.

London, 1894

The London fog hangs heavy in the air as you hurry through the winding streets, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. You pull your cloak tighter, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you haven’t been followed. Finally, you reach your destination: a nondescript townhouse in a respectable neighborhood.

You knock quickly, a pre-arranged pattern. The door opens almost immediately, and you’re pulled inside by strong, familiar arms.

“My darling,” Toto Wolff murmurs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “I was beginning to worry.”

You melt into his embrace, inhaling his comforting scent. “I’m sorry, love. It was difficult to get away tonight.”

Toto’s brow furrows as he notices your wince when he holds you. “He hurt you again, didn’t he?”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing, Toto. Please, let’s not waste our precious time together talking about him.”

But Toto gently cups your face, turning it towards him. “It’s not nothing. You don’t deserve this, Y/N. Let me take you away from all this. We could start a new life together, somewhere far from here.”

You sigh, leaning into his touch. “You know we can’t. The scandal would ruin you. Your business, your reputation ...”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Toto insists. “I care about you. I love you.”

Those three words, so freely given, bring tears to your eyes. “And I love you. More than I ever thought possible. But the world isn’t kind to women who leave their husbands, no matter how cruel those husbands might be.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Then let me confront him. I have influence, connections. I could make him disappear.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I won’t have you risk everything for me. These stolen moments ... they’re enough. They have to be.”

Toto pulls you close again, more gently this time. “They’ll never be enough. Not when I know you’re suffering. Not when every fiber of my being aches to make you my wife, to give you the life you deserve.”

You look up at him, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “Sometimes ... sometimes I feel as though we’ve lived this before. This longing, this impossible love. Does that sound mad?”

A strange expression crosses Toto’s face. “No, my love. It doesn’t sound mad at all. I’ve felt it too. As if we’ve known each other across lifetimes.”

You’re about to respond when a loud banging on the door makes you both jump.

“Open up, Wolff!” A familiar, slurred voice calls out. “I know she’s in there!”

Your blood runs cold. “It’s him. Oh God, Toto, it’s my husband. He must have followed me.”

Toto’s expression hardens. “Stay here,” he commands, moving towards the door.

But you grab his arm. “No, please! He’s drunk, he’s dangerous. Let me handle this.”

Before Toto can protest, you rush to the door and open it slightly. Your husband’s red, enraged face greets you.

“So it’s true,” he snarls. “My own wife, carrying on with this ... this upstart robber baron!”

You try to keep your voice calm. “Richard, please. Let’s go home and talk about this.”

But Richard is beyond reason. He shoves the door open, nearly knocking you over. Toto is there in an instant, steadying you.

“Get your hands off my wife,” Richard growls.

Toto’s voice is ice cold. “I suggest you leave, sir. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

Richard laughs bitterly. “Regret? The only thing I regret is not seeing this sooner. How long has this been going on, eh? How long have you been making a fool of me?”

You step forward, hands raised placatingly. “Richard, please. It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” Richard roars. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

In his rage, he lashes out, his hand connecting with your cheek with a sickening crack. You stumble backwards, crying out in pain.

Toto moves with lightning speed, tackling Richard to the ground. “How dare you lay a hand on her!” He shouts, his fist connecting with Richard’s jaw.

The two men grapple on the floor, trading blows. You watch in horror, frozen in place.

Suddenly, Richard’s hand emerges from his coat, clutching a revolver. Time seems to slow down as he aims it at Toto.

“No!” You scream, throwing yourself between them just as Richard pulls the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot is deafening in the small space. For a moment, everything is still. Then you look down, seeing the rapidly spreading red stain on your dress.

“Y/N!” Toto cries out, catching you as you collapse.

Richard stares in shock, the gun falling from his limp fingers. “I ... I didn’t mean ...”

But Toto isn’t listening. He’s cradling you in his arms, his face a mask of anguish. “Stay with me, my love. Please, stay with me.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Toto ... my Toto ...”

“Don’t speak,” he urges. “Save your strength. Help is coming.”

But you both know it’s too late. You can feel your life ebbing away with each labored breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry we never got our chance.”

Toto’s tears fall on your face as he leans close. “Don’t be sorry. We’ll have another chance. I swear it. I’ll find you again, in the next life.”

A sense of peace washes over you at his words. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Toto vows fiercely. “This isn’t the end for us. It can’t be.”

With the last of your strength, you pull him down for a final kiss. As your lips meet, memories flood your mind – not just of this life, but of others. Viking halls, Vatican corridors, Civil War battlefields. Through it all, one constant.

Toto.

As darkness closes in, you manage one last whisper. “Until we meet again, my love.”

Your eyes close, your hand going limp in Toto’s grasp. The last thing you hear is his anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the room, but across time itself.

Indiana, 1932

The dilapidated streets of the once-thriving town are a stark contrast to the sleek black car that rolls through them. A powerful mobster sits in the back, his sharp eyes taking in the changes a decade has wrought on his childhood home.

As the car stops in front of a run-down tenement, a young boy approaches cautiously. Toto steps out, adjusting his expensive suit.

“You Toto?” The boy asks, eyeing him warily.

Toto nods. “I am. And you must be Jimmy. You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

Jimmy’s face darkens. “Yeah, well, a lot’s changed. You here to see her?”

“I am,” Toto confirms, his voice softening. “How is she, Jimmy?”

The boy’s shoulders slump. “Not good, mister. Not good at all. Follow me.”

As they climb the creaking stairs, Jimmy speaks in a low voice. “She’s been sick for months. Tuberculosis, the doc says. But she won’t stop giving her food to us kids. Says we need it more.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have-”

“She wouldn’t let us,” Jimmy interrupts. “Said you had your own life now, that she didn’t want to be a burden.”

They reach a door on the third floor. Jimmy hesitates before opening it. “Just ... prepare yourself, okay?”

Toto steels himself as they enter the small, dimly lit room. His heart nearly stops when he sees you lying on the bed, a mere shadow of the vibrant girl he remembers.

Your eyes light up when you see him, even as a coughing fit wracks your frail body. “Toto? Is it really you?”

He’s at your side in an instant, taking your hand in his. “It’s me, my love. I’m here.”

You manage a weak smile. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you here.”

Toto shakes his head, fighting back tears. “To hell with safety. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill? I could have helped.”

Another cough shakes you, and this time, blood stains your lips. Toto reaches for a handkerchief, gently wiping it away.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whisper. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Toto. I couldn’t bear to drag you back here.”

Toto’s voice is fierce. “You could never be a burden. Don’t you know that you’re everything to me?”

You look at him sadly. “We were children then. The world’s changed. We’ve changed.”

“Not where it matters,” he insists. “My feelings for you have never changed.”

Jimmy, who’s been hovering by the door, speaks up. “I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy.” He slips out, closing the door behind him.

Alone now, Toto takes in your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks. “Why haven’t you been eating?” He asks softly.

You look away. “Times are hard. The children need it more than I do.”

“And what about what you need?” Toto demands, his voice breaking. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to know? That I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help you?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve built a new life. I’m just ... I’m just a relic of the past.”

Toto cups your face gently, turning it towards him. “You’re not a relic. You’re the love of my life. The only thing that’s mattered all these years.”

You search his eyes, seeing the truth there. “Oh, Toto. I’ve missed you so much.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get you better and then-”

But you shake your head weakly. “It’s too late for that, my love. I can feel it. I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t say that,” Toto pleads. “You can’t give up. Not now that we’re together again.”

Another coughing fit overtakes you, more violent than before. When it subsides, you look at Toto with a strange mix of sadness and wonder.

“You know,” you murmur, “I’ve had the strangest dreams lately. Of us, together, but in different times, different places. Is that mad?”

Toto’s breath catches. “No, it’s not mad at all. I’ve had them too. Like ... like we’ve lived this love before.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps we have. Perhaps we always will.”

Toto brings your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Then let this not be the end. Fight, my love. Fight to stay with me.”

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “But I’m so tired, Toto. So very tired.”

He climbs onto the bed, gathering you carefully in his arms. “Then rest. I’ve got you now. I’m not letting go.”

You nestle against his chest, feeling safe for the first time in years. “Toto?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you tell me about your life? What you’ve been doing all these years?”

Toto hesitates, not wanting to speak of his less-than-legal activities. But he sees the genuine interest in your eyes and begins to talk, telling you sanitized versions of his rise to power.

As he speaks, he feels you relaxing in his arms, your breathing becoming more even. For a moment, he allows himself to hope.

But then you look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of love and regret. “I wish we had more time,” you breathe.

Toto’s heart clenches. “We will. You’re going to get better, and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

You shake your head slightly. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Look after them. Jimmy and the others. They’ll need someone now.”

Toto nods, tears flowing freely now. “I promise. But you’ll be here too. You have to be.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Kiss me? One last time?”

Choking back a sob, Toto leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, desperate kiss.

As you part, you look into his eyes one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” you whisper.

And then you’re gone, your body going limp in Toto’s arms.

For a moment, the world stands still. Then Toto’s anguished cry echoes through the small room, a sound of grief so profound it seems to transcend time itself.

As he holds your lifeless body, Toto makes a silent vow. He will find you again, in this life or the next. For a love like yours cannot be bound by the limits of a single lifetime.

Monaco, 2024

The bustling energy of the paddock swirls around you as you make your way through the crowd, one hand resting protectively on your slightly swollen belly. Despite the chaos, you move with confidence, knowing that at any moment ...

“There you are, mein Schatz,” a familiar voice calls out. Toto appears at your side as if by magic. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to sit down?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I’m fine, Toto. Just taking a little walk. The baby’s been restless today.”

Toto’s hand immediately joins yours on your belly, his face lighting up with wonder. “Is that so? Well then, little one, let’s find a more comfortable spot for your mother, shall we?”

Before you can protest, Toto is guiding you towards the Mercedes hospitality area, his arm protectively around your waist. As you walk, heads turn and whispers follow. It’s still a novelty for many to see the usually intense and focused Toto Wolff so openly affectionate.

“Toto, really, I’m okay,” you insist, even as you allow him to lead you. “You don’t need to fuss so much.”

He gives you a look that’s equal parts love and stubbornness. “Nonsense. It’s my job to fuss over you. Both of you.”

As you enter the cool, quiet Mercedes suite, Toto immediately starts arranging pillows on a plush sofa. “Here, sit down. Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? Perhaps a foot massage?”

You laugh, settling onto the sofa. “A water would be lovely, thank you. But then you need to relax. Don’t you have a race to prepare for?”

Toto waves a hand dismissively as he fetches your water. “The team can manage without me for a few minutes. You and our child are my priority.”

As he hands you the water and sits beside you, you can’t help but marvel at the man before you. Toto Wolff, the billionaire, the racing mogul, the man whose mere presence commands respect throughout the paddock — and here he is, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“What are you thinking about?” Toto asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Just ... how different things are now. How perfect. Sometimes I feel like we’ve been waiting lifetimes for this happiness.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face, a mix of recognition and wonder. “You know, I’ve had that same feeling. Like we knew each other before.”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. “It’s odd, isn’t it? But it feels ... right, somehow.”

Toto pulls you closer, his hand resting on your belly once more. “Perhaps we have known each other across lifetimes. And perhaps this is the one where we finally got it right.”

Just then, you feel a strong kick from the baby. Toto’s eyes widen in delight.

“Did you feel that?” He exclaims, his usual composure completely forgotten.

You laugh, wincing slightly. “Trust me, I felt it. I think someone’s eager to join the conversation.”

Toto leans down, speaking directly to your belly. “Hello there, little racer. Are you practicing your podium celebrations already?”

As if in response, there’s another kick. Toto looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears of joy.

“I never knew I could be this happy,” he murmurs. “You’ve given me everything. A love I never thought possible, a family of my own ...”

You cup his cheek, touched by his openness. “Oh, Toto. You’ve given me just as much. More, even. You’ve given me a home, a sense of belonging I’ve never had before.”

Toto turns his head to kiss your palm. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel that way. Both of you.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Toto sighs, reluctantly pulling away.

“Come in,” he calls out, his ‘team principal’ voice back in place.

A nervous-looking intern pokes his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the strategy meeting is about to start. They’re asking for you.”

Toto nods. “Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the intern leaves, Toto turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Will you be alright here?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll be fine. Go, lead your team to victory. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Toto stands, but hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could have someone bring you some snacks or maybe a blanket if you’re cold ...”

“Toto,” you say firmly, but with affection. “Go. We’re fine. I promise I’ll call if I need anything.”

He leans down to kiss you softly. “Alright, alright. I’m going. I love you both so much.”

“We love you too,” you reply, giving him a gentle push. “Now go be the brilliant team principal I married.”

As Toto finally leaves, you settle back into the couch, your hands resting on your belly. You feel another kick and smile.

“Your father’s quite something, isn’t he?” You murmur to your unborn child. “But don’t worry. No matter how busy he gets, no matter how many races he wins, you and I will always be his greatest victory.”

As you sit there, surrounded by the muffled sounds of the paddock, you’re filled with a sense of contentment so profound it almost overwhelms you. After so many lifetimes of heartache and separation, you and Toto have finally found your happily ever after.

And as your baby kicks again, you smile, knowing that this is just the beginning of your greatest adventure yet.

[naranjapetrificada]

Specifically about the racefakery:

I'm primarily seeing the conversation around All This focus on plagiarism (which makes sense) but I wanted to say some things as one of the handful of Black people I'm aware of that hang out around here:

1. Discord makes my brain itch and I've been afraid to go to OFMD bluesky after how bad OFMD twitter was, so I'm often one of so few Black people on here that you can count us one hand. I wasn't especially close with Atticus but I did like knowing that someone else was gonna be loud about racist Ed takes from a "position of authority" as it were. That knowledge made shit feel a lot less lonely over here and this motherfucker took that from me. That's what I feel betrayed about. That's what pisses me off about the racefaking in particular. Things are now unequivocally going to be harder for me around here than they were before and I hate that he was able to put me in this position.

2. I'm not aware of if he plagiarized any of my fics because they're mostly 100% canon compliant or in one case, too weird to effectively copy, but I'll never know because 100+ middling fics is too many to check through. I'm okay not knowing because the stilted way he wrote about Ed's hair and Ed's race are not things I wish to subject myself to anymore. But for the record, his fics are one of the places where the racefakery shows the most imo because writing makes you tell on yourself in unanticipated ways.

3. Maybe this next point will get me blocked by even more white people in this fandom but here we go anyway. I've struggled to come up with a more diplomatic way of saying "white people are too polite/conflict averse" but like, white people are too polite/conflict averse. This has literally come up in this exact fandom before, around a less fraught issue but still. It had ugly fallout then and it's had ugly fallout now, and while I understand not wanting to come at somebody you perceive as a person of color where everyone could see it, I do wish we had an environment where people who did have suspicions about him could have come forward. The amount of harm he was able to do is directly proportional to the amount of time and space he had to do it, and even before you start talking about the racefaking he was up to shady shit that I certainly had no idea was going on. Which leads to my next point.

4. I can recall a couple times where my race-related spidey senses tingled, but any unease I had was easily lost in the constant din of race-related shit that comes with my existence both in and out of fan spaces. To borrow from scarrletmoon (I miss having you here!) it's like background radiation. Also, there was always the "maybe it's just bad writing" excuse, or the "it's not my place to say but the way he writes about Judaism isn't quite like the way Jews I know talk about it" excuse. There was my (continued) inability to imagine why some white person would bother, because no amount of clout is worth what it's like to be Black on the internet. There was also probably some kind of aversion I had to the idea of losing "one of us" on here, which honestly might be something he was preying on but it's not productive for me to try to get inside the mind of someone who would do what he's done.

And if I was falling into those particular traps (around the racefaking in particular) myself, there's no way the rest of y'all could have known anything was up. Certainly not in isolation. Now I can't help but wonder if being seen interacting with me gave him some kind of legitimacy in any of your eyes, which is lowkey horrifying if true.

Anyway, those are the things I have to say now, after processing for a bit. It's still not worth my sanity to spend more than 30 seconds at a time looking at Discord, where I know a lot of this sort of thing gets discussed, but I can't help but wish I'd known about this sooner.

[sunahsvt]

—DON'T BELIEVE THE SIGNS

miya atsumu x fem!reader

+ angst (no comfort what y'all expect), lovers to exes

other tags: microcheating, LAZY WRITING, babe/baby nicknames, small cases

wc: 833

note: not proud of this one but i was itching to start and finish this tonight. so :-) not proofread yet again. also if yall read this note pls drop some hq angst series in my ask box plsplspls

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS

atsumu loves you. he definitely does.

a year into the relationship— and six months of courting— he can say he's contented with you, and he shows it through his words and actions.

there was a time when atsumu drove past the hotel where his ex— who he once thought of was his greatest love— booked their first anniversary to.

you were on the passenger seat, your hand on his where it rests on your lap, fully unaware what was going through his mind. both his hand twitched. you, who didn't let things go unnoticed, giggled at him, brushing your thumbs on the back of his hand.

in his eyes, of course, you're his greatest love.

atsumu walks through the aisle, cart in tow. his eyes saw a chocolate bar he hasn't seen in a while— the exact chocolate bar that his ex had given him for valentine's one time.

he shook his head, asking to himself why he was still reminded of her.

he didn't think much of it the first and second time, but as time went by and more things reminded him of his past lover, he was almost convinced the universe was giving him signs that maybe he hasn't really moved on— that maybe you two weren't really meant for forever. he was almost convinced.

and because he wasn't fully convinced, he didn't do anything about it, but you were beginning to notice something was off.

"baby, did you get my chocolates?"

"yeah, it should still be inside one of the paper bags."

you jumped off of your seat, eyes tired from looking at your laptop screen due to your work from home job.

you croached down to look for the 3 musketeers chocolate you dearly love, but there was only maltesers and twix bars. you frowned.

"i don't see any muskeeters in here, babe," you whined.

his eyes furrowed, "huh? i bought maltesers. aren't those your fave?"

you shook your head, your lips forming a thin line.

atsumu's eyes widen slightly in realization, you almost didn't catch it.

the silence passed for a minute, both of you staring at each other. you weren't sure if you should confirm it, but in your mind, he didn't need to.

he mistakened her favorite chocolate as your's.

he apologized, but that doesn't mean it didn't get worse. that doesn't mean signs about his ex didn't stop showing up, and that doesn't mean it didn't gradually made him uncomfortable.

y/n: can you take out paella for dinner? cant cook tonight :-(

tsumtsum: ocake

y/n: ty! i love you!

tsumtsum: i love u

when atsumu got home that night, he had bought paella for take out good for two. being a considerate boyfriend, he made sure it wasn't seafood since you're apparently allergic to shellfish.

but when you padded your feet to the dinning room and saw the chicken and chorizo paella, your eyebrows knit together. you weren't a pick eater but seafood, especially shrimp, was your absolute favorite. you were looking forward to having seafood for dinner.

but why isn't it seafood paella?

you gulped the hurt that you were feeling rising up your throat from your chest. atsumu was too busy looking for something to drink in the fridge.

"was there no seafood available?"

he glanced over his shoulder to look at you, "what do you mean? you're allergic."

"babe."

"what?"

"i love seafood."

this time his eyes slowly closed, realizing another mistake. another thing he forgot about you.

"what are you not telling me?"

he couldn't tell you. not when he wasn't sure, so he shook his head, apologized and made up an excuse.

from there on, he kept trying to make up to you. but it just didn't feel the same anymore because it either felt like out of obligation or he was trying to cover up the other things he hurt you for. each time he does, he doesn't realize his temper was thinning.

you tried to communicate with him over and over again whenever something felt off.

but your patience, your empathy, your love can only go so far.

what he doesn't notice is he wipes his lips or cheek whenever you kiss him.

what he doesn't notice is he glowered whenever you talked.

what he doesn't notice is he stopped exerting effort.

he doesn't notice he's showing all the signs that he's gradually falling out of love.

he doesn't notice that he's losing you.

but you do.

you, the silly lover girl who didn't let things go unnoticed.

you tried one last time to communicate to him your feelings. irritated, he only said, "i'm tired of this."

so after you waited him to go to sleep, you decided to leave.

you place a hand on his forehead and kiss the back of your hand as goodbye, fearing that even in his sleep he'd find annoyance in it— that it'd wake him up or he'd wipe the kiss away even in his sleep.

that was the last time atsumu has seen you.

and he noticed now that he shouldn't have believed in the signs.

general masterlist | haikyuu masterlist

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS

[roostersluvvr]

a song already written

din djarin x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k

summary ⋆·˚ ༘ *: you live a simple life on the planet lah’mu, working as a farmer (& occasional mechanic). your life had routine and was undisturbed, until one day a man, clad in beskar armour walked onto your farm and asked for a place to stay— as the weeks roll by, you become closer to the masked man and his small green companion.

(rogue one is mentioned like once, reader was previously a spy in the rebellion, lah’mu is the planet at the beginning of rogue one for those who don’t know, readers family comes from mandalore, reader WAS a mandalorian but not apart of ‘the watch’— only mentioned a few times, sometime between s1 & 2, no use of y/n, reader speaks mando'a (I provided translations)).

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of injury, nudity, sexual content/themes(?), alcohol consumption, fluff, angst(??),reader & din are lonely & touch starved lmao, extreme overuse of the words 'pang' and 'twinge', awkward first encounters, over usage of “—“ and commas, explicit content, the helmet stays ON. correct capitalisation not used, terrible writing overall tbh so bare with me pls :( — lmk if I missed anything :)) !!not entirely proofread!!

the weather on lah’mu was unpredictable. most of the time it was some sort of foggy overcast, which you didn’t mind— helped with your moisture farming. it helped keep your crops healthy, and that in turn helped you earn credits.

there was the occasional cold snap— the ground would frost over, the lakes, the cattle would die. you couldn’t count on both your hands how many times one of your orbak’s had died in the cold overnight. then the summer would roll around, more sunshine, less damp, happier cattle. simple.

that was until about 3 days ago.

you’d been out harvesting vegetables from your crops not far from your home, when you’d met him. you heard his footsteps against the damp ground before you actually saw him. you dropped what crops were in your hands into a crate and hovered your dominant hand over your blaster holstered at your side.

he was tall, broad, and incredibly metallic. he broke the silence first— “hello.” he had said. a crackle running through the modulator in his helmet. you recognised the composition of his armour, beskar no doubt, and it was clear he was a mandalorian. what is he doing out here? you wondered.

“can i help you?” you replied. water droplets rolled down your outer coat and your cold, flushed cheeks.

“i’m looking for shelter. my ship is in need of repair and as far as i can tell the nearest town is at least a days journey from here.” his voice is clear, confident.

“you’d be right. there’s a few outposts— trading, medical, what not. you’re not gonna find someone to fix it there.” you rambled, picking up the crate that lay next to your feet and taking a few steps closer to him.

“i might be able to help. i know a thing or two about mechanics.” you continued.

his helmet tilted in relief (you had assumed). “great.” he said. “i’m willing to pay in exchange for your assistance.”

“you any good at gathering, forging and harvesting?” you asked. you did need help getting the rest of your crops ready and its produce out to the surrounding inhabitants.

he nodded in silent reply.

“good. come on in and i can get you settled.” you turned back towards the house, carrying the crate with vegetables on your hip.

the door opened with a soft hiss, the warmth from inside contrasting the cold breeze from outside. there was a warm glow inside your home. no large overhead lights, but lots of smaller lamps. mando took note of the way your coat hang over a bucket to collect the rainwater that still was clung to its fabric. your home was spacious, but cozy. you walked toward the kitchen area and placed the crate into the sink, then back towards him.

“i have a spare room, it’s not large but it should keep you comfortable.” your gaze fell behind him. a small metal cradle followed his every step.

he followed your eye-line, slightly tensing. the cradle opened to reveal the child. small, asleep, and peaceful. you turned your face back to the mandalorian and smiled. “i wasn’t expecting a baby as well.”

“he’s older than me.” he informs. you chuckle and lead him to the room at the end of the hall. the door opens with another soft hiss, and mando is pleasantly surprised. the room has a large bed, dresser, mirror and sink, and a small window closer towards the ceiling. there’s a small lamp beside the bed that is giving off a warm orange hue. he steps inside and looks over the room in more detail. it’s much nicer than the hostels he's accustomed to and winds up in most nights when the razor crest is having some sort of repairs done. it feels like a home.

"bathroom is down the hall, next to my room. you're welcome to use anything you need, so is the little guy."

"well, that's bound to happen." he chuckles softly. "thank you." he holds out his hand for you to shake. you willingly accept with a warm smile.

"why don't you show me your ship, and i can start to get my head around what needs looking at?" you turn your body towards the 'common area' of your home. there's a curved couch off to the side, surrounded by several crates used for storage and some others with crops, tools, and one with just blankets, etc. you step back toward the door and pick up your tool box on the way out, reaching up for your coat on the hook.

"sure. sooner you start, the sooner I'll be out of your way." he follows behind you closely. the cradle stays stationary in his the room.

you nod. he leads you a little ways away from your fields to where the razor crest sits upon the black soil. it's not the most glamorous ship you've ever seen, but your breath is still taken away by it. it's old, like most of the ships you see in and out of the outposts regularly. a thin coat of dust from the soil coats the bottom of the ship, while the rain drips slowly off of the top. he walks ahead of you again and the ramp descends. the first thing that catches your attention in the cargo hold of his ship is the several bodies that hang, frozen in carbonite. a bounty hunter, you think to yourself- making a mental note. as you take in more of the ship, there's various metal chests and crates, a small armoury, and a cot off to the side. considerably smaller than the bed you've provided for him.

"what seems to be acting up?" you ask as you continue to walk further into the ship.

"my stabilisers gave out on entry, the hyperdrive also has been having some hiccups. I can't fly in realspace, it's too dangerous." his voice laced in frustration. understandable.

you hum in reply. "bounty hunter, I assume?" you question simply. his helmet tilts towards you. "yeah" he nods & says after a pause, "that a problem?" he presses.

"no." you smile slightly. he nods again. "good." his voice is flat. he leads you to the hyperdrive, and you kneel down to get a closer look. it's steaming and giving off heat. you mentally curse. it's not going to be a particularly easy job, AND the stabilisers need work too. you didn't realise you had actually sighed until the mandalorian shifts his weight behind you and finally sighs out, "how bad is it?"

you take a moment to do the mental math, "it could take a few weeks, at least.. the hyperdrive is too hot right now to do anything to it- but giving off steam isn't a good sign. the only comfort I get from looking at it is that it's still bright, if the light was dimmed or flickering then that would be symptom of a bigger problem. what's up with the stabilisers again?" you rise up to his level again, not realising how close your bodies are until he speaks again.

"they gave out, mostly the rear ones. makes it pretty hard to see how to land since the nose rises. it's choppy but not unbearable." he shifts again.

you nod. more mental math going on in your head. "when are you hoping to get off planet?— soon, with the bounties, I assume you have a time period?" you question, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I don't have to be back to deliver for a while. my employer knows I have the bounties in carbonite. not like they're going anywhere." his voice is steady. he tilts his head down slightly to see your face fully. you're suddenly aware of the proximity of your bodies. you can almost hear his steady breaths from underneath the helmet.

you nod again, squeezing past him and back into the cargo hold. "I can get started straight away, if you want. a few hours of daylight left. I prefer not to work in the dark."

"okay." he moves past you and down the ramp. you watch as he disappears around the corner of the ship and out of sight before you place your tool box down and crack it open, gathering what tools you'll need. you strip yourself of your raincoat and lay it on the ramp, not wanting to get any rain water on the floors. you get to work quickly on the stabilisers, locating the door panel for the side door and opening it in hopes that it'll help the hyperdrive cool down quicker. you start compiling a inventory of spare parts you may need- but ultimately decide to come back to that when you start on the hyperdrive. the stabilisers are an easy fix. a lot of the time they start to act up because they're out of alignment, easily done if you’re regularly getting yourself into dogfights, hard landings, and climbing too quickly from initial takeoff— the stabilisers get confused because of the speed of climb combined with your low altitude. you make easy work of it, tightening a few bolts and carefully aligning the pieces back together. the rain starts up again, the soft pitter patter being heard from the rain hitting the top of the ship. you easily swing into work, completely focused.

as the daylight starts to slowly fade into evening dark, you gather your tools again and walk back to the hyperdrive to check on the temperature. it's cooling down, slowly but surely. you decide to pick that job back up in the morning. you close the side door before making your way down the back ramp. tool box in hand, you make your way back to the house.

the clang of your tool box being dropped a little too carelessly startles the mandalorian, he turns towards the door with the cradle now next to him as he sits on the couch.

"stabilisers are fixed, the hyperdrive is still too hot to do anything. hopefully the rain will cool down the ship and the hyperdrive and I'll pick it up tomorrow." you ramble, taking off your boots and raincoat, leaving them in their designated places by the door.

"thank you." he says. the cradle is empty, and you spot the small green creature sat on the other side of the couch with a small metal ball in his hands. you smile.

"you hungry?" you pace to the kitchen.

"sure. the little one needs to eat, too." he pushes the cradle away and stands.

"I've got pog soup. just needs to reheat." you pull the large pot onto your stove, setting the heat to low so it simmers.

the mandalorian perks up. he can't remember the last time he had something so traditional. a common meal on mandalore.

you walk back past the couch and towards the fresher. "I'm gonna freshen up, heat is on low so if it start's bubbling over, just turn it off." he nods and follows your frame. once you disappear into the fresher and the door locks, he looks around the room. various lamps start to turn on the darker it gets outside, a soft warm hue all over. there's several crates scattered over the room. harvested crops sitting on the counter next to the sink, some books next to the couch on a small side table, nothing he recognised. he slowly steps around the room, he spots the rifle holster next to the door, pristine condition. either hardly used or just magnificently well looked after. there is a small wardrobe in the corner of the room, a light on the panel to it occasionally blinking. his curiosity peaks and he walks over, pressing the button to it. the door slides upwards into the ceiling and reveals a set of mandalorian armour kept neatly inside.

his heart rate picks up. where did you get it? why do you have it? these reel through his head, his trail of thought interrupted by the child cooing next to his feet. he closes the wardrobe and picks him up. "I'm not sure about this one, kid." the child tilts his head and coos again. mando sighs out slowly. the sound of the fresher door opening makes him raise his head again, hand on his holster.

you walk out from the hall way, hair damp from the shower. "the food should be hot enough now." you say as you reach the kitchen, pulling three bowls out from a cupboard.

"where'd you get the armour?" he questions. you place the bowls on the counter slowly. "did you kill someone for it?" he accuses in a flat tone.

"no." you reply.

"how do you have it?" he presses further.

"it's been in my family for a few generations. my parents come from mandalore, I was raised as one." you confess.

"you remove your helmet?" he's puzzled. that's when you realise he's a child of 'the watch'.

your muscles relax. "are you apart of 'the watch'?"

"yes. we follow the way." he stays still.

"'the watch' follows the ancient interpretation of The Way. more spiritual too." you continue, serving some of the soup into each bowl.

"you don't follow it?" he steps forward.

"no. my family followed the more modern practices." you push a bowl across the counter towards him. he relaxes a bit, stepping in front of the counter and setting the child down on top of it. he coo's at his own bowl and sits down.

"Gaa'tayl yourself" help yourself, you say.

"gar jorhaa'ir mando'a?" you speak mando'a?, he replies.

"yeah." you pick up your own bowl and sip on your soup. "my mother taught me."

he hums, his own bowl closer. he lifts his helmet just high enough so he can drink from it. "you're a devout follower of the way?" you inquire, leaning against the counter with your hip. he slips his helmet back on fully, "yes." without elaborating. the child burps after finishing his bowl and you chuckle. a light laugh comes through mando's modulator. it makes you smile. a reminder of his humanity beneath the thick and heavy beskar that is adorned across his body.

after the child finished about 4 more bowls of pog soup, he crashed on the couch and was softly snoring. you sat outside under the cover of your porch, listening to the rain and thunder. the mandalorian stood in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. there was comfortable silence between you two, only being interrupted by the crashes of thunder. mando occasionally turned his gaze to you, taking in your frame from where you sat, in your rocking chair. the soft creak of the wood falling into a soothing rhythm. you decide to break the silence first, "I'll try to work quickly on the hyperdrive, I might need to go to one of the outposts if I don't have the parts I need." you turn your head slightly towards him, awaiting a reply, and he does. "I can give you the credits for the parts." he offers.

"don't worry, I'll see what I have in my inventory first." turning your head back towards the vast fields that stretch for miles, the mountains in the distance being illuminated by the lightning.

"so you're a farmer?" mando asks, tiredness creeping into his voice. "yes, not where I thought I'd end up but, I'm happy." you inform.

"what did you do before?" he asks. you contemplate telling him your whole life story or a summarised version, settling on the latter.

"after the purge on mandalore, my father brought me to Tatooine. my mother died during the purge, and my father soon after. he had a bounty out on him from the empire. I managed to hide. he left me my mother's armour before he gave himself up. he was wanted dead, so I assume that's how he ended up after he was taken." you pause. the mandalorian shifts his weight on his feet, taking in everything.

"I started to do jobs here and there," you continue. "fixing speeders, handling market stalls while the owners went to do other business, helping out on moisture farms, running errands, things like that. I had finally managed to save up enough credits to get off of Tatooine and made my way to Alderaan. I enrolled in their education programme— I studied linguistics for a while, then mechanics, and eventually politics. my teachers then realised I had no valid or real identity documents, so I was expelled. started doing more jobs here and there until they released the same." you continue to ramble. mando listens intently.

"what did you do then?" he presses.

"whatever I had to. I started to steal things here and there. then I moved on to stealing bigger things— cargo shipments, things like that. then by accident I ended up stealing valuable information off of a rebel informant, which led the rebels to me. they recognised my talent for stealing things and offered me a position in the rebellion. steal intelligence, commit treason against the empire, that sort of thing. I eventually got partnered up with other rebel spies. a man named cassian andor was my longest standing partner. the others thought I was too reckless and had me reassigned after a few weeks. not cassian, though. he lead the assault team on scarif, while I fought off the aerial assault, to steal the Death Star plans. I never saw him or the rest of his squad again. after the Death Star was destroyed, I bailed out. thought that was the end of it, clearly not." you chuckle sadly.

mando steps closer, still listening silently.

"decided it wasn't for me after that. maybe I'll go back."

"you still believe in the cause?" he speaks up finally. "of course." you turn your face to him. "I of all people understand the importance of bringing the empire to its knees, like it does to so many people." you finish. he nods.

"then I came to lah'mu. an older woman needed help on her farm since she was slowing down with her old age, I offered myself willingly. she left everything to me after she died. she had no family, so now it's mine. I take care of the harvest each season and the small amount of cattle too. mostly orbak's to help with gathering." you add.

"orbak's aren't native to this planet, must be expensive?" he inquires more. "well, I had more. the old lady had bought them with some sort of pension money. a few have died in the cold snaps we had over the past few winter cycles. I'm trying to build them a hut outside, but, building materials are sparse right now." you finished your rambling. "I'm gonna turn in, the door will lock itself. Just put in the code I told you earlier if you get locked out." you stand from your chair and step past him into the house. "goodnight."

"night" he nods. the door slides closed after you disappear inside. Mando decides to check on the ship before turning in himself, walking out into the rain and past the fields.

when he walks onto the ship, he's taken aback by how tidy you left everything. he’s used to other mechanics making a mess of his cargo while they work and not leaving it how they found it. he inspects the stabilisers and is pleased with them. he checks the hyperdrive before returning to the house and it's cooling down nicely.

before mando sleeps, he picks grogu up from the couch and places him in his cradle, closing it as he stations it in the corner of his room. he waits until he can't hear any movement from your room to strip himself of his beskar and helmet, walking to the fresher in the dark. when he comes back to his room he puts his flight suit back on and his helmet, before succumbing to sleep. the bed cradles his own body, moulding to him.

weeks had passed, and you were still working on the razor crests hyperdrive. it had proved to be a harder job than you had anticipated. you had profusely apologised to mando for the hold up, and he had repeatedly told you to stop apologising. over the last couple of weeks you had grown closer together. you started to occasionally have conversations in mando'a— his was rusty, so you helped tutor him on it. he had told you about grogu and how he came to become his 'guardian' of sorts. you learned after a few too many osskorn stout's, that his name was din. it rolled off the tongue nicely. you had told him your name too, and it's mandalorian origins. you had become friends.

it was nice to have someone around. since there wasn't many large settlements on lah'mu, you had gotten used to only seeing the same 10-15 people at the various outposts that you frequented. you wouldn't say you were friends with any of the surrounding farmers and traders, but you were friendly. you'd trade things among yourselves, crops or vegetables for scrap parts and scrap building materials, meals for clothing, etc. during din's stay he had helped you build a hut for the orbak's, just like you wanted.

you both had grown accustomed to falling into a routine with one another. he'd help you with the farm, you'd help with the crest, with grogu, and so on. you made it a habit to sit out on the porch of an evening and watch the world pass by— sometimes in silence, and sometimes you'd talk for hours. you'd covered about every conversation topic possible by week 5.

you'd also started to become frustrated with one another, as well. you'd bicker like an old married couple on occasion, over small insignificant things. you told yourself it was only because you'd both been alone for so long that you weren't used to the constant company. whenever you'd get in a real snit, din would go for a walk to cool off. you'd wash what vegetables you'd gathered that day and cook something with them, and play with grogu to self regulate your emotions. din would always come back, his demeanour calmer. you'd place a bowl in front of him with some sort of meal, and he'd always apologise first. it was sweet really. you'd never admit it to him, but you'd started to procrastinate your progress on the crest because you didn't really want him to leave. you started to feel a pang in your chest whenever you would get close to him, and he felt a twinge in his— but neither of you paid too much attention to it or at least tried not to.

one morning you'd both quested to ride out to one of the further outposts, the two closer ones didn't have what you needed. grogu sat in a satchel on the side of the orbak that din rode, cooing at the birds that flew above. you didn't usually venture out this far until the summer, when the weather was more predictable and forgiving, but this was a trip of necessity. bandits were known to roam those areas, so you tended to steer clear of it as a single woman, but you felt safer with din. your rifle strap had started to dig into your shoulder and neck by hour 2, and you still had a handful of miles to go until you reached the outpost. while you were passing through one of the mountain valleys, the orbak's had gotten spooked by something. "easy! easy..." you tried to calm them, but to no avail. soon enough, it was revealed what had spooked them.

bandits. about 5 of them. you cursed internally. you knew this wasn't a good route to take. din immediately went into bounty hunter mode, pulling his rifle closer to him and ready for anything. your hand was over your own blaster. you knew better than to come this way, you thought.

the bandits had their own blasters and rifles raised as they made their way closer towards the two of you, your orbak's still unsettled. "what do you want?" you interrogated. one of them spoke in an alien language you didn't really understand, but you got the gist of it. they wanted whatever cargo you had with you, and din's armour.

"you'd have to take this armour off of my cold dead body." din replied immediately.

one of the bandits cursed and raised his rifle higher. you started to map out an escape route in your mind. from the looks of it, they were all on foot— probably camping out until some unfortunate souls, like you and din, had come through the valley. you reckoned that you two could out run them on the orbak's. you turned your head towards din and nodded. then you unholstered your blaster and shot the one closest to din and your orbak's bolted. the other bandits immediately started to fire on you, one hitting your orbak's leg. it tumbled over and took you with it. you scrambled to your feet and started firing back at them, ducking behind a rock. din quickly dismounted his own orbak and fired back at them as well.

"so what's your plan of getting out of here??" he yelled over. "my plane was flee, but clearly that didn't work!" you yelled back.

"you think?" he fired at them again. you were outnumbered, any regular traveller would be signing their own death warrant in this situation, but you and din were mandalorians, trained from infancy and early childhood. battle coordination was second nature to you both. you decided to push up further towards them, and din gave you cover fire. you had to admit your aim wasn't as good as it used to be— out of practice, you told yourself.

while you weren't paying attention, you got a blaster bolt to your upper shoulder and your side. rookie mistake. din called out your name, and pressed forward. you managed to pull yourself behind another rock while blaster fire still rained. din pressed various buttons on his vambrace, and several mini rockets shot out of the other one— taking down the rest of them.

"couldn't you have done that earlier?" you said, dripping in sarcasm. when you went to laugh, the pain in your ribs was too powerful. you winced and clutched your side, pulling away to see blood. not too much, but enough to make you worry. din shuffled over to you quickly and knelt by your side, his eyes scanning over your body for any other injuries. as far as he could tell, it was just your shoulder and side that got hit. thank the maker, he thought to himself. one hand came to your side, the other to cup your cheek. pang. "you okay??" his voice more panicked than before.

"never better." you managed a smile. he shook his head and chuckled. "always gotta be a smarts.." he added. he helped you rise to your feet while you still clutched your side, picking your blaster up from the floor and holstering it for you. you limped towards his orbak, your own still on the floor. it's leg was hurt badly. there was no way that you could get it back to the farm, or to the outpost, to help it. you sighed in defeat. "he's not gonna make it back.." you nodded towards it, lying on the ground, struggling to stand back up.

din walked you over to his orbak and you held onto the saddle to balance after he let go. he walked over to the other orbak and took his pistol in his hand and shot the animal in the back of the head. quick and painless. you felt relief come over you, and then the pain started— your adrenaline wearing off now. you winced again, clutching tighter onto the saddle next to you.

din strutted over to you, "how far is the outpost? do they have medical supplies there?" he rushingly asks. "it's still about 30 miles. we won't get there until dark, and by now there's probably more bandits in the area." you clutched your side tighter to try and ease the pain that was overstimulating your senses.

"how far back home?" he helps you balance by holding you up by your forearm. that familiar pang in your chest. "about 15. if the orbak gallops we can get back in an hour." you reply between winces. din nods. his hands fall to your waist and he lifts you onto the back of the orbak like you weigh nothing. another pang in your chest. his hands linger at your waist longer than they needed to. din hoists himself up on the saddle behind you after, taking the reigns of the orbak and turning him around, setting a steady speed back towards home.

you steadied yourself by grabbing the handle at the front of the saddle, the occasional coo's of grogu helping you distract yourself from the lingering ache and burning sensation that was tearing into the left side of your body. eventually, exhaustion over took your body and you somehow managed to lull to sleep, your head resting against din's shoulder. he had tried to keep you awake, distract you by asking various questions about the crest. 'how do you align the stabilisers?', 'whats the most common type of hyperdrive circuit arrangement for pre-new republic ships?', etc.

as soon as you reached the house your eyes snapped open to the sudden halt of movement. you pulled yourself forward so that din could slide down, before he took you by the waist again to get you down. he grabbed the satchel with grogu inside and helped you slowly hobble into the house. he set you down on the couch gently, along with the satchel. grogu crawled out and wobbled towards you, putting his small hand on your arm.

"medkit?" din asks. you silently point to a metal cupboard by the wardrobe. din paces over to it quickly, taking out all it's contents. bacta, he thought, perfect.

"I hope you're not scared of needles." he said before injecting the bacta syringe into your thigh, not giving you time to respond. your pain immediately started to subside. you thanked the maker. din peeled off your raincoat slowly, careful not to pull your arm too much to keep the pain in your shoulder to a minimum. your head fell back against the top of the sofa, your breathing becoming a little less rapid as the bacta targeted your wounds. the blaster bolt had gone completely though your coat and shirt. go figure. din had a mental dilemma with himself. he had to remove your shirt to properly treat your injuries. dank farrik.

"I... need to take this off." he said flatly, almost shy— like he was excepting you to say 'get fucked'. but you didn't, you just nodded. he carefully and agonisingly slowly lifted your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a bra. a twinge in his chest. a pang in yours.

"gota'la" maker, you said with a string of curses afterwards. din cracked open the medkit and pulled out what he needed. some sort of burn ointment, an antibacterial spray, and some gauze along with bandaging tape. he took his gloves off to be more effective, revealing warm, tanned skin. such a contrast to his cold leather gloves that he always wore. pang.

he started by spraying the antibac on your skin, and suddenly the bacta didn't seem as effective as it was before. you hissed and clamped your teeth together, your head lulling forward, grabbing onto din's forearm. a twinge in his chest. "I gotcha.." he reassured you softly. your head rested back on the couch as din continued to nurse you. the burn ointment helping to cool the skin, the sting starting to wear off again. your grip on his arm relaxed. he started to piece you back together, protecting the wounds with gauze, and taping it in place securely. you sighed with relief once he was finished, your hand slipping from his arm to his hand. another twinge.

"better?" he asked. "better." you repeated back to him. a sigh of relief coming through his modulator. grogu coo'd happily, shuffling away to his cradle and climbing in. you raised your head to look at din. his eyes searched for any discomfort in your face from under his helmet, behind the visor. another twinge.

"thank you." you sighed quietly. "I don't know why I took us that way, I know better than to go through that valley."

"hey. we made it out alive, that's the important part. maybe with one less orbak, but we made it back home." he soothed you, his hand coming to cup your cheek. pang. twinge.

butterflies.

both of your breathing steadied, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. you leaned into his touch shamelessly. pang, twinge.

you both stay there for a moment, you splayed against the couch, and din crouched between your knees. you hadn't realised the compromising position you were until now, and neither did he.

pang, twinge.

"you better not take advantage of me while I'm vulnerable, mando." you teased.

"din." he corrected you. "din" you echoed.

"I wouldn't dream of it." he confessed. "liar." you teased further.

"shot twice and you're still a little shit." he chuckled. pang.

you smiled. twinge. your hand squeezing his. pang, twinge.

din had helped you into your bed that night after you ate something to help with your strength, still stiff and sore. he tucked you in and stroked your hair out of your face as you laid against your pillow. as he pulled away, you grasped his hand. he stilled. twinge. you very quickly gave into exhaustion, dropping his hand as you slept. he lingered. watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. he left the door to your room open, and retired to his own room. his door open too, so he could listen out if you needed anything.

you had slept right through to early afternoon the next day. you cursed to yourself when you realised the time. you had crops to gather, chores to do, and a hyperdrive to procrastinate about. din wasn't there when you woke up. and an orbak was missing. he had left a note on the front door— "went to the outpost early this morning. will be back before dark. soup on the stove."

another pang in your chest. it felt domesticated, the note, the taking care of you last night, the lingering touches. you decided to go down to the lake near one of the crop fields and throw some nets in, hoping to catch some sort of fish. after no luck, you brought the nets back in. you suddenly realised you were in need of a shower, but laziness would tell you to just bathe in the lake. din wouldn't be back for another hour or two. you could be in and out before he was back.

you stripped yourself of your boots and pants, slowly lifting your shirt over your head. the cold breeze starting to nip at your skin. you peeled the bandaging away from your wounds slowly, and they were healing nicely. they were going to scar, but you didn't mind that much. you shed yourself of the last of your underwear, and into the lake you went. the cold water initially shot through your body, but subsided once you started to move around. you dipped your head under the water and rubbed your face. unbeknownst to you, din was closer to home than you had realised. he was walking along side the orbak, supplies he'd gotten at the outpost taking his place on the saddle, along with grogu's cradle following closely. he had seen something in the distance as he approached the house, his senses peaking. then, you raised up out of the water slightly. your hair, soaked, trailing down your back. he froze. he didn't want to watch you, it would be disrespectful and against his creed. but he couldn't look away.

he soaked in the sight of you, your curves, your bare skin, and the way your hair was cascading down your back. grogu coo'd and suddenly he was brought back to the present. he turned his back and took the orbak to the hut, unloading the cargo from it and it's saddle.

you had heard grogu's distant coo's and decided that was your queue to get out and make yourself decent. you rushed out of the lake and into the side door of the house, jogging to your room with your clothes cradled in your arms. you grabbed a towel and squeezed dry your hair, putting on a larger tunic and shorts. you could hear din's boots against the floor of the house, announcing his presence.

you walked down the hallway and out of your room to see din unpacking the supplies from the outpost, grogu sat on the counter watching.

you could get used to this kind of view. pang. you suddenly thought of the hyperdrive again, and you felt guilty for keeping din here longer than you actually needed to. you knew he'd tell you to stop apologising. deep down he didn't actually mind, and he was dreading having to leave. he'd gotten to used to the routine of seeing you when he woke up, rambling about something to grogu while you cradled him in your arms, too used to helping you around the farm, doing some of your chores with you, seeing you working hard on the crest to "repair' the hyperdrive. he'd gotten too used to you, and he didn't know if he could break that routine now. even if it weren't here, on lah'mu, on the farm, if he just had you with him— that would be enough.

he hears your soft footsteps and raises his head. twinge. he's all of a sudden aware of your lack of clothing on your bottom half. twinge.

"hey, feeling better?" he pushed the crate aside, giving you his full attention. pang. "yeah. you went to the outpost?" you stepped closer.

"yeah. I got what you needed." he leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. pang.

as you got closer, you're realising all over again how big he is. he's broad, he's got a strong frame, and he's slightly taller too. you think back to how he carried metal beams over to where you wanted the hut for the orbak's, how he didn't even break a sweat, and how he so effortlessly carried your body. pang. you step closer again. twinge.

"I'm gonna try get back to working on your hyperdrive, I promise." you lean against the counter. "don't worry about it." he chuckles, instead of ripping into you about apologising. "I don't mind being held up." he confesses. pang. twinge. he tilts his helmet to get a better look at you, his eyes scanning you up and down. thank the maker the visor of his helmet hides his shameless gawking at you and your body. his eyes trail up your bare legs— he thinks back to the lake. mapping out the rest of your body underneath the large dusty blue tunic that hides it. twinge. you can read him easily, you can almost sense his wandering eyes from beneath the beskar. pang.

"I don't want you to leave." your voice barely above a whisper. he shifts his weight and stand straight, stepping closer to you. you swallow, looking up at him slightly. his hand comes up to rest on your good shoulder, the other on your forearm of your bad side. pang. twinge.

"I know." his modulator crackles slightly. you stand up straight and mirror his posture, your hand comes up top rest on his forearm. pang, twinge. you wish you could see his eyes. even though you don't follow the creed, you respect it. you know he won't take his helmet off, even for you, you think.

he moves his hand from your shoulder to cup your face. "I don't think I can go across the galaxy without you." he quietly mutters your name and brushes his thumb across your cheekbone softly. pang, twinge.

"then don't leave"— your internal dialogue coming out before you have time to stop it. pang, twinge, butterflies. he's staring at you more intently now, and you can't help the warm sensation that pools in your abdomen. "you'd want to keep me around?" he questions. you nod. pang, twinge.

he tilts his helmet to rest against your forehead. a kov'nyn. a mandalorian kiss. pang, twinge, butterflies. silent admission.

"this is the way." his voice is shy and quiet. "ibic cuyir te ara." you echo, in mando'a.

he steps closer, engulfing your frame in his broad one. your hands come to his helmet, stroking the sides of it gently. "I'm yours." you sigh airily. that's all it takes for him to switch. he grabs at your body, moving you towards your bedroom with hast. the back of your legs hit the bed and you sit, he kneels down and tugs at the bottom of your tunic— looking for permission. you pull the tunic over your head, your bare breasts on display for him. he soaks in every detail. he pulls his gloves odd before he touches you, wanting to feel the warmth of your skin with his own hands. he palms gently at the soft tissue, a quiet whimper escaping your lips.

"so perfect" he breaks the silence, moving his hands up and down your torso, inching closer to the waist band of your shorts. you lift yourself up so that he can pull them down, and they're discarded somewhere to the side. you don't care enough to notice, just focusing on him.

he moves his hands over your waist and hips, squeezing the soft flesh there gently. he moves lower, towards your thighs, then the back of your knees, pulling them apart. cold breeze tingles lightly at your core. you're already soaked, and he knows it. he chuckles. "all this for me, cyar'ika?" he teases, moving his hands agonisingly closer to where you need him most.

"stop teasing." you pant, sounding more needy than you wanted to.

"I'm just taking my time, savouring every moment..." he replies breathily. he moves his hands to the inside of your thighs, stroking up and down them slowly. you move your hands to prop you up, anticipating his next move. he takes one finger and pulls it up through your slit slowly, watching your face twist in relief. a soft gasp leaves your mouth. he adds another finger, paying more attention to your clit this time. pang, pang, pang. he circles it softly and gently, then he pinches it— you wince with pleasure and tilt your head to the side. 'din, please..." you beg pathetically.

"easy, cyar'ika..." he says lowly, circling your clit faster this time. you can feel the coil in your belly getting tighter. then suddenly, he slips a finger into your entrance, while his other hand palms at your thigh. you moan— shamelessly. then he adds another. his thick fingers pumping in and out slowly, methodically. you throw your head back and cling onto his forearm that lays on your thigh.

"din— please— fuck.." you breathe rapidly. he watches as your breasts bounce slightly from the rise and fall of your laboured breathes. he likes this. the making you wait, watching you fall apart.. all just from a couple of his fingers. he smiles drunkly under the helmet. the pressure in your belly is getting tighter, and your breathe is picking up pace— almost in synchronisation with his fingers speeding up.

he moves this hand from your thigh to play with your clit using his thumb, pressing and swirling around. your moans are getting more high pitched, and your propping yourself up with your elbows now. your head lulls back as you moan again. din's pants start to feel tighter and tighter with each sound you make, his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

"let go for me." he says, spend up more. you almost don't hear him until he says your name and repeats himself. you move your head to look at him, and where his fingers are squelching in and out of your pussy.

"fuck— din.. I'm gonna come..." you rasp out. "I know.. let go." and that's all it takes. your back falls against your bed as white fills your vision. your breathing starts to regulate again, and din removes his fingers from you. he stares at the shine that coats his fingers, proud.

you muster up enough strength to sit up again slowly, taking his hand and moving his fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

"fuck.." it comes out quietly from his modulator. twinge, twinge, twinge. he moves his free hand to brush your hair away from your face, looking at the glow that adorns your face.

"I need you." you whine, hands moving to his belt and feverishly unbuckling it, dropping his belt to the side. he strips himself from his armour and flight suit, leaving him in only his boxers and helmet.

you soak in the sight. it was even better than what you had imagined at night while you touched yourself quietly, that started after week 4. he's tanned, with a thin layer of hair splaying across his chest. he's muscular too, which explains his impeccable strength. you move further up the bed, and he follows. he palms at your sides while you get comfortable amongst the pillows.

your hands trail down his chest, lower, and lower. both of your breathing is picking up again, his helmet inches from your face. he presses it against your forehead, "please.." it's his turn to beg now. you take your hand to his crotch and palm him through the fabric of his pants. he moans quietly, and lowly while you do. after a few moments, he moves your hand away and pins it next to your head. "I can't wait any longer, been waiting too long for this, fuck..."

you lick your lips in anticipation, and spread wider for him. remnants of your previous orgasm coating your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below. din pulls his boxers down and tosses them away, then he takes himself in his hand. he's thick. thicker than you had imagined. you're almost afraid he won't fit. "I'll take this slow, okay?" he assures you, brushing your hair back once more. you nod.

"I want you to tell me if you want me to stop." he continues. you nod again— "say it." he almost demands. "I'll tell you if I want you to stop." you confirm, resting your hands on his biceps and squeezing slightly to reassure him.

he nods before lining himself up with your entrance, and pushing in slowly. you both moan in unison. the burn makes your eyes water, but once he bottoms out, you moan again. he stills, waiting for you to ebb him on. you adjust your posture to take him better and squeeze his bicep again. a silent you can move. he starts slowly, pulling out carefully, before sinking back into your warm, tight cunt. he moans again as he bottoms out for a second time.

"I want to kiss you." you breathe out. you don't know what he'll say, you're afraid he'll pull out and leave.

he leans across to the lamp next to your bed, and dims it. his other hand still holding yours. you can barely see him, just a side profile. you hear the click of his helmet coming off, and the bed dipping down next to you where he's placed his helmet. you can feel his breath, warm and strong, as he inches closer. you raise your hand from his bicep to his face, cupping his cheek like he did to you so many times before. then, he kisses you. pang, twinge, butterflies.

it's soft and slow, he parts your lips with his tongue, and you happily oblige. his tongue swirls around yours, and he makes sure to remember every detail. the warmth, the way you suck in breath through your nose so sharply. he deepens it with a newfound urgency, and thrusts deep into you, much faster this time. you moan into him and return the deepening of the kiss.

he pulls out, then thrusts fast and deep. again, and again, and again. your back arches off of the bed, pulling him in closer. your chests touching with the rise and fall of your breathing. he bites your lip, and you swear you can feel him smile. he moves his mouth from yours to your cheek, then your ear, your jaw, your neck, and finally your collarbone. nipping and sucking at the skin there— and it sets your skin on fire. every sensation is heightened.

thrust, thrust, thrust. he's picking up his pace now, and the coil in your belly is pulling tighter again. you moan, and your free hand finds his hair, soft and slightly curly, tugging and pulling at it. he moans into the skin of your neck, releasing your hand from his and moving it to your clit, circling it with a needy pace. your moans are more frequent, more whiney. your breasts bounce back and forth softly with each of his thrusts. he takes his other hand and grabs at anything he can. your waist, hip, thigh, ass, tits. he lets them linger there, taking your nipple between his fingers and twisting and pinching at it.

his hand trails further up your body, and he palms at your upper chest— your collarbones, pushing into them gently. then further up, until he meets your neck, and he wraps his hand loosely around it, squeezing gently.

you swear you could've come right then and there. your moans are becoming pornographic, in time with his thrusts. his are lower, more like a grunt. he takes his hand away from your neck and hikes your leg up higher, over his shoulder, hitting that spongy spot inside you, over, and over again.

your head thrashes back into the pillows and you let out a low, guttural moan, cursing and chanting his name, along with a string of 'yes, yes, yes,' and 'just like that— oh fuck..". your own name falling out of his mouth like a hymn against your skin, right next to your ear. his moans are loud and clear now, and it only pushes you further over the edge.

he takes your other leg and tosses it over his shoulder, quickening his pace. the sounds that fill the room are sinful, the squelching of him pistoning in and out of you, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass, all coming together in a sweet symphony. he memorises it. every breath, every whine, every moan, every time you squeeze his cock. twinge, twinge, twinge.

"fuck— I'm, close, din" you whine, one hand coming to your clit as you circle it at a violent pace, the other back too his hair. pulling and tugging to ebb him on, and oh does he obey. pushing your legs back against your chest, flush with your breasts, and he fucks into you hard, fast, and deep.

"fuck, fuck, fuck... maker. your little cunt is just made for me, cyar'ika.." he moans and whimpers. he actually whimpers. you swear then and there that you will never forget that sound, carved into your memory. his pace is feverish now, rocking your body back and forth, knocking the air out of your lungs almost. the band inside you is about to snap, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"cmon baby, come all over this dick.." he encourages. and that's all it takes, again. you're a moaning, withering mess beneath his large body. he doesn't stop, fucking you through your orgasm at the same pace. tears roll down the sides of your face from the overstimulation, and all of a sudden you have a newfound strength inside of you.

you flip through two of you over, and now he's under you. his back flush with the bed, and his arms clawing at your hips. "fuck—" he grunts out. the dim glow from the lamp illuminates you perfectly. the glow of your slick, sweat covered skin, the way your hair reflects the light. your hands come to his chest so you can brace yourself. "your turn." you breathe, and he let's you. he let's you take over. then— he stops you. "wait. I have an idea."

you stop your movements, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. he picks up his helmet next to him and sets it to the blackout setting on the visor, and then puts it on you. it smells like him, you think to yourself. your senses are almost heightened from him taking away your sight, and you feel him move beneath you as he turns the light back up. "I wanna see you put on a show, cyar'ika." he rubs his hands up and down your sides encouragingly. from his view, he swears he could die like this and not have any complaints.

he can see your body fully now. beautiful and full atop of him. he palms at your ass again. you take that as a hint to move.

you rock back and forth against him slowly, your clit bumping into your pelvis with each movement. your moans are free in the air now (or rather through the modulator of the helmet. his helmet), and you start to slowly raise yourself off of his cock, before slamming back down against him. his moans are praise enough for your efforts. you do it again, and again, and again, until you've got a nice pace set. his hands frantically move up and down your body. your sides, your ass, your thighs, he cups your breasts and watches them bounce up and down with each rise and fall on his cock. yeah, he can die happy now.

you take hold of his wrist, and guide him to your neck. he wraps his large, warm hand around it gently, and then squeezes the sides. you moan, and he swears it's the loudest, most satisfied noise he's ever heard in his life. he moves his hands to play with your breasts again, squeezing and grabbing at them sloppily. he pulls you closer so that he can take them in his mouth, and your hands tangle in his hair again.

you yank his head back, and he whimpers again.

"fuck— yes, yes, yes.." you chant. you tilt your frame back now, bracing your hands on his thighs behind you as you plunge up and down with a blinding speed now. he palms at your thighs, and the moans and whimpers are falling endlessly past his lips now. you throw your head back, picking up the pace as much as humanly possible. "just like that baby— just like that." he praises, his own head falling heavy into the pillows beneath him.

he twitches inside of you, and you can tell he's close— you are too. just a few more thrusts, and you're there.

"shit, where do you want it?" he suddenly rasps. your pace doesn't falter. "inside. want you to spill into me." you breathe. he moans immediately, and twitches again. pang, pang, pang. twinge, twinge, twinge.

you bring yourself forward again and your hands are on his chest, he holds one of your elbows, and the other hand occupies your hip. then it happens. he comes, fast and hard, and deep. you follow soon after, still sloppily and slowly rocking back and forth against him.

din swears that's the closest he's felt to heaven. "shit—" he gasps. you collapse into his chest as the initial high comes down. he reaches back over to the lamp and dims in, before removing his helmet from your head. he brushes the hairs stuck to your skin with sweat away from your face, and he pulls your face towards his for another deep, rough kiss. you moan into him, hands finding his soft curls once again. he finally pulls away for breath, and you can feel the air between you being sucked in and breathed out, sharing oxygen.

you drop your head to rest next to his, still on top of him, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. you can feel his cock still pumping thick, warm come inside of you— coating every inch. it drips down out of your cunt and onto his pelvis, and your thigh. completely and utterly spent.

he gently strokes you, tracing shapes on the small of your back. the rhythm of his chest calming you.

"ni kar'tayl darasuum gar" I love you, you breath against his jaw and kiss him there. "this is the way", he replies. "I love you too." he kisses your temple, breathing in your scent. din pulls the covers over you, turning you both onto your sides, still comfortably buried in you. the shadow from your own face covers his, but you can see the colour of his eye that is illuminated. by the lamp. warm and brown. now your favourite colour in the galaxy. you memorise it, you don't know when you'll see it again.— your hands tracing every dip and curve of his face. he smiles against you and pulls you closer. you shift your leg up to trap him beneath it, and the movement makes him grunt again.

"keep doing that, and I might come again." he chuckles. you mirror him.

"we have plenty of time." you rub your nose against his, and the press your forehead to his.

you have no plans on fixing that hyperdrive anytime soon.

this was my first time writing smut, so I hope it was alright. lmk your thoughts in the notes!! like and reblog too maybe ;)))) — may write a pt2 if this does well??? 👀👀

[penvisions]

one trail or another {din djarin x reader}

Pairing: Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: At the end of a long day, running into a Mandalorian is the last thing you expected to happen when the lift to your temporary apartment stalls.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: flashbacks of the attack on madalore and aq ventina, readers home world was also attacked, forced proximity, itty bitty panic attack, din is soft in this cause i wanted him to be, kissing, i think that's it!

A/N: this is a little piece i whipped up for @toomanystoriessolittletime writing challenge -> 47 minutes in heaven. also perfect timing with all the new mandalorian content from the star wars celebration yesterday!

An automated ding rings through the air, the lift that came at your beck and call opening. You tap your fingers on the side of your thigh, right over the flowing fabric of your tunic, nerves getting the best of you. You just wanted to go home and enjoy in a canter of something bubbly after the day you’ve had.

The doors hush as they open, clanging loudly as they do so completely- to reveal a figure already inside.

Gleaming, beautiful armor fastened securely to a broad, tall man is directly in the middle. His visor is dark and blank, unreadable as you shuffle on your feet before biting your bottom lip and enter the lift with a tight hand on the strap to your bag. He’s a little intimidating, his form so broad and tall. You duck your head as you settle into the minimal space beside him, voice gone from you as you feel your heartbeat pick up.

The lift barely makes it up two floors of the tall building before it’s jolting to a sudden stop. Your bag thuds heavily to the floor as you loose your balance, body careening toward the interior wall as you stumble back. You brace for the contact, already anticipating a headache, eyes clenched shut but you never collide with it. Your silent companion has his arms wrapped around you as he stands firm on spread out feet, keeping you both from jostling as the lift sways for a few moments more.

Your breath wooshes out at the sting of how cold his armor is even through your clothing, the leather of his fingers a shock as they hold you tight around your ribs and the back of your head. His chest plate is firm where your cheek rests against it. He’s cradling you to his body, a thick thigh between yours, your head never cracks against the back of the lift. When the lift finally stills, you glance up at him and see the visor already aimed down at you.

Your fingers grip the heavy duty fabric of his flight suit, just underneath the pauldrons fastened to his shoulders.

And then the lights go out, dousing you both in complete darkness.

You go completely still with a sharp breath, memories plaguing you of the last time you were plunged into darkness so completely, so intensely. Only this time there isn’t the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air and dust from crumbled concrete and glass.

“I got you, mesh’la.” His voice rumbles against your chest, filling the space even if your mind is wiped completely clean of anything but this very moment. Your realize that the odd wheezing sound you hear is coming from you, deep in your throat as you take sharp breaths. Metal, you smell and taste metal and see red behind your eyelids, so much red. From the deep, rich cloth you used to wear to the blood splattered all around and covering your hands. The phantom physicality of being pushed has you gasping and pressing into the solid form holding you tight.

“Easy now, you’re okay.” The Mandalorian’s voice is even, far more controlled and that alone seems to sooth some of the panic rising in your nerves.

“W-what’s your job here?” You try to distract yourself as the lift groans as the cables go taut above and below you, racketing up your heart rate even more.

“What makes you think I’m on a job?” His fingers dig into your back where he holds you. The thigh between your legs tenses and you feel lightheaded. You try to focus on the feel of him, on the way his helmet is relaying the gentle rasp of his breath through the modulator.

“Because I’ve never seen you here before,” You carefully detangle yourself from him, body lighting up and you think that his own hands linger as yours do. You back yourself into the wall of the lift, silence deafening between you now. Assuming you said the wrong thing, you bring your palms up to your eyes and rub at them, exhaustion and self-consciousness the only things you feel after the long day you’ve had. Your body slides down the wall until you’re sitting against it, legs crossed as

“I’m working a job, yes.” His voice comes from beside you, startling you but you don’t flinch or show that you didn’t hear him move about the small space.  

He’s searching for someone who has beskar, a lot of it. Won it in an illegal gambling ring and was rather harsh when confronted by those who tried to jump in the aftermath of the game- seems they were pretty convinced that the person cheated them- played them into a false sense of comfortability that the game would end in their favor. He thinks, briefly, for a moment that it’s a lost cause. The trail only led to this city, guiding him from two different ports at two different planets.

Then it went cold and he decided to rent a room for the night, a small relief he doesn’t normally indulge in. The cramped cockpit of his small ship and the small, cooing figure he misses guiding his decision.

He wants the beskar, but he knows he needs to rest as well before setting off to scour the city.

“I’ve seen your kind before, they came to the rescue of my home world. A long time ago.” Your memories play out, the ones of cramped and dusty spaces. Of blaster shots and explosions. Red fabric stained dark. When you had emerged, it was too late. The blood you were splattered with was alarming, resulting in your extended stay at a medic center on an entirely different planet. The only one in the room with you had been a blue armored Mandalorian that left the moment you woke up.

“We are a sparse people, now. Perhaps we extended ourselves into near extinction with our rescuing.”

It’s certainly an interesting statement, one you think he’s been mulling over since the attack that nearly wiped them from the planet. You remember it vividly, you remember the destruction of your own world all the same.

“Mercy and kindness override wrath,” You know it all to well, the sentiment you let sit in the open air you now share with someone who feels all too familiar and foreign at the same time. The muscles in your stomach jolt, the mechanics hidden underneath the skin there are beginning to cool down. If more time passes, they’ll power off completely, the spring needs to be replaced and you’ve put it off until the end of the day.

You must’ve made a noise as you hold a hand to the spot underneath your clothing because you hear the shuffle of fabric beside you.

“Are you hurt?”

“My mechanics need to be replaced.” Removing your hand, you glance at your communication link on your wrist as it beeps. Signaling the exact thing you already knew, there was someone on your tail. But you suspect it’s the man right beside you in the dead and stalled lift.

The glow of the screen is dull, but you read the time all the same. It’s been nearly half an hour since the lift trapped you both inside it.

“You’re a cyborg.” It’s not exactly an accusation, but it is more a statement than a question aimed at you in that deep, resonating voice through the helmet.

“No,” you huff a laugh as you feel the very small currents cease their humming. “I’m very much human, don’t you fret. Just the result of a bad injury that wasn’t treated in time.”

You weren’t so lucky as the only other person who you recall seeing ducking and weaving around debris flying through the air and the droids that mercilessly took down every person that crossed their paths as they ran run buildings and tried to escape. A little boy, with tan skin and dark hair. The last glimpse you had of him was his parents lowering him into a supply bunker. Your vision through a small hole in the large slabs of concrete encasing you blocked by blue armor.

When it was clear again, both the group of armored fighters and the boy were gone.

But you don’t worry for him any longer, as you’re sure he’s grown into the man beside you. Taken into the care and oversight of the very people he’s pledged his life too. The ones who you’ve kept tabs on in your travels, the ones who left you a pendant to connect with them should you need to- should you need more help from them.

The cables groan once again, signaling power running through the lines once again. As the lift begins to hum at a low frequency, you wrap a hand around your middle and begin to stand. Large hands are on you once again, hooking in an elbow and helping you back up to your feet. He’s as silent as you are.

But you know who he is and he doesn’t know that you’re the one he’s been searching for.

His hands don’t lift when you’re both upright. He’s close, his armor is cool even in the warm space from your shared breaths. He must be tired too, because his feet scuff when the lift jolts suddenly back to life and the lights flicker back on.

Without missing a beat, the lift begins to ascend again, like it wasn’t just shut down for nearly an hour.

Connecting two people who once occupied the same planet, lead the same life despite being completely different now.

He finally releases you when the lift comes to a smooth stop on your floor. Stepping back from you as the doors open. He follows a few paces behind, helmet swiveling as he takes in the number plaques beside each door. He’s about to open one a few down and across from yours when you turn to him and let out a low hum that has his helmet turning quickly.

With a crooked smile and a shove to open your unlocked door, you step aside with words that have him narrowing his eyes and palming the blaster in the holster at his hip.

“Don’t you want the beskar you came all this way for, Din?”

The little boys bright smile flashes in your mind and you wonder what it looks like now in his matured face. Does he have scruff, are his eyes still that dazzling brown that catches the light and turns amber?

He’s stalking toward you with silent steps, his hand wrapping around the handle of his blaster as he stands on the other side of the open door. His helmet peeks inside the apartment, assessing the empty space. The velvet bag on the dining table catches his eyes through the visor but the sensors don’t pick up any threats or hidden heat sources.

The dark visor trains solely on you. It would be intimidating if you weren’t positive you knew who was hidden behind it. With a dip of your head, you reach for the pendant around your neck and pull it over the fabric of your tunic. The glint of the beskar skull tells him all he needs to know.

His cape flutters as he moves through the door, his fingers twitching on his weapon as the door closes and locks behind him.

“No tricks here, the beskar is yours by right. It’s important to your people. I was simply taking it from the very people who stole it from you to begin with.” You reason with the man who looks ready for a fight, you’re sure he would attack simply on the basis of you knowing his true name and nothing more. It’s a secret now, a threat to his entire way of life- of who he’s become.

“Your trail went cold in the shuttle depot.” The blaster is returned to the holster at his hip. His gloved hands reach for the bad and he’s lifting an ingot of beskar from within it. Its reverent, the way he looks down at it, the gleam of it something that brings him a little bit of peace.

“All I did was go to work and then came home. Went right back on shift this morning.” You step further into the space. He doesn’t move or seem to be on alert any longer, even when you settle into one of the chairs at the able and pull a small coil from your bag.

“Then, how?” You feel the wright of his gaze on you, roving over the pendant left over your tunic to the way your hands press into your middle to disengage a panel. You lift the fabric up just enough to display the little bit of yourself that isn’t human and use nimble fingers to remove a burnt out looking coil.

“I tend to run cold due to the mechanics in my middle. Doesn’t leave much of a lingering warmth for your helmet to trace. It gets lost in the shuffle of every other set of steps.” You replace it with the new one from your bag. “And I know your name because you told me that first day of school. You were nervous, I remember that much too, though I doubt you’re subjected much to that feeling these days.”

And suddenly he remembers it too, the way he was swept from the very rubble you were. A toothless smile set into the kind face of a young girl his age swims up in his mind’s eye. He had been nervous, the second to last time he announced his name. But it wasn’t because it was the first day of school, it had been because of that little girls giggling stirring butterflies in his stomach.

He always wondered if she made it out like he did, though he received no answers from those who took him in. Told him he was the only survivor. But he wasn’t, because he’s pretty kriffing sure that that same little girl is now sitting in front of him and effortlessly changing a component of her mechanics. The mechanics you claim are from a life-threatening injury.

As soon as the panel is pushed back into place, you’re being lifted from your seat. Gloved hands cradle your face as the visor peers over you.

“They told me I was the only survivor.” His words are low, almost as if they’re a whisper through the modulator.

“I made it.” You whisper though you’re not even sure he can hear it over the loud rattling of your heart against the inside of your ribs. Then suddenly the hiss of his helmet being disengaged drowns it all out, catching you off guard as you flinch at the puff of air against your face. You clench your eyes tight, but his gravel rasped voice is close as his bare nose brushes against yours.

“We made it.” His lips press to yours; a firm kiss you were both destined to share on a sunny afternoon between childish giggles as you grew closer through years of friendship. But it’s okay that it’s shared now, that time had to pass by you both as different paths were walked- different lives were led. The paths intertwine, the paths finally connected and it was all thanks to a kriffing faulty lift.

for my fellow din girlies (gn): @dindjarindiaries @sin-djarin @djarins-cyare @burntheedges @saradika @littlemisspascal @the-mandawhor1an

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ through your my our eyes 🔍(mingyu x reader)

contains: soulmate au, tooth-rotting fluff, soulmates to old married couple to friends to lovers, slight swearing, etc. a/n: happy birthday, mingyu <3

".....he is able to see one of Ae-sun’s poem’s published. It’s dedicated to Gwan-sik, telling him she will be OK after he dies. The poem ends with an expression of immense gratitude that uses the show’s Korean title: “My precious dearest, here’s to all you’ve been through." The story is all the more precious when you realize Gwan-sik and Ae-sun are not soulmates. Brick by brick they built up their love into a wonderful shelter for their loved ones to rest their wings on. Maybe we, who are used to exchanging our souls with our destined one; we, who know who we are meant to be with, will never ever understand a world where if soulmates do exist, they are not found, they are made (by choice)." - An Excerpt from the Time Magazine on the ending of 'When Life Gives You Tangerines'

Kim Mingyu did not want a soulmate. He has a great life, amazing friends, a job he loves, and the best family. What would he even do with a soulmate? And yet, when he felt his soul shifting from his body to theirs, he couldn't stop himself from being a bit excited. Who did the universe choose for him? And why?

The din of the house party was muffled to him as Mingyu sat at the corner of the balcony. "It's my birthday today". Why did he text that? It's been two days since their souls were exchanged for a few minutes. Well, one day sixteen hours but who is counting? Just as he had given up hope of getting a reply, a ting from his phone raised his hopes up. "happy birthday lover boy. hope you had some cake". He should scoff at this. How generic. No, it was not him who was grinning like a cat who got the cream. He was a dog. A golden retriever. Not some ally cat.

Most of his friends jumped into the rabbit hole of falling in love as soon as they exchanged their soul with their soulmates. While, on the other hand, Mingyu was fumbling. How do you connect with someone when you don't know what to say? His nickname maybe 'motor mouth' but the motor had an engine failure every time he opened his chat with her. A few minutes of having his soul whooshed into her body isn't enough to get to know her. So, Mingyu started doing what he does best when he doesn't know what to do: he finds a solvable problem. She likes kimchi and is too lazy to make her own? Boom! He makes her homemade because his mother's recipe is obviously superior to whatever readymade kimchi is in the market. She hates putting away her work stuff? Okay, no problem. He can sort them out and make it easier for her to find where she left off. A bit of cleaning, lighting some candles to bring out a cozy vibe, dimming the room, setting up her blanket and pillows exactly how she loves it. He can do all of these. And if it makes him feel a bit giddy inside to imagine her burrowing herself into the blanket and drifting off while watching the latest netflix series, its a secret that that he taking to the grave.

Look, Mingyu doesn't need to be protected. He is a big seix foot guy with biceps bigger than most people's head. And he is used to being teased by the guys. So, when she possessed his body and fell back first into the pool because of a stray basketball to the face, it was nothing new for him to be the butt of every joke made by the guys. it's was kind of irritating but he can just ignore it. However, the mind-blowing moment was when Jeonghan and Hoshi came by to apologise to him. He tried everything to make them spill what she did for a once in a lifetime thing to happen but they would not budge. Again, Mingyu doesn't need protection or to be coddled. It was nice though. It felt nice to know that someone got his back. Even if he doesn't need it. Especially, when he doesn't need it.

Mingyu knows he can be a lot. He is too loud, too tactless, too demanding. Yet, he never feels that way when he talks to her. His every word were given undivided attention. His texts were never left on seen. He felt valued. he felt that he was a person worth knowing. he felt that being himself was enough. Mingyu had a few ex girlfriends and boyfriends. But they never made him feel that being Mingyu, the human was enough. He was always Mingyu, the loving partner or Mingyu, the popular guy or Mingyu, the hot boyfriend. Love and respect were depended on his value; what he could bring to the table. With her, Mingyu had to think that his worth was conditional. Maybe, just the universe didn't choose soulmates to fix their worse half. Rather, maybe soulmates are people who can help you love yourself.

“.....I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” - An Excerpt from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

dividers from @strangergraphics-archive and @saradika-graphics

[raekensluver]

moonlit confessions

description: connecting with theodore nott after escaping the chaos of a slytherin rager.

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: partying, late night confessions, drinking, mentions of alcohol, smoking.

song rec: i'm yours by isabel larosa- "nervous, trip over my words, you're so pretty it hurts."

w.c: 1.4k

an: in my slump era....

the room was a blur of motion and color, the air thick with the scent of spilled alcohol and the haze of cigarette smoke. the pulse of the music thrummed through the floorboards, setting a rhythm that seemed to dictate the movements of the slytherin students as they danced and cheered. you leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the game of beer pong unfold with a detached amusement. mattheo and blaise were a formidable team, their laughter echoing off the walls as they scored point after point, while pansy and draco's competitive banter added a sharp edge to the atmosphere. it was the kind of party that you used to love, but tonight, it all felt a bit too much.

you decided to take a break from the chaos, making your way through the crowded room, looking for a familiar face. your eyes scanned over the faces, some flushed with excitement, others with the beginnings of a hangover. lorenzo berkshire caught your gaze from across the room, his dark eyes twinkling as he leaned in to whisper something to the girl he was flirting with. you rolled your eyes and continued your search for theo, wondering if he had retreated to one of the quieter corners to escape the cacophony.

as you moved through the party, the twins, fred and george, intercepted you with mischievous grins. "looking for someone?" fred asked, his hand offering you a beer. you took it, smiling politely. "theo nott," you replied. "ah, the mysterious one," george said with a wink. "last we saw, he was playing hide and seek with a group of his adoring fans." they both chuckled, their playful teasing a welcome distraction.

you thanked them and continued your search, the music's bassline vibrating in your chest. the party was in full swing, but theo's usual charm and presence were nowhere to be found. the crowd grew denser, a mix of laughter and shouts as the game grew more intense. you felt a gentle tug on your sleeve and turned to see luna lovegood, her eyes wide with curiosity. "have you seen theo?" you asked, raising your voice over the din. she tilted her head, considering for a moment before pointing towards the balcony doors. "i think he went outside," she said, her voice delicate as ever.

you pushed through the crowd and stepped into the cool night air, the stark contrast from the stuffy room making you gasp for breath. the moon was high and full, casting a soft glow over the grounds. you spotted theo immediately, leaning against the castle wall, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. he looked lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

his posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that spoke of his discomfort with the raucous festivities inside. you approached him slowly, the gravel crunching under your feet. "mind if i join?" you called out, your voice low and gentle. he glanced over, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "thought you'd be in there, cheering for the champs," he said, nodding towards the party.

you took a seat beside him, the cold stone wall biting into your back. "not really my scene tonight," you confessed, taking a sip of the beer that had grown warm in your hand. "yeah, me neither," theo said, taking a long drag of his cigarette. the silence between you grew comfortable, filled only by the distant sound of the party and the occasional hoot of an owl.

theo's eyes flickered to you, the embers of his cigarette casting a warm glow on his face. "you okay?" he asked, his voice genuinely concerned. you shrugged, feeling the weight of the night's expectations lifting. "just needed some fresh air," you replied, watching as he exhaled a plume of smoke. the air around you felt charged, as if the very molecules were holding their breath.

his gaze searched yours for a moment before he spoke again. "it's not easy, is it?" theo said, breaking the silence. "keeping up with all of this." you knew he wasn't just talking about the party. the unspoken understanding between you grew stronger with every shared glance. "sometimes i feel like i'm drowning," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. "i know what you mean," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. the warmth of his hand found yours, and for a moment, you felt like you weren't alone in the sea of noise and expectations. "theo," you began, but he leaned in, cutting off your words with a kiss.

his lips were warm and firm, the taste of tobacco faint on his breath. his ring clad hand slid up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you would slip away. you felt your heart stutter in your chest, the suddenness of the kiss taking you by surprise. but you didn't pull away. instead, you melted into him, the warmth of his embrace a comfort you hadn't realized you needed.

his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. theo's other hand rested on your hip, grounding you as the world around you faded away. the music and the laughter were just a distant echo, the only sounds that of your mingled breaths and the crackle of the cigarette between you. it was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party just a few feet away.

you pulled back, your cheeks flushed and your eyes wide with surprise. "theo," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. he looked at you, his own eyes dark with something unreadable. "yeah?" he responded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that was all too familiar.

you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got tangled in your throat. his beauty had always been a silent punch to the gut, leaving you struggling to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences. "you're just… so pretty," you stumbled out, your eyes flicking down to his chest, where his shirt lay open, revealing a hint of his collarbones. it was a clumsy compliment, but it was all you could manage.

theo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "thanks," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. he took another drag of his cigarette, the orange ember burning brightly in the dark. "you're not so bad yourself," he added with a wink. the confidence in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter.

you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting to him. the warmth of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning into it, craving more of his touch. his hand on your neck had left a trail of fire, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you again.

the silence stretched out, filled with unspoken thoughts and racing hearts. you felt your cheeks heat up as you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right ones to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. "theo, i… i just…" your voice trailed off, and you bit your lower lip, feeling your heart thud in your chest.

his smirk softened into a gentle smile, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. the touch sent an electric jolt through you, and you leaned into it, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he was thinking. "i know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "i feel the same."

you took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne and the night air swirling around you. it was a heady combination, making you feel both lightheaded and grounded at the same time. the party inside beckoned, the music and laughter a siren's call that you couldn't ignore. "we should get back," you murmured, not really wanting to leave the sanctuary of his arms but knowing that you couldn't hide away forever.

theo nodded, stubbing out his cigarette against the wall before standing up. his hand found yours, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you as he pulled you to your feet. "yeah, we don't want to miss the grand finale," he said, his voice teasing. you couldn't help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly as you allowed him to lead you back into the mayhem of the party.

[burntheedges]

shadows

Din Djarin x f!reader | 5.4k | ao3 | 18+

summary: you were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

a/n: well, I finally finished it! this is my very late entry for the Monster (S)mash from @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett! my prompt: tentacle monster!Din. 😏 thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing! 🧡

tags/warnings: spooky vibes, flirting, feelings and smut, canon-typical violence (with a bounty), this is a tentacle monster fic and there is smut, so keep that in mind, it's exactly what you think it is, kissing, grinding, fingering, but not with fingers, p-in-v sex, creampie, cuddling, manhandling, except not with hands, if you get my drift, pet names (cyar'ika, mesh'la, good girl), no mention of details for reader other than wearing clothes and being a mechanic

...

At first you thought the Razor Crest might be haunted.

It was the only thing that made any sense. 

Nothing seemed to stay where you put it. Your caf would move half a foot to the right when your back was turned. You’d put your spanner down and lose it, only to look for it and find it sitting atop a crate well out of reach. One morning you woke up and found all of your little trinkets next to your sleeping pad had been shuffled around. You’d squinted at them, suspicious, but none of them had moved again.

You started keeping a sharper eye on things, but you never caught even a glimpse of any movement.

Well. You never saw any of your stuff move, that is.

The first few times you saw… something, you brushed it off as your imagination. You’d probably just been in space too long, right? Trapped on the ship with nothing to look at. Seeing things in the shadows. 

But you would swear to it – something would move just out of the corner of your eye, but when you turned, nothing was there.

Nothing was ever there. Even though the movements sometimes seemed to happen just before you’d find that your stuff had moved around with no warning.

You were starting to question your sanity. You even asked Din if he ever had trouble finding anything on the ship, but he only shook his head. Ok, just a me-problem, then. 

It perplexed you and frustrated you. You found yourself staring at your belongings, tense, as if daring them to move. You were glaring at your ultrasound cleaner when you realized you had no idea how long you’d been doing it and maybe you needed to get out for a bit.

“Din?” you called, sticking your head out of the ‘fresher and looking around for him. 

He grunted from off to your left, but you couldn’t see him. 

“Can we stop somewhere, get some supplies? Before your next job.”

He grunted again, but you could tell he was agreeing that time. You smiled as you ducked back inside the ‘fresher, but the expression was short lived. 

Your ultrasound cleaner had moved three inches to the right. You would swear it. 

…

Din stopped on Hetzal Prime and you took advantage of the large market to stock up on everything you could think you might need, from bacta to fruit to the various bits and bobs you used to keep the Crest in good shape. Din accompanied you for a while before disappearing off into the market on his own.

The fresh air helped. You smiled as you took your time at each stall. When a light breeze rustled your clothing you almost laughed at yourself, thinking about how you’d become certain that the Crest was haunted. Outside on the warm streets of Hetzal Prime, your worries seemed distant.

As you approached the Crest, you smiled again as you walked up the ramp, excited to show Din what you’d found for him at the stall with leather goods. You could tell you were the first one back, though.

When you stepped inside, you stopped and looked around suspiciously. 

Nothing had moved. Everything was exactly where you’d left it. 

You narrowed your eyes as you looked around the ship. “Alright, you,” you said to the Crest, trailing your fingers along one of the walls of the cargo area. “What are you up to?”

The Crest didn’t answer, of course, but you found yourself suddenly on edge, anyway.

“Talking to the ship?” Din’s teasing tone announced his arrival and you turned around quickly, surprised to find him standing at the top of the ramp. 

“How do you always do that?” you said, a bit breathless.

He tilted his head at you. “Do what?”

You shook your head and laughed. “Sneak up on me! Kark, you’re so quiet.” You couldn’t see his face, of course, but something about the angle of his hip and shoulders made you certain he smirked in response. 

He pointed at himself. “Bounty hunter.”

You rolled your eyes and dug around in your bag for his gift. “Yeah, yeah. Ok, Mr. Sneaky Bounty Hunter, I got you something.”

Din took a step towards you. “You didn’t have to–”

“I know, Din,” you cut him off, “but look!” You held out the leather strapping you’d found at the market. “This would be perfect to fix your holster, right?”

He reached out to take the strapping with his left hand while his right dropped down to touch the holster in question, the one with the straps he’d had to reinforce with so much stitching it was more thread than leather, these days. It still looked like it might come apart if you so much as breathed wrong in its direction. 

But Din was still quiet, and you were starting to worry. 

“Din?” He looked up at you, finally and your eyes darted across his visor. “Is it–”

He cut you off by reaching out to grasp your upper arm with his right hand. “It’s perfect,” he murmured, squeezing your arm gently. “Thank you.”

You smiled at him. “Of course. I saw it and thought of your sad holster, I had to get it.” He snorted and squeezed your arm again before stepping around you and moving into the ship. As he did so his hand skimmed down your arm and lightly brushed over yours. You turned to follow him, but your attention was suddenly caught and you stopped. Something had just moved, over in the dark corner of the cargo area – you would swear to it.

“Did you…” you trailed off as Din turned back to look at you. “Did you see something move?”

He shook his head. “Just you.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him into the ship.

…

Later that night you laid out the facts in your mind as you stared at the ceiling of the cargo bay on your sleeping pad.

One: sometimes things in the Crest moved without you seeing them move.

Two: sometimes you thought – no, you knew – things would move just out of the corner of your eye, but you could never catch whatever it was in the act.

Three: nothing moved while you were off the ship.

What if the Crest isn’t haunted? you wondered as you started to drift off to sleep. What if it’s me?

…

When you woke the next morning, you were already far away from Hetzal Prime in hyperspace and on your way to Din’s next job. You realized you wouldn’t be able to test your theory that it was you that might be haunted while you were both stuck on the ship. (Not that you had any idea why – or by what – you might be haunted in the first place.)

By the time you reached Druckenwell, whatever was haunting the Crest – or you – was at it again. It seemed to follow you around the ship, just out of the corner of your eye, messing with you. In fact, you could have sworn that last night, just as you were falling asleep, you’d felt… something… brush lightly down your arm. You shivered, remembering. 

When Din came down the ladder, ready for his hunt, you were staring at the pad that had just completely flipped upside down on its own while your back was turned, lying innocently atop one of the crates. He stopped next to you and looked down.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, tilting his head to look at your face. 

You blinked. Oh, nothing, just staring at this inanimate object that I swear just moved on its own and losing my mind. “Nothing.” You turned towards him and looked him over. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

Din looked down and reached out to flip your pad right-side up. “No more than a few days. They track everybody's movements here, shouldn’t be too hard to find them.”

You nodded. “Alright. I’ll probably stay here.”

He reached out to grasp your forearm and you blinked again, surprised. “Please,” he murmured, turning towards you fully. “Stay on the ship. Alright? We’re not in the best part of town.”

You nodded. “I will, Din.” His shoulders lost some of their tension and you couldn’t help but smile at him. “I’ll be right here.”

Just a few moments later he was gone and you made sure to engage the ground defenses after the ramp came back up. You turned and leaned against it, surveying the cargo hold slowly. “Alright,” you said to the empty ship. “Let’s figure this out, once and for all.”

…

Nothing happened.

You moved through the ship on full alert, darting your eyes from corner to corner, shadow to shadow, looking for whatever had been haunting you for weeks now. You felt silly for carrying your spanner like a weapon as you did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put it down, either.

But nothing moved.

It was almost too quiet, too still. Too normal. You realized, now that you were on the ship without it, that you’d gotten used to more than just your stuff moving around. Suddenly the shadows themselves seemed less dark, less deep. Too still. It took the change for you to notice but until now the shadows had seemed, well. Alive. You didn’t realize how often something aboard the ship made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up until whatever it was stopped doing it.

About 36 hours after Din left on his hunt you were lying on the floor of the cargo hold, exhausted from being so on edge, so intensely aware of your surroundings for so long. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if maybe you’d imagined all of it after all. It was possible, you supposed, that everything had moved because of… turbulence. Maybe space wind? Or something. 

Right? You glared into a shadowy corner, but nothing moved. It can’t all be in my head. You needed to sleep. Maybe this will all make more sense tomorrow. 

…

The next day, Din came back.

You were sitting in his seat, up in the cockpit, when your comm beeped. 

“It’s me,” he said, voice low. “I’m coming in. Wait.”

You leapt up, making your way over towards the ladder. When Din told you to wait, it meant he wanted you out of sight while he got the bounty into carbonite. You waited at the top of the ladder until you heard the hiss of the freezer.

“How’d it go?” you called as you slid down the ladder. You turned to look for Din and found him looking at you. You scanned him quickly but he didn’t look any worse for wear.

“Fine,” he nodded. “No trouble.”

You smiled at him. “Good. Where to next?” 

He brushed past you, moving towards the cockpit, and that’s when you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, just there… you swore something moved in the shadows by the carbonite freezer. Something dark, darker than the shadows themselves. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. 

But when you turned to look, nothing was there.

You shook your head, frowning, and turned to watch as Din disappeared at the top of the ladder. 

What if it wasn’t you that was haunted, or the Crest?

What if it was Din?

…

You spent the hours it took to get to your next stop, to the next bounty, studying Din. So much so that you were pretty sure he noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

It reminded you of the beginning of your partnership, when you’d first joined him on the Crest. You’d flirted with him, of course, almost from the moment you met. How could you resist? At first you’d even thought he was flirting back.

“Look,” he’d murmured, and you’d wondered if you were finally getting somewhere with this man you couldn't get out of your head. But he’d surprised you. “You don’t want this with me.”

You’d scoffed, disbelieving. “I know what I want, Mando.”

He’d sighed, and you could still remember how tired he’d sounded. How weary. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for. If you want to stay, this doesn’t happen.”

He’d sounded so certain, so firm. You didn’t know him well enough at the time to question it, and now? Now, when you were pretty sure you were actually in love with him?

Now all you wanted was to stay on the ship, and not get kicked off for flirting, of all things. Well, you also wanted to solve the mystery of whatever was haunting the ship. Or Din. 

And now you were staring at him, and even though you worried he might be getting the wrong idea, you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

…

On Socorro, Din asked you to stay on the ship again, and you agreed easily. You had some maintenance to do, after all, and you needed to see if your theory was right.

You realized almost immediately that it had to be.

Din stepped off the Crest, and the shadows… lessened. The darkness in the corners of the ship seemed lighter. Nothing moved, nothing shifted, nothing squirmed in the dark. 

It was Din, after all. 

You spent the next two days trying to figure out what to do about it.

…

You were standing in the cargo area when he came back. 

“It’s me,” he gasped over the comm, and you felt your heart start to race at the tension in his voice, at the way he was breathing so heavily. “Wait.”

You turned, ready to hide, but the cargo bay started opening before you could. You darted towards the ladder, trying to make yourself scarce, but it was too late.

“What’s this, Mando?” said a deep, snarling voice. You shuddered. “Got someone waiting at home, do you?”

You looked and saw Mando dragging a large Trandoshan up the ramp. The bounty snarled at you when you made eye contact. “She’s a pretty one, Mando.” Your back hit the ladder and you froze. 

Din growled. “Shut it,” he said, shoving the Trandoshan forward. But it seemed that’s what the other had been hoping for, because he used the momentum to fall forward, breaking Din’s hold on him. He flipped into a standing position and snarled again. 

The next few moments played out in flashes in your mind.

Din, tensing, readying himself to leap towards the bounty.

The Trandoshan, bending his knees, turning away from Din and towards you.

You, scrambling backwards as the Trandoshan launched himself through the air in your direction.

The sudden roar that ripped from Din startled you and tore your eyes from the bounty to him. 

And that’s when you saw it. Saw them. 

Faster than your eyes could register, shadows erupted around him. No, you realized, they were coming from Din. Smoky black tendrils, slithering from under his armor, snaking down his limbs and outward in every direction, so fast it was like a burst of light. In less time than it took you to fully register what was happening they covered the floor and the walls and sped inexorably towards the Trandoshan. 

He never reached you.

The shadows pulled at him, grasping, wrapping him up in a stranglehold. Your jaw dropped as the bounty’s forward motion was arrested, mid air, and you gasped as he was flung into the carbonite freezer. 

Your entire body was frozen as you watched, as you allowed your eyes to trail along the tendrils of shadows back to Din. Din, who was standing there, breathing hard, holding the bounty in place somehow, but staring directly at you.

“Din?” you whispered, but he looked away and pushed himself forward to freeze the bounty. 

You heard the hiss of the freezer and watched as the shadows started to snake backwards the way they’d come, along the walls and the floor, slithering back under his armor. You watched, transfixed, as he seemed to pull all of the shadows that had just covered the cargo area into himself. 

You stepped closer, mesmerized, and as one tendril passed you you felt it caress the back of your arm before it whipped away. 

You gasped. You knew that feeling. You’d felt it before. 

Din turned around to look at you again, and you noticed he started to reach for you but balled his hands into fists, instead. He looked away. You could see his tension in every line of his body. The last few tendrils were snaking back under his armor when you stepped forward and wrapped your hands around his.

“Din,” you said, voice full of wonder. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

He kept his head turned away as he shook it. 

“Din,” you said, insistent. “Look at me.”

He did, slowly. 

“Is this…” you took a deep breath. “Is this why—“

He nodded once, sharp. You stepped closer. 

“Din,” you murmured, reaching up to cup the side of his helmet in your hand. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You should be. Cyar’ika—“

“Listen to me,” you said, interrupting him. “I’m not. So this is why? Because you’ve been hiding this from me?”

Din gave in, finally, and reached forward to grasp your hips in his large hands. You could feel them shaking. He nodded again. 

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t hide from me.” You tried to meet his eyes through the visor and hoped, like you always did, that you were successful.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Din’s voice was gravely and rough. 

“I’m asking for you, Din.” You slid your hands up his arms and behind his neck. “Just you.”

He shuddered and let his helmet gently bump against your forehead. “I want to. But–”

You shook your head. “Trust me, Din.” You stepped forward until you were pressed against him completely. “Don’t hide from me.”

For a moment he didn’t respond, and you started to worry that he would pull away from you after all. 

But then he groaned and surged forward, wrapping his arms around you before spinning you and pinning you to the wall of the Crest.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, voice deep and dark. You shivered. His hands found your hips again and squeezed. “Wanted you, cyar’ika.”

“Din–” you cut yourself off on a gasp when you felt it. Felt him.

First, the gentlest touch to your wrists. They snaked up your arm and you closed your eyes, lost to the feeling of what you now knew was Din touching you in a way you’d never been touched before.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Look at me. Are you–”

You opened your eyes, and you knew what Din must have seen in them when he growled. 

“Din,” you breathed, feeling hot all over. “More.”

He loomed forward, pinning you harder against the wall of the ship. You felt light touches start to brush against your legs and then your neck. You sighed.

Din’s hand came up to cup your cheek and he tilted your face towards the light. You felt him watching you as you panted. “You like this?” he asked. He sounded stunned.

You nodded. He tightened the grip of the tendril around the back of your neck and you gasped. 

“You like this,” he growled, and then the ship was suddenly plunged into darkness when the lights went out. 

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you heard the unmistakable hiss of his helmet seal releasing. 

“Din?” You breathed, and when he spoke you actually moaned at the sound of his unmodulated voice. 

“I’ll make it so good for you, cyar’ika.” Without warning you felt his lips touch your throat and you gasped. “Let me touch you.”

“Please.”

His hands didn’t move but you suddenly felt him everywhere. Soft touches trailed up your thighs and down to your ankles, wrapped around your back and caressed your neck. You felt one trace your cheekbone and sighed. 

“So soft,” he murmured, face buried in your neck. You felt what had to be a mustache tickle you and smiled. “Everywhere. Just like I knew you would be.”

“Can you—“ you gasped when you felt a tendril snake under your shirt and up your spine. “Can you feel? With them?”

Din nodded into your neck. “Not as much as— it’s not the same. Just… textures. And temperature.”

You marveled at that for a moment. “Din,” you said, and he lifted his head. You couldn’t see him in the dark but you imagined he was looking at you. “I want to feel you everywhere.”

He surged forward and captured your mouth in a searing kiss that took your breath away. 

You’d never been kissed like this. You felt his lips and his hands but then you felt them everywhere else, too. Head spinning, you sank into the feeling of being so firmly held in so many new ways. 

Din broke away and started pressing soft kisses along your jaw that made you sigh. You realized your hands were clutching his cape and let it go, sliding your hands upwards. 

“Your armor,” you murmured. But you stilled when your hands didn’t find anything but flightsuit. “Did you–”

“Yes,” he said, and you could hear his smile. “Faster with a little help.”

You smiled, too. You hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. Your hands continued their slide upwards until you reached his neck. “Can I…”

“You can touch me wherever you want,” Din said, voice low. “I want you to.”

Permission granted, you slid your hands into his hair, marveling at the feeling of touching something you’d never seen. 

“I want you to touch me, too, Din,” you said, and smiled when running your fingers through his hair made him shiver. You felt more tendrils start to snake under your shirt and obligingly lifted your arms. Soon, so quickly it took your breath away, you were standing in the dark in nothing but your underwear with a tall, strong, naked Mandalorian backing you into the wall of the ship.

Din kissed you again, and your mind floated away as he touched you. His hands were on your hips but soft touches, soft but firm, held you everywhere. They snaked across your back, tangled around your legs, twisted between your fingers until you didn’t know where you stopped and he began.

A sudden firm touch broke through the overwhelming onslaught of Din as one lone tendril snaked around your torso and teased at your underwear. You broke away from the kiss and gasped. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, cyar’ika,” he murmured, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“Please,” you breathed, and he smiled against your cheek. Your head was spinning at the knowledge that he was touching you there, slipping closer, while his hands hadn't moved. “Din–” It started with a gentle touch over your underwear, nothing like anything you’d ever felt before. It teased at you, stroking so lightly it made you start to tremble. 

You felt your heart race even faster as you tried to split your attention between all the ways he was touching you. His hands held you firmly by your hip and neck while the tendril slipped inside the band of your underwear and downwards, making you gasp. You threw your head backwards as it started to tease at your slit and only the firm grip of Din’s hand on the back of your neck kept you from hitting it against the wall of the ship. 

The tendril slipped inwards and you whined.

Din began to worry a mark into your shoulder as a soft, unfamiliar touch began to circle your clit. Just as you began to catch your breath, a second one slipped inside of your underwear and began to tease around your entrance.

“Din,” you breathed, and he smiled against your neck. “Please.”

“Mmm,” he replied, and you could hear the amusement in it. “Please what, cyar’ika?” He slid his hand from your hip to ass and gripped it firmly, tugging your hips forward to meet his own. 

“In–” your breath hitched as the tendril that had not let up on your clit, not even for a second, pressed down a bit more firmly. “Inside.” 

Din nipped at your neck as he began to push your underwear down. “My hands are a little busy.” He squeezed the back of your neck and let your underwear fall around your feet.

Your cheeks and neck and chest began to burn with the knowledge of what you were about to say. “Not with your fingers.” Your voice was so tentative, so breathy, it was a wonder it came out at all. 

Din stilled, just for a moment, and then surged forward to claim your mouth in a fierce kiss. When he spoke, his voice was almost a growl. “Good girl.” 

You felt some of the tendrils that had been lightly teasing your thighs suddenly surge upwards and you gasped. Gently but firmly they parted your folds and held you open as a few more tendrils joined the one teasing at your entrance. You shivered.

“Right here?” Din murmured into your ear. “Is this what you want?” One of the tendrils pushed inside, just a bit, and you clutched at his shoulders. He used his free hand to lift your leg around his waist. “Tell me.”

You nodded. “Din, yes, please. Inside.” 

He started with one. It pushed its way inside you slowly and sent your mind spinning. It moved so differently than anything you’d ever felt before, so agile, so soft. A second one quickly followed and they began twisting together inside of you in a way that took your breath away.

It took you a moment to realize Din was still murmuring in your ear. “You feel so good, mesh’la. So warm. So soft.” He pressed soft kisses behind your ear as a third tendril joined the others and you moaned at the stretch. “So good for me.”

You lost track of time as he toyed with your clit and filled you in a way you’d never been filled before. You had no idea how much of him was inside of you, only that it felt perfect and delicious, particularly when he began to massage the spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Din,” you said, thrusting your hips forward. You could feel it building inside of you. There wasn’t a single inch of your skin he hadn’t touched yet and it was filling you in a way you never knew you needed. 

You whined as you felt it nearing and Din nipped at your ear in response. “Let go for me, cyar’ika. Let go.”

You did, and the pleasure rushed through you like an avalanche, building from the base of your spine, spiraling upwards until it overflowed from you in a gasp. He worked you through it, praising you, until you began to relax in his arms.

Din released his grip on your neck suddenly, but before you could even begin to make a sound mourning its loss, he used it to grab your other leg and wrap it around his waist, pinning you to the wall. His cock was suddenly pressed against you, right where his tendrils still held you open, and you moaned. 

You felt him start to pull out, his tendrils dragging lightly inside of you, and whined in protest. 

“Shh,” he said, kissing you quickly. The tendrils held you open once more and he thrust forward until his cock was sliding against your open, wet pussy. “I’ve got you.”

On his next thrust, the head of his cock notched against your entrance and you sucked in a sharp breath. You could feel his tendrils guiding him in as he slid forwards, pressing onwards until he was fully inside of you. Even after the way he’d just opened you up the stretch was amazing.

He paused for a moment, and you realized you were both breathing heavily and quickly. “Can I–”

“Move,” you interrupted him, and with a full-body shudder, he did.

Starting slow and building to a rhythm that took your breath away, Din began to move his hips. As he thrust forward again, the tendrils caressed you, all over your body. A few of them left cool, wet marks across your skin and you shivered with the knowledge of where they had been.

You yanked his head up by his hair and even though you couldn’t see him, you pulled him forward into a kiss.

Din groaned into your mouth and you clutched at him, thrusting your hips forward to meet his. The tendril that had again started circling your clit began to move just right, and you almost sighed into his mouth, jaw falling slack.

“Din, I–” you were building towards your peak again, somehow, and like he could tell, his hips began to move faster.

He nipped at your bottom lip. “Yes, cyar’ika,” he breathed. “Come for me.”

Once more, you couldn’t help but do as he said. It felt like being pulled over a cliff, floating through the air with him supporting you everywhere, tendrils gliding along your skin and holding you up. You’d never felt anything like it, this full-body caress that held you firmly as you fell. You cried out his name and his hips stuttered once, twice, before he followed you over.

…

In the time it took for your breath to come back, Din maneuvered you both onto your cot and replaced his helmet, so he could turn the lights back on. You let yourself drift as you cuddled into his side, but as comfortable and sated as you were, you couldn’t turn off your curiosity.

“Can I–”

He laughed, and you smiled into his chest. “Ask.”

You weren’t sure where to start, so you went with the basics. “Do they… come from somewhere?”

Din hummed. “Not… physically.” He tugged you closer and you went easily. “I sort of think of them as shadows. Part of my shadow.”

“Have you always had them?”

He nodded as two tendrils started to stroke along your arm. “My parents – my actual parents – taught me to hide them. So I did, even from the Mandalorians. I could tell, even there, that there was no one else like me.”

You tightened your arm around his middle. You had the sudden urge to go back in time and hug little Din. 

“You know, you said no flirting, but I don’t think they got the message.” You looked down at where two shadowy tendrils were lightly tracing shapes along your naked thigh, the one you had thrown over his hip that Din held in a firm grip with his left hand. You could feel a tendril wrapping itself around your ankle while another wound around your waist. Each one left goosebumps in its wake and you shivered at the delicious feeling of all the ways he was touching you. 

He sighed. “I know,” he said, tone wry. “I was trying to stay away, but I’m too used to being alone on the ship. Not worrying about hiding it here. I know where everything is. And then every time I thought about you…” he ran his right hand up your spine and squeezed your thigh with the other. “I was trying so hard not to flirt or catch your attention that I ended up doing… all of that. I had no idea what to do, I was so afraid of you figuring it out. I’m pretty sure I even moved some of your stuff in my sleep.”

You laughed and propped your chin on your hand, leaning on his chest to look at his visor. “Wait,” you said, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “So you can be sitting up in the cockpit and move something down here?”

He nodded, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I know this ship too well. It’s easier here.”

You bit your lip. You wanted… your next thought felt illicit, even after everything you’d just done together. You wanted to squeeze your thighs together and squirmed against him instead. 

He noticed, of course. “What?” He sounded amused.

“I just… if you can reach me, from all the way up there…” you knew he could see what you wanted. It had to be written all over your face. 

His grip on your thigh tightened. You grinned when he growled. Suddenly the lights flicked off, and you knew he must have done it without you noticing. You heard the hiss of his helmet release and realized neither of his hands had moved from your body. 

You shivered at the desire in his voice, once you could hear it unfiltered. “Oh, cyar’ika,” he murmured, and you felt hundreds of soft, barely there touches ease you into position straddling his hips. “Let me show you."

...

a/n: 👀