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beskarberry · 3 years ago

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The Roar of Thunder

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 12, Book Two Finale

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

He couldn’t console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybe…

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

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Rating: Extra Explicit

Word count: 24.2k SORRY

Content warnings: *deep breath* Dark themes, self loathing, depression, thoughts of suicide, implied parental abuse, drug induced abductions, use of needles, auditory and visual hallucinations, extremely graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, stupid amounts of murder. Oh, and smut! Yay!

A/N: THE EPIC CONCLUSION (???) OF BARGAINING WITH BESKAR! Holy shit I can't believe we've made it this far! I know those tags are super fucking intimidating but there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it's just a very long, dark ass tunnel and you're gonna have to work to get there! THANK YOU ALL so much for joining me on this wildass ride that I already said I was finished with once before lol. There's a lot that I'm leaving off with so there's a very good chance I'll come back to this story in the future, but for now, enjoy!

The Crest had been silent before, for years actually, but never like this.

When it had only been him aboard the old gunship, long before the child and much longer before you, silence had been the Mandalorian’s only companion. In the wake of betrayal, the eerie quiet of hyperspace had returned like a plague; creeping in on innumerable, chitinous legs through the Razor’s solid walls, taking up space like something alive.

Or maybe something dead.

Silence was heavy, viscous and rotting in Mando’s ears. It slithered through his ear canals and down his throat, seeping over his heart like melted tar. It hurt, the silence. Somehow both burning like acid and freezing like ice in his chest and it hurt. It made his bones ache. It made his ears ring in place of the lack of noise, the lack of life and love that he had grown so fond of.

But the silence was better, a hundred, thousand times better than the crying.

Grogu wailed whenever he was awake, sobbing and choking on the tears that streaked down from his cosmic eyes and stopped up his teensy tinsey nose with snot. The little terror never made so much noise in all his life, and he would frequently cry so hard he would tire himself out and fall into a fretful, restless sleep. Din would try everything he could think of, holding the baby, rocking him and shushing him as sweetly as a mountain of metal could; but the child only cried harder for his efforts.

The child wouldn’t eat, barely slept, and wept relentlessly. Din’s shattered heart broke a thousand more times with each fitful sob that tore it’s way out of the tiny toothy mouth of his adopted son, and every day that it continued he thought the agony would kill him.

He knew why Grogu was so heartbroken, though he refused to accept it, still tasting the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue. Dirty Imp. He wanted to be so angry, he still was, but the exhaustion of trying to comfort his son drained every ounce of fight from the mighty warrior’s body. Din’s decision was final, even if it was starting to feel like the worst decision he’d ever made in his entire life. He wasn’t going to let any goddamn Imps near his son, no matter how lovely they were, how beautiful… how wonderful.

Grogu was just going to have to get over it.

But...what if he never does?

Din was cradling the child against his bare shoulder, trying, and failing, for the thousandth time that week to get Grogu to calm down. The Mandalorian rocked slowly, holding the child’s head to his shoulder and petting him softly, running his thumbs over his ears in the way that used to make the little beastie coo and hum. Made him close his eyes and sleep. If… if he could just get the child to sleep, to relax, maybe he could think straight.

When she was here, what would she do? Din didn’t want to think about the monster that he had let into his life, let into his heart, but he couldn’t stop the train of thought as it left his mental station. She would sing. She would sing him a lullaby and he would conk right out. They were his favorite. He groaned, blinking up at the hazy cabin lights as if the Maker was up there with better answers.

They were my favorite, too.

Din sighed heavily against the weeping creature he loved so dearly, then started to hum one of the songs he thought he remembered. Low and slow, a deep, rumbling baritone that once was as warm as honey, but now felt cold, lifeless and dull.

There was the briefest of respites in the child’s crying, only to pick back up with a vengeance at the memory of his lost buir’s lullabies. Assaulted by the uptick in the wailing, Din wracked his brain for the words to those songs. Stars, there were so many, but there was one that sort of… stuck.

“Hey, womp rat, let me see you.” Din pulled the soggy baby from his shoulder, fishing the edge of his cloak around to wipe the child’s flooded eyes. “There he is. Um, how does it go… I have sailed the… no that’s not… I went sailing in the midnight sea, something something…navigator... wait, please don’t cry. Fuck.”

Singing wasn’t one of his strong points, no matter how many times you had told him he had a lovely voice, soft and dark and velvety. No, it was you whose voice was spun from gold, not his. You had brought music into his world, that very first day, sitting in the passenger seat with the child in your lap you had broken into a star-shanty that dissolved every barrier the Mandalorian had erected around his heart and sang love into his world.

Your voice wasn’t just powerful, it was a siege weapon.

Nothing had ever had that kind of power over him, made him want to rip his helmet from his skull and throw it overboard just to hear your voice as it was meant to be heard in all its glory. And then when he had gotten to hear it clear and true, without the modulation of his audio intake processors, he knew he would never hear anything more beautiful again in his entire life.

His Starsong.

Din tried to bring himself back to the very first song, something about a navigator, guiding a mighty ship through the stars. So long ago, when Grogu had fallen asleep from your lullaby and you were just humming the last verses, you had caught Din staring at you and abruptly cut the song short; thinking that the Mandalorian was ready to slit your throat for being so close to his precious cargo. It wasn’t until later, after a victorious but near-fatal hunt that you had been asked to finish it.

You were cradled against his side, tucked into the crook of his arm with your head on his chest, tired and breathless from critical bloodloss and a foolish bout of lovemaking. You had nearly died, and his son had saved your life, given you back to him like a precious keepsake. Din had felt your breathing slow way down, watched your eyes close from behind his visor, and suddenly he just had to know.

How does the song end?

Mmm? Why, do you need a lullaby too?

No, just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.

Din stopped rocking the child, struck fast by the memory. Grogu was starting to tire himself out, but the tears still flowed, dampening the flack under his squishy baby face.

When you leave.

He had made a deal with you, one hunt and you were off the hook, spared from carbonite and the Guild’s vengeance; but everything about you enchanted him so much that he nearly broke his own Creed just to feel your body against his, feel your lips on his face, your hands in his hair. Even before he heard your singing his ears had fallen in love with your voice. Maker, the sounds that you had made; the soft little pants, the choked cries, the moans. He had to have you.

He had to hear you.

Ensorcelled by your siren tongue he took you for himself, gave himself to you in the sacred way his Creed demanded should have come after riduurok, but he didn’t care. The first time he filled you was heaven, an addiction more fixing than spice. In that moment he was too far gone to try to explain to you that The Way dictated he was bound to you now as your protector, but would have understood if you had told him no. Told him to leave you alone, let you get back to your life. But you had only sunk your claws deeper, given yourself more, entwining yourself with him more closely than the beskar that had been forged around him.

When you leave.

You’d become protective and caring and dangerous, a weaponized testament to the love you’d grown for your two boys. You hunted with the fury of thunderstorms, defended your kin with your own life, loved them like no one else ever had and it was beautiful. Din’s foundling became your foundling, and soon you’d become the foundling’s buir, bound to his little clan by the sacred ceremony of riddurok. Indivisible, inseparable. A pack, a clan, a family.

A lie.

A dirty, filthy, soul crushing lie.

A fucking Imp had been right under his nose, in his fucking bed, whispering in his ear that he was loved, that he meant something. Anger burned behind his eyes at the memories that he once cherished, making their corners sting. Grogu picked up on it instantly, his almost-closed eyes flying back open with another shriek. Din gave up. He couldn’t take it anymore. The child was gently lowered to his pram, still sniveling but at least tired enough that maybe he would fall asleep soon.

With squinty, flooded eyes the baby glared up at his adopted father, his ears nearly falling off his head with how droopy they were. He sank his adorable little talons into the fabric of Din’s wrist, keeping him hostage so the tiny green terror could break his fathers heart just one more time.

“Bubu?”

“Yes?”

Grogu grumbled with a scowl, looking away from Din’s exhausted face, trying to find somebody else. “Bubu.”

Din had heard the baby use the shorthand of buir for the first time when he was storming up the Crest’s ladder after abandoning you on Elgon Station, hatred and disgust deafening him to the sound of his son's first almost-word. When he was blasting away from the sudden starcruiser, he had heard the baby shouting the sweet phrase over and over and over again, his little voice choked with desperation; and he knew that it wasn’t meant for him.

It was meant for you.

Din shook his head, unhooking Grogu from his sleeve. ”Sorry kid, It’s just me now.” Fighting the mist forming in his eyes, he closed the lid, sealing the pram with an ugly hiss at yet another betrayal. Sorry kid.

For everything.

Exhausted and broken, Din flopped down in the little sleeping nook that he had once shared with you, sinking into the bedroll. The Tatooinian bed roll. You had picked up the soft, plush foam mattress on your shopping excursion through the desert bazaar, spitting fire about the quality of the bed he had grown used to.

It was your bed roll.

Din was too tired to yank the thing off and shred it like he had been meaning to, at least that’s what he had been telling himself for the last few cycles. The reality was that it still smelled faintly of you, a scent that was losing its strength with each passing jump through hyperspace. Sleep made him just as restless as his son usually was now, often waking him up in a flop sweat that was slowly replacing the scent in the mattress with wallowing anguish.

Not even an hour after he had laid down he woke up in one such panic, sweat turning to ice on his brow and down the expanse of his chest, and on instinct he reached for you.

But you weren’t there.

When you leave… her. You left her, Djarin. You left her behind. Left her to die. It’s your own fault.

Agony and despair and guilt were his only bedfellows now, grinding against his ribs and chewing through the lining of his stomach. He reached up for one of the thin, utilitarian blankets that he kept in the mesh netting high above his head, maybe more to wipe the sweat off than for comfort. Comfort had tricked him and told him lies. Comfort had made him weak, made him blind to the insurgence that laid next to him at night. Comfort was not something he deserved.

The threadbare blanket fell down from its spot, bringing something else down with it.

Bantha wool.

Growling, Did made to throw the fleecy thing away, hoping it would take his painful memories with it, but the smell of you was all over it. Strong as if you were right there with him, as if he held you in his arms again.

He stopped fighting, hugging the desert fabric to his chest and burying his face in it, breathing in the scent of you as if without it he would suffocate and die. He held the air in, feeling it flow through the serrated hole where his heart used to be. The breath in his lungs let itself out, ragged and broken and threatening.

Alone in his little bunk, the best hunter in the parsec swallowed his sobs down, terrified of waking the baby. The scent of you brought him back to that moment, the moment that he’d snapped. You’d been trying to tell him something, but he had been consumed by his anger, blinded by his hatred of the Empire and the threat that it posed to his son and the memories of what it had done to his people. The Empire that you served.

His body shook at the memory of your confession, I am not an Imp! That’s not who I am anymore! You’d shouted, no, roared, concealing the usage of some kind of… interference device that must have been hidden on your person. His visor had flickered and his audio processors blew, nearly deafening him with feedback. The damage done to his helmet was extensive, and like nothing he’d ever seen, the wires and microchips crushed by some phantasmal force. It took days for him to repair, but it was a welcome distraction from his painful memories.

That’s not who I am any more.

Din chewed his lip so hard he tasted blood, sucking it back down as not to stain the cherished blanket. Did I make a mistake? No. An Imp doesn’t change its plasticast… does it? Even… even one as strong and beautiful as her. He breathed the scent of you in deep, curling up on his cot until his knees touched the wall, digging up yet another tainted memory.

The memory of him kneeling before you, of him asking for your hand.

You don’t know me! You’d sobbed, waving around a sword of pure beskar inches from his throat. You don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve done!

You’d told him right then and there that you weren’t to be trusted, but... it was too late.

He was in love.

Bedazzled in a pair of opalized fangs far too lavish for such a warrior, he’d sank to his knees at your feet, asking for your hand, or your judgement.

You may now ask him to swear his oaths, and should they please you, you may remove his helmet. However, should he dishonor you, you may remove his head.

It was almost unfair, such an ultimatum of love or death.

You broke every single vow you swore to her, Djarin. How are you any better than an Imp? She loved you, and you threw her out like garbage. You purged that love from your life, forsaking the one that you called ner jate’kara, your guiding star. Without her, you will die in the darkness that you have brought upon yourself.

Without love there was only death left for him, though there wasn’t a single being in this parsec that would be capable of killing him…

Except-

Himself.

The brakes had long gone out on his mental trains, and horrifying clarity wrenched his eyes open in the darkness of the bunk. Maybe death would feel better than the heartbreak he was suffering from now. Maybe giving himself up to the cold embrace of the void would feel less damning, less crushing.

To leave this universe on his own volition, and not on the valorous battlefield, was considered the lowest form of dishonor a Mandalorian could endure. Dar’manda. But… that’s what he was. An honorless cur, an oathbreaker. Though his bond to you had been rendered completely fucking worthless, he was still bound to the baby as his father.

Though...maybe…

Maybe he shouldn’t be.

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

To his people, his real people like he was supposed to do eons ago.

What is it?

It is a foundling. And by Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.

Din had taken that last line to heart. The last memory he had of his own father still haunted his nightmares, the image of his parent’s eyes glassy with frightened tears as they closed the bunker door over him right before the droid army took their lives.

Decades later an opportunity had been presented to him, an opportunity to give this child a father to grow up with; though the child would likely live for centuries after Din died from either old age or, more likely, a bullet hole. His unknown people had not been good enough to protect the baby, to keep him out of harm's way and out of the grasp of the Empire, but a Mandalorian would be.

Or, so he had told himself.

Somewhere out in the vastness of space were potentially more little green creatures that were missing one of their own, and he had selfishly stolen Grogu away from them to live out his fantasy of being a father.

No.

It wasn’t right, it hadn’t been from the start.

And now he was being punished for it.

One more hunt, one last credit haul to fuel his ship up, and he would return the baby to his people, giving Grogu’s real parents every cent he had left in the most desperate hope that they would forgive him. Forgive him for stealing a child.

And then.

Then it would be over.

There would be nothing left for him.

As if there was anything left for him now.

It took a couple of cycles to convince yourself that it wasn’t a nightmare, and even longer to come to terms with your waking reality. Your wayward journey through the stars was over just as quickly as it had begun, and you were right back at square one where you had started.

Inside of you a dull, constant ache had settled in the spot where your heart used to be, bitter and stinging against the anger that was growing in your ribs and the nausea festering in your guts. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing the rage-twisted face of the man you had thought you loved, thought you trusted; the image worse than any nightmare. You ran through the scenario over and over and over until it drove you to silent, secretive tears.

Years of learning to track, hunt, and kill quarry was only a blip on your mental radar compared to the memories you had made with the Mandalorian and his son during the short time you had known them. You wanted to remember the good things, like the sweet laughter of the child or even the funny, gross-ish noises that Din made when he ate. Anything but those furious, hateful eyes and bared teeth, but that was all you saw whenever you so much as blinked.

Behind your closed eyes was the face of rage, but when your eyes were open it was even harder to convince yourself this was your reality, because you kept seeing… something. A flicker here, a flash of blue there. The feeling that someone was standing next to you when you were in an empty room, as rare as that was now that you were back under the ever-watchful eye of the Admiral.

Though your eyes were playing tricks on you, that wasn’t the strangest thing you’d noticed about the old dragon. Aside from the Admiral there wasn’t a single member of the skeletal crew that you recognized, though almost all of them wore some form of duraplast covering their faces. Every bilgerat you had grown up with had vanished, as well as most of the officers that you’d actually grown to like, including Chief Wellers, the engineering deck staffed with more droids now than people.

It was strange to say the least, and lonely, being left with only one recognizable face that you loathed. The unfamiliar officers glared at you while you were being led up the Wyvern’s wide entryway days ago, making judgemental passes at your hunt-fucked attire. To better match the remaining crew you were stripped of your gear and weapons and given a fresh, beige-and-black uniform that rode up under your arms and chaffed your thighs. And to add insult to injury you had even been given a stupid little hat to top it off. You hated it, but at least it had pockets. Pockets full of secrets.

Wrapped up in the red silk kerchief that you had stolen on Canto Bight, the pair of beloved fossils weighed heavy against your thigh, a piercing reminder of another life. Why are you keeping them? He left you, dumbass. He’s not coming back. True as that may be, you weren’t ready to let go, the wound was still too fresh, too recent. You missed those strange boys from the stars, and the tiny collection of trinkets was all you had left of a life that had actually meant something to you.

A set of beskar ear cuffs, a red pocket square, and a pair of krayt’s teeth.

An entire lifetime sitting in the palms of your hands.

You had one in your hand now, the opalized bone glittering under fluorescent lights while you used it to pick at the undersides of your nails, the priceless gemstones reduced to cleaning tools. Glancing up at the ship's clock you calculated how long you had before Forescythe would come around to ‘wake you’, as if you’d slept at all in the last three days.

The Wyvern’s Tongue was surprisingly still docked at the station you had been abandoned on, a scorching reminder of your trauma every time you passed a porthole or walked the bridge, stuck to the Admiral’s side like he had you on a leash. It was difficult to tell what they were loading the ship up with, but every time you saw the station you caught another massive skiff-load of something with the word HAZARDOUS in big yellow letters being hauled aboard from one of the other starships that had docked nearby.

You heard footsteps outside your spartan quarters, getting closer then fading away. Stormtrooper. Though you weren’t being kept prisoner, exactly, the constant vigil between the Admiral and the troopers left you little-to-no privacy, with only the smallests gaps in their overlaps. The rotation of the guards through the hallways was militant with its timing, and it wouldn’t be much longer before you had all of their routes memorized.

The long-strided gait of the Admiral echoed far down the hallway, and you snuck your fangs into your pockets so you could make yourself presentable. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot. Barely a courtesy knock was given before the detestable man was letting himself into your room, running through the day’s itinerary after a hastily given ‘Good morning, Sparrow.’

Sparrow. Your deadname was dropped frequently, scalding your steeled ears each time, though rarely was it said with anything short of admiration. You almost wanted to be scolded, and you should have been for dissenting for as long as you did, but the way the Admiral talked to you was friendly, dangerously friendly; and the sweet-talking only made you resent him more.

“Today is the last day we will be docked at Elgon, we’ve nearly finished loading up on the...supplies, and will be in hyperspace soon. This old girl’s been fitted with an updated hyperdrive, so we’ll make the trip to our destination in good time.” You nodded, avoiding conversation. It was best that you spoke to him as little as possible to perpetuate the lie that you had become tone deaf, and you could tell that it drove him insane. Good, fuck your shit to hell. He gestured for you to follow him on his rounds, walking alongside him like an obedient puppy. “Come along, little bird, there is much for us to do today.”

“Yessir.”

He froze and turned back at you, a pouty face stretched grossly across his gaunt features. “Now now, Sparrow, I know you’re upset that you’re not my comms officer anymore, but you’re home again, you can drop the formalities when we’re in private.” He crossed the short distance to you, placing his hands on your shoulder and digging his thumbs into the deep-set bruises that he couldn’t see. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

You wished you could vomit on command, spew acid like a voxyn and melt the Admiral's face clean off, peel his smile right off of his skull. You knew what he wanted, but you would rather cut off your own tongue than give it to him. But you knew what would happen if he didn’t get what he wanted, your skin crawling at repressed memories. He left you no choice.

“Yes… father.”

“There, doesn’t that sound better? Almost makes me feel like you never even left.”

No it wasn’t better, it was horrid. You forced your face to stay neutral, but behind your eyes you were seething. It must have been the anger welling up inside you that made you see something flicker over the Admiral’s shoulder. Something that definitely wasn’t there.

You were going to get off of this ship if it fucking killed you.

Of course it had to be Tatooine.

The dirtball of a planet lit up the viewport in front of Din, bathing the cockpit in sickly, lemon-yellow light. The Crest slid easily through the thin atmosphere on well-tuned wings, coasting over the infinitely stretching desert until the familiar skyline of Mos Eisley rose into view.

Mando took the old gunship in with rehearsed accuracy, alighting gracefully on the landing pad in the center of hangar 3-5, though not even the roar of the Razor’s engines could drown out the high pitched argument already echoing around the circular space.

“You gotta lotta nerve showing up here again, Mando!” Peli barked, tapping her foot like a disgruntled hare when the Mandalorian started down the ramp. She took a big breath to really launch into a tirade when she saw the foundling, with his huge sad eyes and limply drooping ears. “What… what’s wrong with the baby? Is’ee sick or somethin’?” Din started to hand her the child, but she raised her arms defensively. “Look, he’s cute’n all but I-I don’t need a sick kid on my hands.”

“He’s not sick, he’s... fine.” Din said in a low, level voice, devoid of almost all emotion. Somewhat reluctantly the mechanic took Grogu from him, and the little green baby curled up in a ball of sadness, hiding his head under her chin.

“Alright, if you say so. I don’t mind watchin’ him as long as he don’t upchuck on my jumpsuit.” She glanced past the iron giant’s shoulders, her eyebrows raised almost comically. “Where’s the other one? You get rid of her finally?” Din was still for a moment, then gave a single, slow nod. “Good. Bout time someone turned that Imp in. I’m tellin’ ya, she cheated at sabbac like-”

“How did you know she was an Imp?” Mando asked, suddenly alive.

“I have my ways.” She chided. Din cocked his head vehemently above stiffened shoulders. “Alright alright don’t look at me like that, geez. When she showed up here it was in a Shimian pleasure cruiser, y’know one of those fancy, expensive lookin’ ones. Obviously stolen. She wanted me to take it, even offered to pay me just to take it off’er hands, but I wasn’t gonna fall for that. She had alotta credits too, almost enough to talk me into it, almost! That’s when she pulled out an Imperial officer’s insignia, pure aurodium and easily worth a fortune.”

Peli paused to adjust Grogu, smoothing a wayward ear out of her face. “If she’d’a picked it off a corpse there’s no way she would’a kept it. Nuh-uh, would’a sold that baby the first chance she got. Nah, it meant something to her once, or maybe it was just the last bargaining chip she had, I don’t know.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Either way, I took the token an’ fenced the ship, made alotta cash that day. If she didn’t cheat at sabacc so damn much I’d invite her over more often!” The mechanic snorted a laugh, then a serious look crossed her face. “Hey, um, Mando… you weren’t… you weren’t too rough with her, were ya? When you turned her in? She wasn’t a bad egg, y’know. Bit snarky but- ”

Leather fists creaked at the end of armored wrists, trying to strangle the pain that was constricting his heart. “Can you watch the child or not?”

Surprised by his harsh tone, Peli nodded quickly and watched the Mandalorian spin around on his heel and storm back up the ramp into the Crest without another word. The confused mechanic looked down to Grogu with a playful scowl. “What’s his deal, huh, womp rat?” The child cooed sadly, hiding his face. “Oh, that bad, huh? Wanna tell me about it over some bantha burgers? They’re fresh! C’mon, you look like you’re wasting away, dad not feeding you right?”

“Pa..tu...”

With the child’s care secured, Din started his preparations for the hunt. Dressing-down was second nature to him, and going through the motions helped him clear his mind, tune him into his natural state of being. At the armory, he popped fresh cartridges into his blasters, refilled the slug-strap that crossed his chest, and picked out a handful of vibroblades.

He reached into the bottom of the locker, trying to dig out a whetstone when he heard the sweet ringing of ironsong where his wrist armor chimed against a beskar mask. He’d stashed the engagement present as far down in the armory as he could, somewhere that it would remain hidden, somewhere that it couldn’t stare back at him; the eyeless visage glaring daggers of judgement straight through his skull.

Oathbreaker.

Growling, he shoved the slab of steel out of the way, knocking it into something else in the bottom of the armory: Imp guns.

He stopped digging for a moment, cocking his helmet at the collection of grimey, rust-ridden armaments that were dirtying up the bottom of the cabinet. Din pulled one of the standard-issue blasters up into the slanted daylight coming in from the open door, turning it over in his hands. The guns had been collected on Nevarro from a decrepit squad of stormtroopers caught harassing townspeople for information on the missing mandos.

Stormtroopers that you had killed.

Imps killing Imps? That… doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill her own people? He shook his head. Why would they abduct children or blow up planets? Killing their own isn’t that far-fetched. He tossed the blaster back into the locker, covering the beskar faceplate with the rest of the Imp accessories until it was back out of sight.

Finished with arming himself, he took a deep breath and held it in his chest for as long as he could, letting it out slow and steady. He fished the singular bounty fob from his belt, the tracking light flashing with a rhythmic candor. Nearby, but not close. That means they’re probably in town.

This will be easy.

The hour was late, or as late as it could be in a place where ‘day’ and ‘night’ were only concepts represented by the arms of a clock, but it was perfect for what you needed to do. You were dressed and your pockets were stuffed, bag slung over your shoulder exactly as it had been the first time you’d ran away from home. Five fifteen, three minutes before the next pass of guards.

Your plan was flawless. The Wyvern’s labyrinthian hallways and service spaces would lead you to the hangar bay just as they had years ago, it was just a matter of doing so unseen. If you played your cards right you would miss each and every patrol until you could snag another interceptor and get the hell outta dodge. The Wyvern was scheduled to disembark Elgon at oh-seven-hundred, making this your last chance to escape before the ship was swallowed by the stars.

Five sixteen.

Patting your front pockets where your fangs were hidden, you paced the room, running through the pathway again and again. Straight down the hallway past the guard quarters, left at the galley. Unscrew the loose air vent at the end of the breezeway and take that to the main air shaft ‘til you reach the mid deck, then it’s a straight shot-

D̵̫͊o̷n̸’t̷ lea̸̒ve̷.

You stopped your pacing and blinked, glancing around the room for the source of the voice. When you saw no one, you sighed and rubbed your temples. Not this shit again. The incessant voice of your nightmares had stopped being scary and started being just downright annoying. You’d started to get good at ignoring the sound, though it just loved keeping you up at night.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

Five seventeen. Your shoulders crackled when you rolled them, trying to loosen the bruised tissue that the Mandalorian had put in their joints. Asshole. You were about to start counting seconds when you heard the troopers boots echoing faintly from down the hallway. Right on t-

D̷͊o̶n̵͗’̴̕t̷͛ ̵͔͘ḻ̷̛eav̵e!

“Fuck off, spooky.” You hissed to no one in particular. “I’m blowin’ this popsicle stand and ain’t no goddamn ghost gonna keep me here a minute longer.” The bootsteps got louder until they were right outside your door, then continued down the hallway.

Five eighteen on the dot. You waited until the footfalls disappeared entirely, then snuck your way out through the bulkhead door, careful not to make a sound. The long, low-lit corridors echoed with the whirring innards of the Wyvern, but nothing else. Not even your bootsteps.

Much quieter than the ghosts that haunted your dreams, you slinked down the hallway, past the closed door of the guard quarters, hugging the wall by the galley until the five twenty-one patrol passed, then flew to the air vent on the far side of the kitchen.

A knife would have worked better, but a fossil fang was good enough to undo the corner screws that kept the grate in place. You slipped down the air duct right before the five-twenty-three patrol rounded the far corner. Waiting until they passed so they wouldn’t hear you, you belly-crawled down the narrow shaft until you dropped into the main air supply.

Wind rushed around you, delivering precious oxygen to every corner of the ship, but even over the near-howling gales you could still hear Spooky giving you a ration of crap.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve! ̵͒S̷tay̴ ̸̔st̷͐ay ̴s̷t̵̂a̷y̵̾ s̷͂ta̵̍y

“You fucking suck!” You spat, hobbling through the just-too-short-to-stand-up ventilation. “Keep your damn pie hole shut unless you have something useful to-”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

You hit the brakes, possibly sacrificing precious time. “Who, Forescythe? He’s gotta get his beauty rest, that old fuck’ll be down at least til-”

N̵͒ò̶, n̴o̸t̶ ̴̓hi̵m, Din.

Ice coagulated in your veins before it was replaced with molten rage. “Oh. Oh ho HO.” You laughed, barely keeping your voice down. “Now… now you’ve done it, Spook. Now I know you’re not real, and I’m just completely batshit! Off my rocker!” You soldiered on, a manic grin on your face. “He is definetly not fucking coming. And if you’d been paying attention you’d know that too.”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming!

“Blow me.” You hustled through the ductwork until you were above the entryway to the hangar. The interceptor bay was on its own air supply in case a magcon failed and vacuumed all the air out, a separate system from the one you were in now. That way the rest of the ship would still have precious oxygen in the event of catastrophe, all you had to do now was get through the door.

The five-thirty-five trooper plodded sleepily along, tilting his egghead back to sip at a steaming mug of caf. What is the point of having a guard rotation if they’re not even awake. Once he’d rounded the corner you set to work on the air vent, quickly spinning the threaded ends of the screws around between your fingers until they clattered to the floor far below.

Carefully you moved the grate out of the way and dropped to the decking in front of the hangar door. Bingo! You dashed to the access panel, slapping your hand on the wide palm reader. Go go go go! The blue laser light slid back and forth, back and forth, lazily reading your fingerprints. Come on!!!

The panel went red. ENTRY DENIED.

“Cocksucker!” You slapped the screen, demanding it take another reading, but instead it flashed another line of text: SPW-7042 PRE-EXISTING MEDICAL CONDITION DETECTED, ENTRY BARRED DUE TO HAZARDOUS RHYDONIUM EXPOSURE.

“‘Scuse me?!” you poked at the screen like an geriatric Gungan, “The hell do you mean rhydonium? What fucking lunatic loads a starship up with rhydonium?! Whatever, fuck your rhydonium nonsense you big goddamn hunk of junk, let me through!”

A third line of text ticked across the screen: CONDITION: PREGNANT.

You BARKED you laughed so hard. “Wooooow, that starfuel must be fuckin’ with your circuits, shitscraps, I’ve been chipped since I was thirteen. Ain’t nobody home.” Loud footsteps echoed further down the hallway, times up. Cursing silently, you poked at the screen until the faulty reading cleared, then booked it in the opposite direction of the incoming trooper. Your plan to escape had been thwarted by the Wyvern’s garbage security protocols, and without another way through you were stuck until the ship made it out of hyperspace.

In a week.

Somebody had once equated Mos Eisley to a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and the description couldn’t possibly be more on the nose. A multitude of shady market-goers hustled and bustled down the desert streets, kicking up sand and dust as they went. The Tatooinian bazaar was one of the few places that the Mandalorian blended in, amid the multitude of colorful characters the armored hunter was practically invisible.

Din ambled through the streets, not even trying to be sneaky, though behind his beskar he was suspicious of everyone that passed him by. He wasn’t too concerned about his last bounty, almost nonchalantly making his way to the cantina where the bail jumper would certainly be at with their nose buried in either a deck of cards or a shot of spotchka. Or both.

It was easy to follow the street signs to the local dive bar, making him feel almost lazy with how little effort this would take. Feeling bored almost to the point of pessimism, he took a deep breath, the filtered air bringing with it the smell of street food.

He stopped, holding the air in his lungs before forcing it out quickly, taking another handful of deep sniffs. Though he wasn’t eating much these days, or sleeping, or anything else that humans needed to do in order to function properly, the aroma of whatever was being cooked distracted him until it had his full, undivided attention.

Din followed his nose off of the path he was taking to the cantina, his helmet tilting back slightly with each strong inhalation, taking him down the busy main street until he spotted the source of the familiar spice.

Over a large fire a spit was turning with what looked like oversized root vegetables, slathered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. Mando cocked his bucket at the rotisserie, ignoring the chef that was trying to hassle him into buying something, trying to figure out what was so familiar about it.

Then it hit him.

You.

Many moons ago, he’d watched you book it out of the safety of the hangar and dash towards the delicious street food while the Mandalorian began picking off the hunters that were still chasing you. You’d barely even looked up from your meal as the bounty hunter dragged a squirming Trandoshan down an alleyway and slit it’s scaly throat. It wasn’t until a whole drop through hyperspace later that Din had found out that you had bought him one of the grilled veggies as well. Before you even knew his name.

Mando, you never ate your breakfast.

You… got me breakfast?

Yes? I said I would.

Thank you… you’re very kind.

And don’t you forget it!

The memory flooded his synapses with forgotten joy before being replaced with scalding fury. He shook his head, storming off down the busy main road, dead set now on finding his quarry. How dare you let that fucking Imp continue to distract you. Get to work.

The doors to the cantina nearly broke off when the living locomotive plowed through them, barging his way through the sleazy patrons towards the bar. Lively music and inhalant smoke hung heavy in the air, shrouding the far corners of the saloon and the secrets they may have kept hidden.

Din was too annoyed with himself to properly check his surroundings, but whatever, it’s just Mos Eisley, he could whip every fucko in this joint with his hands tied behind his back if it struck his fancy. He strode up to the bartender with an air of disgruntled confidence so strong it rivaled the smoky atmosphere with its potency. The Mandalorian fished the final bounty puck out of his many pockets and slammed it down on the counter, its holoprojection wavering in the heady smog.

“Have you seen this man?” Din snapped at the bartender, pointing at the weasley-looking face of the bail jumper shining above the counter.

The barkeep, a shaggy-looking Toydarian with a torn wing, eyed the beskar clad warrior suspiciously. “Hmm. Can’ta’ say’a have.'' he huffed, clearly lying.

“Are you sure?” Din asked, sliding a couple of credits over the counter. “Maybe this will jog your memory.” The Toydarian snatched the coins off the counter with shovel-clawed fingers, stowing them away on his belt.

He leaned forward, the acrid smell of alcohol and rotting teeth quickly overpowering the stench of tobacco. “Maybe I see’s ‘im, maybes I don’t…” Another couple of credits clinked to the counter and immediately vanished from view. “Ya, I see’s ‘im.” He stroked his thickly bristled chin, seemingly deep in thought. “You know what? You’a seem’a like a good guy, why don’t’a I take’a you to ‘im, hmm? Come come come.”

The creature’s wings flapped unevenly as he rose off the stepstool he was using behind the bar, floating through the cantina towards a door obscured by an ornate drapery. Din started to follow, but stopped, feeling his hackles rise on the back of his neck. Should I actually follow this guy? Maybe it’s a trap. He pulled the fob out from his belt just enough that he could see the blinking light flashing quicker than before. I’ll be fine, let’s just get this over with.

The Toydarian opened the door behind the curtain, and immediately the reek of Spice wafted up from the hidden cellar. Drug den, great. That would make sense, what better way to spend your bail money than Huttese Spice, wasting away in the dark. Cautiously he made his way down the stone steps, the light of the cantina fading away as the door started to close behind him. Before it shut, he knew he heard the barkeep mutter something under his breath.

“Coo ya maya stupa…” You weak minded fool.

Din whirled at the insult, but the door had already slammed shut, echoing loudly through the hollow passageway. Cursing, Mando continued down the stairs into the spice den, the aroma of the coveted drug growing stronger with each step until it was making him nauseous. At the foot of the stairs was a low, poorly lit room, the stucco ceiling strung over with dark purple lanterns that steeped the den in near-darkness. Strewn about the floor, the inebriated lounged on pillows or rugs, or even the bare stone, plumes of narcotic smoke dancing over their shadowy faces, obscuring most from view.

Pulling the fob out again, he hovered the tracking device over each intoxicated body, waiting for the light to change green. His search took him further and further into the basement until he had to switch on his headlamp just to be able to see. At the farthest end of the room the last possible person was slumped against the wall, and the hunter crossed the remaining distance to the limp figure, grabbing them roughly by the shoulder and hauling them into the light.

The dead man’s withered head snapped from its twiggy neck and rolled away into the dark, making Din nearly throw the corpse to the ground, the body rattling in the manacles that chained it to the wall. Startled, he backed away quickly, too quickly, backing into something sharp. He tried to whirl around on his sudden assailant, but the stabbing pain of an addict’s needle immediately pierced through the thick layers of his duraweave and into his flesh.

Reacting on fear more than training, he lashed out wildly, firing his blaster with one hand and his flame thrower with the other. The wall of fire lit the cellar up brighter than daylight, illuminating the alien faces of the falsely-inebriated attackers that had been lying in wait for the barkeep to send another fool into their trap. Fearing for his life, for his son, Din battled his way through the many hands grabbing at him, but even in his fury he started to feel his pulse slowing down, reacting to the heavy dose of Spice he had been pricked with.

The room began to spin, his eyes began to lose sight, and it wasn’t until his skull cracked against the dirty floor that he realized his helmet had been removed in the fray, damning him forever in the eyes of his Creed. As the world began to fade away he felt himself get kicked over onto his face and a pair of cuffs locked around his wrists.

“Skocha-kloonkee, the Imps’a gonna pay’a lot’sa money for you, mister bucket man. Hehehe, should’a known better than’a to go into a spicehole alone.”

Before Din lost consciousness entirely, his spiked mind conjured up an image of you, lounging in the passenger seat with Grogu seated on your lap, watching the stars streak by overhead. He tried to reach you, his arms straining weakly against his fetters, trying to touch the memory of you one last time. You turned to him and smiled, holding the baby’s fat little paw up and waving it at him.

“Beans, say bye-bye to papa.”

The hour was still early, but you were already dressed in your stupid little monkey suit, ears clad in your empty beskar cuffs, pockets full of fabric and fangs; backpack abandoned entirely to avoid suspicion. Today you would be finding out where the Wyvern was destined for when she left port, but you didn’t really care. All that mattered was that the hangar doors would be open during the myriad of activities.

Today was your chance to escape.

*Beep!* Dropping from hyperspace in: one hour.

The navigational warning chimed throughout the expansive corridors of the Wyvern, echoing pragmatically in your spartan room, and you danced a little jig with excitement. Toodle-oo, fuckos! Consider this popsicle stand: blown!

In your abysmally small quarters the fresher area left much to be desired, but the Admiral had at least done you the decency of giving you a private room with it’s own washing space, as tiny as it was. The shower, sink, and potty all shared the same square footage, and the mirror on the wall was barely big enough to fit your face.

You were working on your appearance now, making yourself presentable before father dearest came around. The more you looked like you had accepted your position as crewmate, the less likely he was to notice you go missing when you slipped away. You combed your hair with your fingers, brushing it back as to more easily seat the dumb little hat on your head. Turning away from the mirror, you picked the hat up off the sink and started to put it on, but nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw someone else's eyes staring back at you.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve.

Angrily you stomped your foot, startled by the flickering, faceless apparition that wasn’t physically there when you turned around. “Shit balls of motherfucking hell! I can’t get off‘a this ship fast enough! I can’t get away from you fast enough!” You smushed your hat on your head, glaring at the bluish, indeterminate figure.

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“Listen here, you ectoplasmic bitch.” You hissed with fury, stabbing your pointer finger at the warped image in the aluminum. “I don’t know who you are, or where you’re getting your ‘information’ from, but he ain’t coming!” The deep-cut wounds of heartbreak that had started to scar over split open again, spilling fresh sorrow down over your ribs. “I-I don’t need him anyway. I can handle this myself.”

He n̵ee̵d̶s y̵ó̴̧u̶.

“Bullshit!” You stormed away from the mirror while the Wyvern’s antique wiring faulted overhead, making the fluorescent lights flicker and allowing the shadows to reveal the space where the phantom was standing; casting a faint, ghastly aura on the corners of the room. Snatching a fang from your pocket you whirled on the void, brandishing the pointy end at where a throat might be. “Who’d’ya think you are, anyway, huh? Acting like you know what’s best for me? Telling me that Din’s gonna come back? Ain’t no knight-in-shining-beskar coming for me and I’m sick of you telling me otherwise!”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with your games! Your lies! Show yourself, you spookyass motherfucker! Show me who you really are!”

Sweat began to bead on your brow, anger and heartbreak and venom coursing hotly through your veins until it was pulsating behind your eyes. You grabbed the second fang, ready to sink your teeth into the incessant phantom, their edges cutting into the marks they had already put on your palms once before. To any onlookers you would have appeared like a madwoman, brandishing glittering fossils at empty space, your lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to strike.

“I said show yourself!”

Out went the lights.

And in came the ghosts.

Though the bulbs overhead had blacked out completely, the room was radiating with the light of the sudden crowd, the masses of shimmering specters appearing to go on endlessly throughout a space bigger than your room, bigger even than the Wyvern herself, stretching well beyond the edges of infinity. Farther and farther and farther until your eyes couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

There. Were. Billions.

You blinked fast, your breath catching in your lungs until you were nearly hyperventilating, feeling claustrophobic amid the incorporeal congregation. The sweat on your brow turned to ice, your eyes darting between every face, every person, every body, seeing them clearly for the first time.

Some of them wore elaborate robes, some of them were dressed like peasants, and even more distressing were a collection of beskar plated warriors, their visors glowing with otherworldly light. There were species you were familiar with, and many many more that you weren’t. Some of them were even wearing white duraplast, their eggshells cracked to reveal the glowing eyes underneath.

Some of them you recognized.

“We are the victims of the Empire. The citizens of Alderaan, of Jedha, Scarif, Mandalore and countless others. The Republic we once served turned its back on us, and then its weapons, eradicating the very people that brought it into being.”

Many voices spoke at once, the cacophony of it resonating in your skull until you were clawing at your ears, nearly dropping your impromptu daggers to protect yourself from the skull-splitting noise.

“You must stop it from happening again, but you can not do so alone. Only with your soulmate at your side will you save the people from the vindication of the Empire.”

Hot tears stung at your eyes, flooding out from a place of fear and anger. “Soulmate? SOULMATE?! Bullshit! Bullshit bulllshit bullshit! Din is not my soulmate, if he was then he wouldn’t have left me here rot! Dumped me on the Empire’s front fucking door like yesterday’s garbage! Not that I can even blame him anymore, who could ever love an Imp? We are monsters!”

“You are not an Imp, Tra’laar. You are something far greater than they will ever be.”

The sound of your gifted name hurt in your chest more than the broiling hatred that bubbled underneath your broken heart, taking you down to your knees. In front of you, a pair of specters knelt down to your level, a man and a woman in intricately embroidered red robes. The woman’s eyes were warm and adoring, and the way her cheeks rolled high almost made you feel calm, maybe even loved. The man’s aquiline nose stood out beautifully above his radiant smile, giving you the impression that this was a man who would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loved.

They looked hauntingly familiar.

The woman reached for your hand, and you felt her. You felt her holding you, as if she were really there, her dainty fingers brushing over where the fang was biting into your skin, fading away the pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was still smiling, looking at you like someone seeing the stars for the very first time.

“You are Hope Incarnate.”

You bolted upright from your little cot, gasping for air until your throat was so dry it felt like fire. Sweat streaked over your brow and down the dip of your spine, soaking the sheets under you. With wild, bloodshot eyes you searched around your closet-sized room for any trace of the phantoms, but even in the dim night light you could tell you were alone. Angry with yourself, you slammed a fist into the steel wall, furious that you had been duped by hyperspace yet again.

The pain of striking the unforgiving hull stung more than you thought it should. Flipping on the lights, you gasped when you looked at your palms, the healed krayt bites red with fresh blood. It had been days since you sliced your palms on their edges, pounding on the bottom of the Razor Crests ramp, and the skin had long since closed up. But now it was as fresh as the day they had been cut, weeping crimson.

I have got to get off of this ship.

It took the remainder of the hour to compose yourself, getting out of your sweat-soaked pajamas and tending to your wounds; but at least Spooky and Friends let you be. Your mind replayed the omen on repeat until you were certain that you had completely lost your mind. No such thing as ghosts. You are tired, you are stressed, and you are completely absolutely one hundred percent bonkers. Fuck this entire noise.

Dressed in your stupid little outfit, for real this time, you sat at the edge of your bed until the the Wyvern’s navigational warning sounded again, giving you only a moment before the ship was dropped out of hyperspace. Eager to get the fuck out, you ran out of your room so quickly that you nearly smashed into the Admiral as he was coming around. “Ah, good morning, Sparrow. I see you’re eager to start the day. Come, I need you on the bridge.”

Obediently you followed along behind Forescythe without a word, letting the imposing captain carve a swath through the multitude of scurrying crewmates as you made your way to the flight deck. When the blast doors opened on the wide, triangular space, your eyes went right over the heads of the officers and out the window to the bright yellow world hanging beneath the ship.

“Is that… Is that Tatooine?”

“How very observant of you. Yes, it is indeed, though it won’t be for much longer.”

Whispers hissed at your eardrums, you must stop it from happening again. “What do you mean?”

The Admiral chuckled, the sound grating like nails on chalkboard. “It’s been hard keeping this secret from you, little bird, but you know how much I love surprises! Oh, look, here comes the rest of the fleet.” He nodded towards the transparisteel as another, smaller starcruiser came into view. Then another, and another, and another until there were at least a dozen titanium daggers hovering in a semi-circle that spanned out on either side of the Wyvern like wings.

“The Empire has been busy since you left,” he scolded, folding his arms behind his back like some kind of skeletal vulture. “The Death Star is obsolete, though the mere idea of a supermassive planet destroyer was folly from the beginning, taking decades to build and almost as long to fire. No more, now we can vaporize an entire world with just one single ship.” He gestured with a flourish, blind to the color draining from your face. “The Wyvern will be at the forefront of the Empire’s destructive capabilities, and lucky you, you will have the honor of a front row seat. What a pity it is that you cannot serenade Tatooine’s demise with one of your songs.”

Stinging bile crept up your throat, threatening to send you into a panic. “Th-there’s people down there. How can you justify killing so many innocents?”

Forecythe scoffed, “Innocents?! On that dirtball of a planet? Inconceivable. The Maker will thank us for wiping it off of the face-” His monologue was interrupted by a hailing beacon lighting up on the communication officer's holodeck. The officer in your old seat answered the incoming transmission, talking to whoever was on the other line through their headset.

“Sir, they’ve located the target.”

“Excellent! And on Tatooine, no less. How ironic. Have the target transported to the receiving hangar so we may make their acquaintance.”

You’d long since become numb to the Admiral’s prattling, your mind racing to find a way to stop Tatooine from being wiped off the map. The ugly little hunk of rock had done you no favors, but that wasn’t an excuse to add more names to the list of dead. You were startled when you were addressed again.

“Come along, little bird, I have a gift for you.” Forescythe said with a crooked smile. If he was trying to be genuine, the effect was entirely lost upon you, his gummy smile reminding you of the forgotten captain’s corpse you’d discovered on Endor. I don’t want anything from you, monster. You flashed him a pair of raised eyebrows in response, and he turned on his heel, waving for you to follow. Whatever the distraction was would at least buy you some time.

You dutifully walked alongside the Admiral through the ship towards the balcony that oversaw the receiving bay. The hangar was swarming with troopers and officers alike, eagerly anticipating the transport unit that was easing itself through the magcon field. The bloated tick of a ship billowed with steam as its landing gear deployed, and soon the short access ramp was angling to the ground. Out first stepped a pair of troopers, their guns drawn on the open door.

Then, out stepped a man.

He was cuffed with his arms behind his back, escorted by another pair of troopers manhandling him down the ramp. Blood poured freely from a wound on his scalp, matting his dark brown curls and pooling in the exposed recess of his eyes. His gait was unsteady, though he was still futilely trying to wrest himself free of the troopers as they marched him through the hangar. You nearly puked your heart out at the sight.

Din.

The Admiral laughed proudly, “They’ve caught that damned mando that everyone’s been on about, though I’m not entirely sure why Moff Gideon struggled so much to catch him, or even what he wanted from such a loathsome creature. There’s nothing of value on him except maybe his armor.” A vile glint sparked in the man’s eyes. “It will be so much fun to peel it off.”

You barely heard his words over the sound of your heartbeat thundering violently through your ears. No.. no no no no no. Another egghead disembarked from the transport, carrying Din’s helmet like an empty garbage can. You swallowed around the cotton growing in your mouth, fumbling for words. “They took his helmet off...”

“Indeed. Being uncrowned is the greatest dishonor you can inflict on one of those wretched things, it renders them worse than dead in the eyes of their cult. After we remove Tatooine from the sky we should-”

“Before.” You interrupted, your voice cold and level, far cry from the hurricane of turmoil you were choking down. “Before we attack Tatooine. I want... I want to tear his armor off, and then I want him to watch. As punishment for stealing my ship.”

The Admiral’s wicked grin sent shivers down your spine, and you knew your lie had taken root. “Very well! Oh Sparrow, it’s so good to have you back aboard. I’d always wondered if you’d taken after me.” Disgust welled up in your guts at the pride beaming off the vile man, but at least you were going to get close to Din.

And do… what, exactly?

The tall man leaned over the balcony railing, shouting down at the guards. “Take the prisoner to the bridge, and make him… comfortable. Wouldn’t want him to miss the show!” Behind you Forescythe turned on his heel and set off back towards the bridge, and you cast a wary glance down at the prisoner below. Din’s bloody head hung limpy, but when it swung your way his blackened eyes caught you, glaring daggers through your soul before one of the guards cold-clocked him between his shoulder blades.

If Din’s here then where’s Grogu? You watched the transport unit, scanning for signs of life, but it appeared to be empty. Ok, maybe they didn’t get him. Your already sickened heart did a violent backflip in your chest, or maybe they did and took him somewhere else, or worse, left him for dead. Din and the guards disappeared through a sliding bulkhead, and you sprang to life to hurry in the Admiral’s footsteps.

When you arrived at the bridge, the stormtroopers had already magnetized Din’s cuffed wrists to the wall, dangling him just far enough off the floor that he couldn’t support his weight properly with his legs. The blood clouding his eyes dripped down the length of his nose and over his lips, staining his teeth crimson. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, hinting at a broken rib or two; but worst of all were his eyes. Bared for all to see, violating his Creed with every Imperial gaze that fell on his uncovered face, and yet the pools of bloodied earth were locked to only one other pair.

Yours.

“Looks like he remembers you.” Forescythe said with a villainous laugh, striding slowly over to the manacled Mandalorian. “My my, would you look at him, he is quite impressive, or at least he was”. The Admiral hovered just out of Din’s kicking range, cocking his head like a raptor eyeing a weak little mouse. “See this marking?” he said, pointing a bony finger at the mudhorn on Din’s pauldron. “They only get these when they become clan leaders. This one’s probably got a whole nest somewhere, breeding like rats. Is that what Moff Gideon was after, hmm? The rest of your bucket headed zealots?”

Din growled, the timbre of it so low and threatening you felt a chill run down your spine. He shouldn’t be here. Though you were still furious with him for what he did to you, you knew this wasn’t a fate that he deserved. Doesn’t he though? Doesn’t he deserve exactly what he did to me? Bile burned in the back of your throat. No, nobody deserves this, not even him.

Forescythe chuckled darkly at the Mandalorian’s weak show of bravado. “I was there, you know, when they gave the order to eviscerate that pathetic excuse for a planet.” Yellowed teeth shined under cold, soulless eyes in a smile that could freeze blood. “I was one of the first commanders to get to… test out the kyber crystal technology that eventually led to the creation of the Death Star. They made me a captain for it, commissioned a Corellian ship for me and everything.” He leaned in close to Din, grinning wickedly at the warrior’s seething anger. “Doesn’t Mandalore look so pretty now, all turned to glass?”

“Demagolka!”

The admiral scoffed at the searing insult, nodding to one of the guards. An electric prod crackled to life in the trooper’s grip before it was being stabbed into Din’s unarmored side, making him cry out in pain.

“No!” You shrieked, immediately covering your incriminating piehole. Fuck.

-flicker flick-

Forescythe glanced up at the sputtering lights, then slowly, maliciously down to you. He scrutinized you a moment, then readdressed the guard, not taking his eyes away from your failing facade.

“Again.”

-czzt cRaCK cRAcK CRACK!!-

You ground your molars into paste trying to keep yourself from screaming, but tears pricking in the corners of your eyes gave away your distress, and when the Admiral signaled the guard a third time it became unbearable.

“Stop it!” You roared through snarling teeth, ignoring the faulty lighting and the feel of the ship quake underneath you.

Forescythe’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “I knew it.” he hissed, his lips curling upwards in a serpentis sneer. “I knew that voice of yours was special, but I never realized you needed a catalyst in order to unlock your potential. Does this... upset you?” He snapped his fingers at the guard, sending another bolt of electricity through Din’s body and bringing more angry tears to your eyes.

“Stop hurting him! I’ll.. I’ll do whatever you want just let him go!” You yanked the cuffs off of your ears and cast them on the floor, the sound of beskar on durasteel jingling like loose change. “I’ll… I’ll sing. Whatever you want, just stop hurting him!”

“Oh, no... we’re well past that now, little bird.” Forescythe loomed over you, an evil glint in his eye. “Now that I know I didn’t waste all those years training your voice, we’re going to take it for a little spin.”

Little miss well-behaved evaporated from your roster of characters, replaced with the big bad bitch you knew and loved. “I’m not doing a goddamn thing. I don’t know what you’re on about, you old shitbag, but you don’t control me. I’m not afraid of you!” you growled, snarling like a rabid nexu.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior officer, bilgerat.” Boney fingers snatched you by the collar of your uniform. “You think I pulled you from the scuppers because of your pretty little songs? No, Sparrow, I knew there was more to you than that. I knew it when I heard your voice through three whole decks of durasteel, and I knew it when you tried to rip your own ears off after we blew up Alderaan.” Forescythe hauled you to him, breathing gross old-man breath in your face. “You didn’t just watch it get erased from the maps, you felt it die. You felt it through the Force.”

You spat in his face, earning yourself a stinging backhand. “Ungrateful brat. I made you, I can unmake you.” The ship quaked again beneath your feet, and the lights in the helm went off, turning the wide, triangular space red under the emergency lights. “That’s it, you feel it again now, don’t you?” The dark crimson lights sank shadows under the Admiral’s eyes, highlighting the bones of his skull, confronting you with the grinning face of death.

From behind the collection of stormtroopers a weak, grating voice called out. “L-let… let her… go…” Din called weakly before he was electrocuted again.

“I said stop hurting him!” You barked, your words so steeped in anger they almost weren’t your own, like someone else was speaking through you.

Forescythe laughed, villainous and wicked. “There it is! Yes! Does that mando mean something to you, girl?”

“Go t̶o he̵ll!” Your voice no longer belonged to you, it was the voice of your nightmares, many tongues speaking at once, spewing toxically from your throat. Around you the air became thick with energy, making the hair on your arms stand on end.

“Now now, Sparrow, is that any way to talk to your father?”

“You are n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪ť̶ my FÀ̷̜TH̵E̴͘R!” The energy in the air became palpable, tangible, burning through your veins and setting your fingertips ablaze with crackling firepower. The Admiral reeled from the burn, dropping your collar and backing away from you with confused, frightened eyes. You clenched your fists so hard your nails dug into the skin of your palms, drawing blood from the marks of the krayt’s teeth. “And that is n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪t my n̶a̷m̸e̵.”

Fear was replaced with undeserving pride, spreading a pearly grin across Forescythe’s gaunt, haunting visage. “That’s it! That’s it, Sparrow! Look at yourself! Look at your hands!” he screamed, pointing at the blisters that were starting to form along your arms. “There is power within you! Let me help you discover it! Help you use it to raise the Empire to its former glory!” He stretched a claw-like hand to you, “Join me, Sparrow, and together we will rule the entire galaxy!”

“THAT IS N̴̻̑O̶T̵̒ ̶M̸̆Y̴ N̷À̷̜M̶E̵!” You screamed, the fury of a thousand voices knocking Forescythe and the guards down to the unsteady ground and sending the officers running for cover. The burning in your fingertips turned to raw power, sparking lightning from your hands. Electricity danced over the metal decking, snapping at the Admiral’s frantic heels like vicious, bloodthirsty dogs. You didn’t see the firepower you were generating, your eyes burning with hateful tears.

You crossed the room on vengeful steps to where the Wyvern’s captain was scrambling to find his footing, snaps of plasmatic energy crackling underfoot with each stride. You hefted the vile man up the wall by his neck until his feet were off the ground, choking and squirming in your grip.

“What’s wrong, captain?” You purred with as much benevolence as an abused circus tiger. “Are you trying to sing for me? I bet your voice sounds so prĕ̴tty̵͝. Go on then, sing me a song.” Terror shined in the whites of his eyes, blood oozing from their corners and out of his ears, dripping hotly over where your fists closed around his throat.

“You can not hide who you are, Sparrow, you’ll always be a worthless scupperbrat without my help. You need me.”

You thrashed Forescythe against one of the consoles, crushing his windpipe under your voltaic claws. “I'm not going to TELL YOU Ā̷̡̲̤̊͒G̶̓A̶̛̫I̶N̵̳̓̋!!.” You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, quick like a frightened rabbit caught in the claws of a mighty, savage beast.

And it felt good.

Energy crackled over his skin where your hands met his flesh, making him writhe in pain from the scorching burn. Under your cataclysmic deathgrip you felt the man laugh, ugly, strained belts of air that made the boiling in your blood rage like molten lava. “Pray tell then, bilgerat, who do you think you are?”

You bared your teeth and smiled, dangerous and threatening. You inhaled, bringing every ounce of air in the room into your tormented lungs, ready to breathe dragonfire.

“I

TR̸̻̰̮̘͘A̷͎̜͔̭͋̽’̸̯͙͖͍̟̾̿̆͐̐͠͝LḀ̵̞̈́́̂̕͝ͅA̶̧̧̠̪͝A̶͎̝̠͖̿̀̇̅̈͜Ă̵͙͎̰̪̿͘A̸̼̥̰̙̱̭̗͆Ȧ̸͙͕̺̫̂̚R̴̨̻̉̊̒́R̷̡̛͕̮̋͊̉͝R̸̫̗̹̻̈̋̃!̴̼͖͕̯̟̖͐̐̽!̴͚͐́͛̂!̵̘̺̮̔͌͊̌̀̓͜ͅ!̶̟̱̹͙͎̀”̵͇̖͙̌̈͠͝

Hate and anger flowed through you in a pyroclast of scorn, erupting from your wicked maw in a firestorm of blinding energy. Your banshee screech overpowered Forescythe’s own terrified screams, but his terror was short lived as the force of your rage started to make the flesh of his face quiver, ripple, and tear until it was peeling off, revealing meat, then bone.

When only a ghastly skull was staring back at you did you silence your scream, dropping the Admiral’s faceless corpse to the floor. You wheeled back around in time for one of the rising stormtroopers to goad you with the electric prod, making you wail. The pained cry tore at the raw meat of your throat until your voice evaporated entirely, taking your siren strength with it. You stole a krayt fang from your pocket and drove it upwards into the soft spot at the edge of the trooper’s helmet, carving downward and splitting their jugular wide open.

Finding the other fang you lashed out with reckless fury, sinking your teeth into the meat of the second guard, blood splashing out over your hands. The third guard didn’t stand a chance as they were caught in your whirlwind of carnage, their blood spilling to the floor with that of their crewmates.

Surrounded by your kills, breath heaving in your chest, you turned your enraged eyes on the man still chained to the wall. Din’s bootheels scooted out from under him, struggling to get away from the blood splattered banshee that was glaring him down.

He looked so helpless, so… vulnerable. You remembered his hateful words, his malicious actions, the heartbreak that was still so fresh and stinging in your chest.

The coppery tang of blood hung heavy in the air, burning in your nose and fueling the rage that surged through your veins. He left you. He left you for dead. He took everything from you. He took your heart and your home…

And your son.

“Where is he?” You seethed, numb to the hot splashes of blood pouring over your hands, from both your killstreak and the charred gashes that streaked down the length of your forearms where the meat of your flesh had melded with the duraweave of your uniform.

“S-safe. He’s safe.” Din stammered, “What… what are you?” His bloodied brow furrowed, “What’s wrong with your eyes?!”

Confused, you glanced at his chestplate where two white-blue lights were shining back at you, and realized with horror that it was your own reflection. The world around you finally started to sink in: the dark red lights, the still-warm corpses, the splatter of viscera on the console that had once been the Admiral’s face.

The klaxon blaring overhead.

Whatever phantom force you wielded dissipated like mist, nearly taking you to your knees as it left. You fell more than leaned over Din to his cuffs, fumbling with the unlocking mechanism until he was freed. “Don’t think this m-means that… that I… woo, that I forgive you, ya big fuckin’ jerk.” You were starting to feel woozy, making you wonder if this was how Grogu felt whenever he used his funky baby powers. “The ships got… got some kinda weapon on it, ‘nother planet popper. I gotta fi-fi-find some way to… to stop it.”

“The hell do you mean ‘popper’?

You flailed your arms around in a grand gesture, sending droplets of scarlet flying “Kaboom!”

“Fuck! Grogu’s down there! Millions of people are down there!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Din tried to wipe the blood that had pooled around his eyes with the back of one armored hand, but the beskar did little to help clear it away. You grumbled and scooted closer on your knees, trading the fangs for the red silk cloth in your pocket and going right for his orbits. He recoiled from your touch, and instinctively you hissed at him to hold still. Reluctantly, he obeyed, watching you with distrust until he spotted what was in your hand.

“You kept that?”

Shrugging, you dabbed harshly around his eyes until they were as clear as you could get them. “Kept a lotta things.” The talking and the cleaning was making you exhausted, and you sank back on your haunches, nearly falling over into the sprawling pool of blood.

Din caught you before you fell, holding you gently, but even his careful touch burned like acid on your rendered flesh. In the corner of your eye you caught his brows fly high when he clocked your wounds, his breath catching when he saw the whitish tint of bone. “You need bacta...”

You ignored him, glancing around the room for a solution to your predicament when one presented itself to you. Under the smear of gore that had been belittling you just moments prior, the ruined console of the main power controls flashed a desperate warning:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. DANGER! UNSTABLE TEMPERATURES DETECTED!

Oh the irony. Sparks danced from the shattered screen, raining down over the bloodied skull of the murdered captain and catching in his empty sockets, glaring back at you. You forced a laugh. “That’s what you get for tryna mess with me, you sick fuck! Gonna blow your own ratsnest sky high!” Your laughter knocked you off your haunches and into Din’s arms, leaning on him heavily.

Looking up at him you smiled, though his face was a disaster, fear and blood etched into his handsome features. It befuddled you that you could still see his face. “Where’s your bucket?”

Din scoffed, “This entire ship saw me without it, not to mention the shitheads on Tatooine that sold me out. I can’t put it back on.”

“There won’t be anyone left alive to remember your face after the ship blows. How’s that for a loophole, eh?” He scrutinized you a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded. It took a great deal of effort for him to pull both himself and your boneless body up from the floor, and even more strength to stumble over to where his helmet had been stashed, sinking the metal over his head and pocketing the beskar cuffs that laid close by.

The impenetrable beskar slid into place not a moment too soon, his visor flickering to life right as the blast doors to the bridge slid wide, opening on a platoon of troopers.

The eggheads fired with reckless abandon into the delicate consoles of the bridge, aiming for the malnourished Mandalorian and his bloodrending banshee. Even in such a sad state, Din was still faster, whirling you behind his blaster-proof body and setting off the salvo of whistling birds from his vambrace; obliterating each and every Imp in sight.

Hugged to his chest, you blinked at the pile of corpses, then glared at the one who had slain them. “Why don’t you use that fucker more often?”

Din ignored you and blasted the door controls apart, locking the two of you in before dragging you both over to one of the escape pods that dotted the prow. Behind your fleeing duo the console was flashing even faster:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. EXPLOSION IMMINENT! DANGER!

Din set you carefully on your own two feet so he could pry the door to the escape hatch open. The little, single-seated pod was just barely big enough to fit the Mandalorian as he backed into it, his arms outstretched to take you.

You started to squeeze in with him when something out the window caught your eye, and your heart sank through your boots at the harsh reminder that Forescythe had been named Admiral because he now controlled a fleet. The dozen or so starships hovered ominously on either side of the Wyvern, their points aimed right towards Tatooine, poised to make the killing blow.

Din growled at you “Come on, you’ll fit. We gotta go before this damn thing blows!”

You turned up to him slowly with glassy eyes. “I… can’t. The other ships…”

“Fuck’em!”

“No!!” you screamed, dimming the lights. “If I don’t do something about them then Tatooine is still lost!” You pushed away from him and stumbled back through the bridge, your eyes going from console to console until you spotted the flashing light on the comms station. Hand-over-hand you dragged yourself over to your once-prestigious seat, flopping down in the familiar chair and slamming the frequency wide open.

“Come in Wyvern, this is Jabberwocky, what’s your emergency, over?”

“The weapon’s unstable! I repeat! The weapon is unstable! Abort mission! Abort mission! Scramble all ships! I repeat! Scramble all ships!!”

“Who the hell are you? You’re not the Admiral!”

“The Admiral is dead, the damn rhydonium has been leaking radiation into the water supply and the fuel lines! The damn thing’s gonna blow! Save yourselves!”

“Seriously?! I mean, roger! Aborting mission!” You watched with a big, shit-eating grin on your face as the surrounding ships winked out of existence, disappearing into hyperspace. The rhydonium’s warning screen was flashing faster than a bounty fob now, and it wouldn’t be long before it blew the old dragon sky high.

“Ok, let’s go, please!” Din pleaded, trying to urge you to the escape pod. You leaned back heavily in the officer’s chair, the edges of your sight going dark as exsanguination took its toll. Raising your arm, you watched with a silly look on your face while you flexed your fingers, the tendons squirming over your exposed bones beneath what was left of your char broiled flesh. Most disgustingly of all was the shiny piece of metal on your palm, the Admiral’s aurodium insignia lodged in the sundered krayt bite, fused to your flesh from the heat of your rage.

Haha, gross.

“Why… why are you even still here? Go on, escape!” You sneered at him, still angry.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” he said, crossing the room with his hand stuffed under his ribs, trying to hold himself together. “I’m not leaving you behind again.”

You strained a laugh, the noise grating in your shriveled throat. “Y’don’t need me, y’made that perfectly fuckin’ clear. Leave me to die with the rest of the scum. Besides.” You chuckled, raising your withered hand so the emergency lights danced over the gold plating your palm. “I’m the captain now, and the captain should go down with the ship.”

There was nothing left for you outside of the Wyvern anyway, maybe it was time for you to join Spooky and Friends for good. The Empire would surely hunt you down for your crimes, an even more vehement organization than the Guild, and that would only put Din and Grogu in even more danger than they had been when they still called you family. On a dragon you had risen to the stars, how fitting it would be that on a dragon would you leave them. Poetic, really.

Din cast a worried glance at the rhydonium thermometer. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Tilting your head back until your skull met the headrest, you relaxed and closed your eyes, feeling the hot drip drip drip of blood running down your arms and pooling at your feet. “Why bother? Why do you even care what happens to me?”

With enormous difficulty he pulled his helmet back off, leaning in close to you. You flinched when two armor plated hands came up under your face, gently lifting you by your chin until you were met with his eyes. Even in the crimson-soaked lights his enormous honeywells shined with more depth than any ocean, glittering with stars.

“Because I still lo-”

*kaBOOM!!!*

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship the overheated ore blew its top, shearing the ship in twain. Din was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion, nearly dropping his helmet to hold on tightly to the arm rests of your chair. He threw the bucket haphazardly back over his head and scooped you into his arms, roaring in your ears about how stubborn you were sometimes. Under his boots the dying dragon began to angle towards the planet below, starting her final journey to meet the ground.

Din hustled to the escape pod, backing into it and hugging you to his chest, pressing you against the hexagonal divot in his beskar that you missed so much. The little hatch slid closed, sliding over your backside and squishing you up against the Mandalorian. Your guts did a nasty flip-flop as you were launched into space, dropping you towards the planet below.

Before you lost consciousness, whether from the blood loss or the inertia, or just plain old exhaustion, you squinted out the tiny transparisteel window at the ship you’d left behind. The front half of the Wyvern’s Tongue was just starting to break the atmosphere, a colossal blade pointed straight at Tatooine's sprawling desert landscape, breaking apart as it lost the battle with the desert planet’s robust sky.

Breaking the sound barrier, dragonfire erupted around its bow as it tore through the dusty air, sending tendrils of flame fanning in its wake. It was falling fast, but the sheer size of it made it appear to be sinking in slow motion, almost like a dream.

Maybe it was a dream, you thought as you felt the plated arms of your podmate tighten around you, his gloved hands burying into your hair as you plummeted towards terra firma. There was a good chance you wouldn’t survive landing, it was an Imperial built shuttle after all, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

The roar of atmospheric reentry drowned out any words you may have said to each other, any last words of wisdom or heartfelt apologies would be forever lost to the winds of time, so you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him back; a final act of forgiveness before the darkness took you.

Far away from the sinking ship, the tiny capsule skittered over the sand dunes like one would skip a stone over a lake, bouncing over the sand until it lodged itself in the side of a hill. The hatch door launched off, sliding away from the two bodies it had protected. Raising his bucket, Din watched as the Wyvern met the ground, the enormous beast of the ship blocking out the suns as it crumpled into the dunes. Dragonfire erupted around the monstrosity, consuming it in a column of flame and ash that whipped up a sandstorm to rival any fallout.

Against his chest plate you laid limply, making it difficult for the Mandalorian to roll you underneath his body. He boxed you in with his arms and legs, putting himself between you and the oncoming sandstorm as it bore down on your pod. Gritting his teeth behind the visor, he curled over top of you while the deadly storm roared overhead, determined to keep you safe if it was the last thing he did.

The desert sands whipped over his back, flinging superheated shrapnel and massive chunks of durasteel flying as if they were toys. Din held your body to his, just waiting for the fallout to crush you both dead, or the sands to blow you away; but an eternity later the storm passed, leaving you both unharmed. Exhausted and in agony, the Mandalorian shook the sand from his back and hauled your near-lifeless body from the newly carved dune, brushing the dirt from your face. “Tra’laar? Are you ok? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

He tugged a glove off and stuffed his fingers up under your jaw, hunting for a pulse. Your heartbeat was weak, but steadfast, and he sighed heavily with relief. “This is all my fault. I never should have left you behind, cyare! Please… please wake up!” Kneeling over you, he ran his hand down your face, gently brushing away the grit stuck to your skin. When you still didn’t respond he dug his arms under you and hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the feel of his broken ribs grinding together. With you in his arms for what he knew could be the last time, he set off across the dunes towards the city on the horizon.

A warm desert breeze passed softly over you, the first herald of the Tatooinian dawn coming up over the mountains to burn away the mist that hung in the air. It felt nice on your skin, gentle and promising as the new day. It would be so nice to lie like this forever, eyes closed, stretched out and comfortable, basking in the double sunlight. Your eyelids were so heavy, but as much as you would like to laze about til the stars fell down, you knew you had slept long enough.

Slowly, achingly slowly you started to pry your lids open, the world around you blurry and faded. Turning your head was a chore, and was accomplished more through the aid of gravity than muscle. At your side you saw two blurry figures, their features distorted by the haze behind your eyes, but to you they looked like a man and a woman, both wearing intricate red robes like the people in your premonitions.

The familiar lady leaned over you, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your sticky brow. Her radiant smile shined with love and adoration, rivaling the warmth of the twin suns themselves. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if it was already in your ears.

It’s time to wake up now, Starsong. He’s waiting for you.

The stranger smiled and glanced over at the man who was sitting down in a little chair next to whatever you were laying on. You followed his eyes to where he was holding your hand, quizzically furrowing your brow at his forwardness and giving yourself a headache that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

When you opened them again, the man in the chair was replaced by a different character, this one dressed head to toe in beskar and bandoliers, his helmeted head tilted forward until it was resting on his chest plate, slowly rising and falling in time with his breath. Even in his sleep he was drawing languid circles on your palm with his thumb, his fingers twitching slightly to hold yours closer.

“...Din?”

The fingers on the back of your hand squeezed tight as he bolted upright, nearly jumping out of his seat and frightening the attending nurse droid. “Hey, you’re awake! Are you alright? How are you feeling?” The Mandalorian asked frantically, taking your bandaged hand in both of his and clutching it to his chest.

“What… what’dya mean how am I fe- oh.” You looked down at yourself, finding the long glowing tubes of bacta needles sticking from your other arm between long strips of gauze, making you immediately nauseous. A leather gloved hand came up and caught your face, pulling you back over to meet his infinitely black visor.

“It’s ok, cyar’ika, nothing’s missing, just keep your eyes on me. You were in bad shape when I got you here, but the infirmary had e-bacta infusions on hand. You’re healing up well! They were able to remove the metal piece from your hand and debride the duraweave from your burns, and most of the skin on your arms has already grown-”

“Ok ok ok enough!” you grumbled, starting to feel sick. You leaned back against the cot, relaxing into the feel of a gentle hand brushing over your cheek and down the side of your neck. Din’s caresses made you hum from his comfort, but your hums soon turned to growls. “Din, why am I still alive? I should have gone down with the ship.”

The hands withdrew immediately back to the lap of their owner. “I… I couldn’t let you.”

Your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, adding fresh agony to your growing migraine. “Fuck do you mean couldn’t let me, You don’t get to ‘let me’ do anything! How dare you act like you care!” You hissed with a sting in your voice. “Why do you even give a shit what happens to me?”

“Because!” He barked, fidgeting with his gloves, watching his own yellow tips go round while he twiddled his thumbs, searching for the right words to say. “Because I… because Grogu would never forgive me if I had let you die.”

Something about that last line made your heart ache, maybe it was the reminder of losing your son, or maybe it was the way that Din was clearly trying to hide deeper feelings. “I’m surprised he’s not in here, wouldn’t have to waste credits on bacta then.”

“He tried to heal you, but something about your wounds wouldn’t let him. I-I can’t explain it but… but he tried.” Din’s helmet snapped away from you, fixating on something of interest on the bare stucco wall. “He tried and tried until he passed out, then woke up and tried again. It was too much for him, I-I c-couldn’t keep letting him run himself dry.” Din sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “...He misses you.”

Sorrow and fury nearly broke the circuits of the heart monitor, summoning the nurse droid to come check your lines. You ignored the fussing robot to interrogate the Mandalorian further. “Why? Didn’t you tell him I’m a traitor? Didn’t you explain to him that I’m a lying, filthy Imp?” Your teeth flashed in a snarl. “Didn’t you tell him I’m not part of your clan anymore?”

Din’s laugh startled you, “The day that boy listens to me is the day the universe collapses in on itself. You’re the only one he ever listened to.” Fidgety hands toyed with the strap that crossed over the widest plate of beskar, fingers stopping at each slug to set them perfectly in line as if they weren’t already. “I can’t get him to eat, or sleep, it’s almost like I’m not even there. He… he cries nonstop, especially when he’s looking for you...”

You blinked at the itching in the corners of your eyes, your tear ducts having long since dried out. Though he was talking about Grogu, you knew by the guilt that steeped his words that the little green terror wasn’t the only one suffering from the Mandalorian’s decision to abandon you.

“He… he needs you…” Din trailed off, slowly tilting his visor over at you again, his hands stilling. “I…”

Din paused, letting the unspoken words hang heavily in the air, bringing with them a silence that would rival the infinite void of space. The nurse droid seemed to fade away, followed shortly by the beeping heart monitor, then the walls, then all of Mos Eisley, consumed by the roar of silence.

You could hear it though, the sound of those three little words that would change everything. Three tiny, insignificant words that even ghosts knew how to use. Powerful in their simplicity. You stared at where his eyes should be, imagining his furrowed brows, his tear-streaked cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching as they fought the floodgates that threatened to burst.

Just say it, Din, say what you need to say. Fix what you have broken.

“I...I’ll go get him.” Swallowing around your dry tongue, you nodded, dropping your gaze to the floor. So close. Din stood and brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes, “There’s someone else who wants to meet you as well, if it’s alright.”

“Who?” There wasn’t a single living being in all the galaxy that you wanted to see right now besides Grogu, plus you doubted there was anyone you knew who would want to see you anyway.

“Um… someone who’s been looking for him. His… people.”

You felt your heavy heart sink right out through your spine, dropping like a slab of raw meat onto the dusty hospital floor. “His… h-his people? Does… does that mean he’s going ho-”

“Just hang on, ok?” Din rose hastily and sped from the room, leaving a thick aura of unanswered questions in his wake. When he returned, he gestured to someone behind him, indicating that it was safe to enter your room. A young man with tousled blond hair and long black robes crossed the threshold to the medbay, but you couldn’t care less about who he was or what he looked like, because your eyes were locked to the little green baby he was carrying.

“Bubu!!!” Grogu cried, flailing in the man's arms until he was brought closer.

“BEANS!” you reached out with your good arm to take the squirming little monster, hugging him to your chest while he sobbed.

“Bububububububu…” He babbled, tears streaking down from his cosmic eyes while he patted your cheeks and dug claws into your skin. You curled up on your side and hugged the baby close to your chest, ignoring the dampening fabric beneath you as your own tears trickled down onto the threadbare sheets. You tried to comfort him by kissing his wrinkly head between choked sobs and carefully smoothing his ears, but the joy of having your baby back only made you cry even harder.

“Boo-boo? Wh-what… what’s he trying..?”

“Buir.” Din answered, his voice strong with reverence. “He is trying to say buir.” You burrowed your face against the shaky baby and reached out towards Din’s voice until you found his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered between tears. “I thought I’d never see him again.” You pried your flooded eyes away from Grogu to glance up at the stranger standing politely in the corner, remembering what Din had said about Grogu’s people. “Who’s mister sunshine over there with the cute boots?”

The young man smiled and bowed slightly. “My name is Luke Skywalker, I came to investigate a disturbance in the Force that led me here. When I met Grogu I thought it may have been him reaching out to me, but now that I am standing in the same room as you, I realize that you are the source of the shockwave that I felt.”

You cradled Grogu against your chest, “The Force? Isn’t that just a saying the New Republic uses? Live long and prosper, may the force be with you, to infinity and beyond, blah blah blah...”

Luke laughed, “It is, but the Force is very real. It is the life energy that flows through all living things, even after they have passed on.” The young man crossed the room to your little trio, his robes and cape swishing dramatically with each step. “Tell me what happened to the ship that crashed out on the dunes, something tells me you were involved?”

You recounted your tale, from your hyperspace premonitions to your whispering nightmares, describing the ghosts you’ve seen and heard. You held up your arms for him to look at the damage the lightning had done, and pointed to your throat when you told him how you shouted the admiral apart. He listened intently and without interruption until you were telling him about the rhydonium bomb that blew the ship to smithereens. “And then I woke up here.”

“That’s fascinating, I’ve only read about Thunderfuries in the ancient texts, I never thought I'd meet one in real life, they’re exceptionally rare. Some scholars have even described them as mythological. Their charismatic voices have been described as ‘more powerful than a siren's song and a thousand times more deadly, able to lull insomniacs to sleep or shout the stars down from the sky.’”

You kissed Grogu’s head and propped yourself up on your elbow. “How come it's only manifesting now? I mean, I’ve had some weird shit happen in my life but never like that.”

“You’ve probably used it before without realizing it. Have you ever been so mad your voice changed? Or convinced someone with an unbelievable lie? Maybe even called someone back from the brink of death?” You nodded at each of his questions, feeling the color drain from your face. “Your powers may become more volatile when you’re threatened, or when someone important to you is in danger, a catalyst, if you will. May I have your permission to touch you?”

You shrugged, not really caring, but Din stiffened visibly at your side before backing away to let the man through. Luke placed his left hand on your forehead and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Yes, the Force is strong with you.” He moved down to your throat, touching your larynx softly. “Even stronger here, I’m willing to bet that the midi-chlorian count around this area is where it is highest, but I still feel something else.” He palpated your sternum though your ratty hospital gown, then your stomach, and finally the bottom of your belly, making you flinch. “Here. There is something here as well. It’s faint but-”

“No…”

“Your youngling…”

“NO.” You shouted, making the man recoil from the energy you gave off. “Not you too! First that damn robot and now this dude. I am not pregnant, I'm chipped! I’ve been chipped since I was a teenager. Get that damn nurse droid over here and I’ll prove it!” You barked at the droid organizing the bacta. “C’mere and scan me!”

The animatronic healer rolled over to you, a long scanner unfolding from it’s chassis. A hologenic light flickered over you, scanning up and down your body, making an extra pass over your abdomen that beeped when it had completed its investigation. “I-am-sorry-miss, but-your-chip-appears-to-be-missing.”

“MISSING?! The hell do you mean…” You trailed off, too many thoughts hitting you at once until one of them struck you like a bell. “Hoth. I probably left it on Hoth. Fan fucking tastic.” Oblivious to the needles in your skin you squished your eyeballs under your palms and slid your fingers into your hair, trying to yank it out.

When you opened your eyes back up you flinched from the collection of boys staring at you. Luke looked respectfully embarrassed, Grogu’s eyes were full of stars, but Din looked like he’d been frozen in time, not even breathing. He managed to croak out a single word: “Ch-chip?”

“Yeah, my standard-issue contraceptive implant’s probably sitting in a pile of goo in that fucky cave. You must be packin’ some pretty potent spunk to have already knocked me up.”

“Con... con-con-con… c-con..tra-”

“Din?”

“C-con…” Din short circuited and fell silent, his mental cogwheels grinding to a halt. A heavy silence filled the small infirmary for a time before he was moving with agonizing slowness. He brought one hand up and set it so gently on your tummy that it was almost non-existent. “...Mine?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost fell out of your skull. “Yeah bucket boy, ain’t nobody else got to tap this.” You shimmied in a terrible attempt at seduction, bobbing your bacta lines more than your boobies. He nodded solemnly, still trying to reboot, but the silence gave the poor sidelined Skywalker a chance to speak.

“Congratulations, I think. If it’s alright I would like to speak frankly.” You shrugged and nodded, not waiting for Din.exe to come back online. “Yours and Grogu’s Force powers are very special, but also very dangerous. While it shows that you both have extraordinary talent, without training that talent will go to waste, or worse, could fall into the wrong hands. With your permission I would like to take you both to the Jedi Temple where you can learn to master your abilities.”

You started to try to sit up, struggling against the pain that still permeated your body, but Din sprang to life, helping to ease you comfortably to a seated position with Grogu on your knee. Setting your hand on your collar bone you rubbed at your throat. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I dunno jack shit about this Force whatsit, but it was pretty cool to melt Forescythe's face like that. If I go with you, will you teach me how to do that without burning my arms off?”

“The lightning is a byproduct of the Dark Side of the force, it is only manifested through hatred and anger. The more you use it, the more it will destroy you.”

“Oh...”

“I will teach you how to use the Light Side, which is achieved through patience and dedication.” He laughed, “And also won’t burn your arms off.”

“What’d’ya think, Beans, you wanna go to school?” Grogu chirped sweetly in your arms, rubbing at his eyes with fat little paws, then yawned. “I’ll take that as a yes. Alright, sunshine, it’s a deal, ain’t nowhere else for me to go anyways.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Once you have made a full recovery we will be on our way. It was nice to meet you as well, Mandalorian. May the Force be with you always.” The nice young man bowed slightly before turning on his heel and heading out the door, his cape billowing behind him as he went.

Grogu curled into a ball on your lap and fell asleep faster than you’d ever seen, and carefully you brushed your hand over his ears. “Poor baby, so sleepy. You rest now, you’ve earned it.” A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by tiny snores. When you looked up from the sweet little baby you were surprised to see Din’s visor locked on you from where he sat, frozen solid. “Well, bucketboy? You gonna say something?”

Wordlessly he started digging into the pouches on his belt, fishing around until he pulled the remains of a microchip out into the dusty sunlight. Although it was nearly crushed beyond recognition, you knew by its broken legs and shattered insignia that it was all that was left of your contraceptive implant. Fresh, scalding rage bubbled in your chest at the sight. “Din… Why do you have that?”

“I found it that night on the Sunskate when you sent me to find you some soap. It was in the canister we used to capture the egg-pod-thing. I should have told you about right away but… but I was worried that maybe the pirates planted it there. Then I got it into my head that it had come from you and… and…”

“And what?!”

“And I’m sorry!” He cried in a strained whisper, careful not to wake the blessedly sleeping baby. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it, but… but I’m sorry.” His modulated voice cracked with something, maybe faulty wiring, maybe tears. “If… if I’d just asked you about it from the start none of this would have happened.” He gestured vaguely at all of you, sitting at the end of the cot in your shabby gown, your bare feet swinging freely. “I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“You’re only saying that because you stuck a bun in my oven.”

“No, what I did was wrong, it was cowardly.” his visor snapped up to meet your eyes, “I have dishonored you and myself. I broke every vow I made to you without giving you a chance to explain. I shot at you, I shot at my wife.” His voice faded away, weighed down by shame. “I am a monster.” His helmet tilted away from you towards the ground, studying his boots.

You thought for a moment, watching the warrior coming to terms with his own judgement. Licking your dry lips, you asked him coldly: “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Try to shoot me.”

He turned away from you shamefully, “Because you were… b-because I decided that you were a threat.”

“A threat to who? To you?”

“No.” he paused, his breath hitching in his lungs. “A threat to… to Grogu.”

“That’s what I thought.” You chided, cocking a brow at him when he turned to face you again. “You saw a threat to your son and you acted, though maybe you could have, oh I dunno, listened to me before you went off your rocker.” His hands twiddled with the edges of his legplates, his eyes avoiding your gaze. You readjusted the bundle on your lap, tucking his goofy potato sack robe under his butt. “If I thought you were a threat, I would’a shot you too.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, it doesn't, though I probably shouldn’t have been keeping secrets from you.” Now it was your turn to look away, turning your gaze up to the stucco ceiling where maybe the Maker was watching you. “However, if you hadn’t broken my heart and dumped me on the Empire’s doorstep then I’m guessing Tatooine wouldn’t be here anymore, or whatever planet they decided to fuck over. So I guess…”

“You don’t need to justify it. What I did was wrong and hateful.” He scootched the little chair closer to your side until his knees bumped against the cot’s edge, barely inches away from your own. “If you never want to see me again, I- I would... understand. I wish you and Grogu the best with your training. And the youngling too if… if you decide to keep it.”

His visor sank back to the floor before he was pulling himself to his feet, making to leave you and take his guilty conscience with him, but you caught his hand before he got too far. He whirled around, gawking at you with that big metal bird impression that he does so well.

“What do you mean if? Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

You heard something rattle behind his modulator, accompanied by the strained quake in his shoulders. “I can’t force you to, or even ask you to. I know you said you w-weren’t ready for children, and to have to raise one alone would be-”

“What makes you think I would be alone?” You squeezed his captured hand, running your thumb over his knuckles. Din cautiously stepped closer, brushing his hand over Grogu’s wrinkly little head.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. You’ll have Grogu and Luke to look after you. The boy seems trustworthy enough, and once you master your powers-.”

“That’s not what I mean, Din.” You tugged on his hand, scrounging up the courage to find out the truth, even if you had to use a crowbar to get it. “What… what were you going to say to me, before the rhydonium blew?”

His armored shoulders rose with a sudden intake of breath, going stiff while the air stuck in his lungs. His response came out slowly. “Does... does it matter?”

“If it didn’t, would I be asking?”

Yellowed fingertips flashed in the fresh dawnlight filtering in through the infirmary window, fidgeting on the ends of armored wrists. Din squared his shoulders and stood straight and proud, his modulated voice giving away his timidness. “I...”

“Yes..?”

“I…” he took your hand in both of his, careful not to upset the bacta lines growing from your flesh or the precious bundle swaddled on your lap. “I… I still love you.”

You cocked your ear at him and waggled your brows. “What? I didn’t-”

“I still love you!” Din fell to his knees in front of you with a mighty racket of metal and munitions that shockingly didn’t wake Grogu. “I love you, cyare, I need you! I love the sound of your voice and the warmth of your smile. I love the way you laugh, the way you cry. I love that you terrify me like no one ever has. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, the way your fingers used to tangle in my hair when we slept together.” He carefully lifted your hand until your knuckles rested on the brow of his helmet, “I miss you, beautiful creature of the stars. I would give anything to have you back again.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You pondered a moment, letting him wallow in his guilt until you could hear his breath getting ragged from the suspense. “Alright, give me your ears.”

“You... want me to cut them off?”

“Pfft, no, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.” You said with a laugh. “I want you to listen.” You pulled your hand away from the cool metal of his forehead to pick at the bacta tubes on your other arm. “I was an Imp, but not because I wanted to be. When I was a child I was stowed away on the Wyvern before it left Corellia’s port, which happened often enough on that skughole of a planet that there was a name for us. We were called bilgerats.” You met his visor, watching the way his head cocked to the side. “The Empire adopted me, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Like… like a foundling?”

“Mmhmm. When the captain decided that I had potential, or apparently magic, he gave me a name and a real job, but it was never my choice. I chose to leave them behind. I chose to become a hunter. I chose…” You paused, flitting your eyes between the corners of his visor where you knew his eyes were, wishing that you could see them for yourself. “I chose to love you.”

A broken sob rattled his helmet as his composure started to break down, his hands coming up to caress gently at your cheek. You held your hand over the back of his, leaning into his palm. He took a series of deep, desperate breaths before he found his voice again. “C-could you e-ever love me again?”

“Only if you promise to never dump my ass over stupid misunderstandings again, think you could do that for me?” He couldn’t speak, he just nodded so fast his helmet almost flew off. Laughing, you stretched your arm out to him, careful not to lose the foundling on your lap. Din clambered up from the floor so fast his boots nearly went out from under him, plowing into your chest with a hug so fierce you felt your ribs creak. “I sure hope so, tinman, because I still love you too.”

Not even the dry desert air could stop your tears anymore, and you let them flow freely into the fabric of Din’s cowl, burying your face between his shoulder and the edge of his helmet while he hugged you like his life depended on it. The sharp metal cut your skin and made you frustrated that he even still had the damn bucket on. “Din can you take your helmet off? There’s nobody here but the droid. I want to see you.” He shook his head ‘no’, dragging his palms over your back, his leather gloves snagging on the ties that held your gown closed. “Can we go somewhere you can take it off? Maybe… maybe somewhere more comfortable?”

“You’re in no shape to move.”

“Please?”

He hated it when you begged, or maybe he fucking loved it, either way he was nodding and rising to his feet, stuffing your collection of trinkets into his many pouches. He cast a suspicious glance at the nursebot before helping you pull the bacta lines free. Immediately the attending droid started to protest, but was met with the business end of a blaster. Din cocked his helmet arrogantly, a mused laugh sneaking through his modulator.

“We’re checking out.”

You were giggling like a schoolgirl as you were carried up the ramp into the Crest by the Mandalorian, cradling Mr. Sleepy against your chest. The armored warrior set you down gently on the edge of the bed, jabbing at his vambrace to close the ramp. You sniffed the musty air, crinkling your nose. “Holy shit what is that smell?! No wonder the kid can’t sleep, It stinks in here! Open a window!” The singular transparisteel viewport didn’t ‘open’, but the ventilation did, and soon slightly-less-stinky desert breezes circulated through the cabin. “That’s better, now off with your damn head!”

“Alright alright.” Din chided, fishing for the edge of his helmet and pulling the offending beskar away, setting it down gently on a nearby crate. Though the blood had been washed from his hair days ago, a crudely placed cauterizer burn still shined red with swelling, but that was only the start of his worrying features. His hair was unkempt and ratty, his eyes sunken and hollow, even more than they had been when you’d seen him uncrowned aboard the Wyvern. His shaggy facial hair did a poor job of hiding his pale, nearly translucent skin.

But his smile, his adorable, lopsided smile was exactly as you remembered it, rolling the swells of his cheeks right up into his deep brown eyes. Dazzling canines caught the hazy cabin light while he beamed at you sheepishly, his eyes glancing at your face then bashfully away, aware that he must look terrible.

Carefully you set the foundling down on the bed by your side, brushing a wayward ear from his face before reaching out to the baby’s father. Gloveless hands found your cheeks, his touch more cautious than if he were handling porcelain, pulling you into a long awaited kiss.

Din kissed you like it was the very first time, chapped lips brushing yours softly, tentatively, like he was afraid that touching you would wake him from this dream. The dream of having you in his arms again. You slid your bandaged hands up his armored shoulders until you were at his scruffy jaw, pulling him closer.

At the feel of gauze on his skin he pulled away, worry etched into the creases around his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, maybe we should wait til-” Huffing, you dug your hands into his messy hair, dragging him back to you and kissing him so hard you felt your teeth knock together. He inhaled with surprise before melting into your hands, tilting his head to chase the taste of you deeper.

The bristles of his mustache tickled at your nose, but you were too lost in his love to notice, tangling your fingers in the curls that hung at the back of his neck. The hands at your cheeks glided down to your shoulders, then your sides, then around to your back, deftly picking apart the knots that held your ugly gown together. He pulled away from you again, “May I?”

You nodded and laughed, “Please, it’s itchy! Though I’m pretty sure half of Mos Eisley already saw my hooha flappin’ in the breeze today. Hey what happened to that cantina on the corner? They used to have the best spotchka…”

“No idea. Must have been a big fire though…” He laughed at his own poorly-veiled lie, kissing at your jawline while he tugged the last knot free. The ratty hospital gown fluttered to the floor unnoticed, the two of you lost in each other’s eyes. Though you were naked save for your bandages, he couldn’t take his off of your face, reverence stretched across his features. “Is… do you think what the nice man said is true? That you’re… um…”

His versatile hands that could snap necks like twigs or tear flesh asunder came up to settle gently on your belly, rubbing softly back and forth and sending scalding heat to your cheeks. You shied away from him, studying the cabin wall like the secrets of the universe were written there. Flustered, you found your voice, “I don’t know, maybe. Pretty early to tell, but he was right about everything else. Probably right about that, too.”

He caught your embarrassment and withdrew. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… If you don’t… I’ll support any decision you-”

You silenced him with a finger on his lips. “No, I want to. I’m just… I’m scared.” You hugged yourself regardless of the warm desert breeze, fingertips fiddling with the edges of the gauze that rode up to your elbows. Nestled against your thigh you saw Grogu twitch in his sleep, half sunk into the smelly Tatooinian bed roll, his sweet little smile matching your own. “You’re such a good dad, Din, like you were made to be one. But…” You brushed your hand over the foundling's supersized ears, “But I don’t think I'd make a good mom.”

“You already are.” Din whispered with more conviction than you’d ever heard, his hand finding your chin to tilt your eyes back to him. “You always have been. From the day you met Grogu you’ve been his mother. You’re strong, and fearless, and terrifying.” He smiled when you laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear for you. “But you’re also loving, and sweet, and compassionate. And did I mention you’re the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life?”

You giggled again, rolling forward until your brow met with his. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. I think you’ll be amazing.” He kissed you again, stronger than before, breathing in deeply with the scent of you, of his mate. “I know you will.” You studied his face a moment and nodded, feeling your breath hitch threateningly in your throat. Din heard your hidden distress and backed away, tearing his remaining armor off and gently setting it next to his helmet until he was bare chested before you, a large bacta patch holding his broken bones together.

He dove towards you with passion, his chest pressed to yours, his kiss hungry but gentle. Though his flesh was warm and inviting against your own, your fingers quickly found where his ribs were showing through his sides, rippled like a washboard from not eating properly. You made a mental note to grab some of those roasted taters you liked so much later, but for now you let yourself get lost in the Mandalorian’s touch.

Though his hands were careful, you could tell that there was a hidden desperation behind his movements, his touches frantic to confirm that you were really here. His fingers slid up your back to tangle in your hair, holding you close while he experimentally licked his tongue into your mouth, eager to meet your own. A wide, calloused hand braced on your thigh, supporting his ever-growing weight over top of you. You hummed into his mouth and patted his chest, asking him to give you space.

He looked at you quizzically, but before he could start another long winded string of apologies you nodded down to where Grogu was sleeping peacefully. By the look on his little princely face it had been a long time since he’d slept so well, and though you knew he deserved his rest, he was very much in the way of what you and Din were after.

Maybe it was the bacta still flowing through your system, or maybe it was the fact that you’d survived yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps it was true what the ghosts in your visions had said, that the man before you really was your soulmate, destined to return to you again and again. Either way your body craved him, flooding your belly with heat at the sight of the robust warrior that would rather let himself waste away than live a day without you in it.

You needed him.

And he needed you.

Right now.

You scooched off the end of the bed, covered the baby with a thin blanket, and slid yourself into Din’s arms, kissing your way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He shivered under you, groaning with pleasure until you reached his ear, nipping at his earlobe where you whispered: “Do you remember the first time you made love to me?”

He growled, the low timbre of it making your skin prickle with goosebumps. “How could I forget?” His scruff brushed your cheek as he nuzzled you, dragging his teeth along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his palms squeezing into your hips. You took a slow step backwards, luring him to follow until your knees bumped against a crate, a subtle laugh escaping your lips when you plopped down on it. Din fumbled for the sleeping cubby controls until he found the button that closed the protective door, shielding the foundling from your erotic courtship dance.

Not an inch of space remained between the two of you when he pressed his body to you again, slotting his mouth to yours, hands gripping the stubborn crate to support his slow, demanding ruts against your heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, catching your heels in the pockets of his duraweave pants, trying to kick them off. His rich laugh rumbled against your chest, reverberating in the warmth flooding in your heart, and pussy. “Please, riddur’ika, let me take care of you.”

Lost in the kisses that he was planting down the length of your chest, he didn’t see your brows furrow at him. “Do… do you still get to call me that?”

He froze, his lips poised just above your pebbled nipple, so close to getting a taste of you. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That...that is your choice to make.” His pleading eyes looked up to you, so big and full of sadness you almost cried. “I would… I would like to again, but only if-”

“Yes.” you pleaded, running your fingers through his hair, skimming the long, jagged scar. “Yes, please, don’t ever stop calling me that.”

“Ner riddur.” He moaned, sucking the tip of your breast into his hot wet mouth, arms coiling around your waist. The hastily renewed vow tumbled from his lips in between each languid roll of his tongue, mumbled like a prayer to your altar of forgiveness. You sighed and arched your back into his affections, gasping when one of his nimble hands snaked around your front and sank into your folds.

Stars you’d missed this, you’d missed him. Missed the way his lips sought every inch of your chest, missed the way his fingers curled perfectly against the spongy spot hidden in your walls, drawing beautiful gasps from your parted lips. You’d even missed the way he ran his mouth, spilling muffled praises against your skin between greedy laps of his tongue.

He released your swollen bud with a pop of his lips, kissing down the softness of your tummy. You leaned back until the cool metal of the crate met your spine, offering yourself to him fully. Din’s whiskered kisses ticked at your sensitive middle, each one slower and more deliberate than the last until he was just below your belly button. The fingers buried inside you slowed, rubbing careful circles that couldn’t distract you from the loving way his lips met your skin, his kisses lingering.

“Mine.” he whispered with a secretive giggle, his unoccupied arm scooping under the small of your back, holding you steady. He kissed you once more, then pressed his entire face into your belly, rubbing his scruff over the tender flesh, almost like he was scenting you.

Still speared on his fingers, legs flung wide to accommodate him, you lifted your head to get a better look at his foolishness. “Tinman…?”

“I’m sorry, I just.” He planted his chin on your pubic bone, slipping his fingers out and smiling up at you with adoration in his eyes. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Really? After all the times you said you wanted to breed me, you’re flummoxed that you’ve actually gotten me pregnant?”

Din popped up like a whack-a-mole at the magic word, a hundred emotions spread across his face. “S-say that again.”

“Breed me?”

“No!”

“Flummoxed?” His brows sank with frustration over his lust-blown eyes, making you laugh. “Fine fine. Din.” You propped yourself up fully, your knees hugging his chest where he was kneeling between your legs. With his head in your palms you brushed your thumbs over his cheeks, reveling in the way he was waiting on bated breath for your words. “Din, I’m pregnant.”

The joy that radiated off of this man could have knocked the suns from the sky if they were any closer, his laughter so full of hope and happiness you couldn’t help laughing along. This was how it should have been presented, not flickering across a screen or coming from a polite stranger. Just this, the two of you alone together, both of you looking like complete garbage and not even caring.

No, in that moment you were the two most beautiful creatures the Universe had ever made, painted so brightly in excitement and love that it was blinding. Din kissed your palms, his face already starting to bubble over with emotion. “I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Mhmm, now c’mere, give mama some sugar.” You hauled his beautifully wrecked face up to yours, kissing him deeply. His tongue was sloppy, needy, spearing into your mouth between groans of pleasure. You heard the fumble of buckles and zippers, then the flump of pants hitting the floor. His heavy cock bobbed against your belly, leaving kisses of precum above the womb it had filled. You rocked your hips, trying to notch him in your slick folds, but his fingers met your cunt again, scissoring you open.

“I said I wanted to take care of you, buir’ika.” He groaned into your mouth before disappearing down your body and burying his face between your legs. Din’s wicked tongue spun delicious circles around your engorged bean, slurping and sucking away as if it was the only thing he’d ever eat again. You were just starting to feel the knot tightening in your guts when his dutiful mouth slowed, licking experimentally into your cunt, humming curiously.

“Wh-what? What is it?” You panted, rocking your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself on his face.

“You taste different.” He caught your questioning groan and shook his head, the motion making you convulse with need. “Not bad different, just different. Sweeter.” There were a plethora of excuses you could have made, maybe it was that he’d just forgotten how you’d tasted, or maybe it was the fact that you’d been living on Imp food. It couldn’t possibly already be from your changing hormones.

Could it?

Nothing but cries of pleasure made their way past your lips when he dove back to his feast, pulsing his expert fingers against your core and spiraling you towards devastation. Locked to his face, you squirmed on his tongue until he brought you the stars, your pent-up orgasm soaking his scruff and dribbling down his chin. Greedily he lapped your arousal away, humming at the taste. You’d barely gotten a chance to catch your breath before he was rising to his feet, angling his throbbing cock up into you and stretching you full.

“Din!” You whined, your cries swallowed by his mouth on yours, letting you taste your own release. Shit he’s right, I do taste good! His kisses became messy, then lost all together, his head falling from yours to bury against the crook of your shoulder. His cock eased itself out, making you feel every ridge, every vein before it was slamming back into the cradle of your body, the sound of him fucking you resounding wetly throughout the hold.

“Riddur’ika” he moaned into your skin, sinking his sharp teeth into the meat of your neck to mark you as his once again; leaving a blooming patchwork of welts in his wake. With his teeth holding you in place he started giving you what you both so desperately needed, pounding deeply into your flooding cunt. Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and strain, his hips snapping with frantic, frenzied thrusts. It was all you could do to hold on.

Eyes closed, lips parted, head lolling back, you were consumed by his passion; digging your nails into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood. Under your fingertips his muscles coiled and bunched, rippling with each powerful thrust, his cock demanding to be swallowed whole.

Your weeping wellspring sucked up every inch of him, drawing him all the way inside to the gates of your precious womb. The head of his cock bumped haphazardly against your cervix, his length shifting the ring of muscle even deeper into your body, the delicious stretch making you obscenely wetter.

Releasing your captured throat, the Mandalorian leaned back from you, throwing your legs over his shoulders so that there was nothing to stop him from burying himself to the hilt. Each ragged thrust scraped his curls over your sensitive clit and sent his cock spearing into something devastating inside. You cried out from the force of it, your muscles squeezing around his girth as you were catapulted towards ecstacy’s edge.

“That’s it, mesh’la, soak my cock. Claim me as yours!” His oaken voice sent you spinning, obeying his command and drenching his swollen member in your divine nectar. He groaned at your fluttering muscles, your silken folds caressing him and drawing his own gushing orgasm from him. Under your calves you could feel him straining to keep from shouting the heavens down, his face contorted almost painfully while he painted your insides with rope after rope of hot, potent baby batter.

Broken panting echoed in the tiny space of the Razor Crest’s interior, carried by the wisps of desert air breezing in through the ventilation. Din fell heavily forward, his sweat-streaked chest just inches from your heaving breasts, barely giving you room to breathe. Slowly he sank further down, the skin of his abdomen sticking to your belly, then your chest, sealing you together. His hands found your face, brushing the hair from your sticky brow and planting a kiss there, paving the way for him to rest his forehead against yours in sacred unity.

Hot breath mingled in the space between your mouths, bringing with it the spice of lovers bodies, a mix of lust and sweat and adoration, flooding your synapses like an addiction. Though he would happily let himself melt into your body the threat of crushing you underneath him made his exhausted arms shake, especially now that you were harboring precious cargo.

He butted his head against yours once more before pulling himself upright, offering a hand to you. You took his gentle gesture, but the shift in gravity made your soaked cunt gush with your combined cum, oozing down the side of the crate and pooling on the floor. Din couldn’t help himself, his agile fingers sneaking down to your wrecked pussy, stretching it around his fingertips and watching his pearly conquest slip out of you.

Humming with adoration, Din took you by your elbows, careful not to upset your bandages, and hugged you close. The Mandalorian felt like a furnace pressed against you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine and giving you conflicting goosebumps. “You’re so beautiful, mesh’la.” He purred, nuzzling into your neck. “There can be no other as beautiful as you.”

“Yet.” You chided, turning to meet his confused eyes. Stealing one of his hands you pushed his palm to your belly, laughing when he put your puzzle together.

“Our baby…” He cooed, still mystified by the concept. “Our baby will be beautiful, and terrifying if their mother is anything to go by.”

“Rude.” you barked, tugging playfully on his ear. He chuckled, splaying his wide palms over your belly, rubbing tenderly and no doubt imagining you all full and round with his warriors, your breasts heavy with milk, your skin glowing. His spent cock twitched between you, making him flush red. You laughed at his thoughts clearly plastered across his face. “I wonder what they’ll be like, the child of an Imp and a Mand-”

“You are not an Imp.” He retorted with ruinous conviction. “That’s not who you are anymore. You proved that when you sank an entire star destroyer to protect the people of Tatooine.” His hands cupped your face, holding you where his big beautiful eyes could see you, really see you. “I’m sorry that I let your past blind me to how much I love you, but now I see you for who you really are.” He kissed your forehead again, a slow, meaningful kiss that conveyed all the words he couldn’t find. Stars glittered in his lashes when he met your eyes again. “You’re not an Imp, cyare, you are a Mandalorian.”

Some kind of noise busted its way out your throat, maybe a laugh, maybe a sob. Either way you were shaking your head. “Thank you, but I’m not a Mandalorian either according to the Jedi boy.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi. Your son is a gremlin and your husband is an ass. I think you can be whatever you want. What was it that he called you?”

“A Thunderfury!”

“A Thunderfury!” He waved his hand dramatically, his eyes shining bright. You snickered at his antics, the melodic sound inviting him to spin you around in his arms, your thighs slicking with lovespunk as you danced. Instantly you wanted the fresher, but your heels knocked against his belt on the floor, making something in the pockets jingle. Bending down, you rifled through the many pouches until you found the one that had your things: two krayt teeth, one blood-stained rag, a pair of beskar cuffs, and surprisingly one other item.

An aurodium insignia.

“This was the Admirals.” You groaned, turning the half-melted token over in the light. Disgust overwhelmed you, and for a moment you considered opening the ramp door and chucking the emblem out into the hangar. Peli could probably find a buyer for it, but another thought snuck its way into your frontal lobe, spreading a grin over your face. “How much beskar do you think this will buy me?”

Din’s brows nearly shot off into space. “The insignia of a high ranking Imperial officer that you slaughtered? As much as you want, a full set even, but what about the Jedi? He’s supposed to take you-”

“But daaaaaad, I need a new outfit for the first day of school! Besides, I can't show up saying I’m a mando when I don’t have any beskar! Also I think the scary sewer queen would kill you if you didn’t tell her we’re expecting.”

“You’re absolutely right, but you do have some beskar.” Din padded over to the armory, throwing munitions and gear out of the way until your faceplate was brought into the light. “I think this belongs to you.”

You took the beloved slab of steel gingerly, turning it over in your hands. Din found the beskar cuffs and lovingly set them over each of your ears. When you set the armor on your face, the visor automatically flashed to life, presenting you with a fireball of a man standing before you, his chest and cheeks burning scarlet. Rolling the iron to your crown, you grabbed the krayt fangs from the pile and handed them to him. “And these belong to you.”

The opalescent Impkillers looked tiny in his wide hands, their whitish shimmer almost glowing in the cabin light. He nodded and thanked you, sniffling back his emotions, trying to remain steadfast as though you couldn’t see right through him. His fingers tightened over the sharp teeth, their edges creasing his callouses. “I’m going to miss you while you’re away.”

Just like that your beautiful, illustrious moment was cast in a dark, cold shadow. “Away? You’re going with me, right?”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m not a sorcerer like you or Grogu, and I’ll have to do something to earn credits for the baby. You go to school, grow our child. I’ll find work, there’s always bount-”

“Woah woah woah. Abso-fuckin-lutely not! You’re coming with us! I’m not going through this pregnancy or my forcefuckery without you.”

“The boy flew an X-wing here, there’s not exactly room-”

“Then we’ll get the coordinates for the school and just… meet him there? You said you’re never leaving me behind again, well I’m not leaving you behind either, ya big fuckin’ jerk.”

“I don’t think he’s going to just give you that information. What makes you think you can convince him?”

“First of all, something tells me he’s desperate, and secondly,” You planted your feet wide, ignoring your sticky, cumsoaked thighs and jabbing your fists to your hips, beskar crown glittering like royalty and making Din realize that one of these days he was going to have to tell you that as an Alor’s wife, you were technically were.

“I’m Tra’laar, the Thunderfury!” You roared, channeling your Force power to make the Crest shake on it’s fat little legs. Dins wide eyes were a stark contrast to your beaming smile, but the sound of scratching and chirping caught your ears before either of you could say something.

The sleeping cubby’s drophatch slid out of the way, revealing the disheveled little baby. Grogu glared at the two of you, rubbing his squinty eyes and squeaking on about how you’d interrupted his beauty sleep. Giggling, you took the baby in your arms and sat down on the bed, cradling him against your bare chest. “Aw I’m sorry, Booger, I got carried away.”

Snuggling the child, you were surprised when Din came over to you with a warm washcloth, offering to clean his mess from your thighs. You held Grogu close so his eyes were covered while Din tended to your needs, gently wiping the evidence of your reforged bond away.

When you were as clean as he could get you, you thanked him and scooted back up the bed, resting your weary head on the bunched-up bantha wool at the back of the cubby. You cooed at the fussing baby. “Do you need a lullaby, sweetie? I need to practice before bucket-baby comes. Would that be ok?” Grogu’s enormous eyes seemed to light up even in the dark recess of the alcove, his little head bobbing with a nod.

“He’s missed your songs, cyare.” Din hummed, crawling into the bed with you, laying so that he faced you and his son. You shot him a cynical glance, but he didn’t shy away. “I’ve missed your songs as well. I-if your voice hurts too much, it’s fine, we can-”

“I’ve missed singing to you as well, and to your son.”

“Our son. Just like it will be our baby. I’ll never make that mistake again, you have my word, and should I ever break it again I want you to put a bullet in my skull.” You were about to protest that last line, but his stern glare told you he wasn’t joking, so you nodded, agreeing to his terms.

“Anything in particular you want me to sing for you, husband?”

He smiled, running his hand over your bandages until his fingers tangled with your own, dancing lightly over the foundling’s forehead. “There was one a long time ago, it was the very first one you ever sang to Grogu, before he even had a name. Something about a navigator?”

“Of course.” You played with his fingers and cleared your throat, dropping your voice into a low whisper like you’d done a hundred times before.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

Across from you Din’s eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep so he could listen to you for as long as possible. You nestled closer to him until your foreheads bumped together, your faces curled towards the child that was already starting to drift back into his afternoon nap.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We’ve stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by.”

Neither of your boys made it to the last line, so overcome with stress-induced exhaustion that they were both sailing off to dreamland on the words of your song. Later you could find Mr. Sunshine and sort this whole Jedi nonsense out, but regardless of what the stranger wanted you weren’t going anywhere if Din couldn’t be by your side, the two of you having already suffered enough apart, missing your soulmates.

No, come what may, your clan of three, soon four, would not be splitting up again. Come hell or high water, you were in this together.

<-Previous

TAGLIST

@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kaermorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia @simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackd0gdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @jasmincita @sunnnygiiirl123 @beskarboobs @doin-stuff @marvelranger

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #bargaining with beskar #bwb

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rmnamjoons · 5 years ago

Text

Castaways [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: You’ve always hated the ocean. Open water terrifies you, and you stay as far away from it as possible for self-preservation and peace of mind. Despite this, your friend somehow convinces you to go on a luxury cruise with her, her boyfriend Hoseok, and Hoseok’s nerdy friend Namjoon, who’s almost cute enough to distract you from your debilitating fears. When a sudden storm hits, however, you and Namjoon are swept overboard and find yourselves castaway on a desert island somewhere in the vast South Pacific.

➳ pairing: Namjoon x reader

➳ genre: smut with plot, slow burn, fluff, a pinch of angst, and a happy ending

➳ word count: 25.5k (this is a completed oneshot)

➳ tags: so much teasing, non-completed foot job in public, sensual massages, cuddling for warmth, nursing ur loved one back to health, relying on each other, face-riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breathplay, cumplay, biting, rough sex, sweet gentle loving sex, fucking in water, sex outside, a small hint of a daddy kink, so much dirty talk, like 6k of this is just dirty talk

[read on ao3]

➳ a/n: Though I do try to make this somewhat realistic, this isn’t at all meant to be some dark, gritty tale of survival. They’re super lucky in their circumstances and everything is fine. This is basically just two people fuckin' a bunch on an island. Bon appétit.

➳ warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of almost drowning, having a panic attack in a terrifying situation (y/n is afraid of open water and they’re swept overboard during a storm without even life jackets), and dehydration symptoms including vomiting. They find an island with freshwater and everything is fine and peachy pretty quickly if you can make it through the rough stuff. I had to make it at least like 15% realistic, guys.

You fucking hated the ocean.

Like, ponds were okay. Streams? Great. Swimming pools, ideal. Rivers and lakes were fine, you guessed. It was the ocean that you hated and were downright terrified of on a pathological level. You had no idea what was down there, you didn’t know how deep it went. Reading about it made you want to throw up. Being out in open water you knew was deeper than five feet made you panicked and anxious and sweaty. You just couldn’t do it.

You had agreed to go on a cruise with your best friend Mina because she loved the ocean, for some fucking reason. When you’d gone on your senior trip back in high school together, you’d compromised: high school senior trip you’d go to New York for you, and college senior trip you’d go on a cruise for Mina. A selfish, immature part of you had figured you probably wouldn’t even be friends that far in the future, because that’s what happened when people went to college. People naturally drifted apart as they grew. You’d also figured that Mina would forget or find a new thing to fixate on. Maybe in four years she’d really love London or Bali or the desert and not the fucking ocean.

Instead, you’d remained close friends that whole time, and Mina still loved the sea. She’d majored in marine biology and spent most of her time down by the bay, where she met her lifeguard boyfriend Hoseok, a ray of sunshine, just like Mina. You had no way of knowing for sure, but for some reason you were willing to bet money the two of them had done some kind of mermaid sex fantasy roleplay before, as cheesy as they were and as much as the two of them loved the ocean.

You and Mina both finished your undergrads and then boom, just like that, you found yourself on your way to Sydney, Australia for the “South Pacific Grand Adventure,” just like you’d promised Mina four years ago. You distinctly remembered never ever promising to a fucking three week cruise, but, as always, you couldn’t say no to Mina.

Hoseok and his friend, a man you didn’t know, had been invited to come along as well. Once you knew she wouldn’t be by herself, you’d debated faking a serious injury or illness, but Mina was onto your tricks and dragged you along, insisting you’d have a good time once you were there and that you’d probably forget you were even on a ship.

Hoseok’s friend, a tall man with thick glasses and a backpack full of paperback novels, seemed to be as equally thrilled to be here as you were. Mina had introduced him as “Joon,” and he’d quickly corrected her, pushing his glasses up his nose and saying that his name was Namjoon, thank you very much. You noticed the way he grimaced when Hoseok and Mina openly made out on the too-long plane ride and how he rolled his eyes when they called each other over-the-top cutesy pet names. Namjoon seemed much more willing to show his distaste for the happy couple’s antics than you were, and you were now debating taking a page from his book.

You and Namjoon ended up stuck together pretty quickly, and you both seemed to realize that at the same moment, sitting beside each other in silence on the shuttle bus heading over to the port, while Mina and Hoseok sat together a few rows away, baby-talking to each other and cuddling and giggling. They were the only people on the bus making any noise this early in the morning, and they seemed not to notice that fact.

It was going to be a long cruise.

You’d had to wake up entirely too damn early to get on this bus, you were jet-lagged to shit, and the moment you saw the harbor and the cruise ship there waiting for you, you just knew you were going to very deeply regret this. The only solace you had was that Namjoon was stuck here with you. Maybe you could at least come out of this with a new sarcastic friend.

The four of you got off the shuttle and went up the ramp onto the massive cruise ship, and checked in at one of the front desks. You attempted to pretend this was just a normal hotel and was not going to take you out into the middle of nowhere in the awful ocean.

Mina did all the talking during the check-in process, Hoseok right by her side with his arm around her. You and Namjoon hung back with all the luggage, and you kept catching yourself staring at him and having to force yourself to look away.

Namjoon was tall, his messy dark hair sticking out from under a backwards baseball cap, his black thick-rimmed glasses slightly crooked on his deceptively cute button nose. He crossed his arms, his muscles there making you bite your lip, and you figured he was a man of contradictions. He was nerdy and kind of awkward, but was absolutely jacked, his chest nearly bulging out of his shirt. He had a cute, seemingly innocent face, but his resting expression seemed to be rolling his eyes at Mina and Hoseok’s expense. You decided you liked him.

After getting the keys to the rooms, the four of you went down and dropped your luggage off and then went to grab some lunch in one of the ship’s restaurants, and on the way there you only thought about jumping off the ship into the harbor and swimming back to Sydney once.

Hoseok and Mina sat beside each other and kept giggling and touching their foreheads together and cuddling, even giving each other a few quick kisses as they grinned at each other. Across the table, you and Namjoon sat there, just watching the two of them. Mina and Hoseok were lost in their own little world, while the two of you sat in an awkward silence, too embarrassed to say anything to your friends or each other. You mostly stared at your phone or the table in front of you, while Namjoon seemed very fascinated by a painting on the wall across the room. The waitress showed up and you ordered a mixed drink, figuring the only way you were going to make it through this trip was if you were highly intoxicated for most of it.

As you sat there during the course of the meal, you watched Namjoon’s reactions to different things Mina and Hoseok did as he leaned back into the corner of the booth, sprawling out, one arm across the back of the booth behind you. The two of them nuzzled their noses together, and Namjoon rolled his eyes. Mina leaned her head on Hoseok’s shoulder and snuggled in, and Namjoon tilted his head back, his tongue sticking out to the side and eyes rolled back in his head as he silently pretended to keel over and die. Everything the two of them did with each other, Namjoon reacted to it in some quiet passive aggressive way, mostly to amuse himself, but definitely amusing you.

Halfway through the meal, he realized you were watching him and silently giggling. When Mina and Hoseok started baby-talking and feeding each other, Namjoon looked at you with wide eyes and bit his lip, his body almost shaking as he tried so hard not to laugh at them. You put your hand up and hid your face, turning toward Namjoon so he could see you trying to hold in your laughter, too.

So far, Namjoon was more than making this trip bearable. He was turning out to be the best part.

***

Two days at sea passed. The ship was headed to New Caledonia and was set to get there the following morning, where you would have almost a full day to explore the port town of Noumea. After that, you’d be heading deeper into the South Pacific toward Fiji, another two days out on the open sea. On the map, it all looked so close together, but you saw at one point that it was over twelve hundred miles just from Sydney to Noumea. You tried not to think about it.

The next morning, you’d be on land again in Noumea, at least for a few hours. You just had to last until then, and then you’d have a brief break from the ocean. You tried to stop yourself from wondering if New Caledonia had an airport that could get you back to Sydney, where you could just hang out until Mina finished her cruise.

That being said, you actually weren’t having too awful a time, you had to admit. The ship was nice and had a lot of fun stuff to do, and Mina wasn’t spending every second of her time with Hoseok.

You did spend most of your time with Namjoon, though. You knew you were definitely attracted to him, and you’d caught him looking at you enough times to wonder if he was attracted too. He was so funny, and you’d grown to find his nerdiness endearing, and good lord did that man have muscles. You wondered more than once where on earth a little bookworm like him got a chest and arms like that. Every time he awkwardly pushed his glasses up his nose, his muscles in his arms bulged under his shirt. When he lounged on the ship’s deck reading yet another one of his novels, which he seemed to go through one of a day, you just stared at his thick thighs, imagining yourself riding them.

You learned a few things about Namjoon very quickly, the first being that he was very awkward and shy around new people. With everyone, from you at first to waiters to the random women who tried to flirt with him at the pool bar, he couldn’t look them in the eye and stumbled over his words, not knowing what to say when someone attempted to have a simple conversation with him. The man was terrible at small talk, though you could tell he was really trying his best. You’d tried so hard not to laugh at him on the first night at dinner when the captain came around to all the tables and introduced himself, and Namjoon had stuck out his hand for a handshake and the captain didn’t see him at all, and Namjoon had just sat there with his hand out for a few seconds until he dropped his hand to his lap, looking like a sad little kicked puppy.

The second thing you learned about Namjoon was that once he was comfortable around someone, he was a sarcastic, flirty tease, and this seemed doubly true for his interactions with you. At lunch on the second day, he’d taken a sip of your drink without asking, and when you’d turned and caught him, he’d just smiled at you smugly and winked, your straw still in his mouth. He’d then offered you a bite of what he’d ordered, holding up a piece of food on his fork, and when you’d opened your mouth and leaned in, he’d smeared it all over your cheek, apologizing profusely and insisting it had been a complete accident while smirking to himself the entire time. Underneath his shy awkward nerd exterior, he was all teasing and winks and sarcasm.

You dished it right back to him when you could. You’d stolen his book when he’d gotten up to get a drink at the pool, just for him to come back and see you reading it and refusing to give it back to him. You’d rubbed a bite of your dessert on his nose after offering him some at dinner. His eyes always lit up when you teased him right back, and with Mina all but ignoring you, Namjoon was proving to not only be your perfect distraction from the ocean, but a wonderful way of entertaining yourself on the ship.

It was now the third day, and you and Namjoon went to the pool together while Mina and Hoseok did some expensive couple’s massage all afternoon. As you walked out onto the pool deck together, you caught yourself staring at him yet again. Namjoon was shirtless, his swim trunks obscenely low on his hips, his chest so large, his big arms defined so beautifully. You were nearly drooling by the time the two of you found two lounge chairs together in a nice spot.

You had an idea for how to get some more attention from him, and you decided now was the perfect time to begin your plan.

“Joon? Will you do me a big favor, pretty please?” you asked, overly fake-sweet, as the two of you sat down and settled in. He’d unsurprisingly brought a book and was already laying down and opening it, but he tilted his head to look at you.

“What do you want?” he said, matching your sarcastically sweet tone.

“Will you put some sunscreen on me?”

“What, like on your back?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“All over me,” you said. “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands.”

“Neither do I,” he protested, pouting. “I’m the one reading a book, with paper. Do it yourself.”

“Ugh,” you huffed as you sat up. You reached into your bag and pulled out your sunscreen. “Please?” You made your voice higher and more feminine, almost a moan as you pouted and begged, holding out the sunscreen and batting your eyelashes at him when he looked over at you.

“Why can’t you do it?” he said flatly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I told you,” you said, “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands. I hate that feeling.” That was partially true. You were much more focused on the prospect of Namjoon’s big strong hands rubbing sunscreen all over your almost naked body, covered only by the skimpiest little bikini you’d brought on the trip.

“Fine,” he said, grumbling as he set his book down on the little table between you. “Where do you want it?”

“On my skin,” you said, smiling up at him innocently as you leaned back, reclining lazily in the lounge chair, your body on full display as you put your sunglasses on.

“But of course, your highness,” he said, sarcastically over-serious as he opened the bottle and squeezed a bunch of the sunscreen out onto his hand. “How could I not have known that?”

Whatever you were going to say was cut off by him suddenly smacking his hand down on your stomach, the cold sunscreen splattering out equally as surprising as his sudden movement. You gasped, squeaking in surprise, and Namjoon smiled to himself as he started moving his hand.

"Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I surprise you?” he deadpanned, spreading the sunscreen out across your skin.

“Not at all, Joonie,” you replied, relaxing under his touch. As sarcastic as he’d been, he was actually being normal about it now, sitting beside you on your chair as you laid back and let him touch you. He was also letting you get away with calling him “Joon” or “Joonie” lately, not correcting you or even reacting most of the time.

Namjoon was gentle yet firm, the cold sunscreen contrasting the warmth of his large hands so wonderfully it made goosebumps spread across your skin. You took in a deep breath and held it as you felt the tips of his long fingers slowly skim along the bottom of your bikini top, just barely going under the fabric and teasing the underside of your breasts as he rubbed the sunscreen in across your ribs. You sighed as he moved down your stomach to oh-so-gently massage your hipbones and navel, running his tips of his thumbs under the waistline of your bottoms just enough to make you raise an eyebrow at him.

He noticed your questioning look and smirked, moving back up to more neutral ground on your sides and massaging there instead.

“That feels good, Joon,” you murmured, relaxing again under his touch, and you noticed the way Namjoon slowly looked up at your face at your words, his lips parting as his eyes drug up and back down your body, drinking in the sight before him.

After getting more sunscreen on his hands, Namjoon started on your legs, touching you slowly and firmly, spreading his fingers out as he moved across your inner thighs. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, and you were thankful you were wearing sunglasses so he couldn’t see that. You wondered for a split second how much trouble the two of you would get if he fingered you right here on the pool deck in front of all these people.

Namjoon moved up to the top of your chest, spreading the lotion out there, and then up to your neck, where he stopped for a moment, his palm over your throat. You held your breath as his hand just rested there, and you knew he had to be able to feel how fast your heart was racing. He squeezed so gently, barely at all, and your breath caught in your throat, not from the tightness of his squeeze but from the intimacy and dirtiness of this moment. There were so many people around. All he’d have to do was squeeze a little harder. You were dripping wet for him, biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open. And then Namjoon moved his hand like he was rubbing in the sunscreen there completely innocently, stroking up and down your throat and then across your shoulders, returning to normal.

Namjoon moved back down to your legs. He put it on your inner thighs for the second time, and you noticed that but said nothing. You spread your legs just slightly, giving him easier access, and you could almost hear the small moan that escaped his lips when he touched the stitching of your bikini between your thighs.

He growled at you to roll over, a noise that went straight to your already throbbing core, and when you complied, he spread the cold sunscreen there, even pausing to carefully untie your bikini straps so he could cover your back fully. His massage was rough and thorough, rocking your body slightly with each of his movements. You almost moaned out loud, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh as he kneaded and spread out more sunscreen.

Namjoon used both hands on the backs of your thighs, dipping just his fingertips into the back of your swimsuit bottoms as he stood over you, stopping just before he was fully grabbing your ass with both hands under the fabric.

When he finished, Namjoon wiped his hands on his knees and then carefully tied your bikini back together. Before he even sat down, you jumped up and grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from his hands.

“Your turn,” you said, throwing your sunglasses down onto your chair. Namjoon’s eyes were dark, glinting with desire, and he immediately leaned back in his chair, ready for whatever you were going to do to him.

You straddled him, pouring sunscreen directly onto his tanned chest, making him hiss from the surprise of the cold liquid. He held you by the backs of your thighs as you rubbed it in with both hands slowly on his hot skin, feeling his muscles forcefully, spreading out your fingers. Namjoon didn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time, his jaw set as he watched you so intently. You felt his firm chest, his strong shoulders, his tight muscles, his large body seeming even bigger under your small hands. The whole time you worked, his chest steadily rose and fell, his breathing thick as he watched you with hooded eyes, his pupils blown.

You made him roll over. As you rubbed his back, you sat gently on his ass, still straddling him. You reveled in the feeling of massaging the cool liquid all over his warm skin, and you swore you felt him almost groan at one point when you really dug your palms into his lower back.

When you finished, you got up, smiling down proudly at him.

“There,” you said. “Now neither of us will get sunburnt.”

“That’s good. Skin care is important,” he said, rolling over slowly onto his back once again. You hadn’t touched him there, but somehow his hair looked ruffled and slightly messier than normal, his eyes almost satisfied, as if the two of you had just finished something much less innocent.

You could feel him staring at you intensely as you bent over, putting your sunscreen back in you bag. You bent at the waist and faced away from him, giving him the perfect view of what he wanted.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you said when you stood back up. You looked over your shoulder at him. “Do you wanna come?”

He blinked a few times, staring at you like you weren’t speaking a language he knew.

“Yeah. Yes,” he said when it finally processed. He stood up and followed close behind as you took his hand and led the way over to the bar.

While the two of you ordered, he stood close behind you, moving with you when you stepped off to the side to wait for your drinks. When you accidentally took too quick of a step back, partially bumping into him, you felt him through his swim trunks and realized that he was attempting to hide the fact he had a semi.

You definitely weren’t thinking about the ocean right now.

***

When you got dressed for dinner that evening, you picked out your skimpiest little dress, ready to taunt and torture Namjoon. You knew that packing your stockings, garters, and suspenders was a good idea, and you hoped Namjoon would potentially get to see them tonight if all went well. When packing, you’d anticipated a potential one-night stand with a crewman or fellow passenger, but this situation with Namjoon was far better than anything you’d imagined. You were sharing a room with Mina, but maybe you and Namjoon could sneak off together to some deserted part of the ship and he could fuck you against a wall, or something else equally sexy, passionate, and depraved.

Mina and Hoseok were meeting you at dinner and had already left, and Namjoon had texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to head down together. He came to your room to pick you up, and, when you opened the door, you grinned when Namjoon’s gaze immediately fell to your chest, his eyes wide. He quickly looked back up at your face, blinking in surprise as if shocked he’d let himself do that so openly. His cheeks were bright red, his lips parted as he tried to say something but couldn’t. He was so thoroughly flustered, and you stepped out of your room, brushing past him and knowing he’d follow.

You walked ahead of him down the hallway, accentuating your hips as you walked. You could practically feel that filthy boy’s eyes glued to your ass. This was going even better than you’d anticipated. Maybe he’d snap and fuck you against a wall before you even got to dinner.

You eventually found Mina and Hoseok, and the four of you sat together in a small booth near the center of the busy dining room. Waiters buzzed around like honeybees, and every last passenger on the ship seemed to all be here in this grand room. It was lively and exciting, a live band playing on the second floor and the kitchen staff loudly preparing course after course in the next room. If you were to look up, you would’ve noticed the chandelier swaying oh-so-slightly from the waves outside, nearly undetectable here in the belly of the ship.

You sat across the table from Namjoon. Part of the way through the meal, you decided to play with him some more and slipped off one of your heels. You continued eating normally, not letting your face or upper body show any signs of what you were doing.

You moved your foot up the inner side of one of his legs, feeling him jump only slightly when he first felt you. Your foot traveled farther and farther up until you were at his crotch, slowly moving the heel of your foot so that you pressed against him, teasing in a slow, circular rhythm.

You didn’t look up at Namjoon, but you felt him grab you by your ankle and squeeze. You cracked a small smile and tried to keep moving your foot despite his grip, and you could already feel him growing hard. He didn’t move or push your foot away. He held you right there in place, biting his lip as he moved forward in his seat, pressing his chest against the table as if he were simply sitting up eagerly.

“What did you two do this afternoon?” Mina asked politely, smiling at the two of you.

“Just hung out, mostly,” you said. You glanced up at Namjoon and saw his cheeks flushed red, nostrils flared, and you kept slowly moving your foot against him as he held your ankle. “Joon did some reading and I tanned.”

“It’s Namjoon,” he said, his voice deeper than normal, and when you looked up at him he was glaring, leering at you, eyes dark under those thick glasses you’d grown to adore. Mina and Hoseok seemed not to notice Namjoon’s suffering.

You smiled at Namjoon politely. You took a slow sip of your drink before speaking, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

“How could I forget? Namjoon,” you said, tasting his name on your tongue as if for the first time. You stroked him through his pants with your foot faster now, and you could almost see how fast his heart was racing in the veins in his neck and forehead. He was squeezing your ankle so tight you felt like you were losing circulation there, but you kept going.

Namjoon suddenly stood up, dropping your foot and turning away from the table and walking away as fast as he could, not looking back. Mina and Hoseok both looked confused, turning and watching him as he left, asking where he was going.

You slipped your shoe back on and excused yourself, saying you’d check on him, and quickly followed him outside.

Namjoon wasn’t hard to find. He stood out in the hallway, facing away from you when you walked out, arms crossed. You were in your own private little part of the ship, right near a balcony and where nobody could see or walk in on the two of you talking.

Before you could say anything, Namjoon turned around and looked at you.

“How would you like it if I just touched you like that while we’re in public, around all those people?” he said, glaring at you.

“Do you not like it?” you asked seriously, watching the way he set his jaw and looked away. Behind him, you could see out a large window that the sky was darker than it should be at this time. You could feel the sway of the ship way more than usual, but Namjoon’s distress pulled you back and made you focus on him.

Namjoon sighed before speaking. “You’re playing games with me,” he said, his voice deep and gravely. He shook his head like he was disappointed, but you saw how he looked back at you, his eyes falling to your legs and how short your skimpy little dress was.

“Do you not like games?” you asked, tilting your head and smiling now. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes now lingering on your mouth.

“I don’t think I like being played with,” he said, not taking his eyes off your parted lips. He watched you lick your lips slowly, and you swore you almost heard him growling.

“Well that’s a pity,” you cooed. “Because I love playing with you.”

Namjoon sighed, turning away from you and running a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and he walked out of the hallway away from you and out onto the deck.

You followed as he went out onto the balcony to get some air, both of you still under the large overhang. You froze in the open doorway, though, eyes wide and horrified as you looked out at the ocean, finally seeing the full scale of the situation.

Rain poured down as the dark waves churned and threw themselves against the ship, the angry water covered in white caps and sea foam. The sky was black, the roar of the wind and rain near deafening. The humidity out here was suffocating, even as you still stood in the doorway. You’d barely noticed it before, but now that you were paying attention and away from the center of the large ship, the vessel was rocking with the waves, your stomach lurching with it. You grabbed onto the doorframe, holding on for dear life.

“When did it start storming?” you said distantly, eyes wide as you stared out at the large, dark swells in the water.

“I don’t know. While we were eating,” Namjoon said. “Jeesh, it’s really coming down. It must’ve started up in just the last ten minutes or so. It was so nice this afternoon.” He continued talking about something, but you didn’t listen. Instead, you braced yourself there on the doorframe, eyes wide as you stared out at the water, feeling only the ship rocking side to side. The rocking wasn’t even that bad and you were both more than ten feet from the railing, but even being exposed to the outside air just this much was overwhelming.

You needed to get out of here. So many people had told you that you could barely feel the intense waves of a storm when you were in the middle of a ship, so you just needed to turn around and go back to your room. You heard an announcement on the ship’s broadcast system vaguely in the distance, but couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wind, rain, and the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Namjoon seemed to finally notice how you were reacting.

“Hey, are you okay?” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking, not looking up at him. You were pretty sure you were going to throw up. After a few seconds of Namjoon not saying anything, you spoke again, now trying not to hyperventilate. “Okay, I’m really really afraid of the ocean, and right now is like my worst nightmare, and I think I might pass out.”

“You’re afraid of the ocean?” he said in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing on a three week cruise?” When you didn’t respond, Namjoon moved so that both hands rested on your shoulders gently, grounding you. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice much softer as he tilted his head to look at you better.

You didn’t answer. The ship swayed and rocked with the harsh waves, and you tried to get used to it, swaying with it. Instead you just felt sicker. You knew it was near impossible, but you felt like the ship was going to flip over or break in half, and it kept getting worse by the second, the rain only coming down harder and harder. Lightning cracked and thunder immediately followed, making the whole ship rumble.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to go lay down in comfy pajamas and listen to music and not concentrate on the ship rocking and the sound of rain and thunder and huge waves. You needed to forget you were on a ship.

You stepped away from the doorframe, and Namjoon stepped back from you, giving you space.

The ship suddenly jerked side to side exactly three times as huge rogue waves hit it on each side, tossing it around like it was nothing, the ship tilting back and forth and making dishes inside fall off of tables and shatter.

The first wave threw both of you forward against the railing, nearly ten feet away from where you had been standing, the ship listing so dramatically so suddenly that you weren’t sure if you’d been thrown or just fallen. You fell into Namjoon and Namjoon fell against the railing, and he cried out as his back hit it sharply and you slammed into him.

The second wave threw both of you in the opposite direction, away from the railing and back towards the middle of the ship, the large wave coming up over the railing and soaking both of you. You coughed and gasped as Namjoon tried to both grab onto you and grab at the wall you’d been thrown against, both of you nearly tripped over each other on the now slick floor. You’d hit the wall beside the door you’d walked out of, and Namjoon had crashed right into you, unable to stop himself, both of you being tossed around like children’s toys.

The third wave threw you both back against the railing again as the ship tilted dramatically, and both of you, while still holding onto each other, fell overboard.

You felt like you were falling forever. When you hit the water, it felt like slamming into concrete, and a huge wave immediately sucked you under, into the darkness.

You couldn’t feel Namjoon anywhere. You were thrown against the side of the ship, pressed there, still underwater, the back of your head hitting the ship so hard you saw white. The force of what held you there felt like enough to grind you into nothing, and then, just as quickly, you were sucked back out away from the ship.

You didn’t know which way was up. Wave after wave hit you from every direction, making you spin and twist and throwing you around like you were a ragdoll. You didn’t have time to think, you just tried to find the surface, survival instincts taking over.

Your lungs burned. You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you may as well be a hundred feet underwater, and for all you knew, you were. For a split second you felt like you got your head above water, but you were immediately swallowed by another wave before you could even take a breath.

This felt like it lasted for hours, but in reality it was less than a minute. Eventually you got yourself above water and took in a deep, agonized breath, gasping for oxygen and coughing up seawater. A huge wave came toward you but hadn’t crested yet, so you floated with it, letting it bring you up and back down again.

Looking around in all directions, you tried to find the ship or Namjoon. You saw neither.

Your isolation and terror hit you like a freight train.

You were in the middle of the ocean. Alone. During a storm. With no ship in sight.

You had no idea if Namjoon was even alive. You couldn’t see the ship anywhere — had you been under that long? Had you been pulled one way while the ship sailed another? Or was the ship lost to the storm too, everyone else now drowning and being pulled to the bottom of the ocean?

This was you worst nightmare coming true. Your imagination and intrusive thoughts kicked into overdrive; you imagined what could be underneath you, what monsters and leviathans could be swimming up toward you right now, ready to swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to swim upwards even though your head was already above water. You kicked your arms and legs furiously, hyperventilating and gasping as you entered complete panic. The waves still tossed you around, but they were big enough and most were not cresting, so you could float and stay above the surface mostly. The rain poured down on you, and you felt like the rain alone was going to drown you.

Namjoon surfaced then, about twenty feet away from you. Gasping, he saw you and swam toward you, and you swam franticly toward him, you arms and legs moving violently. As soon as he reached you, you grabbed onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and moving like you were trying to climb on top of him to get yourself completely out of the water. You were kind of vaguely aware of the fact you were screaming and gasping and maybe sobbing.

What you were doing made Namjoon’s head go back under the water again, and he tried to get you off so he could breathe. You curled up into a little ball, twisting your body so that your legs could stay up near his chest and your arms could wrap tightly around his neck and shoulders.

“Help me! You’ve got to help me!” You were screaming near-gibberish, holding onto Namjoon as tight as you could as you wept and gasped, a small part of the back of your mind recognizing you were having a panic attack.

Namjoon hadn’t even had the chance to react yet other than his basic survival skills keeping himself above water and keeping you from drowning him. His feet were treading water desperately, his neck twisting as he looked around for the ship. His hands went up to hold you in place as he looked, his attention not really on you as he tried to find your way back to safety.

“I don’t see the ship,” he said loudly to be heard over the storm, eyes wide in horror. “Where’s the ship?”

You didn’t respond, instead twisting yourself so that you were wrapped around him again, clinging onto his body as tight as you could with all of your limbs. You were crying and gasping for air, your mind simultaneously blank and full of every panicked thought you’d ever had as you wept and hyperventilated.

A huge wave crested above you, pulling you both under for a moment. You kept yourself on him, and Namjoon got both of you to the surface. You clambered up him wildly, trying to climb him again as you gasped and cried, tears streaming down your face with the rain and seawater.

“Y/N, stop—” Namjoon started to yell, but you accidentally pushed him under the surface, cutting him off short. He got himself back up and wrapped his arms tight around you, if only to stop your movements, using just his legs to tread water. You held onto him like a leech, shaking, hyperventilating, sobbing as your panic consumed you.

“I can’t keep us both above water,” Namjoon said loudly, thunder crashing around you. “You’re gonna have to swim. You’re going to drown us both—”

A wave swallowed you both then, sucking you deep under yet again.

You lost consciousness before you reached the surface.

***

When you woke up, the first thing you were aware of was that your face, arms, and legs were sunburnt to hell, your mouth unnaturally dry, your tongue like sandpaper. Your entire body felt bruised and sore, the back of your head throbbing, the dull ache intensifying with each pulse. You felt like you’d been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat, and, remembering how you’d been thrown against the side of the ship underwater, you kind of wished you’d been hit with a bat instead.

The second thing you realized was that the sky above you was now clear and blue, and it was daytime. You were floating in the water on your back, the hot sun beating down and filling your corneas, all but blinding you. You were partially submerged, the gentle, calm water lapping at your sides.

Beneath you, you felt Namjoon holding you in place against him as he gently tread water, floating on his back as you laid on top of him. One of his arms was around your stomach, the other slowly moving in the water as he kept you both above the surface. Your head was back on his shoulder, strands of your hair floating loosely in the water.

“You’re awake,” he said then. His voice was lazy and deep, and you realized his movements weren’t just slow, they were sluggish, exhausted. You tried to shift your head and look back at him, but couldn’t at the angle you were at.

The sun where it was in the sky, perfectly above you, you guessed it was midday. Namjoon must’ve been awake since the storm last night, which meant he’d been awake for almost thirty hours, keeping you both above water during and after the storm all night and all morning, treading water all this time.

“Jesus, Joon,” you said as you realized that, but started choking on the dryness of your throat.

“I haven’t… seen the ship,” Namjoon said slowly. He sounded like he was drunk or half out of his mind, moments away from giving out from exhaustion. “I saw a plane, a few hours ago. I… I tried to signal it.” He held up his hand weakly, showing you he was wearing a watch. You didn’t catch the time on it. “I tried to use it, like a flare. A light flare, a re… reflection, from the sun. I don’ think it saw us though.”

“That was smart of you,” you croaked, your voice almost gone from dehydration and dryness.

“My phone… it fell out of my pocket las’ night, or maybe I forgot it at the table,” he slurred. “I don’ remember.”

“Namjoon…” you started. You wanted to ask him to trade places with you so you could tread water instead and he could rest and lay on you. The thought of being the one on the bottom, the one much more exposed to the ocean sent a shiver of pure terror down your spine, but it was the absolute least you could do for him. You could give him the chance to rest after keeping you both alive this whole time.

He kept talking, apparently not hearing you.

“I’m sorry I did this, but I… I checked to see if you ‘ad your phone. I’m sorry… I know some girls, keep it in your bra. I didn’t look much.”

“That’s fine,” you said. You completely understood and would’ve done the same. “Hey, Namjoon, here, let’s trade places.” You started to move, but he held you in place.

“No, 'is 'kay,” he said. His speech sounded like it was becoming more and more slurred every time he spoke. “I know you’re… 'fraid of the water. Jus’ keep looking up at the sky. 'Is okay.”

“Namjoon, really, let me take a turn. You need to rest.” You moved off of him and his arm fell off of you into the water, as if he were unconscious. You felt almost lightheaded as you shifted, moving upright instead of laying down for the first time in so long. You held onto his hand so he wouldn’t drift away as you started treading water on your own, your muscles sore and stiff.

Namjoon was worse off than you’d thought. His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, like he’d been forced to keep them open way too long in the bright sun. He looked exhausted and drained, deathly pale yet sunburnt to a crisp. You swore you could almost see his veins through his skin. You knew it wasn’t possible in the time frame, but he looked like he’d somehow lost a little weight.

His sunburnt skin was somehow already peeling, though one spot on his cheek looked more like a saltwater sore than a sunburn. His lips looked as dry as yours felt, and his lower lip was chapped, split, and bleeding, the blood just starting to run down his chin toward the water.

You immediately brought your hand up and wiped his chin with your thumb, keeping his blood from touching the water. You brought your thumb up to your mouth and sucked. You knew that bleeding in the water, especially warm waters like this, was a very, very bad idea. For all you knew, ten sharks were already circling the two of you below the surface right now.

Namjoon breathed slowly through his mouth, nearly wheezing, like just breathing agonized him. In your clinical paranoia and anxiety, you’d read a lot about surviving in open ocean: you knew that spending a lot of time in water like he had — and he’d kept you mostly out of the water for a lot of this, so you weren’t feeling it yet — the pressure, even at just a foot or so deep, started to affect the body. It constricted breathing, changing the way the chest cavity moved and expanded, and was even used as a torture technique in some places: making someone sit in water until they couldn’t breathe, even though their head was above water the whole time. That, plus the fact he’d been treading water for two people and exerting himself that much over such a long period of time, was more than enough to drain a person.

Being in saltwater this long also affected the skin, and you knew that if you didn’t find a way to get out of the water within the next day, your skin would start to deteriorate, loosen at the pores, and rot away. That was if dehydration and exhaustion didn’t kill you both first.

“What are we going to do?” you said. You really didn’t want to become panicked again. You held yourself back, refusing to let yourself break down now, but you still asked him that anyway, just to voice your fear.

“'Is okay,” Namjoon said. As he spoke, his eyes blinked slowly, like he was starting to nod off. “Don’ worry. We’re okay. We’ll jus’ float an’ find an island, or a ship’ll find us. It’s okay.” Namjoon was not a talented liar when half-dead.

You refused to let yourself cry or even think about the water, your odds of survival, any of that. You needed to focus. Namjoon had kept you above water all last night and this morning, and now it was your turn to return the favor.

Fish. You knew your best chance right now at not dying of dehydration was catching and eating fish, and using the fish oil you consumed to stay alive. If it rained, you’d need to find a way to collect the water. Now, though, you needed to focus on a way of finding, attracting, and catching fish, which you’d have to then eat raw and alive.

Wait — you also remembered that shark attacks, especially in warm waters, were something to stay alert to, and leaving bloody fish guts in the water was a very quick way to attract predators.

You were going to die.

Before you could say or do anything, you watched Namjoon suddenly slip out of consciousness, his eyes all but rolling back in his head. He slumped forward in the water, face down, and you caught him, pushing him back up so that his mouth and nose weren’t in the water. You moved behind him and held him the same way he’d held you, laying his head on your shoulder and keeping him flat on his back, just floating.

You floated like that for at least an hour. At one point you pulled Namjoon’s arm up and checked what time it was, but his watch was waterlogged and had stopped working at 9:15, and you didn’t know if that meant it had broken last night or this morning. You checked for his pulse a few times, each time finding it still going steady, albeit very slow.

At one point, something suddenly touched your arm. You screamed in surprise, pulling your arm away and trying to get yourself and Namjoon away from whatever it was, but stopped when you looked over and saw it was a piece of driftwood. Namjoon hadn’t stirred, even when you’d screamed.

You didn’t know what for, but you figured the driftwood could be useful at some point. You didn’t have a free hand to hold it, so you laid it on Namjoon’s stomach. It was light enough you could barely feel it in your hand, like it was made out of something just slightly heavier than styrofoam.

You started talking to Namjoon, blabbering on and on just to keep yourself entertained and to keep yourself from thinking about how deep the ocean was beneath you.

“I don’t really like tap water. I feel like it tastes really different, from whatever they put in it. Fluoride, right? I hate the taste of fluoride. I could really go for some fluoride water right now, though. I think my favorite kind of water is Smart Water. You know those really big bougie bottles? I love those. Or Fiji Water. We were supposed to be in Fiji… three days from now? We were supposed to be in Noumea today. I bet Mina and Hoseok haven’t even noticed we’re gone.” You laughed at that dryly. “I bet they got up and left while we were gone at dinner, and haven’t even left the room since then. Oh man, last night at dinner, I ordered this big ol’ tilapia with mashed potatoes and green beans. I’m so hungry right now, I might eat this driftwood later.”

You felt like you were losing you mind. Namjoon just floated there, still unconscious, and you kept checking to make sure he was still breathing.

Something else hit your arm, making you jump in surprise. When you looked down at it, you saw three little fish swimming by. You watched them go, and you realized something here was very off. You looked down in the water and didn’t see a dark abyss. You saw golden sand.

You could see the bottom of the ocean, and the water was only ten feet deep, maximum. You’d drifted far enough to find shallow water.

You spun around, looking around wildly. Above your head, two large white birds flew by. You saw it then. Maybe a football field’s length away was a small island, overflowing with green.

You nearly started crying in relief as you pulled Namjoon along, swimming as hard as you could.

“Joon, Joon, wake up, there’s land! We found land!”

Namjoon remained unconscious, but you dragged him with you as you swam with your legs and free arm. You almost cried out when you felt your feet touch the bottom, and as soon as you were in shallow enough water, you stood up and started pulling him, splashing through the warm water.

You immediately fell over, your muscles weak from exhaustion and not being used to gravity and normal weight. The top half of Namjoon’s body fell on your legs, and you shifted yourself and him so that you were pulling him along, dragging him and yourself up onto the sand.

You managed to get both yourself and Namjoon up to where the water just barely washed over your legs before collapsing. You laughed, nearly hysterical, feeling the wet sand between your fingers, holding onto it in handfuls. Tears streamed down your face, your heart bursting from joy and relief in catharsis.

After probably a half an hour of just laying there on the sand and just breathing, you managed to get yourself sitting up. In front of you was the ocean and nothingness on the horizon. To each side, beach curving away. Either the island was small or you were on a peninsula. Behind you was dense jungle. You could hear birds and noisy bugs — there was definitely an ecosystem of living plants and animals, which meant there would be fresh water and some kind of food supply.

Standing on shaky legs, you got to where you could move behind Namjoon, who laid on his back, arms out where you’d dropped them. Even while unconscious, he looked so weak and fatigued, the saltwater sore on his face and his split lip now both bleeding.

You still had on one of your heels. You must’ve lost the other one at some point in the storm, and you were shocked you hadn’t lost both. You bent and took off the one you still had, tossing it behind you further up the beach. Digging your feet into the sand, you dragged Namjoon up onto land by his arms. The white sand burned the bottoms of your bare feet, and you moved as fast as you could to get him up into the shade, only falling over from exhaustion a few times during the process.

The piece of driftwood was still on his stomach, and when you got him under a cluster of palm trees, you moved it from his stomach and used it to support his head, moving him as gently as you could. You took off his soaking wet shoes and socks, not wanting him to get whatever it was, that disease World War I soldiers got back in the day from walking in wet socks, and his belt, to help him be more comfortable.

You took off your garters and suspenders, peeling off your hose. You hung your hose and Namjoon’s sock on a branch nearby. You figured your suspenders would be useful at some point, as well as maybe the wire in your strapless bra. Namjoon’s belt would definitely be handy. Maybe you could use some of this stuff to make something to go fishing, maybe a net with the hose and—

Your thoughts were cut off when Namjoon, still unconscious, started gagging. You froze in shock and uncertainty, watching as his body shook, convulsing upward as he began throwing up. He was on his back so it had nowhere to go, and you watched, still frozen, as he began choking. Hearing that made you jump-start, and you quickly turned him onto his side, moving him so that he threw up onto the ground instead.

You felt Namjoon’s forehead, holding his head in place so he didn’t slide facedown into vomit. He was feverish, so hot to the touch you felt uncomfortable just touching him. His skin felt strange, deathly dry but also covered in a cold sweat, and it felt as if his skin were less movable and elastic. You gently pinched his arm, and his skin was unnaturally slow moving back, like his flesh was made of loose putty.

When he stopped throwing up — and he didn’t throw up much, just bile — he started moaning weakly, barely opening his eyes. His breathing was fast and shallow, catching in his throat with each agonized breath.

You moved your hand to his neck, feeling his pulse. You had trouble finding it, but when you did, it was racing and irregular. He moaned in agitation, weakly trying to move away from you, like just your touch was bothering him.

Namjoon showed every sign of severe dehydration you’d ever heard of, plus you had no idea what he was going through from exhausting himself so much and treading water that long. You needed to find him water and you needed to do it right now.

“Joon, I’m going to go find some water. You’re gonna be okay,” you said sweetly, trying not to speak too loudly and surprise him.

Namjoon mumbled a string of words you couldn’t understand. The only words you caught were “tree,” “dark,” “sun,” and “sea” between his harsh gasps. He looked back at you, barely able to keep his bloodshot eyes open, and said something else. He wasn’t making sense or saying anything coherent, just quiet gibberish as he breathed hard, lost in delirium.

You needed to go, but you didn’t want to leave him laying here alone. He could just roll over onto his back the second you walked away and throw up again, or he could get worse. Well, you figured, he was going to get worse no matter what if you didn’t go find water.

“Namjoon, you need to stay laying on your side,” you said, gently rolling him back over so he wasn’t looking at you. He moaned in irritation. “I know,” you cooed, stroking his hair back out of his face.

You couldn’t do anything for him here. You had to go and find the spring. You knew there had to be one, with this much wildlife, and it was your only chance at staying alive or helping Namjoon.

As you ran into the jungle, the end of your dress snagged on a low-hanging branch. It ripped, a few inches of it splitting. You’d all but forgotten you were still in your fancy skimpy dress, now discolored and faded from being in saltwater for so long. You were lucky a shark hadn’t tried to eat you, thinking you were a big colorful fish.

It took you about ten minutes to find it. The ground became wetter and wetter, the flora taller and stronger. You felt around with your bare feet, feeling your toes almost sinking into the wet moss. You turned around, looking around yourself wildly, and tripped backwards, falling on your ass right into water.

You were sitting in a pond. A small waterfall fed into it, the water coming out of a crevasse near the bottom of a large rock jutting out of the ground. The water was perfectly clear, probably only five feet deep at the lowest part. Tall palm trees and tropical leaves and ferns surrounded the area, shading it, the clearing surrounded with colorful flowers, bamboo stalks, and light gray rocks. A fish the size of your pinky swam by where you sat, not at all concerned by your presence.

You needed to find a way to get this back to Namjoon. Thinking fast, you stood up and walked over to one of the leafy plants, your dress dripping down your legs and onto the jungle floor. You found the biggest leaf you saw, pulling it out. When you cupped it and shaped it with your hands, it probably had enough room for about a bottle’s worth of water.

You waded into the water, heading straight for the direct source of the spring water, figuring that was the best place to get the cleanest water. You held the leaf there, letting water gently collect, and once you had it full you slowly and carefully made your way back toward Namjoon.

When you found him, he was unconscious again, thankfully still alive and breathing. You sat behind him, careful not to get yourself or him in the vomit still laying there, and had him sit up a little so he could drink as he leaned back on you. You held the leaf up to his mouth, but he didn’t wake up, sending a spark of panic through you. You moved so that his head tilted back and forced some water into his mouth. A lot of it ran down his chin and onto his chest, but at least some of it went into his mouth and down his throat. You saw him swallowing after a moment, and let yourself sigh in relief.

You got him to drink about half of the water before he started gagging. He threw up again, but was self-aware and awake enough this time to turn himself to the side and not throw up on himself or you. You held the leaf up above your head, careful to make sure he didn’t knock into you and spill it.

You drank the rest of the water and then went back to the spring, this time making a path for yourself on the way. You used rocks and large branches to move the foliage aside, leaving behind a clear trail you could easily follow. This would also help you get back faster, and you wouldn’t have to move around the thick plants while holding a leaf full of water.

You got Namjoon to drink about half of the next leaf too, and you figured that was enough for right now. You swore you remembered reading that giving someone too much water when they were dehydrated would make them sick, so you’d give him more very gradually.

You now focused on setting up a shelter. You were in survival mode, not allowing yourself to think about anything except your next move and how you were going to keep yourself and Namjoon alive.

A little bit down the beach, you found a tree near the tree line with a branch about four feet off the ground, and another tree maybe six feet away with a similar branch. You walked into the foliage, looking around for a huge, narrow stick. When you found one, you brought it back to your two trees and set the stick on the branches, making a bar. Now, you just needed to find more large sticks to lean against your bar, and then you could tie leaves to those sticks to make a thick barrier that could protect you both from the elements. You always knew your years in Girl Scouts would eventually pay off.

Setting up your plan took a while. You stopped part of the way through and went back to check on Namjoon, still laying there unconscious or sleeping. His breathing was normal now and he seemed more relaxed, but he was still feverish. You went back to the spring and drank a lot yourself before bringing water back to Namjoon. Even while not awake, he drank without hesitation this time, immediately swallowing instead of just laying there unresponsive. You stroked his hair back from his forehead, wiping away the sweat there.

Before standing up to leave him again, you leaned in and almost kissed Namjoon on top of his head, but caught yourself. What the hell was that? You shook your head and got up, gently easing him back down on his side.

The shelter was done by sunset. You cleared the ground underneath the slanted roof — it was still sandy there, so you figured you probably wouldn’t have to worry about bugs too much. You still laid down a layer of large leaves anyway, setting up a kind-of mat to lay on. This was about as good as it was going to get right now.

Your stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. You didn’t have time to find food now, though — wandering around the jungle at night sounded stupid at best, and you still had things you had to do before the sun went down. The hunt for food would come tomorrow.

You went back and found Namjoon again. He seemed closer to sleeping than unconscious, and that comforted you. You went back to the spring one last time, filling yourself up and then taking one more leaf back to Namjoon. Once you got him to drink, you dragged him down the beach to your shelter, which took quite some time. He was a big boy, and you were fucking tired, your muscles still weak from being in water so long. You pulled him by his arms, though, and eventually got him there and rolled him under the lean-to.

After that, you went and found your discarded heel, garters, and hose and Namjoon’s belt, socks, and shoes, and brought them all back, keeping your stuff together and close. The spring was about a five-minute walk down the path you’d made from the shelter. Everything was fairly close together, and for that you were thankful.

You laid Namjoon on his side in the shelter and then climbed in behind him. You didn’t know how cold it got here at night, but you laid behind Namjoon, spooning him, partially for warmth and partially to make sure he didn’t roll onto his back at any point in the night.

The sound of the ocean was eerily lulling. You listened to it, the gentle waves lapping against the shoreline in the dark, and when you really listened you could hear Namjoon’s steady breathing. The jungle behind you was silent.

***

When you woke up, your arm was asleep. You’d used it as a pillow because of your lack of anything else, and that had been a minor mistake. You stretched it out as you got up and climbed over Namjoon, looking out at the early morning ocean.

The sun was just coming up, which meant with its position, your spot on the beach was facing north. You didn’t know why knowing that comforted you. Maybe knowing more about the situation, even inconsequential stuff like that, made you feel a little bit more in control of everything. Your head didn’t hurt as much today, and you felt your energy coming back, albeit only slightly.

You looked back at Namjoon. He hadn’t thrown up in the night, which meant he was keeping fluids down, finally. You felt his forehead — a little warm, but not clammy and feverish like he’d been yesterday. He had to be a little warmer than usual because of his sunburn, too, so that was okay. At least you couldn’t see his veins through his skin anymore.

Your own skin was peeling, too, your face and shoulders the worst. It itched so bad, but you kept yourself from touching it. You knew in the back of your mind that going into the ocean would help heal your skin — living with Mina, you knew all the little things about the ocean like that, about how clean saltwater healed wounds and made sunburns not hurt. Right now, though, the last thing you ever wanted to do was go back into the ocean.

You were hungrier than you’d ever been in your life. You needed to find food today. Namjoon wouldn’t be able to take anything besides water for a little while, so this was just for you. First order of business, though, was getting more water in both of you. Your number one priority was keeping both yourself and Namjoon hydrated.

You made your way back to the spring. As you walked, you thought about how you would try to make a fire today, and maybe start using big rocks to spell out “HELP” on the beach. Your mind kept wandering to food; not even you favorite foods, but basic stuff — bread, red meat, and fruits. You pictured a big, juicy steak and nearly whined out loud.

When you got to the spring, you saw something that made you freeze in your tracks. A wild boar, about the size of a fat house cat, was drinking from the pond.

Your mouth started watering just looking at it. Your mind just saw sizzling bacon as you stared blankly at the boar, unmoving as you stood there at the tree line of the clearing. It looked up at you and didn’t really seem to be afraid of you, just going back to drinking after a few seconds of a glance.

You pushed it out of your mind. The meat would probably go bad before you could even make a fire to cook it. You’d just find something easier, like fruit, and hold onto the knowledge that there were boars on this island for a time when you’d be more prepared to cook it. You’d probably also need to make some kind of defense weapon, in case this little guy was just a baby, and papa boar was around and angry.

You drank directly from the spring for a moment, letting yourself feel almost full, and then found another leaf and filled it up. When you got back to Namjoon, he was almost stirring awake.

As you sat down behind him, he tried to sit up, but was too weak.

“No, shh, stay down,” you cooed softly. You brought the leaf to his mouth and he drank slowly, a few drops spilling down his chin. When he finished, you set the leaf aside and looked down at him, wiping his chin and stroking his hair back off of his forehead.

You took his dress shirt off of him — it was long-sleeved, and you didn’t want him to overheat during the heat of the day today. You moved him onto his side again and bundled up his shirt, using it as a pillow underneath his head. Namjoon drifted back to sleep as you moved him.

You saw a large yellowish-purple bruise across his lower back and remembered how he’d hit the railing so hard when the ship had been tossed around in the storm. Reaching out, you let your fingertips skim against his skin, feeling his bruise. There wasn’t anything off about the way his spine looked, at least externally, and he’d been using his legs just fine when you saw him treading water. You hoped his kidneys were okay, since the railing must’ve hit him hard there, but you knew you had no way of telling what kind of pain he was in until he woke up.

Sighing, you stood up, leaving him. You then began your search for food, walking down the beach.

After a few minutes of walking along the tree line, you saw a plant you thought you recognized. A tree about three feet taller than you grew right beside the sand, fruit growing out of the top of it below its leaves. You recognized the fruit, but the name wasn’t coming to you. It was shaped like a fat eggplant and was a mix of green and yellow in color.

Papaya. You knew that’s what this was.

You reached up and pulled one off, and brought it down to look closer at it. You squeezed it with your hands, looking at it intently. You had no idea how to tell if papayas were ripe or bad, but this one looked as good as any.

You just bit right into it. The skin was hard to chew, like eating an orange peel, so you spat that out into your hand and bit off the meat of the fruit, leaving behind just the skin. You repeated this all over the papaya until the skin was gone, and then you devoured it. When you got to the seeds, you spat them out, unsure if they were safe to eat, but you ate every last bit of the meat of the fruit until there was nothing left.

You ate two more papayas before you moved on. About ten feet down the beach you found a banana tree, but all the bananas were small and green.

You kept walking. You wanted to see how big the island was, and see if there were maybe other inhabitants there. For all you knew, you were on a resort island, and you’d walk around a bend and see a big five-star hotel.

You found a few more papaya and banana plants, some of the bananas even ripe, and saw some coconuts and a few things you didn’t recognize. One looked like a huge blueberry, another like a bumpy green lump, and another like a small, light pink pear. You only gathered the ones you knew for sure, and figured that eventually you could test the others to be certain.

You kept walking and walking, and then you saw Namjoon laying under the lean-to. You’d walked around the entirety of the island, seeing no signs of civilization, and had done so in an hour at most, and that was with you stopping and looking at fruit. The perimeter of the island could only be a mile or so. You and Namjoon were definitely alone here.

You took your armful of fruit over to the shelter. You didn’t want to waste anything by picking it too early, so you’d only brought two yellow bananas and a papaya. You planned to get just a little bit of food into Namjoon tomorrow if he seemed up to it, starting with banana, since people could usually eat that when they were sick.

Namjoon was still asleep. Judging by the sun, it was nearing midday now. You went to the spring in the woods and drank, and brought some back for Namjoon, methodically keeping him hydrated, and then moved on, starting your call for help.

You spent a large part of the afternoon finding large rocks to arrange in the shape of HELP across the beach. Each letter was probably fifteen feet long and half that wide, and you only got halfway through the E before getting too tired to keep going today. The last thing you wanted to do was wear yourself out, so you figured tomorrow you’d finish E and do L, and then do P the next day.

You continued your routine. You checked on Namjoon. You went to the spring and drank some water, and then brought back a leaf full for Namjoon. You ate two bananas and called that a late lunch.

Late in the evening, you sat on the sand a few feet from the shelter. You faced out toward the ocean, watching the waves as the tide slowly went out and the sun set far to your left. At the highest point of high tide, the water was about forty feet from you. That comforted you, being that far from the waves.

You were thinking about how you could try to make yourself go fishing eventually when you heard Namjoon stirring, and you turned around, looking back at him.

“Hey, sleepy,” you said, smiling warmly.

Namjoon opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he got used to what he was looking at. As far as you knew, this was the first time he’d been aware of what was going on since that first night in the water.

You moved and went to sit beside him.

“You’ve been out for about a day,” you said. “There’s a spring a few minutes away, with clean freshwater. I found a bunch of fruit, too. I checked and the island’s small, no people. There are animals, though.”

Namjoon blinked a few times slowly. “Animals?” he asked, his voice deep, gravely, lethargic.

“I saw a boar,” you said, smiling. “That means there’s more, unless this guy swam here like we did.” You giggled a little at that, trying to lighten the mood, but Namjoon just laid there for a moment, thinking and looking out at the water behind you.

“What happened?” he said, his face blank. You bit your lip, not sure if you wanted to scare him, but figured you may as well tell him everything.

“You kept me alive until I woke up,” you said, watching his face to see if he’d react to anything you said. “It was afternoon when I woke up, and you seemed delirious. You passed out, and I kept you above water until we drifted and found this island. You were really dehydrated and sick, and I found the spring and got you to drink some water and rest. You’ve slept for over twenty-four hours. Probably twenty-eight, if I had to guess.” You added the last part nervously.

Namjoon nodded slowly, listening to all that. Behind you, the waves hit the shore steadily. You were getting sick of hearing that noise.

“I didn’t feel your pulse after that big wave,” Namjoon started, staring out at the water, speaking slowly. His eyes were blank and vacant, still bloodshot, though not as bad as they’d been. “I kept your head above water, just in case. I figured you’d swallowed some water, or maybe drowned. I tried to do CPR but it was kind of hard, with the waves and the rain.” He took in a few deep breaths, as if just speaking that much had worn him out.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap. Your heart swelled from his words, and you almost felt yourself tearing up. He’d worked so hard for so long to keep you both alive. It must’ve been terrifying, thinking he was alone in the middle of the ocean, the only person with him potentially dead.

You glanced up and saw Namjoon slightly shaking his head, brow furrowed.

“When you didn’t wake up the next day or the following night, I started to get really worried. I felt you breathing, though, so I kept going.”

You looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide, heart all but stopping in your chest as your blood ran cold. “Following night? What do you mean?”

Namjoon shook his head again slowly. “The storm happened and we had that night in the rough waves, and then there was a full day and another full night where you were out, and then I don’t really remember anything after that.”

“Jesus, Namjoon,” you said, eyebrows about in your hairline from your shock. No wonder he’d been so exhausted — he’d had another twenty-four hours more than what you’d thought, and just what you’d thought he’d gone through was enough to kill him. Another twenty-four hours of keeping himself and you above water. Another full day of being alone with his thoughts and fears while adrift in the ocean, keeping an unconscious person above water just in case you were still alive. How the hell had he survived?

This meant that you had been unconscious for almost two full days. Didn’t being unconscious that long mean brain damage? You felt fine now, but shouldn’t you not be fine? You remembered hitting your head on the side of the ship, and you were certain going into shock from your panic hadn’t helped that at all, but your head barely hurt anymore, other than when you were exerting yourself too hard. Had you been in a coma or something? What the fuck?

Namjoon started to sit up then, but you stopped him, moving over to him and putting your hand on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

“You need your rest,” you said.

“I’ve rested enough,” he said, trying to sit up again, but he was too weak to even push against your hand just barely resting on his chest. You didn’t say anything, instead just watching him huff and lay back down.

A few moments of silence passed between you. The sounds of the ocean and waves mingled with distant birds and the gentle wind moving the leaves on the tall trees.

“I wrote ‘HELP’ with some rocks,” you said lowly. “Or at least, I started to. I’ll finish it in the next few days.”

Namjoon rolled onto his side and stared out at the ocean blankly. Just moving that much seemed to wear him out.

“That’s good,” he said flatly. “I’ll help tomorrow.”

“No you won’t,” you said. “You need to keep resting and recovering.”

“I’m not dying, I–”

“You were,” you shot at him, your expression and words turning harsh. You stared at him intensely, all but snarling. You were prepared to make him keep resting, even if it meant tying him to a tree with vines from the jungle.

“Well, I’m not anymore, and I want to help,” he said, not giving up on it.

“Too fucking bad,” you said, setting you jaw.

Namjoon glared at you. Apparently just to spite you, he sat up, pretending not to be dizzy once he was upright as he braced himself.

“I’m going to get more water,” you said coldly, standing up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes so I can put water in your mouth for you and help you drink, again.”

Without waiting to hear a response, you turned and walked down the beach to your path to the spring.

***

The two of you didn’t speak much the rest of the day, both of you too stubborn. That night, when Namjoon found out what the sleeping arrangements were, he huffed and pouted but didn’t comment, apparently still annoyed at you for refusing to let him help.

The two of you did talk for a little while seriously. You figured it was warm enough at night without a fire, but you’d need one to cook any eventual meat or fish and to keep warm if it rained or the temperatures dropped, and it would of course be great for signaling rescuers. You planned for Namjoon to work on that tomorrow while you worked on the “HELP” letters, since beating rocks together to make sparks was stationary and he could sit down and take his time with it. He seemed like he really wanted something to do, to feel helpful, and being put in charge of the fire seemed to please him. He tried to pretend he was fine, but he was still so exhausted.

You’d found some baby coconuts earlier and were fairly confident you’d be able to get them open, and tomorrow you’d have Namjoon try the milk to start getting used to something besides water, and then you could use the husks as tinder for the fire.

When the sun went down, it was a little bit colder than the night before. You curled up against Namjoon, who’d laid on his back, and he wrapped his arm around you, gently pulling you closer to him as he also felt the chill, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. You used his dress shirt as a blanket, laying it over both of your upper bodies. You hooked your leg up over him, your thigh resting across his thighs, and he put his large, warm hand on your knee. He moved his thumb in small circles on your skin, sending sparks to your core. He was so warm, and you tried to remember and focus on how he’d been warm on the ship too, when he’d put sunscreen on you at the pool. His fever wasn’t so bad anymore. He was just a warm person. You didn’t need to worry about his fever anymore, you told yourself.

The ocean was so loud right now. Your mind drifted to how close to death you’d both been, especially Namjoon, and how you were probably going to die on this island. How could you possibly survive here long-term? What would happen if one of you got a little cut that got infected, or if one of you got seriously hurt? Just a broken bone or toothache could kill you. What if nobody every came looking for you? The ocean was so fucking big — how could anyone find anything? How had you even managed to find this island at all?

You felt and heard him sigh then, your hand and head both rising and falling with his chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked. Your voice sounded so small, nearly cracking as you spoke.

He didn’t answer for a moment. You wondered if he was actually asleep.

Namjoon did answer, his warm voice a low, comforting noise you could almost feel rumbling in his chest. “We’ll stay alive.”

He turned his head and kissed the top of your hair, resting his mouth there as he breathed slowly. The ocean didn’t sound as loud now.

***

Namjoon’s snoring only woke you up twice. You found yourself getting used to it, much preferring it over the awful sound of the waves you knew were going to eventually drive you crazy. You almost found his snoring comforting after a while, because now you knew for certain he was alive and sleeping, not unconscious or worse.

In the morning, after you’d gone to get your and Namjoon’s first drink of water, you went and found Namjoon some rocks to try to make his fire. You set up the pit, circling up some larger rocks to contain it and arranging some dry leaves and sticks. You helped Namjoon move over to where you’d set it up, since you didn’t want it right beside your very flammable shelter, and you helped him get settled in his new spot.

He started working, and you went and got one of your baby coconuts. You hit it against a tree nearby, and after only two hits it started to burst. You hurried over to Namjoon and held it as he drank from it eagerly. He brought his hands up to hold the coconut tighter, his fingers on yours as he drank up every last bit of liquid. A small amount of it dribbled down his chin, running in a long, thin line down the column of his neck, which you tried very hard not to stare at as he drank and swallowed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You peeled the coconut open and found the meat inside. You saw the way Namjoon was staring at the meat intently where he sat, mouth watering, and you reached in and brought some of the meat up to your own mouth.

“No solids for you until tomorrow at the earliest,” you said between bites, and he huffed, annoyed with that.

You put the dry parts of the cleaned out husk in the fire pit and went and cracked open another. Namjoon drank, you ate, and you threw it in the fire pit again.

You got to work on the “HELP” letters, working slowly not to overstrain yourself. Around midday, you took a brief break to get some water to Namjoon and get him another coconut. You had two papayas plus a leaf of water and the coconut meat.

In the afternoon, you continued with the rocks. Namjoon wasn’t having much luck actually starting a fire, but he was starting to make sparks and absolutely insisted that he’d eventually get it.

When you walked out of the jungle with yet another rock, back to the beach on what you told yourself was the last trip, you saw Namjoon standing and walking into the ocean, only in his boxers and already up to his knees in the water. You threw the rock in your arms off to the side and ran to him.

“Namjoon!” You sprinted, moving yourself as fast as your legs could carry you. You didn’t know what he was planning on doing, but with him as weak as he was, there was no way he’d be able to fight a riptide or maybe even just the normal waves pulling him out.

You splashed into the water and when you got to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, physically dragging him back to shore.

“Stop it, get off,” he grumbled, trying to wiggle free. “I’m just trying to get clean. Neither of us have bathed in days.”

“Sorry, buddy. There’s a rule about this,” you said, still attempting to pull him back. “No swimming in the ocean when you almost died two days ago.”

“I’m fine,” he whined, begrudgingly allowing himself to be pulled backwards until you both stood with just your feet in the water.

“Nuh uh, Joon,” you said, letting go of him and walking around to face him. You were ankle-deep in the water and tried to ignore the small spike of fear even just this now brought you.

“Yeah huh, Y/N,” he said, matching your tone.

“If you’re fine, do ten jumping jacks right now,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. Namjoon didn’t say anything and definitely didn’t do what you’d asked, instead just setting his jaw and glaring out at the water behind you.

You smirked at him, knowing damn well that he wasn’t able to do that right now, and he knew it too.

“I’m going in and you can’t stop me,” Namjoon declared. He moved to step around you, and you sidestepped, standing right in front of him. He tried to do it again, and you just sidestepped again, smiling now.

“I can do this all day, Joonie. You getting tired yet?” you said.

Before he could say anything, you felt something touch your ankle and you screamed, jumping out of the water and up onto the sand. Namjoon used your distraction to walk straight out into the waves.

“Namjoon, stop,” you begged, walking in after him. You saw what had touched your ankle: a little piece of seaweed maybe an inch long.

You went right into the water after him, ready to pull him back again, but he moved down, dunking himself under where it was only about three feet deep. He stood back up, running his hands through his hair.

You looked down at his muscular, broad body as he faced away from you, his caramel-toned skin glistening from the water in the bright sunlight and thoroughly distracting you from your worry. It didn’t seem to fit, him still looking like this but you knowing he’d been starving and dying the past few days. You knew logically that of course he wouldn’t change size too much or in any way reflect his complete lack of food yet, but still. It felt odd seeing how muscular he was and remembering how frail and weak he’d been.

Namjoon dunked himself back under one more time, and then walked back onto shore.

“See? I was fine,” he said as he walked by. You ignored the way the droplets of water ran slowly down his firm chest and stomach and the way his smug smile made you want him to bend you over something.

“And if you’d been caught in a riptide, I’m sure you would’ve been a-okay,” you said, turning and walking back up to the shelter with him. When you got there, you decided to give him some privacy, and to go off and take a bath of your own.

You went to the spring. On your way there, you saw a low-hanging palm tree with more baby coconuts, just off the path. You got one and carried it with you.

You had nothing to use for soap, but maybe using coconut milk on some of your body would be the same thing as coconut oil or lotion. You knew that was an ingredient people used in soaps and stuff, and had read about fresh coconut milk being used on the skin. You could just rub it in and then wash it off with water. You were probably doing something really stupid, but you didn’t even care. You just desperately wanted to not smell like sweat anymore.

When you got to the spring, you stripped off your dress and took off your strapless bra and panties and laid them all out on a large flat rock near the edge of the water. You cracked the coconut against a tree and carefully set it on the rock beside your clothes.

The first thing you did once you were in the water was wash your panties. You didn’t want to fully transition to full-time commando, especially not with your short dress, but the time you’d been wearing them now was already far past way too long. You soaked and scrubbed them with just water, and then laid them out to dry.

You leaned back and dunked most of your hair in the clear water. Getting a little coconut milk on your hands, you ran your palms over your shoulders and upper body, rubbing it in and pretending it was a nice body wash back home in your shower.

It smelled so good and pleasant here. The little waterfall from the spring was the only thing you could hear besides the leaves and flowers moving in the gentle island breeze. You dunked yourself completely under the water, letting it soak into your skin. You ran your hands all over yourself, and felt, for the first time in days, almost clean. Your skin had been so dry from the salt water and pained from the sunburn, and the coconut milk felt like a thin lotion, exfoliating you skin.

You moved toward the deepest part of the pool, where you could still touch the bottom if you were on your tiptoes. You really didn’t mind being in this water. It was clear and you could see around you, and it was small enough you could see all of it. There was nothing hiding here.

“Hey, you.”

You nearly screamed in surprise.

Namjoon had followed your path and now stood near the entrance to the clearing, still dripping wet in his boxers, which were so low around his hips you could almost see a bit of dark hair. He seemed completely unconcerned with the fact you were naked — you had been facing the other way before, but when you’d spun around and saw him, you’d covered yourself, knowing the pristinely clear water would do very little to distort his view of you. You covered your breasts with one arm and crossed your legs, wrapping your other arm around your body instinctively.

“Fuck, Joon. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Language,” he said sarcastically. “And it’s Namjoon to you.”

Namjoon walked around the clearing, looking at the different plants and making his way over to the spring. He didn’t seem to notice or care that you were on edge, turning yourself with him so he wouldn’t see your ass.

“Uh, do you mind?” you said after a moment.

“Not at all, go ahead,” he said, sitting down on a rock beside the crevasse where the spring water flowed out. He cupped his hands and drank some before continuing. “I can’t see shit without my glasses, which I lost in the storm. You just look like a little skin-colored blob to me right now, especially this far away.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. You’d been so relaxed and calm before he showed up, and now you were standing here covering yourself. Though, realizing that he’d lost his glasses and couldn’t see well without them did make you feel almost bad for him.

“So I was thinking,” Namjoon began conversationally, and you bit the inside of your cheek, preparing for a full conversation with him like this, with you covering yourself. “We can use your pantyhose as a fishnet. Nothing big, but enough to catch something we can eat. We don’t have enough for a mosquito net, but I haven’t really seen any mosquitos, even here with all this sitting water. We don’t need to make a rain filter since we have the spring, so our only real use for your hose is fishing or drying foods.”

“You know how to dry foods?” you asked. You were still covering yourself fully, but relaxed some as the two of you talked seriously. He wasn’t leering or trying to catch a glimpse, and he couldn’t see that well anyway, but he did look over at you and make eye contact when you spoke. His expression was serious and businesslike.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just hang it up and keep it in the sun for two days or so. It’s easy, I used to do it all the time when I hiked more. Bananas would probably be best, but we’d have to cut it up somehow. I’m not sure mashed bananas would be very good dried.”

“We can use the wire in my bra,” you suggested. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment in agreement.

“We can also use the prong on my belt, if we can get the buckle off, as a spear tip. Just tie it to a nice stick, and boom, we have a spear to use on that boar you saw. Twenty-first century arrowhead. We can probably tie it with your sexy little leg straps.”

“Sexy leg straps?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “You know, your hose thingys?” He made a straight line motion with his finger, drawing up and down the side of his outer thigh.

“They’re called suspenders.”

“Whatever. You knew what I meant.”

You looked at him for a moment. You were still standing there in the water covering yourself as much as you could, and he didn’t seem to have any plans for leaving any time soon.

“Yes?” Namjoon said when he noticed you staring at him. You could see the smallest hint of a smile on the corner of his smug mouth.

“Get out,” you said simply, smiling fake-politely.

“I’m just here to drink water,” he said, feigning innocence. “Remember the whole dying of dehydration thing? Plus we were talking about plans to survive. You plan on wearing that dress every day?”

“Were you planning on going permanently naked any time soon?” you said.

“Pants don’t last forever, and neither will that pretty little dress of yours.”

You set your jaw. Before you could say anything to him, he stood up, eyeing the water beside where he stood.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you said in surprise, realizing what he was doing.

“Going for a swim,” he said, like it was obvious. He pulled down his boxers, and then there he was, completely naked before you. You only looked up at him in short glances, your eyes wide, careful not to let him catch you staring. Even in the cool water, you felt the heat and slick wetness starting to build between you legs. You didn’t let yourself look at him anywhere below his stomach, but you could see even when not looking directly at him that he was a big boy, short dark hair surrounding his thick length, so big even when flaccid like this. He seemed completely at ease, this moment not sexual to him at all as he eased himself down into the water.

“Didn’t you just swim in the ocean?” You made yourself look only at his eyes.

“You barely let me go in at all, and I see you invented some coconut soap, which you didn’t share,” he said. “I wanna be clean and not smell bad, too.” Namjoon waded over through the waist-high water to where your coconut was sitting on a rock. You watched him glance at your panties drying there, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Namjoon got some coconut milk on his hands and rubbed it on himself. He was still facing away from you, so you stared blatantly as he rubbed his hands across his arms and shoulders, the muscles in his back moving and stretching.

He continued talking to you as he worked. “So, when are you going to let me start eating? Or is your plan to starve me out?”

You snorted. “How are you feeling with the coconut milk you had earlier?”

“Good.” He glanced back over his shoulder at you for a second, and your eyes snapped up to his eyes from where you had been staring at his ass through the crystal clear water. “Hungry as hell, and ready to start eating something.” He spoke normally, apparently not catching on to your leering, thankfully.

You didn’t answer him. You relaxed yourself a little, still keeping yourself covered but not letting your muscles stay as tense as they had been. After a moment, Namjoon spoke, still facing away from you and rubbing coconut milk on his upper body.

“I gotta ask. Where was all this shyness and modesty when you nearly jerked me off in public with your foot? Or is it different for you if you’re playing a game?”

You froze. You’d all but forgotten about how much you’d teased him on the boat. All of that seemed so long ago now.

“What game?” you said.

He turned around and looked at you, one eyebrow raised. You smiled at him innocently.

Namjoon moved slowly through the water, coming toward you. His dark eyes were so intense, you couldn’t look away if you wanted to, though his smile was playful. Your legs were still crossed and one arm still covered your breasts, but as he approached, stepping closer to you, you dropped your arm and moved to stand firmly on two feet. You were where the water came up to your breasts, the water level teasing your nipples as the gentle waves from your movements swelled around you.

To his credit, Namjoon didn’t look down at your breasts. You were standing nearly chest-to-chest now, though he was so much taller than you. Under the water, his hands moved slowly to touch your sides low on your hips, his fingertips just barely skimming against your skin as he gazed down at your eyes. You stood up straight, eager, leaning back just slightly as if presenting your chest to him.

Namjoon leaned in a little, looking down at your mouth with an absolutely depraved look in his eyes, his lips parting. You parted your lips too and watched his eyes darken as he took in a deep breath. This close to him, you could see the freckles he’d gotten from the sun, and the little moles he’d had before that you hadn’t really noticed before this moment. You studied the curve of his nose, the lines of his plush lips, all the details of his handsome face. You wanted to touch him, you wanted to feel his face with your hands, your breasts, your inner thighs.

One of his hands moved slowly around your hip toward your ass, lightly tracing his fingers there, his touch so gentle you could barely feel him. He moved around the swell of your ass and straight up your spine, watching you shiver as he moved. You looked up at him through hooded eyes, arching your back and wordlessly begging him to touch or even just look at your breasts.

Namjoon looked down, admiring you finally, and he leaned in so that his mouth was less than an inch from yours. You closed your eyes and could almost feel his mouth on yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin and nearly whined, a small moan escaping you. His hands traced up your ribcage, resting just below you breasts. Other than his hands, he didn’t touch you, though the rest of him was close enough to tease your skin with light touches and traces in the water.

His hands were so big and strong, you thought you might pass out just thinking about what he could do to you. His fingers touched the undersides of your breasts, moving upwards so slowly.

“This game,” he said then, pulling back completely and smirking at you.

You should’ve known.

You sighed and rolled your eyes as he moved back in the water, looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You knew you were flushed and hot and bothered, and he’d gotten you so desperate in such a short amount of time, all but begging him to touch you.

Two could play this game.

***

It had to have been about ten days or so on the island by now.

You had yet to see a boat, plane, or any hint of other humans existing within a hundred miles of you. You would’ve been nearing the end of your cruise by now, you thought with a sigh. You had yet to get your period, guessing that was about due next week, and you were not looking forward to that experience at all.

The day after your game with Namjoon at the spring, you’d finished making the “HELP” letters and Namjoon had gotten a fire going. He’d eaten some bananas that night and didn’t get sick, so you considered that a success.

In the following days, you both got used to your routines. Namjoon worked on getting his strength up. He ran laps around the island, did push-ups, swam in the ocean — staying close to the beach, at your insistence. You even caught him lifting large rocks at one point, and made fun of him for that quite a bit. He’d insisted that he was doing it just to test if his strength was fully back yet or not.

You both went fishing and hunting. Namjoon made a spear like he’d said, sharpening the point on his belt buckle and using one of your suspenders to secure it there. He found and killed a small boar, which you roasted over the fire and split between the two of you. Namjoon made a joke about you eating a baby Pumbaa, which made you want to hit him. The following day you caught a huge fish and split that, too, though Namjoon seemed to not like seafood all that much.

You tested one of the fruits you didn’t know over a few days and found it was edible and wouldn’t kill you, and when you brought it back to your little camp proudly, Namjoon was sitting by the fire, cleaning the fish he’d caught that day.

“Noni?” he said, looking up at you as you walked over.

“Huh?”

“The thing you’re holding,” he said, motioning up toward your hands. “It’s called noni fruit.”

You looked down at the fruit you were holding. You��d spent days testing to make sure it wasn’t poisonous, and had wanted to present a new food to him as a nice surprise, and Namjoon had known the whole time what it was. Figured.

You had a fish and noni fruit dinner, finished off with coconut meat and milk and a leaf of water split between you afterwards. You didn’t have many complaints food-wise. You figured the two of you were about as lucky as you could get not to have ended up on an island with nothing, and even luckier to have ended up on an island at all. The place you’d landed pretty much served up all you needed to eat, and the only thing you really had to work for was meat, but even that helped give you something to do.

That night, you both sat by the fire talking for hours. You’d done a lot of that since you got used to your routines and set everything up. There wasn’t very much to do, besides hunt, collect fruit, and keep the fire going so potential rescuers could see it and the smoke.

Every night, you slept right beside each other, cuddled together. In the light you both were cocky and play-fought each other, teasing and bickering, but at night you held onto each other, neither pointing out aloud how much you depended on each other. A few times, you’d started crying in the middle of the night, and Namjoon always hugged you tighter and stroked your hair and told you it was going to be okay. You’d done the same for him when he’d broken down, and learned that night how much he liked and was comforted by you stroking his hair and humming to him. You were both so terrified, and at night you clung to each other like you were still lost and adrift in the middle of the sea.

When you went to bed that night, Namjoon just wore his boxers and you your panties and his dress shirt. You washed your clothes in intervals, wearing one outfit for two days or so and washing the other at some point in that time period. Namjoon was pretty much always shirtless now, to your delight, so he alternated between his dress pants, which he’d ripped into shorts, and boxers. You’d basically torn apart your bra when you got the underwire out to use, so now you alternated between your dress and Namjoon’s shirt. Both of you were clinging to the last semblances of modesty and normality you had left for as long as you could.

Tonight you laid facing in, turned away from Namjoon and the ocean, and after you’d been laying there for a while, you felt him turning toward you. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair, the tip of his nose touching your scalp. Your legs were bent and he bent his too, right along behind you, fully pressing his body against you from nose to feet. He was so gentle with you, and you immediately, reflexively, melted back into him. Namjoon exhaled, a hint of a small moan in his deep sigh.

You only ever felt truly safe at night, like this in his arms.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night. Namjoon was asleep, his erection pressed hard against your ass, and you sighed, snuggling back against him, using the slight friction for warmth. You loved when you woke up and could feel he was hard. The tension between the two of you had yet to be resolved, and nothing had happened after that day in the spring. You wanted him so bad your pussy almost ached when you looked at him, and when you woke up and could feel his huge length hard against you, it always made you shift and snuggle back into him, loving the feeling and idea of him being aroused by you so much, even if he was asleep.

He groaned in reaction to your movement. Still asleep, his arms tightened around you and pulled you even closer against him, holding onto you firmly with his muscular arms you loved so much.

He smelled so good. Earthy, like sea salt and smoke from the fire still burning a few yards away, with a hint of coconut and his musky natural scent and pheromones. You wished you could just lay here and smell this forever.

You turned over slowly, careful not to wake him. Once you were facing him, you nuzzled in against his chest. Namjoon tightened his arms around you again, sighing.

Facing him was even better. He was so warm and smelled so good, and you were right up against his bare chest. This close, you could see the hints of very slight stubble on his chin and the freckles across his face and shoulders from all the sun he’s been getting. Namjoon was so broad and muscular and big, and you brought one of your hands up to rest over his heart, very subtly feeling his pectoral muscle and heartbeat.

At your touch, Namjoon’s eyes shot open and he rolled both of your bodies, moving so that he was directly over you, straddling you, his face buried in against you neck.

You let out a small squeal in surprise, grinning and gasping in delight. He moved slowly, grinding his erection into you as he let out a low growl. You moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt his thick, hot length pressed against you through his boxers.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he murmured against your neck, moving so that his lips brushed your skin while slowing down the pace of his grinding to downright torturous. He had to know that he was rubbing right against your clit, every sudden movement making you gasp.

“Nothing,” you said, your voice high-pitched and breathy.

You couldn’t see his face — the only thing you could see was the low light from the fire yards away dancing across the ceiling of the shelter above you — but you could feel him. The tip of his nose touched your pulse point on your neck. His breath both warmed and made goosebumps spread across you skin. He braced himself with both arms, caging you there, his hips grinding into yours.

“Are you sure?” he murmured right against your ear, his breath hot.

“Yes,” you said, closing your eyes. Right after he’d finished speaking, he’d taken your earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently. Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders, holding onto him desperately as he moved against you still.

“Tell me to get off,” he said, his voice so deep and gravelly and low you had to close your eyes. The tip of his nose traced your jaw playfully as he spoke. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll get off and never touch you again.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your centers pressed together fully through your thin clothes.

“Don’t get off.”

He didn’t even respond. Namjoon thrust so hard against you, your entire body rocked. He did so repeatedly, quickly humping and grinding against you through both his boxers and your panties. All you could hear was his breathing directly against your ear, low growls and breathy moans escaping him through the exertion of how forcefully he was moving. He was saying something you could barely understand, though you thought you heard “Yeah, you fucking like that?” after you moaned loudly.

You tried to meet his thrusts but he moved one of his hands down to grab your hips, roughly holding you in place.

“You’re so fucking good, so beautiful,” he growled, biting along your jaw. “I wanna fuck you forever, baby. God, I wish we could, so fucking bad.”

Before you could say anything, a sudden loud thump hit the roof of your shelter, and you both jumped and froze, waiting and listening for any other sounds.

Your heart raced. Namjoon looked down at you, eyes wide, and slowly moved off of you, shifting to his knees and then to a standing position outside the shelter.

He grabbed the spear from where it leaned against the tree, slowly walking where you couldn’t see him. You quickly jumped up too, watching him walk around the shelter, looking for what had made the noise.

He bent over and you couldn’t see him, and then stood up again, holding a coconut. You both looked up above you: you had set up your shelter underneath a palm tree that now had three coconuts hanging from it, and a fourth had just fallen and hit the roof of your lean-to.

You both laughed in relief, and Namjoon tossed the coconut behind him into the jungle, since you had no way of cracking into a non-baby coconut.

Namjoon walked straight for you then, throwing the spear off to the side. His eyes were dark and intense, and when he reached where you stood, he picked you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around him as he sucked on your neck roughly, carrying you back to the shelter. His hands ran over your back underneath the shirt as he walked, feeling your bare skin desperately, and you tilted your head back in ecstasy and gasped, completely willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

He laid you down inside the shelter, his mouth still connected to you. He kissed you roughly, hungrily, claiming your mouth with his own, his tongue so deep inside you. You wrapped your legs around Namjoon tighter, pulling him down against you harder. He kissed you ravenously, one of his hands behind your head, knotting in your hair, holding your head just how he wanted you.

You could feel his erection through his boxers and your soaking wet panties. He ground himself against you roughly, bucking his hips, again nearly fucking you just like this through both your clothes.

“I’ve wanted you under me since the moment I saw you,” he growled against your ear, biting at your jaw. “So fucking beautiful.” He dipped his tongue into your mouth, so deep you swore you felt him in your throat, growling again.

You loved every moment of this. He moved so desperately, he was rough with you without hurting you, and god, the things coming out of his mouth were obscene. Namjoon brought his lips to your ear and whispered all the things he wanted to do to you, all while grinding himself against you harder and harder. You nearly cried out, just his words and his hips bringing you close already as you felt him moving against your clit through your clothes. His voice was deep and gravelly, contrasting his usual smooth-as-honey tone. You felt his growls and moans deep within you, all the way to your tight, throbbing core.

“–And then when you’re writhing and begging me, your beautiful legs spread so wide, I’ll kiss your pussy, taste your sweet, wet cunt. I bet you taste so fucking good, don’t you, baby? I can feel how wet you are right now, and it’s all for me. I wanna kiss and lick every inch of you so bad, I swear I could swallow you whole. Do you want me to call you ‘baby girl,’ sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped, clawing at his back.

“I knew you would,” he growled against your ear, still thrusting against you, and you could almost feel his smile. “I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful skin, baby girl. I want to bring you pleasure with just my mouth, I want to please you, praise you, worship you. I want you to know what I can do to you. I want to feel you cum for me and taste you as you cum all over my face. I think about that so much, baby.”

His hips bucked faster, spreading his knees apart to spread your legs even farther as you whimpered from his filthy words.

“You think about me?” you managed to say, your voice so much higher than normal, you barely recognized yourself.

Without answering, he brought his mouth to yours, the tip of his tongue nearly touching the back of your throat again as he tilted his head, trying to dive deeper still. He kissed you and fucked your mouth with his tongue, groaning obscenely into your mouth when you sucked on his tongue.

He parted from you after a moment, gasping for air. He kissed along your jaw as best as he could while trying to get his breath back, and bit at your earlobe playfully again before answering.

“You’re the only thing I think about, baby girl,” he growled, bringing one hand to your breast, squeezing roughly. “I imagine fucking you on your hands and knees and making you scream for me, stuffing you full of my cum ’til it’s dripping out of you. I imagine making love to you, so fucking sweet, holding you so tight to me as I take you over and over, holding you like you could break. But I know you can take it. I know you like it rough, princess. And I’ll do anything you want. You want me to make you feel good, even if it hurts too, because you like it. You like pain with your pleasure, don’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” you moaned, arching your back up against him, so far gone by just his words and him dry-humping you through your clothes. How he’d managed to work you up this much without even touching you under your clothes was beyond you.

“I wanna fucking drown in you,” he growled, your earlobe between his teeth again. He pushed himself fully against you, so hard you could feel his cock throbbing. “I bet you feel so fucking good, and taste even better. I wanna fuck you every moment of every day.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You brought your legs down from around him, and Namjoon started to move off of you, surprised and confused. You only let him move enough so you could get your panties down and off of you and the buttons on your shirt undone, and then you brought him back down to you, pulling his boxers down to his knees and letting his erection spring free, bobbing up against his stomach, painfully hard. God, he was big, so long and thick and perfect. Your mouth watered just looking at him, already so eager to be filled up and stretched out by him.

“I don’t have a condom,” Namjoon said, biting his lip and holding himself off of you as you wrapped your legs around him again.

“Obviously,” you deadpanned, looking up at him. You giggled, shaking your head. “What? You mean you didn’t run down to the store and buy any?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, hiding the smile he had from your teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you said, sobering after a moment of your giggles, your need for him taking over. You spoke quickly, nearly babbling in your excitement and need. “I have an IUD. Birth control for two years, no condoms needed. The doctor said it’s more than ninety-nine percent effective and it’s the most effective of all the birth controls, bla bla bla, and it may be stupid but I’m definitely willing to take that risk right now. Now get inside me.” You tried to pull him closer to your throbbing core where you needed him so badly with your legs, but Namjoon stilled above you.

“Huh?” he said, tilting his head and looking down at you. He didn’t follow, mostly because he was completely lost in a haze of lust, barely seeing straight, and you realized that you had kind of spoken about a hundred miles a second. His eyes twinkled in the light of the fire, but they looked glazed over, lost in his desire. He was breathing hard and already breaking a sweat, and you could feel his heart racing, his whole body throbbing from his need.

“I have a birth control implant in my uterus that lasts two years,” you said much slower, calming yourself down and looking him in the eye. You put your hands on either side of his face, making him focus. “Basically, I can’t get pregnant for at least another eighteen months. Now get inside me, daddy.” You added the last bit with a smirk, watching his reaction as all of that slowly sunk in.

Your words registered with Namjoon, and he immediately jumped into action, apparently also willing to take the less than one percent risk of pregnancy. You figured this island might be the actual worst place on the planet to get pregnant, but you trusted your IUD enough and were so far gone in your lust, you were willing to be stupid.

Namjoon reached down and lined himself up with your entrance, and then thrust into you in one smooth motion. You cried out as he stretched you, and he kissed you, swallowing your moans. A deep, broken noise escaped him as he felt your walls clenching down on him and adjusting to his size.

“You feel so fucking good, I knew you would,” he groaned, his words turning into a whiney moan as pleasure almost completely overwhelmed him. He was so big, and even though you were soaking wet, it was a tight fit. You’d had a while of intense foreplay and dry-humping, and now both of you were barely holding on by a thread.

“Keep talking, naughty boy,” you said, pulling his hair. You tightened your legs around him, and he began slowly moving, muttering praise and more dirty talk, his nose and mouth directly against your skin on your neck.

“Your pussy’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, baby girl. You’re so fucking good, I’ve wanted this for so fucking long. I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart, that’s all I want, I–” He cut himself off as he picked up his pace, and you arched your back and brought your legs up even higher around him. One of his hands held onto your thigh, bracing himself and holding you in place exactly how he wanted you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N…” He moved his hips so quickly, you knew you both weren’t going to last.

You knew exactly what you needed for him to do to push you over the edge. You reached down and took his hand he wasn’t using to support himself, and brought it up to your throat. You squeezed your hand around his, making him choke you.

Namjoon took the hint and squeezed his hand tighter, and you gasped, your vision going blurry as he pumped pure bliss into you body. Every stroke filled you perfectly, the head of his cock hitting you deeper and deeper with every thrust, stroking a spot within you that made you see stars as his thick girth stretched you out. You tried to bring your legs up even higher around him, and then he was hitting you at the exact perfect angle.

You tried to scream out in pure uninhibited pleasure, but his hand on your neck made the noise choked off and broken. The hand that wasn’t around your neck was in your hair now, and he squeezed his fingers there too, just hard enough to hurt. He pulled you so that you head tilted back almost painfully, showing off your neck to him as he squeezed there tighter.

Namjoon’s movements were becoming erratic and brutal. He wasn’t speaking anymore, just moaning and grunting. He loosened his grip on your neck just long enough for you to wheeze in a shaky breath. Tears streamed down your cheeks from the force of it all, your eyes watering from asphyxiation and pure pleasure. His thrusts filled you so hard, you were sure the sound of his skin smacking against yours could be heard on the other side of the island, if they weren’t drowned out by both of your moans.

Namjoon buried his face in against your neck, his nose against your rapid pulse and feeling you trying to breathe and moan, his hand now squeezing your throat harder again. You couldn’t even see anymore, the only things your mind registered were his voice and the feelings of his cock moving inside you and his hand on your throat.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “Your pussy’s so fucking perfect, I could fuck you forever. I wanna cum in your tight little pussy just so I can lick it clean. You want that? You want me to eat your perfect cunt, princess?” He paused long enough to lick once up the side of you face, slowly, his tongue wide, which would’ve made you gasp if you could breathe.

He rubbed his cheek against yours roughly, completely animalistic and primal, as he continued. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream, I’m gonna make you cum so hard you can’t see, can’t walk, can’t think. I’m gonna fuck you so good, the only thing you’ll know how to say is my name. Fuck, you’re so good. Scream when you cum for me, baby, or I’ll spank your ass raw.”

If you had any air within you, you would’ve screamed as you came. Instead, you tried to gasp, unable to inhale at all with Namjoon’s hand tight on your throat, and he only moved himself harder and harder, savagely pulling every drop of pleasure from your body. You’d never felt anything like this, your orgasm completely overpowering you. He must’ve loosened his hold on your throat, because you somehow screamed, and he came right as he heard you and felt you clenching and spasming around him.

Namjoon quickly pulled out, finishing himself off with his hand on your stomach, his head buried in your neck as he kept himself mostly up off of you. You gasped desperately, his hand gone now as he stroked himself furiously with it, thrusting into his own fist as if he just couldn’t make himself stop, moaning in pure ecstasy as he fucked his own hand and spilled his cum all over your stomach.

Namjoon let out a noise from deep within him and just barely managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you when he finished. Instead, he held himself up with his arms and knees, giving you plenty of room to breathe and recover as you both gasped for air. His arms and legs shook like at any moment his limbs might give out, but he focused solely on keeping himself up. You noticed, and you turned your head and kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to pull his body down onto you with all of your limbs wrapping around him.

He reluctantly let himself rest his weight on you, only partially. You didn’t mind; if anything, you loved feeling him on top of you. Feeling the weight of his big, perfect body was so comforting, and you still just wanted to be closer to him. His cum pressed between your bodies, smearing on both your stomachs as he let himself put more of his weight on you. It was a sticky mess, but god, it felt so dirty and filthy and good.

After a moment of catching his breath, Namjoon started kissing your shoulder. He peppered your skin with his love, his breathing still deep and slow, his voice in his breath muffled against your skin as he moaned with almost every exhale, and the sound was music to your ears.

He made his way down your body slowly, and you only had the energy to lay there and enjoy being worshipped. His tongue circled one of your nipples, and you brought your hands to his hair, knotting there. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it lazily, and you arched your back, letting out a lazy moan and closing your eyes.

He kissed down to your stomach and started licking you, tasting his own cum and your sweat from the exertion of what you’d just done. He held you with both hands, holding you perfectly in place, his hands nothing but gentle as his fingertips skimmed along your ribs and his tongue lapped up every drop on your stomach, licking you clean, just as promised.

As Namjoon licked his cum off of you, he moved his mouth so slowly, so gently, so sweetly, like he wanted to do just this for days. He moved down your body slowly though, and dipped his tongue into your belly button playfully when he reached it. You felt him smiling against your skin when you giggled in reaction.

He got to your legs and spread your thighs gently. He kissed your cunt so chastely, his lips pressed together like he was a gentleman kissing a lady’s hand. He tilted his head and kissed your folds, his mouth opening and his tongue moving on you. You knotted your hands in his hair and moaned as he dipped his clever, evil tongue into you.

“Joon,” you moaned, spreading your legs wider, and Namjoon moaned back to you in response, the noise muffled against your pussy.

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, covering you from entrance to clit, and then he started sucking roughly, drinking you, tilting his head as if kissing you deeper as he slowly moved his lips back together and slurped. You cried out, pulling his hair roughly as the new source of such intense pleasure overwhelmed you. As he sucked, he thrust his tongue in and out of you rapidly, fucking you with his tongue and moving his whole head around like he was trying to fucking motorboat your pussy, or maybe attempting to bury his head inside you.

He closed his lips on you with an obscene wet slurping noise and started drinking at your entrance, his tongue quickly lapping into you as you felt nothing but his talented mouth.

“Joonie, that feels so good,” you moaned, trying to thrust up against him. He groaned against you and moved his hands then, grabbing your ass with both hands and pulling you tighter against his face. Namjoon sucked and drank and fucked you with his tongue, every moment such sweet bliss.

He’d planned to work your entrance for a while before going up to your clitoris, but you didn’t even last that long. Your whole body shook when you came, holding onto his hair with both hands. This time you did scream fully, and you thought you heard birds all over the island flapping away from the trees, as if spooked by the noise. You scream-moaned with every exhale, and Namjoon kept moving his mouth and holding you close to him, working you through your orgasm roughly.

You laid there gasping, staring at the ceiling of the shelter, dazed and fucked out and so far gone. As you recovered, you felt Namjoon leaving hickeys on your inner thighs and hipbones, entertaining himself with marking your skin.

You glanced down at Namjoon when you felt him pulling back. He stared up at you, eyes dark and mouth nearly dripping from your wetness. After a moment of eye contact, he leaned in again and licked you slit, as if he were trying to lick up the new wetness that now dripped from you from your orgasm. He watched your reactions as he slowly worked, seeing you spasm and squirm as you moaned and arched you back again in overstimulation.

Namjoon pulled back again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before climbing on top of you. He moved in close, pulling your legs up around him and nuzzling his face in against your neck.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice a low rumble, grinding his erection against your stomach, hard again just from eating you out. “I knew you would. So fucking sweet, princess, I can’t get enough of you. I’m gonna eat your beautiful pussy forever.”

Namjoon slid into you again and you screamed, full-out actually screamed, crying out in ecstasy and overstimulation as you gripped at his sweaty shoulders. You swore he was going to kill you, he felt so good.

“God, baby, keep sounding like that and I really will fuck you forever,” he groaned, his hands on your body squeezing you tighter.

This time he moved so much slower, holding himself up with his arms and spread knees. He kissed your mouth, slowly moving his tongue deep within you, hitting the deepest corners of your mouth and completely dominating you as he moved his tongue in time with his hips. His large arms caged your head, and he was the only thing you could see or feel at all.

He pulled his mouth back enough just to say, "See how good you taste?” before dipping his tongue back into you, hungrily, so slowly claiming your mouth. He growled when you started sucking on his tongue, thrusting in hard once and circling his hips when he was inside you as deep as he could get.

You moaned into his mouth and he moaned right back, not taking his mouth off yours as he kissed you and rolled his hips over and over, just fast enough to keep you desperate. He pinned one of you arms down above your head by your wrist, holding it down tightly but not painfully, lacing his fingers with yours.

As Namjoon moved, you felt him becoming more and more desperate. He began bucking his hips, kissing the corner of your mouth sloppily. His breathing picked up as his pace did, and he gasped, the two of you cheek to cheek as he brought one of his hands down to hold onto your hip.

You started encouraging him. “Yes… fuck, you’re so big. Fuck my tight little pussy, Joon,” you groaned, tilting your head back as he slammed into you so hard and fast you could barely breathe. He moaned with every exhale, so far gone, only moments away from falling apart again.

“What’d you fucking call me?” he growled, not stopping or slowing his pace at all.

“Joon?” you moaned, closing you eyes.

Instead of answering, he suddenly bit down on your neck so hard it had to have broken skin. You cried out, and as Namjoon kept biting down and kept thrusting, going even faster somehow, you kept screaming, short cries with each exhale between desperate gasps for oxygen.

“Joon,” you repeated, loving every moment of this, and he bit down again, harder, now where your neck met your shoulder. You felt the sharp pain in your shoulder throb, and it felt incredible, the pulsing matching that in your aching cunt. He licked at the part of your skin between his teeth, and you swore you felt him moaning.

You repeated “Joon” one more time, and Namjoon stopped suddenly, pulling back and glaring down at you, seething. Saliva and traces of your wetness covered his chin and lips, a wild look in his eyes.

“Call me that one more fucking time,” he snarled, “And you’ll fucking regret it, you little slut.”

You must’ve looked scared, because Namjoon’s eyes immediately softened, a concerned, terrified look on his face. He leaned in and kissed your cheek gently, murmuring against your skin.

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you just surprised me,” you said, your voice so small and high-pitched you barely recognized it. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, angel. I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll never do that ever again.” He nuzzled in against your neck gently. He was still inside you, your bodies joined so perfectly, and he shifted his hips, trying to get even closer to you.

“You can do it again, I was just taken by surprise this time,” you said. “I’m sorry I kept calling you Joon.”

“No, it’s my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You can call me anything you want. I won’t do anything like that ever again, I promise, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kissed along your neck, avoiding the bite marks he’d left there before.

“I want you to do it again.”

Namjoon froze when you said that. He pulled back just enough to look at you and see your serious expression.

“Yeah?” he said, watching you carefully with a small smile spreading on his face.

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip and looking up at him through your lashes. “I want you to fuck me like I’m your little slut, daddy.”

He flinched when you said that, apparently no longer in that kind of mood, so you corrected yourself.

“Namjoon,” you corrected, smiling up at him. “Joon,” you added, smiling, and Namjoon smiled too.

Namjoon moved to the other side of your neck, pressing kisses on your skin there. One of his hands went up to your ribs, just under your breast, resting there lightly as his mouth teased you.

“Tell me exactly what to do and I’ll do it, angel,” he murmured, his breath hot in your ear.

You could tell that he was trying to make up for his perceived wrongdoing by saying he’d do anything, and that he really just wanted to take it slow and gentle right now, scared out of his rough ‘daddy’ mood he’d been in before.

“Make love to me,” you moaned, holding onto his shoulders, and Namjoon complied.

Rolling his hips, he moved slowly in you, not lazily, but deliberate. Every gentle thrust brought your bodies closer together, the head of his cock stroking you so deep, exactly where you wanted him. You moaned, encouraging him with how good he made you feel.

He whispered soft praises in you ear. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’ve never felt anything so good, ever. You’re so tight, so wet for me, so perfect,” he said, holding your body tightly to his. “I could make love to you forever. You taste so good, and feel even better. Your pussy’s like milk and honey. Like warm, wet silk.”

Your orgasm was gentle this time. Namjoon had to work for it, making love to you exactly as you’d asked, and when you finally came you let out a long, anguished moan that made him gasp and still, cumming into you as he felt you clenching down on him so tight. You froze when you heard what he was saying as he came, muttering almost unintelligibly as he spilled into you and hugged you.

“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t ever leave me here alone. I need you. Please, please, I need you, I love you. Please….”

This time he did collapse on you, completely spent. He breathed in sharply, rasping for air, and got himself off of you as soon as he could, propping himself up on his knees and forearms. You breathed steadily and tried to will your heart to stop beating so fast and hard as you looked up at him.

Namjoon started to roll off of you, but you leaned up and kissed him, holding onto the back of his head. He rolled anyway, keeping your mouths connected, both of you rolling until you were on top. He hugged you tightly, your breasts squeezed against his chest, and he moved one hand behind your head to hold onto your hair, pulling it back from your face for you.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him. He looked completely love-struck, hearts in his eyes as he gazed up at you, a lazy smile on his face. You could barely see his face in the darkness, the dying fire and the moon’s reflection on the water your only light. The warm red glow of the fire covered one side of his face and twinkled in his eyes.

You cupped his face, stroking your thumb on his adorable round cheeks. Namjoon closed his eyes and snuggled into your hand, letting out a small sigh. His hands rested on you lower back, his fingers drawing small lazy circles. You turned and kissed his cheek gently, closing your eyes too.

***

You weren’t aware of it, but you’d fallen asleep like that on top of him. When you woke up in the morning, you were still laying on top of him, your face turned in toward his neck, your cheek on his shoulder. Your hand rested over his heart, feeling his steady heartbeat, and you rose and fell gently with his breathing. Namjoon was still asleep, but his hands were where you’d last felt them, on your lower back.

He must’ve felt you stirring, because started Namjoon waking up slowly, too. You heard his deep sigh-moan as he stretched his muscles, and when he realized what was on top of his body and under his hands, he smiled lazily, bringing his arms up to squeeze you in a lazy hug.

“Good morning, baby,” he said, his husky voice so deep from his sleep.

You pulled yourself up, sitting up and straddling him as you stretched your arms. The ocean seemed louder today, the waves nearby crashing on the shore. The breeze was just a little stronger than normal, but the sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky.

You looked down at Namjoon and saw him staring at your breasts, mouth all but watering, eyes darkening from lust already.

“I see you staring,” you smirked, rolling your eyes.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he said, matching your playful tone but still not taking his eyes off you chest. His hands rested on your thighs, holding you in place where you straddled him, his thumbs drawing small circles on your hipbones.

“I slept on you last night,” you said then after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking up at you. “Don’t be sorry. Do it again, as much as you want.”

“Really?” you asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t bother you, having a person laying on top of you as you sleep?”

“It feels amazing. Kind of comforting, too. And not to be rude, because I know talking about weight is a bad thing for a lot of girls, but you barely weigh anything and I love feeling you on top of me,” he said, his eyes so dark and intense and loving and playful all at once.

You shifted. You knew you didn’t weigh nothing, but hearing that he loved feeling you on top of him made your heart flutter.

You knew where this conversation was going, and you cut it off before it got there. You had shit to do today before more fucking.

“All right, we need to get up,” you said.

Namjoon groaned, his hands on your thighs gently massaging you. “Why?” he whined.

“We need to eat breakfast so we can keep our strength up, and I want to take a coconut milk bath at the spring.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “Can I–”

“Yes, you can join me,” you said before he could finish.

Namjoon sat up, kissing you deeply and wrapping his arms around you.

***

After breakfast, your bath at the spring consisted of ten percent bathing and ninety percent fucking in the water. You wrapped your legs around him and he thrust up into you, holding onto your hair and pulling your body closer to his.

Namjoon carried you back to your shelter bridal-style, both of you giggling the whole way. When you got there, Namjoon fucked you on your hands and knees, his hand resting on your lower spine as he thrust into you savagely, his hips smacking against your ass so hard it sounded like he was spanking you. He did actually spank you at one point with his hand, and you came near instantly at the feeling.

After that, he laid you down and got down beside you on his side, propping himself up on one arm and looking down at you as you laid on your back. He leaned in and kissed you while his free hand moved down your stomach, his fingers playing with your curls as you spread your legs for him.

You gasped when he stroked your folds, and he smiled, sighing as he looked down at your face. You bit your lip and barely held in a groan as he curled two fingers into your soaking heat.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned. You held onto his wrist with both hands, feeling his tendons moving as he pumped his fingers inside you.

The two of you just laid there, Namjoon fucking you with his fingers and watching you as you reacted, moaning and writhing. His thumb circled your clitoris, pressing hard and moving slowly. You felt his erection against the side of your leg, and he seemed to be holding himself back, not wanting to lose control of himself but already so desperate for friction.

“Please, Namjoon, please,” you moaned, hips rolling, trying to fuck yourself on his hand. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing the corner of your mouth as your lips fell open, breathing roughly as you felt yourself drawing close. “Let me take care of you, baby.” His fingers picked up their pace and you gasped, coming with a long, breathy moan.

Namjoon almost came just from watching your face in pleasure and feeling you squeezing his fingers. He quickly pulled out and moved on top of you, and even as you gasped for oxygen, you brought you legs up around him, wanting him, wanting this. You cried out when he slid into you, and he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them as he started bucking his hips, desperate to finish himself off.

He held himself up higher off you, not trapping you and keeping you immobile with his body so that this time he could look down at your breasts bouncing with each quick, hard thrust. You arched your back, giving him an even better view and presenting your breasts to him like a gift, and you moaned and squeezed his cock purposefully and brought your legs higher up around him. Namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth agape and eyes nearly rolling back as he spilled himself into you, his thrusts sloppy and erratic.

Namjoon let out an agonized moan that almost sounded like your name before collapsing on top of you. You held him there with your legs, stroking his hair with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. You loved feeling him on top of you just as much as he did you.

When he had the strength, he rolled both of you so that he was on his back and you were on top of him, just like how you’d slept. You leaned up about halfway, but Namjoon moved both his hands to your breasts and you stopped. He basically just supported your weight with his hands as he felt you, massaging slowly and watching your flesh between his fingers as he squeezed and kneaded you, your hard nipples against his palms.

You moaned, closing your eyes, and Namjoon lowered you down so that one of his hands was still on your breast while the other held you up by your shoulder and his mouth moved to your nipple, sucking and licking and biting.

After a moment, Namjoon suddenly pushed you up so that you were upright, and then pulled you forward by your thighs. He moved you around his arms and you let him, Namjoon moving your whole body like you were nothing. He positioned you so that you were straddling his face, and you gasped when you felt his tongue moving along your folds, surprised by all he’d just done but immediately tangling your fingers in his hair when you felt him sliding his tongue inside you.

You tilted you head back and closed your eyes, trying to spread your legs even further as Namjoon tried pulling you down on his face harder, both his hands on your ass as he sucked your cunt and fucked you with his tongue, making it rigid for you as you ground down against his face. You could hear him moaning against your pussy, the waves hitting the shore, the obscene slurping noise he always made when he sucked you dry, but there was something else you were hearing, too.

You suddenly froze as you listened, realizing this sound was something new. Namjoon kept going, unaware, but you looked out at the water, biting your lip to hold in a moan.

Out in the distance, a huge ship sat just on the horizon, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it and realized you weren’t hallucinating. You thought you could see shipping containers on it, and the whole thing had to be the size of a football field. A small inflatable boat with a motor was headed directly for you, and would probably be here in a few minutes, its motor a quiet buzz in the distance.

“Namjoon!” you said, quickly moving off of him and jumping to your feet outside the shelter.

“What..?” he said, dazed, lost in his lust, looking only at you, still laying there on his back. His cock was half hard against his stomach already, his mouth, chin, and cock all glistening from your wetness. You grabbed your dress from its spot hanging on a tree nearby and quickly pulled it on, and Namjoon must’ve looked over and seen the ship and boat too because he started pulling on his boxers as fast as he could, jumping to his feet as well.

You both ran down to the surf, making yourselves much more visible to the people on the smaller boat, waving your arms. You were jumping up and down in your joy, holding onto Namjoon’s arm as you tried to hold in your tears, looking back and forth between him and the boat. Namjoon was grinning ear to ear, moving to hold your hand as he waved his other arm wildly at the smaller boat. You looked up and saw him tearing up too, and when he realized you were looking at him, he turned and kissed you, both of you barely able to press your lips together from smiling so wide.

The boat reached your shore a few minutes later. A cargo ship on its way to New Zealand had seen your fire earlier that morning, and had finally made its way to you after preparing its small rescue boat. You really really hoped they hadn’t seen any of what the two of you had been doing that morning in your lean-to, if they’d been looking at the beach with binoculars or something like that.

The three men on the speedboat had shock blankets and water bottles for the two of you, one of them realizing who you were and saying that the two of you had made big news all over the world the past few weeks. You and Namjoon gathered up your scarce belongings, each carrying the remainders of your clothes, and were escorted onto the little boat to be taken over to the ship.

As you sat in the back of the boat together, you in your faded, torn party dress and Namjoon in his boxers and his unbuttoned, worn-out dress shirt, the two of you cuddled close together, sharing one shock blanket. Namjoon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against your temple, smiling softly.

“We made it, sweetheart. We’re safe,” he murmured against your cheek before kissing you there. He could tell you were nervous being out on the water again, so he held you close to him, his arm around you and nose nuzzling your cheek.

You tried to stop yourself from crying, but holy shit, you were saved. You weren’t going to die on that island. You were both safe and healthy, and you were together.

#btssmutclub #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts scenario #kim namjoon scenario #namjoon scenario #rm scenario #rm smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #marnie text #my writing #i wanted to write some fuckin on a beach and accidentally wrote a fully developed short story

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toxoiddiamond · 3 years ago

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Ryoga Zaizen Nicknames: Ryo Age: 38 Birthday: September 5th Zodiac Sign: Virgo Birthplace: Hakodate, Japan Current Location: He recently moved to Gzira, Malta, after having lived in Yokohama, Japan for nearly thirteen years. Speaks: He is fluent in both Japanese and English. He is starting to learn Maltese, but can only have a very basic conversation at this point. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He completed junior high, but opted not to continue on to high school and started working instead so he could help out his family. Occupation: Voice actor, mostly in anime and video games. Most of his voice work is in Japanese, but he occasionally does some in English as well. Every once in a great while, he does some live action acting, but it’s not his preference. Vehicle: 2018 Peugeot 5008 SUV in navy blue. Worldly Possessions: Some very nice recording equipment that allows him to do his voicework from home. A small family altar that he doesn’t actually pray to, but likes having around for nostalgic reasons. Lots of toys and things for his kids. Lots of DVDs and blu-rays of various films of all genres, with a whole shelf dedicated to family-friendly movies and shows. Pet(s): He recently got a one-year-old Shikoku Ken, partly to try and distract his kids from all the upheaval and turmoil in their lives at the moment. He wasn't too sure about having a dog at first, but now he really enjoys having a pet. The dog's name is Kotaro, meaning "small boy."

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 6'1" Hair: Ryoga enjoys trying all sorts of different colors and styles with his hair. He's had just about every color of the rainbow in his hair at some point, and when he was younger he experimented with having super long hair, mohawks, all kinds of things. Nowadays he tends to keep it cut into a more sophisticated, conservative style, but he still enjoys dyeing it various colors. Currently it is a light blue-gray. Facial Hair: He prefers to be clean-shaven. Eye Colour: Dark brown Skin Tone: He enjoys spending time outdoors, so he isn't super pale or anything; he has almost an olive undertone to his skin. Clothing: Most of the time he dresses in a fairly casual manner; his go-to look is skinny jeans paired with a graphic tee and either Vans or combat boots. But he also cleans up very nicely when the occasion arises. He has a few suits in various colors, patterns and styles and they all look amazing on him. Ryoga has a good sense of fashion and always manages to dress perfectly for any occasion. Distinguishing Marks: He has tattoos– like, so many tattoos on his arms, hands, chest, back, legs, basically everywhere except his face tbh. Face Claim: Miyavi

H E A L T H Physical Health: For the most part, his health is pretty good– he takes good care of himself, exercises, eats well, etc, especially because he wants to set a good example for his kids. However, he has had mild issues with his heart ever since he was a teenager– he has a slight arrhythmia and bradycardia (slow heart rate), but has managed both conditions fairly well throughout his life. He has had to stay in the hospital a couple of times after his heart rate slowed enough to cause him to faint, but he now tries to stay active and take his medication regularly so it (hopefully) doesn’t happen again. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He has a lot of upper body strength, partly from working out and partly from carrying his daughter around all over the place. He is also surprisingly flexible and enjoys doing yoga and tai chi as a form of gentle exercise. He’s always been good at imitating people/doing impressions and putting on different voices, which is what eventually led him to becoming a voice actor. Addictions: He used to drink a lot, but completely gave up alcohol in his mid-twenties, around the time he got married. This was partly because he wanted to try and be a more responsible person, and partly because his doctor recommended that he give up, or at least cut way back, on alcohol for the sake of his heart. Allergies: Shellfish Mental Health: Ryoga is under a lot of stress right now, so he’s not at his best. He’s had a lot of anxiety over his (very messy) divorce, then a brutal custody battle (he ended up getting sole custody), and then having to get a restraining order against his ex-wife when she kept showing up at their home and trying to get the kids to come with her, then throwing fits when Ryoga stopped her from taking them. Now that they’ve moved to a whole other country, he feels a bit better, less nervous, but he’s still constantly worried that his ex is going to show up any day. He has done his best to drill it into the kids’ heads that if their mom shows up, they are not to go with her and they need to come get him or call the police right away.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Long or Short Job History: His first job was at a small, hole-in-the-wall beef bowl shop when he was fourteen– he started as a busboy but was quickly moved into a kitchen staff position. A couple of years later, he was scouted by a modeling agent and ended up falling into the world of fashion modeling. He wasn’t super famous or anything; he mostly modeled alternative/goth/street fashion rather than anything too mainstream. This allowed him to network with a lot of people who were able to pull some strings for him and get him auditions for voice work, and within a few years, he had transitioned fully into voice acting (which he is now actually pretty famous for– in Japan, at least). Fondest Memories: Some of his childhood memories, such as family trips, or evenings when everyone was home and actually hung out together instead of going to their separate rooms. His wedding day, which is bittersweet to look back on, but at the time was one of the happiest days of his life. The births of both his children. Various anime conventions he’s gone to– he loves meeting fans and talking to them. Worst Experiences: His father losing his job– it sent the entire family into a downward spiral of anxiety and Ryoga always felt he had to walk on eggshells around them. Having to skip out on high school so he could work and earn money to help his family. His parents being more than a little angry with him when he became a model, started getting tattoos, etc., since they thought he was “ruining his life.” His parents later disowning him when he told them he was dating a man. And, of course, the slow and painful death of his marriage which resulted in a very, very messy divorce.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: It depends on the situation. If he’s working or in a more professional setting, then he is very respectful, using only polite language. When he’s with friends, he’s louder and more outspoken, and far less polite– not that he’s rude, just that he has a bit of a mouth on him. With his kids, Ryoga is very laid-back for the most part, speaking calmly to them and keeping a patient, gentle tone. Even when he scolds them, he doesn’t raise his voice much, though he can be very firm when he needs to be. Accent: Ryoga has a noticeable Japanese accent when he speaks English, but it’s not so thick that it’s hard to understand him. He speaks very clearly and enunciates well. Favorite Phrases or Words: Tends to say “Aa! Sou?” when he’s surprised about something, which just means “oh, really?” Also tends to say “ehto” instead of “um” or “uh.” Usual Curse Words: He tries to watch his language when he’s with his kids, though he does slip up on occasion (and they always call him out for it). He does have quite a mouth on him though, both in English and in Japanese, and uses whatever curse word feels most appropriate for the moment.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: INFJ-T Sense of Humor: With his kids, he’s pretty goofy and silly, always joking around with them and keeping them entertained. He does a lot of voices that make them laugh. When he’s around adults, he’s more sarcastic but still on the goofy side more than anything. Habits: He is hardly ever barefoot– he always wears socks or house slippers when he’s inside. He tends to eat rice with every meal if possible, in some form or another, or else it doesn’t feel like an actual meal to him. If he’s wearing any nail polish or anything, he tends to pick at it whenever he gets nervous or stressed out. Quirks: Ryoga really enjoys treating himself to things like spa days, mani-pedis, massages, anything along those lines. He doesn’t do it all the time, but once a month or so he gets someone to watch the kids and just takes a full day to himself to relax. He also loves taking baths and keeps various bath salts and oils around so he can take a nice, long bath at home if he’s had a rough day. Fears/Phobias: Anything happening to his kids; he worries about them constantly. His ex-wife finding him and showing up, even though he has a restraining order against her. He also tends to be a bit secretive about his sexuality, after facing some backlash/discrimination for it in Japan– he’s not exactly afraid of anyone finding out that he’s bi, but there’s a reason why he doesn’t offer that information very freely. Strengths: Something Flaws: Something Hopes/Desires: Something Wildest Fantasy: Something Self-Esteem: Something Religion: Something

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Something Boxers or Briefs?: Something Day or Night?: Something Top or Bottom?: Something Partying or Relaxing?: Something

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Something Relationship History: Something Sexual Partners: Something Thoughts About Sex: Something

P A R E N T S Name(s): Mom and Dad Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship With His Children: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): First Last Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship with Character: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Where they live

#character: ryoga zaizen #character sheet #ship: trizen

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aspenflower17 · 4 years ago

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Finding You (Part Two of ??)

Hello again! I'm back with the second installment of my new series, Finding You, which was previously Untitled. If you want to be tagged when I update this series, just comment below :)

Part One Link

In this part, we finally get to Satan and what he's been doing during all this. It's not really a happy chapter. You have been warned.

I think it's important to note that I am American. In this part, there is a funeral. Since I don't know much about other cultures or religions way of holding funerals, I just wrote what I know (and that's very little actually. I've only been to two full funerals. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have). Feel free to change the story up in your head to match your own funerary customs.

As always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated and help me endure the torture that is typing up this story from my notebook 😒 I also tried to make sure the editing on here was good. Any DM's for typos or things that didn't make sense are appreciated so I can fix them (please be kind though 🙂 ). I did write some of the funeral disjointed on purpose, trying to recreate how I was feeling when I attended the funerals I did.

Tags (for you lovely people <3 ): @obey-me-trashshshshsh, @naimena

F! MC/ Satan

Word count: 3,195

Warnings/triggers: ANGST!, description of funeral, loosing someone dear to you, some violence at the end though nothing too graphic (he is the avatar of wrath after all)

Satan had felt when Mc died. His pact mark had begun to glow and heat up. A terrible rending feeling in his chest, then… Nothing. He couldn’t move, fear completely paralyzing him. No, it couldn’t be…

Then he heard Mammon scream. Then Asmo. Then Levi. Soon, the whole House of Lamentation was filled with wailing. Satan scrambled for his D.D.D, hurriedly dialing Mc. No, no, no, no, no. He had just talked to her. She’d been fine.

“Hi! This is Mc. I can’t get to the phone-”

“No… No, no, no, NO!” Satan screamed, throwing his phone at the wall. Satan sunk to his knees in a sobbing heap.

The brothers never got an answer to what exactly had happened to Mc. Diavolo had confirmed she had passed, but he couldn’t get any details since she hadn’t been sent to the Devildom. He had managed to find out when and where the funeral would be, if they wanted to go. They would only be able to attend the graveside service though, since the viewing was being held in a church.

Each brother attended the graveside service. Satan stood stoically as the casket was brought out of the hearse. He was wondering if he would be able to get Asmo to charm everyone in attendance so he’d be able to see her face one last time, when he felt his brothers all shifting around uncomfortably. He realized the religious figure he’d tuned out was quoting scripture at the congregation, promises that Mc was now in the hands of God. He decided to tune him out again. Then the casket was being lowered. He had to be physically restrained from going out and pulling her out as the first fistfuls of dirt were being thrown on the casket. How could they do that to her? A voice murmured a reminder that she was gone, and they were just saying goodbye. Well, he needed to say goodbye too. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

Next thing Satan knew, he was at the corner of the grave, a flower he’d had a death grip on since they had started out from the Devildom in his hand. Her favorite. A shiny wood box met his eyes from 6 feet below. Was she really there? He couldn’t feel her presence from his pact mark. Where was she? When was he going to wake up?

The other demon lords watched their brother loose the fight with his emotions. He sobbed, falling on his haunches. Six hands found a part of Satan to touch, tears in their eyes as well.

“It’s time ta let ‘er go,” Mammon’s stuffy voice came from next to him. Satan looked over to find Mammon had removed his sunglasses. His eyes and face were wet.

“I… I don’t think I can,” Satan stated, tears falling freely.

“I know. I know,” Mammon said, pulling his brother in for a hug. Each of the rest of the brothers joined in the hug, pulling the fourth and second born up with them. After a bit, they all let go, moving forward to give Mc their own token and say their last words. When Belphie had finished, Lucifer put his hand on Satan’s shoulder.

“Mc’s waiting for her flower,” Lucifer said, gesturing towards the grave. Satan nodded, and walked forward. He fiddled with the stem for a second, trying to find the words to say, “Mc… Huh, I don’t actually know what to say… I guess, I… I thought I’d find some way to be with you forever. I never thought… I’ve never felt anything like you before Mc, and I don’t think I ever will again… Please… Please, if it’s possible, come back to me. Please,” he uttered as he dropped the flower onto the casket, and walked back to his brothers. He knew everyone was looking at him, confused and curious through their sorrow. They all stayed until the end of the funeral, when Satan turned to Lucifer, “I think it might be time to go.”

“If you’re sure, that would probably be the smartest course of action,” Lucifer nodded, the humans looking questioningly at the demons. The religious man from earlier was actually making his way towards them.

“I’ll visit her later when there aren’t so many people around,” Satan stated as he started walking. The brothers exchanged looks before following him.

The next couple months were quiet at the House of Lamentation. The brothers did the bare minimum required to keep the household going. They were all absent from RAD and Lucifer even took some time off from the endless amount of paperwork he usually did, to grieve. Mc may have been dating Satan, but the rest of the brothers loved her too, and missed her greatly. The only time the brother’s saw Satan was when he was raiding the fridge, finally giving into his stomach pleading for food. He still managed to look somewhat put together, though his eyes were dead and haunted. He had retreated so far into his mind if one of them managed to get him to acknowledge their presence they counted it as a win. He was a shell of himself, and everyone was worried.

Time marches on though, and life slowly returned to normal. One day, Lucifer had gone to RAD and come home with some random paperwork that needed to be done. Another, Asmo was going out to update his wardrobe because his was terribly behind the trends. Each brother found their own way of coping. Beel eventually asked if they could all have family dinner again. They all actually made an appearance, though Satan left once he was done eating.

Though he wasn’t doing well, Satan had been visiting Mc’s grave at least once a week if not more. Lucifer had granted him access to the portal indefinitely, a gesture of kindness that did not go unnoticed. At first he just cried quietly at her grave, not able to produce a coherent sentence. It slowly evolved into him reading her her favorite books or some snatch of poetry that reminded him of her. Eventually he was able to talk freely as he once had. Sometimes it was a mixture of the three. His brothers never saw him cry though. Since Mc had been the only one that seemed to truly understand his feelings, she was the only one allowed to see him cry. Through this self therapy, Satan started to heal. He started sitting in the common room with his brothers in the evening, or snorting at some joke that had been thrown around the table at dinner.

As the years passed, Satan would still visit Mc’s grave, though the frequency dropped. He slowly learned to deal with his sorrow, just like he had with love when he’d first fallen for Mc. It was much harder, his wrath often informing his depression. She became his support again, even if she wasn’t able to respond to help him through his feelings. He always visited on her birthday, bringing her a bouquet of flowers and some small piece of literature, art or playing her some music.

One year, while reading her some Shakespeare, someone came up behind him, “She appreciates it. I know she does.”

Satan stopped reading instantly, whipping around to see a woman who looked quite a lot like Mc, “Excuse me?”

“Coming to see her every year. You have great taste in art by the way,” the woman said, sitting down besides Satan, looking fondly but sadly at the headstone.

“Um, thank you. May I ask who you are?”

“Only if I can ask you the same thing,” the woman responded, smiling at him wryly. The look was so similar to one Mc would give him, he found himself instantly trusting this woman, “I’m S… Stan,” he answered, giving the nickname Mc come up with, when he had asked if he’d ever be able to meet her family. She’d laughed when she'd thought of it, saying she could never introduce him as Satan.

“Stan? I was wondering. She met you when she took that trip out of the country right?”

“Yeah… Did she tell you about me?”

“Oh, you want me to remember that far back? Hmm… I seem to remember her talking about how smart you are, “She chuckled, her eyes far away, “I remember one time, I went in to talk to her and she was furiously reading some book. When I asked what she was reading she told me she couldn’t talk to me right then, needing to catch up to where you were in the story. It was a silly little moment, but she looked so determined… I do know she was in love with you. Though she only really told me about you shortly before she died, I remember the look in her eyes when she talked about you. Telling me about how drawn she was the moment she laid eyes on you. You know what a romantic she was. As her Mother, you can guess how excited I was to meet you, especially after watching her get her heart broken before... You’re exactly her type, you know. Tall, blonde, smart. She was even thinking of introducing you to us. Then it happened.”

Satan didn’t realize the tears were flowing until she looked over and wiped a tear away. She continued, “I was disappointed when I didn’t see anyone that matched your description during the viewing. I don't know what kept you, but I am glad you made it for the casket lowering. I was surprised to see your brothers though, if that's who they were. You all look so different… Anyways, I’m sure she would've loved the intrigue you brought to her service. A handsome stranger, distraught at the thought of life without her. She always did love big, dramatic displays of affection.”

“You remember me from the funeral?”

“Who could forget? It became a topic of conversation in our family once we could all talk about her without crying. Who was that blonde guy? Why wasn’t he at the viewing? Who were the other men he was with? Did she secretly get married while she was out of the country? So many theories, each one more ludicrous then the last. It seems her best friend and I were the only ones to connect the dots as to your identity.”

“Ah. I’m a little embarrassed now,” Satan admitted sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I was extremely bitter after the funeral for a long time. How could my beautiful daughter be taken away from me? Parents were never meant to outlive their kids. I’ve never understood the reason people take photographs at funerals. Most of the time, there’s so much makeup caked onto the body they’re almost unrecognizable. There’s a photo of you from the funeral I actually saved though. You’re looking at the casket with such a look of longing and loss, just waiting for her to come back to you. That photo actually brought me a lot of peace after she was gone. Your look perfectly encapsulated how I felt at the time. It also helped me to know she was able to know that much love before she left. I never want you to feel embarrassed for showing that kind of love to my daughter.”

" She is and always will be the only one for me.”

Mc’s mother laughed, “Oh, you’re still young and quite handsome. You’ll find someone else. In fact, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day from the first time I saw you. You must’ve made some kind of deal with the devil,” she joked.

“Ah. Very funny. Yes. A deal with the devil. Haha.”

Mc's mother looked at him, slightly concerned, "Well, it seems I've made things awkward. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to leave on my behalf,” Satan protested.

“It’s alright. I live close by, and I come and visit fairly often. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Good night, Stan”

“Good night, and… thank you.”

Mc’s mother smiled at him and walked away.

“Well, Mc, I guess I have your mother’s approval now,” Satan joked, turning back to his Shakespeare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Remind me why we’re here again,” Satan said, only slightly interested in the antics Mammon was trying to drag him into.

“Tryin’ to get some sucker… er, customer ta part with their Grimm, obviously,” Mammon explained, leaning back in his chair and turning to face Satan and Belphie.

“What does that have to do with us?” Belphie mumbled, eyes more closed than open.

“Well, everythin’! You two are super smart, so I need ya ta…” As Mammon continued talking, Satan wondered, not for the first time, if Mammon actually ever intended to make money with his schemes, or if he had simply found a way to work through his sin without causing too many problems. He had to understand how likely his plans were to fail… Right?

A bump on his shoulder announced Belphie had fallen asleep. Since Mc had helped him work through some of the trauma he had held onto since Lilith’s death, Belphie had gotten comfortable with his brothers again, growing especially close with Satan, their mutual dislike of Lucifer giving them something to bond over. When Mc had died, Satan had found Belphie to be the most supportive of his brothers. Though they'll lost had lost Lilith, Satan had found Belphie the most sympathetic to what he was going through.

“Oi! Listen when I’m talkin’ ta ya! Ya both younger than me, so you shouldn't really show me more respect.”

Belphie lifted his head, and rolled his eyes, “Mammon, do you really want me to do you a favor? How about this? Maybe, don’t explain how you’re going to con people in front of those you want to con.”

Mammon looked around worriedly, finally noticing the glares he was getting, before rounding on Belphie, “I was just explainin’ the plan ta ya and Satan cuz ya both asked again! If ya didn’ wan’ an explanation, ya shouldn’ have asked!”

Belphie was about to retort, when he got a self satisfying smirk, “Oh, dearest big brother, looks like you’ve got your first customer.”

Mammon went pale, turning around slowly to find a demon about as tall as Lucifer staring Mammon down, obviously angry.

Very interested in how Mammon was going to worm his way out of this one, Satan turned to say something to Belphie when he caught sight of a familiar hat.

“Belphie, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn’t that Luke?”

“Hmm? You mean the chihuahua?... Oh, I think it is. Why do you suppose he’s here? I never heard we were getting any visitor."

"It's a little terrifying just how much you know. You're like Asmo that way."

"It's not my fault everyone just assumes I'm sleeping while they're talking."

"Belphie, you know enough, I think you store information while you're asleep."

"Huh… I'd never thought of that before… Who’s that other angel with him?”

“I don’t know… She kinda looks familiar though, don’t you think?”

Belphie looked over at him, arching an eyebrow, “Do you know any angels younger than Luke?”

“Well, no, but… She just looks so familiar.”

“I guess… Hey, you’re missing Mammon squirm.”

“You watch and enjoy. I’m going to go talk to them,” Satan said, clearly distracted, as he got up out of his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a large body planted itself in front of Satan. The demon was tall, but so was Satan. He was able to look him right in the eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re with the guy that was going to scam us right?”

“You were actually going to fall for his scheme? Really? Well, the first step to getting the help you need is admitting you have a problem. Now, move. I’ve got places to be.”

“Not so fast Princess. You’re not getting away that easy,” the demon put out his hand and grabbed Satan’s shirt.

Satan looked down at the offending hand, and then at the demon, his horns already starting to sprout, “I’d suggest you unhand me if you want to keep your kneecaps.”

The demon laughed, a cocky smile on his face, “Ya think just cuz you’re an elite ya can take me? What makes you so special huh? Ya just think ya so great, just because ya pretty. Am I right?”

The rest of Satan’s demon form appeared, his eyes glowing, a menacing aura surrounding him, “No. I know I can take you because I’m the Avatar of Wrath. Maybe, if you weren’t such a dunce you’d have noticed that,” and with that Satan grabbed his hand in a bone crushing grip. The demon started yowling, trying to twist out of his grasp. It only made Satan increase the pressure. He leaned in right next to the demon’s ear, “Next time you pick a fight, understand who you’re dealing with first.”

He swept the demon’s legs out from under him, and put him in a wrist lock submission hold. The demon was now yelling for mercy, desperately trying to break Satan’s hold. Satan looked around to see if he could still see Luke, but realized quickly that wasn’t going to be possible. Both of his brother’s were currently dismantling whatever demon had decided to pick a fight with them. The rest of the area had erupted into chaos, most demon’s running away. No one wanted to be around when one of the Avatar’s were fighting, much less three! A couple idiots were trying to get in on their fight though.

Sighing, Satan leaned down again, “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re losing your kneecaps today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan muttered to himself, picking up bits of trash that had been left by the fleeing demons. Because of his involvement in the fight, he had to clean up the entire park. Trying to explain to Lucifer he'd been trying to walk away apparently didn't help when you'd put five demons in the hospital before he'd shown up to stop you.

“Well, Lucifer, if you could’ve just kept your cool, you’d still be prancing around with Simeon and Michael up in the Celestial Realm, making friendship bracelets, painting each other little rocks and braiding each other’s hair as you giggle about how… Huh?” Satan crouched down, noticing a small foot peeking out from a pile of leaves. Moving around to the other side of the pile, he saw it was the small angel that had been with Luke.

Up close, the feeling he'd met her before was even stronger. She looked so familiar, but he knew he’d never seen her before. The youngest angel he’d ever met was Luke. Maybe she was from the foggy memories of Lucifer’s he still had? That was forever ago though. She should've grown up quite a bit by now...

His musings were interrupted as the small angel moving. She winced as she sat up, holding her head, “Wha… What happened? Luke? Where are you?, then noticing Satan, “Oh, hello there. I’m sorry, but could you help me find my big brother?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Three Link

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beni-draw-ikemen-please · 4 years ago

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Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 1 - DON’T TELL ANYONE

Words: 2,063

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: This is a work of fiction. This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 1

Don’t tell anyone

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench.

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller.

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that.

Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china.

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea.

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared.

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony.

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant. Sometimes, Seiya would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same.

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her with ink and paper. She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often.

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time.

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more.

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight.

Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately.

“It’s too bright for me,” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile.

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly.

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside.

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times.

Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down.

Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously.

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed.

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh.

“Fanculo,” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in.

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t appreciate it when someone ordered her around.

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home, too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other.

But with Leonardo, it was something different.

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening.

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them.

But with Leonardo, it was different.

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night.

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles,” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest.

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it.

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt.

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it.

That evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room.

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their good days. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment.

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it.

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass.

They sat underneath the stars, a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder.

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time.

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk.

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time.

And then, he stopped.

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?”

-To be continued-

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen leonardo #Onibeni Seiya #ikemen comte

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

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The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.). [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest?

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

135 notes · View notes

ahgaseda · 6 years ago

Text

the NSFW alphabet | Jaebum (Got7)

{ this post contains graphic descriptions and explicit content : please read at your own risk! }

A = aroused (how he acts when he's in the mood)

he is not very subtle when he wants some action. he will come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and start whispering in your ear the things he wants to do with you and to you. he has a lot of patience and self-control though so if you plan on teasing him just know he can outlast you.

B = body (favorite body part of their partner)

he loves your ass. it belongs to him. he loves to spank it. he loves to bite it. he loves how it bounces when he takes you from behind. when you’re out in public he has a habit of letting his hand rest on the lowest curve of your back just shy of your butt because he’s possessive of that ass.

C = climax (what he's like when he orgasms)

he guards his masculinity with an iron fist so don’t expect him to lose his shit any time soon unfortunately. he will grit his teeth and stifle the sounds he wants to make when he comes. you’ll feel him shiver and shake while he tries to catch his breath. he might let out a swear word or two. despite this he may be a little more noisy when getting head especially if he is overstimulated. his preference is to come inside you, but he also likes coming on your stomach or ass.

D = dominance (is he dominant, submissive or a switch)

dominant to the tenth degree. you will never get an ounce of submission out of this man. he gets his pleasure from power and gets off from seeing you indulge him. in and out of the bedroom he is the king of the palace. there will be times he will be a bit too overbearing and when you call him out on it he will sulk but will eventually get over it. in bed he will prefer a dom-sub dynamic with his partner though not to an extreme. hes surprisingly more on the vanilla side and wont be into hard bdsm.

E = experience (how experienced is he in the bedroom)

he knows what he’s doing and he’s not much of a risk taker. he has been at this long enough to know what he likes and how to get it done. that being said hes not one for casual sex. Capricorns rarely jump into bed with someone they dont have a connection with. it doesnt have to be love but there has to be a degree of trust or mutual respect.

F = fortitude (does he have a lot of stamina and energy)

he is in great shape and is extremely flexible. but he is more the type to wanna sleep after a nut. sex with multiple rounds and orgasms will be reserved for special occasions. when it comes to sex he can last for quite a while since he prides himself on his self control and he can maintain hard and rough paces without breaking a sweat. the stroke game is strong and he likes to mix between intense and merciless to sensual and slow.

G = gratification (what really gets him off)

being in control. he’s a Capricorn and he’s a natural born leader. this man needs control and if he’s not getting a hundred percent of it he won’t be satisfied until he has it. there will be times he will let you top and have your way with him but he will be a power bottom. outside the bedroom hes much more lenient if you wanna be a brat but in the bedroom do so at your own risk. he will assert the pecking order whenever he needs to and that really gets him off.

H = habitat (preferred place to get busy)

the bedroom. he’s not one for public sex though he will gladly tease you and get you riled up but anything more intimate is reserved for the bedroom. he knows what he likes and what he wants and he likes the privacy and security of his comfortable space. this doesn’t mean he restricts all sex to the bed. he will take you on any available surface as long as its his. now if you surprise him at the studio for some loving you may get fussed at. if its his own private studio that can be included in his safe spaces. but dont try the same stunt at the company studio dear lord he will not be happy.

I = intimacy (how emotional is he when it comes to sex)

though he is dominant and sex is primarily about power to him, intimacy is very important as well. he feels nothing affirms intimacy quite like sex. and pleasing you is his utmost priority. though he guards himself very well, there will be times he will allow himself to be vulnerable with you especially after sex and such a connection has been felt between you. sex viscerally reminds him how much he loves and needs you.

J = joke (how much does he play around)

during sex, not at all. during foreplay or the teasing phase, he will be more light-hearted and playful. he will trail kisses up your neck or tickle you to hear you laugh. but when it comes to sexy time he is all business. joking around is for getting you in the mood. once he has you where he wants you, his focus is on getting you both off.

K = kink (toys or kinks)

he is kinky but he is not readily willing to show it. he will gradually open up about his kinks over time and he won’t give you a hard time if there are any kinks of his that you don’t want to indulge in. his biggest kink is marking. he wants you to be marked up for him (but not others) to see. he also likes to choke you. this taps into his ultimate control kink. he will use toys if you ask for them but he won’t introduce them. he’s more of a hands-on guy. he also likes to spank you. he will bend you over his lap, hold your hands behind your back, and give you some long drawn out spanks if you’ve been misbehaving.

L = lust (how often does he want it)

his sex drive is normal and average. music is his main focus in life at the moment. hes the type that will absolutely prioritize work over sex in most cases. though when he gets stressed from work he will either want extra sleep or some stress-relieving sex. other than that he will settle for sex a few times a week, maybe less. if his partner has a high sex drive he will mimic it. feeling needed and desired by his s/o will get him going rather quickly. he always wants to be the only source of your arousal and satisfaction.

M = masturbation (mutual and solo)

he the type to love giving you orders while you pleasure yourself. the first time you tried to initiate phone sex with him while you masturbated he came across as annoyed but then he really got into it. something stirs up his dominant side when he can make you come just by the power of his voice. he also the type to tell you not to pleasure yourself. and if you get caught you will be punished. the thought of you getting off without him aggravates his dom side. phone sex is the one exception since he is still technically involved.

N = never (what he will not do)

you will rarely tie him up. he will almost never allow himself to be restrained in the bedroom. he doesn’t want to be powerless. it does nothing for him and it taps into his insecurities. and he will never let you do anything that involves his ass. once again he’s very protective of his masculinity and he will not enjoy anything ass-related. except for smacking his butt. he likes that. or when you grab his ass while hes thrusting into you. he really likes that.

O = oral (giving and receiving)

he loves when you give him head. though he will always prefer to be between your legs, there’s something about looking down at you on your knees while you choke on his cock that does it for him. he especially loves fucking your face though he is careful to not go too hard on you. and boy does he love eating you out. he gets off on how much he wrecks you, how he can make you writhe when he’s making you come on his tongue. he doesnt do it too often. he likes to use it as a reward in most cases.

P = position (favorite position)

from behind. whether you are on hands and knees or bent over the nearest surface or flat on your stomach on the mattress he loves fucking you from behind. its possessive and primal and domineering. he loves pulling your hair and smacking your ass. this position lets him have all the control and a damn good view.

Q = quickie (what is a quickie like with him)

he likes quickies but they are never a first choice. they are a last resort. there will be times that he needs to nut but he’s short on time or patience. if the situation is right and you want it as badly as he does he will pin you down and fuck you hard. however this will still be restricted to his safe spaces. he’s not going to fuck you in a public place.

R = roleplay (favorite routines and tropes)

master and daddy. he really isn’t big into roleplay since he always acts like his dominant self in bed anyway. he may let you play around a little bit but he will always settle back into what he’s comfortable with and what he knows will work. he likes when you play the damsel and submissive, but he also enjoys when you tease him to rile him up.

S = seduction (how he gets you in the mood)

he is an expert at reading people and it won’t take long for him to memorize exactly what buttons of yours he has to push to activate the launch sequence. if dirty talk does it for you then that’s what you’ll get. if neck kisses are your weakness he’s going to melt you. when he’s needy and trying to get you amped up he will be handsy and assertive but if you’re not in the mood he will throw in the towel and go jack himself off. he will never pressure you into anything. remember he needs to be needed.

T = teasing (what is the best way to arouse him)

challenge him. oh yes make him put you back in your place. he will go nuts for that shit. he is a dom that loves to be antagonized. if you were to be unconditionally submissive to him at all times, things would obviously get rather boring. he knows that and he likes when you keep the bedroom fiery. giving him the chances to assert himself does wonders for his sex drive.

U = underwear (lingerie and costumes)

lingerie fucks him up real good. if you wear a schoolgirl ensemble all bets are off. but he will also like anything sexy or racy, innocent or coy. he’s not restrictive to one kind of theme. sending him lingerie pics while hes working will earn you a one-way express ticket to some rough sex when he gets home.

V = verdict (what do you think of your sex life with him)

all of your friends are jealous of your sex life. your only complaints involve his unwillingness to switch things up. he likes what he likes and doesn’t like to experiment or deviate from what works. nevertheless you have very passionate and hot sex with him which is never dull or boring because he is very intense and always makes sure you are sated and wrecked to soothe his own ego.

W = words (how vocal is he and dirty talk)

getting you in the mood he is a professional at turning you on. but during sex he’s not very vocal. he’s a heavy breather and a grunter. he may let out a moan on occasion especially when you swallow his cock down your throat. his dirty talk is blunt and nasty. dont put it past him not to go into detail about what he plans to do to you. he loves making you blush with how explicit he can be. and he will do it in the calmest lowest most sultry voice youve ever heard.

X = x-rated (how does he feel about porn or sextapes)

he will watch it when he needs to get himself off but dont expect him to put it on to get you in the mood. he knows how to arouse you and he takes great pride in being the one to get you horny for him. he would be willing to make a sextape with you but you would have to remind him. it’s not going to come to mind when he’s in the heat of the moment. he would opt for photos rather than any home videos tbh. if you had him take lingerie photos of you and then put them in an album for him as a gift he would be the happiest boy alive.

Y = yawn (what is he like after sex)

he wants sleep. seriously once he finishes the countdown to him passing out has begun. but he also needs you struggling to catch your breath from what he’s done to you when he takes you in his arms and settles comfortably for bed. he will make sure you’re okay, because even though he fucks the living shit out of you he is a respectful guy and needs to know you are taken care of. he will also be sure to open the bedroom door so the cats can come in and take their rightful places for bedtime snuggling lol

Z = zodiac (what his sign says about him in bed)

a Capricorn needs satisfaction because they are perfectionists. to be honest, their desire to please you is almost entirely selfish. a Capricorn that can’t give their partner a mind-blowing sex life would hide in shame. having you satisfied and happy reflects well on them and they crave that on an insanely high level. on the downside Cappys can be set in their ways meaning they tend to stick with what they know and are comfortable with. getting them to be a little more spontaneous and diverse in the bedroom will take suggestion or insistence on your part.

#mine:imagines #got7 smut #jaebum smut #im jaebum smut #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #jaebum imagines #jaebum reactions #jaebum scenarios

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waveridden · 7 years ago

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FIC: you’ll always be my happy ending

A love story, told through articles, transcripts, tweets, and a very popular song. Parker/Cib, celebrity AU, 1.8k.

AUcember || title lyric || Ao3

1. Article from Teen Vogue, Dec. 2017 issue

Fast Five: Things You Need to Know about Cib by R. Scully

Clayton James, better known as Cib, put out one of the biggest alt-pop records of the year with Songs From Every Coast. His meandering lyrics, smooth vocals, and surprising production have earned him fans around the world. He’s also notoriously private, but we here at Teen Vogue sat down with him to get five must-know facts.

Yes, he’s like that in real life. (Sort of.) It’s been a big debate between fans whether his stage persona - kind of a goof, an idiot but in a fun way - is an act or actually who he is. But he says the truth is somewhere in the middle. “I can do basic things,” Cib says, “but I think anyone who says they’re totally competent is either lying on purpose or just wrong. Like, haven’t we all microwaved silverware before? We all make mistakes, I just play them up on stage.”

His first guitar was named Sheila. “Not for any reason, I think I was going through an Australia phase. You know, the Australia phase that every kid goes through. I thought it’d be cool.” His current guitars? Annie, Melanie, Sally, and one that he says is a secret.

He hated riding bikes as a kid. “I do it all the time now,” he laughs, “but when I was a kid? Nah, dude, I fell off constantly. Crashed it more than once My balance was s***. I’m way more coordinated now. I think it’s all the choreography.”

The headband started as a joke. If you’ve seen more people wearing headbands lately, that’s no accident: that’s Cib’s brand. But he says the brand was a total accident. “My friend Steve bet me I wouldn’t,” he says, “and all it takes is one or two photoshoots, a couple of paparazzos, and bam, you have a brand.” Lucky for him, he didn’t mind leaning into it: “I think it’s a good look, don’t you?”

Mr. Mcghghy is real, and he’s not who you think he is. Easily the most popular song off Songs From Every Coast, “Dear Mr. Mcghghy” sparked waves of speculation in fans. The song is obviously a love song, written to someone who’s only ever called Mr. Mcghghy. And who is he? “Someone I was friends with as a kid,” Cib says. “We had nonsense nicknames for each other, and his was Mr. Mcghghy. He was definitely my first crush, looking back, but I don’t really know where he is these days.” And what was his childhood nonsense name? “Aw, dude, it was Cib. Of course.”

2. Excerpt from Song Exploder, episode: Cib - Dear Mr. Mcghghy

“Okay, first of all, because I know everyone’s asking about it: yes, Mr. Mcghghy is real, but I don’t remember his real name. When I was younger, I used to spend my summers visiting family in North Carolina - it was actually a big inspiration for this album as a whole. When I say it’s from every coast, you know, I mean it’s from every coast. East, west, Canadian, American, it’s all in here.

“But I used to go down to North Carolina for a month every year, and there was this kid who lived down the street from my family. He was a couple years older than me, and I don’t remember a lot about him, because we were kids, and kids don’t know how to pay attention to shit that’s going to be important. But he was a little older, had curly hair, and was totally okay with bratty little me dragging him on adventures all over his city. He said he’d seen it all before, but I was seeing new things, and that was part of the song.

“The nicknames just came out of nowhere. We picked our own, although I think one of my cousins had already been calling me Cib. I don’t remember why he picked Mcghghy, but he was always really, really specific about how it was spelled. I made up a song to help me remember, and you can actually hear that melody in the background of the chorus…”

3. Interview with The Sami Jo Show on iHeartRadio (Dec. 8, 2017)

SJ: Okay, okay, so here’s the question on everyone’s mind.

C: You sure about that?

SJ: It’s on my mind, and I think it’s a thing a lot of people are curious about. What’s your favorite song off your album?

C: Oh, f***- wait, s***, I can’t say that on air, can I?

SJ: I mean, you can say it. The people won’t hear it.

C: Good to know. I mean, I can’t pick, right? They’re all my favorite. I put a lot of time into every one of them.

SJ: Top three?

C: God, that’s still so hard! Uh, Gold Rush, because it’s f***ing catchy as all hell. Does hell get bleeped out?

SJ: Nope. Don’t kids listen to your music?

C: I mean, I say f*** on their album. I think I’m single-handedly responsible for a lot of parents teaching their kids about swear words.

SJ: Like many great artists before you.

C: And some not-so-great ones too.

SJ: Of course. So, come on, top three.

C: S***! Um… I Don’t Mind? And then Dear Mr. Mcghghy.

SJ: Oh, I was hoping you’d bring that one up. Because, as a lot of people know, Mr. Mcghghy is a real person.

C: Yeah, he is.

SJ: And you don’t know who he is?

C: I don’t know! And a lot of people think that I’m lying when I say that, that I’m just trying to protect his privacy. A few people think we’re actually secretly married - we’re not, by the way. I legit don’t know where this guy is, or what he’s up to anymore.

SJ: Do you think he’s heard the song?

C: I think it’d be hard not to, it’s kind of popular. Ugh, humble brag, gross.

SJ: And do you think he knows it’s about him?

C: Maybe! Never say never. Mr. Mcghghy, if you’re out there, hit me up. We can get coffee.

SJ: [laughing] And you can tell Cib your real last name.

C: Please! Please, god, so many people spell it wrong, your last name has to be easier to spell than Mcghghy.

SJ: What if it’s not?

C: Don’t- don’t jinx it! [laughing] Don’t cast your last name magic, Siedband!

SJ: Whoa, hold on, let’s not bring my last name into this, I haven’t done anything wrong?

C: Haven’t you? [Sami Jo laughs] Haven’t you?

4. A tweet from Cib (@maybeCIB) on Twitter, with replies

Clayton James @maybeCIB kinda miss North Carolina but now I’m old enough to know better

Andrea Whatt @piecesofwhatt Replying to @maybeCIB :( but what if Mr. Mcghghy is waiting for you there?!

evan @evannumbers Replying to @maybeCIB never come back to this state

Tiara, throwing sparkles @theycallmera Replying to @maybeCIB Nooooo most of NC is fine, we swear!

Parker Coppins @pcoppins Replying to @maybeCIB Did you write a song about me?

5. Direct Messages between @maybeCIB and @pcoppins

@maybeCIB: Dude

@maybeCIB: I think I might’ve?

@pcoppins: I think you might’ve too

@maybeCIB: how can we confirm

@pcoppins: Uh

@pcoppins: Every year you insisted on eating a ton of saltwater taffy even though you thought it was gross because you thought it’d make it easier for you to open your eyes in saltwater

@maybeCIB: Oh my god

@maybeCIB: it’s you?

@pcoppins: It’s me

@maybeCIB: no way

@maybeCIB: how’ve you been dude

@pcoppins: You keep saying my hair is curly

@maybeCIB: is it not curly anymore??

@pcoppins: No it’s definitely curly I just want to know why that matters so much

@maybeCIB: I don’t think it does

@maybeCIB: it’s just sort of whimsical

@maybeCIB: kind of my brand

@pcoppins: It always was when we were kids too

@maybeCIB: okay so

@maybeCIB: Coppins?

@pcoppins: I can’t believe you actually forgot my last name

@maybeCIB: well what did you remember about me??

@pcoppins: Apparently more than you remembered about me

@maybeCIB: well yeah that’s not hard

@maybeCIB: also sorry for, like, writing a love song about you when I haven’t seen you since I was eleven

@pcoppins: no it’s okay

@pcoppins: it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it was about me

@maybeCIB: don’t tell me you forgot about mcghghy?

@pcoppins: Oh I remembered it I just thought it was a coincidence

@maybeCIB: really

@pcoppins: Yeah

@pcoppins: And then I heard your Song Exploder

@maybeCIB: oh my god

@pcoppins: Also for the record

@pcoppins: I live in LA now

@maybeCIB: Iiiiinteresting

@pcoppins: so you don’t have to come to NC to see me

@maybeCIB: hey so can I get your number

@maybeCIB: we should do coffee sometime

@maybeCIB: but like, nowhere obvious, because I do have fans who will drag you into a spotlight if they think you’re Mr. Mcghghy

@pcoppins: but I am

@maybeCIB: dude trust me it’d be better to save that for later

6. Excerpt from Star Magazine’s gossip section

MEETING MR. MCGHGHY?: Self-proclaimed “weird pop” singer CIB was spotted in L.A. this past weekend in a coffee shop with a mystery man. He’s tall, curly-haired, and as the song to Cib’s hit “Dear Mr. Mcghghy” goes, he has a starlight smile. Could this be the man who stole America’s collective hearts?

7. Cib’s acceptance speech for Favorite Breakout Artist, at the People’s Choice Awards

[Cib, standing in front of the podium, clears his throat and looks at a camera operator.]

“Whoa, oh my god, how much time do I have? ...ohhh, that’s not enough. Not enough. I want to say thanks to my family, to my parents, because when I said “Mom, Dad, I think I want to do music,” they both sort of went “yeah, sounds okay.” Thank you to Steve, who learned all sorts of weird music stuff and figured out how to explain it to me. Thank you to my label, thank you to my producers and co-writers and graphic designers. I don’t think most people realize what a team effort it is to make an album, but it involves so many people, and if I could name you all I would, but-”

[The orchestra begins to play, signifying time running out.]

“Ah! Ah, okay, last things, I want to thank the people, for voting for this, you did that on purpose and that’s so crazy. Thank you to all my fans, to every radio station who ever played one of my songs. And thank you to Parker, the best accidental muse I could ever have. Love you, man. Let’s go Broilers!”

[The orchestra music swells. Cib goes back to his seat, and a camera follows him. On the television broadcast, a voiceover announces what will be coming after the commercial break. Just before the feed fades out, Cib reaches his seat. A tall man with curly hair jumps out of his seat, smiling widely, and Cib reaches up, pulls his head in, and kisses him.]

#parcib #cib x parker #ship pine 7 #shipping pine 7 #ragehappy #waveridden.fic #aucember17 #rpf for ts #chaboi is back at it again with the alternative storytelling or whatever the fuck this is called

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aiimaginesbts · 8 years ago

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Race Against Time: Chapter 1

Jungkook feat. Reader and Namjoon. The rest of BTS will appear in the future chapters

Genre: Thriller, Darkfic

Warning: This fic is about murder cases, and may include some graphic imagery. Please read with caution.

Word Count: 2, 639 words

A/N: A big part of the MO is based on Killing Hour by Lisa Gardner. Check her out, her novels are really good! I’d also like to thank my two friends (and her doctor husband) who helped me figure out the details for the story, there is way more research involved in writing this than I expected.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | Epilogue

Disclaimer/Copyright

Jungkook sighs inwardly, fighting the urge to run his fingers through his hair, opting to clench his hands into fists instead. He knows that he has to remain calm. Or look the part, anyway. People are watching. They are always watching, and he feels the constant need to prove himself. He takes a deep breath, blocking out the commotion surrounding the roped off crime scene to dip his chin down to the still form on the ground.

Even though death has claimed the colour in her, leaving her pale and cold, it is obvious that she had been a beauty. Her long blonde hair pools neatly on the right side of her head, brushed to the side with such care it seems almost loving. Jungkook scans her body with interest, an uneasy sense of déjà vu creeping up on him. It is so similar that it can’t be a coincidence – especially the cruel mark at her throat, although clean, tells him that she is another victim of the same killer who claimed the life of the first body they found last month.

Exactly one month ago Parking lot of the largest bowling alley in the city

Emerging from his car alone, Jungkook saw that there were already several officers setting up a parameter in silence. He had received a call early that morning to head there, and he drove straight from home instead of stopping by the office first, leaving you disgruntled for being roused at the crack of dawn after a long night of reading journals and writing. He slammed the door shut, locking the car behind him as he approached one of the officers who turned to him immediately upon his arrival, opting to talk to the man he took to be the first officer on the scene before addressing the body on the ground in the middle of the section.

“Agent Jeon.” Jungkook simply nodded at him in response, getting right down to business. “What happened here?”

“Got a call from the owner of this joint about an hour ago. Man was all panicked, said he found a girl unconscious when he came in to take inventory. When he walked towards her to see if she’s alright, he saw that she’s dead.” Jungkook noticed that the young officer avoided looking at the immobile figure behind him as he talked, only waving his arm behind him to indicate the general location of the body.

“Dead? Did he see if she’s breathing before calling you?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably at the question. “Ahem. I don’t think so, sir. One look at her and you’d know.”

Jungkook frowned at that but pressed on. “Did he see anyone around, before and after he found the body?”

Another no. “She was already there when he got here, sir. And he made sure she was in sight when he called to make the report.”

Jungkook nodded and walked past the jittery officer to see her himself, ignoring the whoosh of relief that escaped the man at reaching the end of a stressful conversation with an intimidating superior. Judging by his looks, Jungkook was not that much older than the young officer, but he was used to that reaction by now whether it was from a new recruit or an experienced agent after he gained fame for capturing a serial killer who terrorised the people for months, then went on to solve several other cases. He wished that people wouldn’t treat him differently, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped after his not-so-subtle promotion following his feat.

The tar and pebbles of the parking lot crunched louder under his feet as he stopped and crouched down to study the victim. He winced at the term; most agents he knew avoided the terms ‘girl’, ‘man’, ‘child’, ‘young’ and the like when referencing to a dead person, but you once told him that you felt that it was disturbing to use the terms ‘it’, or ‘victim’, or ‘deceased’ as they used to be alive, too, and should still be respected even in death. Your words stuck with him. Several years in this field taught him that it was easy to lose yourself, and you helped him retain his humanity, his sense of self.

She looked young, probably in her early twenties, just out of school or in college. Her attire was not something he would have expected from someone at that age, though. An over-sized white shirt covered her body, big enough to almost hide the blue shorts underneath, but not quite. More puzzling than her being barefoot is how clean she seemed. Not a trace of makeup adorned her face, and from what he could see, he suspected that the only dirt she had on her body was underneath her from the gravel that her body laid on, and a streak of black in her hair that stood out against her blonde locks. Contrasting to her lack of cosmetics, she wore a pair of earrings and a funny-looking choker. Her lips and skin were pale, but that was to be expected if she had been dead for several hours, and she must have been as the call from the owner came over an hour ago now. Who knew when she died here or if this was where she was killed at all?

Because as the first officer on the scene had told him, there was no doubt that she was dead. Soon the other crime scene investigators arrived, and when the evidence – only a purse clutched in her hand – and her body was lifted, the green strip Jungkook had thought to be a choker slipped, revealing a gash across her neck. His eyes widened in shock at the sight and he swallowed bile that threatened to make its way up into his mount. Her throat had been slashed open. The ‘choker’ had actually been a plant, probably a weed of some sort, and was immediately removed to be photographed and bagged as evidence. To say that everyone had been mortified at the discovery would be an understatement. The medical examiner, Namjoon, with whom Jungkook had worked with on previous cases, grabbed his arm painfully, the doctor’s face drained of colour in terror.

A search through her purse later did not prove to be of much use; a sum of money left in it convinced them that she was not robbed. A small metal ring in the shape of a ‘D’ in the purse threw them in for a loop. Why was a girl carrying such a thing in her purse? A few days later, the autopsy revealed the fact that they had seen with their own eyes: the victim died from blood loss after her throat was slit open, presumably with a knife. It had to be a very sharp one, since it sliced clean across her neck in a straight line. Whatever motivation drove the killer to commit the act, he did not hesitate in completing it. Interestingly, her body held no signs of sexual assault. In fact, the only harm that was done to her body, other than her neck was a set of markings on her back, a two pronged reddish spots from a Taser, which Jungkook assumed to be the killer’s method of subduing the victim. The black strip on her hair turned out to be oil, but other than that, the body was clean.

Abnormally clean. Jungkook leafed through the report, this time allowing himself to rake his fingers through his hair in frustration as he sighed in the privacy of his office. The report said that the body was wiped clean with a chemical, presumably with ammonia, even the wound had been cleaned so that no blood spilled around the length of plant that was carefully wrapped around her neck. Was it to hide evidence, or did the killer seek to purify the body for some reason? Was this girl a sacrifice for a cult? No marking that indicated that she was one was found on her. No statement of any kind, if the killer wanted to make his agenda or cause known. If he took the time to clean her up, why was there a streak of oil in her hair? It would have been terribly remiss of him to forget that.

Was it a clue, then? If it was a clue, why leave it for them to find? Was it truly an accident, and the oil would lead him to the killer, or was it left there to throw him off the scent? Jungkook turned to the collection of photos of the crime scene, the victim and the peculiar evidences found on the girl. A 10-millimeter d-ring. The green plant, a seaweed, he was told. Did the oil belong to these pair of strange evidences? Are these a clue of some sort? Because if they were, he had no clue what they meant.

Thankfully, the girl was found early in the morning. The owner of the bowling alley agreed to help by keeping it to himself, and Jungkook was surprised that he had kept true to his word so far. The news of the dead girl had not spread like Jungkook was afraid it would, because he would not know what to tell the people and the press who would surely descend on him like vultures if they so much as get a sniff of this. This case was baffling him, no clear motive and no trace of evidence to lead to the killer, unless he counted the three odd findings that did not seem to be linked to one another, or lead anywhere. He had no clue where to even begin the investigation.

Lack of ID was also a problem. The victim’s prints were taken, but with the bureau’s heavy load, it took several days for the system to identify her. Five days to be exact. Five days before Jungkook found out who the poor girl who got her neck slashed was, and for him it was five days too late. The call came for him first.

Unlike the first time, the call came mid-morning on the fifth day after the blonde girl had been found, while Jungkook was reading a report in his office, nursing a cup of coffee in his hands. He was asked to go to Port Liddington immediately. The crime scene investigation team moved with haste to the maritime container terminal, where they were greeted with another taped-off scene around one of the freight containers.

Another girl. A slit throat was not the cause of death this time, though. No, this girl died a slow and painful death. Trapped in one of many containers in the terminal, with no light, no one that could hear her scream and pound on the walls, no food and water. The steel shipping box was empty except for the young girl who had perished from dehydration, and her bodily waste in a corner. Jungkook tried not to imagine the fear and loneliness she must have felt as she slowly started losing hope, her thirst evolving into headaches and leg cramps from lack of water, and wondered if she became delirious before succumbing into unconsciousness and then actually giving in to death.

The team ignored the stench and got to work, methodically photographing the body and the crime scene, preserving the evidence, of which there was not much, only a purse that contained a wad of cash and two IDs. The first ID was of the brunette girl they had just found, Kimberly Williams. The second one surprised Jungkook. Susannah Johnson, it said, the picture on the card showing the blonde girl from the parking lot of the bowling alley.

Results of the first victim’s prints came to him later that day, but there was no use for it anymore. The IDs allowed them to identify the girls, Susannah and Kimberly, freshmen at the university you were attending. They were last seen at a frat party thrown during the summer break by one of the students. Since they were on break, many students opted to return home for a holiday, so no one noticed that the two girls were missing from their dorm rooms.

Jungkook began to put things together, and the analysis of the evidences found on the first victim that he received later solidified his suspicions. The condition of the seaweed confirmed that it was from the port, the oil in her hair was bunker fuel that was used to power cargo ships carrying containers such as the one the second victim was found in. And the d-ring was actually a part of the 6 meters long freight container itself.

The puzzling clues made sense now. They were left with the first girl to lead them to the second one. However, the second victim had nothing of the sort. No hints, nothing out of the ordinary, except the fact that she was left for dead in a dark metal crate in party clothes that probably made her shiver with cold during those chilling lonely nights by the sea she must have spent praying that someone would find her. It did not escape Jungkook’s notice that the two students were dressed very differently. The short dress and high heels that Kimberly wore suited the occasion they were last seen in, assuming that they were kidnapped after leaving the party. Susannah’s simple shirt and shorts, however… not to mention her missing shoes. It had been a while since either Jungkook or you attended a college party, but he was sure that was not a look that was popular with the young crowd now.

He slammed the case file shut. If he thought the first victim was devoid of anything useful, the second girl offered him nothing whatsoever, other than the IDs of the two students. Was this the end, then? Were there more girls to be discovered? It was a long day for Jungkook, having to meet the families of the deceased and attempting to figure out if any of their other friends were missing. As far as the mourning families knew, there was no one else… so far.

Until now.

Present day A children’s playground on the West Side

After the news of the dead students came out, you had approached Jungkook about the case, concerned that such an atrocity happened to people from your institution. Unfortunately he was unable to share with you as many details as he would have liked, but you understood his position. You were worried that it may happen again, and Jungkook had no real words of comfort for you. He could only say that he hoped that it was a murder of revenge, a one-time thing, and given time, he would be able to figure everything out and find the killer. You had smiled in encouragement, believing in his abilities as you’ve always had.

Looking down at the youthful face of the dead girl on the grass, the laceration across her neck not even covered this time, then at the growing crowd surrounding the scene, Jungkook wonders how to tell you that he suspects that another pair of students have been kidnapped, one is dead in front of his very eyes and the other is still missing.

#bunny kook #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon scenarios #rapmon scenarios

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a-gay-bloodmage · 6 years ago

Text

—It's Not Bad—

Pairing: Cassandra Pentaghast x Male Adaar

Pairing Type: M/F

Words: 6,230

Warnings: Cassie's Doing Her Best, Oz Appreciates Her Efforts Very Much, Some Gal Pals Bonding Over Skills They Don't Really Have, Lots of Time Skips because I Don't Do Transitions Well, Implicitly Implied Smut but Completely Non-Graphic

Cassandra sighed, leaning over her office desk. She stared at the mess of papers, thinking about how long they would take to sort. She'd gotten lazy recently, distractions taking her mind off work. The Inquisitor had managed to get her Varric's new chapter, and all her work had been put off to the best of her ability to read it. Though, it really seemed like her actual life was becoming a romance novel as of late. To think, Cassandra Pentaghast was involved with the Inquisitor. She couldn't help it. He was persistent in the most gentlemanly way, he was tender and sweet and made her feel like a damsel as opposed to a battering ram. He baked her little things when he noticed she was more stressed than usual, he braided her hair in the mornings, and he was never afraid to tell her she was beautiful. She sighed, resting her entire upper half on the desk. Her scarred cheek rested against the cool wood. She'd never get any of that work done at this rate. Papers to look over, troops to station, war reports to check, and small side missions to approve. All impossible while her... lover was on her mind.

A couple knocks sounded out from the door behind her, making her jump.

"Who is it?" She yelled, flipping herself over and trying to look casual as she leaned on her desk.

"A qunari who is very cold out here," came the reply, obviously amused at her audible floundering.

"Oh! Come in, then," she said. Her door opened, and the Inquisitor ducked his head to avoid the human doorframe. "You... you can let yourself in next time."

He walked into her small office, his towering frame making it seem even smaller. He strolled over to her, utterly dwarfing her against the desk.

"I'm not going to hug you, don't worry," he chuckled, gingerly touching her face. "I'm soaked by this... snow." He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Is it just me or is it colder than usual?" The Guardian weather was intense in Ferelden, and Skyhold was currently waist-deep in snowdrifts.

"I'll get you a towel," she said, touching his chest for a second before hurrying off to the corner of her office, where a large grey towel hung over the back of an armchair. She truly was living in a mess.

"Thanks," he smiled, moving to dry his large horns, running the towel over the beautiful, dark grey horns. Unlike Bull's, his were unmarred by combat, smooth and well-maintained. "You probably relate, huh, Cassie? Nevarra's quite warm, isn't it?" He asked, moving to patting his long silver dreadlocks dry.

"It is," she said, laughing a little. "Ferelden really is unforgiving, isn't it?"

He laughed, nodding as he sat down on her small sofa, cringing a little as the wood nearly snapped under his weight. He pulled off the jacket he was wearing and hung it over the armrest of the sofa. "Odd, isn't it, how someone born this time of the year loves the heat so much?"

Cassandra froze. "Oh?" She tried to stay casual. "Is your birthday around this time of the year?" She asked, leaning against the desk. "I was unaware the qunari kept track of such things."

"We don't celebrate them, no, but my merc company was insistent they know," he chuckled, patting his lap, offering it as a seat for Cassandra. She hesitantly sat down, leaning her shoulder against his chest. "You Southerners and your love for little personal celebrations," he cooed, kissing her on the forehead, slightly damp silver dreadlocks tickling at her nose. "Ah, it's cute, though. I don't mind all of 'em. Fill up a calendar, don't they?"

"Well," she started, "when is it?" She paused. "For documentation purposes."

"Fifteenth," he shrugged. "I'll be thirty-six." One of his large hands pulled her close to his now warm body, heat radiating through his shirt.

"That's tomorrow!" She gasped. It was almost hurtful he didn't tell her, even if he didn't think it was a big deal.

"Hey, hey, don't get all worried," he said. "There's no need to bother your pretty little head, Cassie. You're busy as it is, and I'm a qunari. Dates of birth don't need to be anything more than something to fill a slot on a planner." His low, smooth voice and gentle hands made even Cassandra feel delicate. Like a petite woman in the arms of a knight—like a love interest in a cliche novel, even if the reality was that she was the scarred knight and he the sweet, passive lover.

"Ah, but still," she said, gently trying to protest. She was thankful that she didn't have to be so aggressive around him. Her throat often got hoarse from yelling at dense men who just didn't listen. "Wouldn't it be nice to do something? A drink in the tavern, maybe a bit of cake?"

He chuckled, kissing her on the forehead. "You're so sweet," he smiled, his thumb tracing the hard line of her jaw. "Knowing that I get to spend my time with you is a gift enough."

She looked away to hide her warming face, an embarrassed scowl on her lips. Sometimes, he was so sweet she didn't know what to do with him. No matter how many books she read, she could hardly hope to match him in sentiment, surely. All the smutty literature in the world would still leave her ill-prepared.

"Don't be so shy," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "Come on, it's late, you should sleep."

"And you," she said back, allowing herself to be pulled into his embrace. She breathed in his scent, the sweetness of cinnamon and peppermint. "It's cold out, so..."

"Are you asking me to sleep here, Madam Seeker?" He asked, smiling down at her. At her soft blush, he laughed. "Are you sure your bed'll fit me?"

"Oh, apologies, I didn't think-"

"Don't worry, I'm good at fitting places with enough finesse." Cassandra couldn't help but laugh a little to herself. Ozol certainly was good at fitting places. Especially when it came to her. "Sorry, that was awful," he said, laughing a little embarrassedly.

"It was," she said back, smiling softly, slowly getting up from his lap. "You still have a pair of sleeping pants here." She motioned to the small dresser in the corner of her office-bedroom.

"It's nice to know I'm so welcome," he smiled, standing and giving her a kiss on the forehead before strolling over to change into his sparse sleepwear.

"Well, it is good to have options," she said, trying not to expose herself too much as she pulled off the days light armor. Her nightgown was wholly impractical, and she would've been much happier with pants and an undershirt, but Ozol had mentioned that she looked quite pretty in it. Now that he was here, there was a part of her that didn't dare wear anything else. It was silly, but it made her chest warm to know that he liked what she wore—both armor and nighties.

"You look great in that," the qunari smiled, as if on cue, as she sat down on the bed that was already sagging a little under the weight of such a giant. He had tied his long silver dreadlocks up into a messy bun. When she sat on the bed, he silently offered to undo her hair. Gentle hands let her silky black hair out of its constraints, falling down to her back.

"You would say that if I wore anything," she said, slipping under the covers.

"And so... what if it's true? I mean it." His pale blue eyes were bright in the dark room as he looked over at her, unable to turn to face her due to his large horns.

She rolled over onto her side, throwing an arm over his wide, warm chest. "Oh, be quiet," she said, trying not to show him how flustered he made her.

It'd been so long since she was showed such affection, and even with the length of their little affair, she still wasn't used to the tenderness he treated her with. She timidly kissed his cheek goodnight. He sighed, his lips quirked up in a smile when he realized with annoyance that he couldn't kiss her back, his horns preventing him doing anything short of getting up to lean over her. Cassandra simply moved her body nearly on top of his, cupping his face and kissing him solidly on the lips. He wrapped his muscled arms around her, planting her squarely on top of his soft, warm body. This was usually how they ended up.

"Goodnight, Oz," she whispered, kissing him again, quickly on his full, soft lips. It was easier to be confident when it was dark and she was on top.

"Goodnight, Cassie," he whispered back, kissing her as quick and as soft as she kissed him. "Thank you for making my thirty-fifth year so meaningful."

She felt—if not flustered—proud of the fact that she meant so much to him. That she, despite her ill-planned self-sabotage, still made him happy. That all her denial and evasiveness were nothing in the face of a qunari who clearly believed that slow, persistent flirting was the way to go. His forearms crossed over the small of her back, letting her settle against his chest. She had once thought that qunaris' hearts would beat slower, but his always seemed quite fast.

• • ♡ • •

"Leliana!" The redhead looked up when a book was slammed on her desk, sending her ravens into another bout of screeching. "You are always asking the Inquisitor to do things on your behalf, things your spies should handle, and I do not think it just you never see it fit to properly pay him back for all he does for you."

"Alright, I'm curious," she said, looking up and folding her hands beneath her chin. Cassandra hated how smug her eyes looked despite her neutral face. "What are you trying to get me into?" She raised an eyebrow. "One can only imagine it will be something I don't wish to do."

"Well, maybe I don't care about that," Cassandra said back, trying to stick her nose up without breaking eye contact. "You are helping me do something for the Inquisitor's birthday."

"Oh, I nearly forgot that was today," she said, looking mildly intrigued. "I didn't think qunaris celebrated personal anniversaries."

"They don't. But he implied he wouldn't mind something." Cassandra always found it a little difficult staying professional around the Left Hand. Leliana knew too much about her, and she knew enough about Leliana that she really did just want to tell her to put her work down and come help her whether she wanted to or not.

"Did he? Or do you just think he wouldn't because you want to do something romantic?"

Stupid bard. "Leliana."

She scooted her chair back, standing slowly. "I'll admit it. I'm intrigued," she said, coming around the side of her desk and pulling the book Cassandra slammed down onto the wood from beneath Cassandra's hand. "A cookbook?" Her ginger brows raised in interest. "You come to the Spymaster for assistance in... baking?"

"I came to the Orlesian and to my acquaintance," Cassandra corrected her. "Do tell me you know how to bake."

"Perhaps."

"You don't, do you?" Leliana simply looked up from the pages, her eyes saying enough. "Great. Neither does Josephine, but she insisted she help. Her and Ozol get along well, and she wanted to assist in doing something for him today."

"And you want to bake something for him?" Leliana asked, flipping through the pages. It was full of unfortunately Ferelden recipes, but it was the only thing Cassandra could get her hands on.

"Yes." She crossed her arms. "I have never baked. I was hoping I could show him I have a use other than combat."

"Sure. Not that you want to play housewife, of course," Leliana said, smug little smile on her pink lips.

Cassandra huffed. It wasn't that, not really. She didn't desire domesticity in such a way. She knew it would fit neither her nor Ozol. They were both wired differently, and nothing would change that. She just... wanted a change of pace. She wanted to push herself, challenge herself, do something he probably didn't think she could—not because he thought little of her, but because she had never indicated that she could. It would be a pleasant surprise. Hopefully.

"Alright, fine," Leliana said, closing the cookbook with a snap. She looked the short distance up at Cassandra. "Well, what are we wasting time for?"

• • ♡ • •

The three women were easily allowed access to the kitchens for Cassandra's project, though the looks of the kitchen staff didn't exactly inspire confidence. It was obvious they were awaiting a mess once the trio was done. Apparently the ability to organize, to gather intel, and to fight weren't thought to transfer over into the kitchen.

Cassandra slammed the book down on one of the counters, staring across the wooden surface at the two women. Leliana looked like she was waiting in anticipation for a disaster, and Josephine looked excited but prepared to call for the cleaning staff or put out a fire. All three had stripped down to their undershirts and leggings, and Cassandra was already slightly sweaty with repressed nerves and the fires burning away in the large oven.

"This is our target," Cassandra said, her voice stern and commanding as she opened the book to page two-hundred and thirty-six.

"Are you sure? It seems a little ambitious," Josephine said, looking hesitant to get in the way of Cassandra's plan. "Wouldn't a simple cake-?"

"We are going to impress, not evoke pity!" Cassandra barked, glaring at the Antivan. "A simple white cake?" She shook her head. "That would be childish!" She pointed to the dainty illustration of the finished product on the yellowing page. "You either bake this apple pie with me or I discharge you dishonorably, Montilyet."

"Alright," Josephine said, raising her hands in surrender. She was wise not to test Cassandra further.

"Now, we need to find these ingredients," Cassandra said lowly, leaning onto the countertop and staring at the page. "Two and a half baking cups of flour. Half a teaspoon of salt. One and a quarter cup of lard. Six tablespoons fulls of milk." She stared up at Leliana and Josephine. "And what are you standing about for?"

That got them moving, scouring the kitchen and the attached larder for their supplies. Josephine and Leliana were much more graceful, their measurements more precise and practiced while Cassandra struggled to figure out how much a cup and a quarter of lard was. They left her with the larger and simpler measurements. She would've been insulted if she weren't so relieved.

"We need a pan," she said, glaring around the room, surrounded by the decently measured ingredients.

"What about a skillet?" Leliana asked, pulling a pan from its hanging space.

"That should do, correct?" Cassandra looked to Josephine, who just shrugged with an unsure smile. "It will do!" She looked to the instructions, glaring at their complexity. It was as intricate as a battle plan, and yet so painfully different. No wonder Ozol had specialized in baking and finances. They were both tedious and awful. "We need a mixing bowl," she said. "Is that not just an ordinary bowl?"

"I believe it's bigger," Leliana said, fishing through the cabinets until she pulled out a wooden bowl with steep sides. "Eh, this should do."

"We're making steady progress!" Josephine said, smiling as she took the bowl from Leliana's hands and set it on the countertop.

Cassandra nodded shortly. "Josephine," she said, voice sharp and commanding. "Mix the flour and salt. Then the lard. Refer to the instructions if you need clarification." Josephine nodded like a soldier, holding a wooden spoon to her chest. "Leliana. You and I are to look for the ingredients to the filling." Leliana was a little less passionate in her agreement, but Cassandra took it anyway.

Two and a half cups of sugar from up north. Nine cups of thinly sliced and peeled green Ferelden apples. A spoonful of bourbon. Whatever a dash of salt was. Three spoonfuls of butter. A teaspoon of cinnamon and half a teaspoon of ground ginger. It was difficult to keep tract of.

Cassandra hand her thumb between her lips, trying to stop a small nick from bleeding into the food. She hadn't anticipated apples being so hard to cut, and didn't realize how easily knives slipped when dealing with such small, round objects. She wasn't a rogue, nor a baker.

"Now..." She read, eyes sharp with intense focus. "We... wait." She leaned forward, rereading the paragraph. "The dough must cool for an hour and the filling must sit..." She slammed a fist onto the table, making the bakeware rattle and Josephine and Leliana jump. "How dare this- this pie make me stand idly by for an hour?" She spat. "Does it think I have nothing better to do than sit around and wait?" She looked to her two companions in this endeavor. "Well?"

Josephine sighed. "I can see why the Herald enjoys this so much," she said, sighing. She wrung her hands together. "Would you mind if I go fetch my paperwork?" She asked. "There's no sense in me just sitting around doing nothing."

Cassandra waved her off, sighing as she fell back into a rickety old chair. She watched Leliana put the dough into an enchanted box to cool. "Leliana... you're Orlesian."

"Correct," the Spymaster replied. "I believe we've been over this. Recently, too."

"No, I-" Cassandra sighed. "I am not a... romantic woman. Books can only inform me so much, and my... past is... limited."

"I assumed as much."

Cassandra tried to ignore the slight. "I ask you, then, for advice. What should I do?" She stared at the orange-lit ceiling, letting her breathe come slow and exhausted, the stress and the heat and the nerves keeping her both painfully alert and desperate to lie down.

"Well, you know the Herald better than anyone," Leliana responded, jumping up and sitting on a clear space on the counter. "You know Ozol Adaar, do you not? What does he like?"

"Sweets, mathematics, pacifism," she sighed, her hands falling lax to her sides. "He enjoys poetry and novels, and he loves philosophy." A smile worked its way to her tired face. "He could talk for hours about philosophy. And hair." Her smile grew. Ozol had the most wonderful hair, so perfectly maintained, shining like it was made of silver silk. "And... he likes flowers." She sat up straighter at that. "Would it be strange? A woman giving a man a bouquet?" Every good romance included a woman swooning when presented a dozen red roses.

"I don't see why not," Leliana said, shrugging. "Last I checked, our Inquisitor doesn't seem all too concerned with southern tradition." She was right.

"It is settled then," Cassandra said, nodding to herself. "You stay put. Mix the filling on occasion. I have an errand to run."

"What-?" Leliana just sighed and resigned herself to her fate as Cassandra walked out the kitchen doors.

• • ♡ • •

Ozol had been incredibly strong in his support of the rebel mages, meaning that Skyhold was no less than full of apostates. Most of the ones who took up permanent residence stayed in the leftover servants' quarters, and a majority of them were nonviolent and stayed at the castle providing general aid and services as opposed to heading to the front lines against Corypheus.

One of the aforementioned apostates was a former Circle botanist from Orlais, Florinio. He tended to reside in the courtyard, maintaining their supply of elfroot, deathroot, cooking herbs, and various decorative plant species. However, with the winter snow, he had moved his plants into one of the unused basement chambers, room lit bright with glowing magical orbs.

His long elven ears twitched as she approached, and he stood, dusting the dirt off his trousers as he turned to look at her, giving her a shallow bow.

"Madam Seeker," he said, smiling a little nervously as she approached. "Is there something you need?"

She straightened her back and nodded shortly. "Flowers. I would like to know which is your best."

He raised an eyebrow. "My best type of flowers? Aesthetically?" She nodded again. "Ah, well, I have been growing some, if you'd like me to show you," he said.

"That would be appreciated, yes."

He led her to a further area of the basement plant room, the decorative flowers filling the air with their sweet scents, vines dangling from the low ceiling. The magic he used to grow them left their colours vibrant, their petals large and unblemished. "The hydrangeas have been doing excellent," he said, showing off a mass of sky blue, baby pink, and white flowers. She leaned down to look closer at the flowers, their odd shapes captivating, and their floral scent sweet in her nose.

"Can they be cut?" She asked, gently touching the petals.

"Would you like some? I'm willing to cut them for you, Madam Seeker," he said, smiling. "If you would be so kind as to give me a few minutes, I could work a little magic to keep them fresh longer."

She stood, turning to face the short elf. "That would be perfect," she said, voice less stern than usual. "I would like half a dozen of the blue varieties delivered to the Inquisitor's chambers at eight this evening," she said. He didn't ask any questions, simply nodding as she took her leave.

• • ♡ • •

The Inquisitor caught her on her way back to the kitchens.

"Cassie!" She couldn't just ignore that smile of his. Leliana would have to manage a few more minutes on her own. "What're you doing out?" He asked, hugging himself against the cold wind swirling around the courtyard.

"Oh, just taking a walk," she said, shrugging. Her thin overcoat hardly did a thing against the cold.

"Come on, it's freezing out here," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her in the opposite direction of the kitchens. "The tavern's warm, you should heat up."

"I have work to do-"

"Nonsense," he said, smiling. "You can afford a break every now and then." At her sigh, he chuckled, pulling her closer. "Come on, it's my birthday," he said, leaning down a little and whispering. "This can be your gift to me, huh? Just a half an hour and a drink or two."

She reluctantly let herself smile, walking quickly to keep pace with him.

He walked her back to where Bull was sitting, and she noticed that not only was Sera among the Chargers, but Vivienne, as well. The enchanter looked quite out of place among the rowdy patrons, but she seemed to be managing a conversation well with the Dalish mage from Bull's company.

"How's it going, Seeker?" Bull asked, leaning back in the chair that strained under the weight of a giant. "Nice to see the Boss finally managed to drag you in."

"Well, I wouldn't say dragged." She took the ale that Ozol offered her, taking small sips. "I've just been busy," she said. "I don't have the time to relax in a tavern."

"Oh, I know," Bull grinned, throwing a pointed look in Ozol's direction. "A certain vashoth never stops moping about it."

She looked over at Ozol, who was glaring at his fellow qunari. "Bull."

"Boss." Bull smirked and said something in Qunlat that made Ozol huff and say something back in the foreign tongue.

"They do this all the time," Vivienne said, leaning over to whisper to Cassandra. "It's quite enjoyable to watch our darling Inquisitor's face darken when Bull hits a nerve." Cassandra raised an eyebrow. She looked over to the two, eyes moving back and forth with the men's conversation. Ozol seemed to be enjoying himself, the odd, hissing language sounding almost sweet on the Inquisitor's tongue.

Bull must have hit one of said nerves, as Ozol's cheeks got a little darker with blush as he took a sip of his ale. He muttered something back that sent Bull into loud laughter, slapping the table and making the drinks rattle.

"I'm just saying," Bull said, leaning forward. "I've got you all figured out, Boss." His single eye caught on Cassandra's gaze for a moment. He just grinned at Ozol again, leaving whatever hung between them unsaid.

"Ignore whatever you may have thought you heard, Cassie," Ozol said, rolling his eyes. "Ben-hassrath will say anything to get themselves involved in your personal lives."

"It's times like this when I loathe my bilingualism," Vivienne said, sighing dramatically. "Orlesian and Common only get one so far."

"Oh, me too, Ma'am," Bull said, grinning. "Though I'm not sure you'd approve of the topics!"

"And it's here that I'm especially grateful for that bilingualism," Ozol said, shaking his head with a soft smile. He twisted one of his long silver dreadlocks between his fingers, a sign that he was thinking about something he wanted to keep quiet. Cassandra had picked up on the little tell quite soon after meeting him.

She looked out the window, noticing that the overcast sky was getting darker. She should really be heading back to finish her job with Leliana and Josephine. "I should finish my reports," she said, pushing her chair back from the table and standing up. "Apologies."

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," Ozol said, smiling over at her. "If you need help, I'd-"

"No, you enjoy yourself," she said, cutting him off. He nodded, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her in for a kiss she was happy to give. "Will I be seeing you later?"

"You better be!" Bull called out before she could respond. "What's a birthday without a good late-night fuck?"

Ozol's face lit up with blackish blush, and Cassandra felt the heat rising in her own face as well.

"Bull!" He whined, his voice drowned out by the indignant choruses of it's your birthday? from the rest of the table.

She smiled at him and left him to the mass of friends that demanded he have more beer and a damn good time. It didn't seem like the worst fate, really.

• • ♡ • •

Leliana sat in one of the shadows of the kitchen, the bowl of filling next to her as she sat reading one of the Orlesian novels she seemed to have a thing for. "So, which flowers did you decide on?"

"Hydrangeas," Cassandra said, moving to check up on the dough before stopping. "How did you know I was going to get flowers?"

"You're predictable."

Cassandra huffed and fished the dough from the enchanted ice box. "It seems to be ready," she said, poking it with her finger.

"And how would you know?" Leliana asked, slipping a bookmark in her novel and standing up. She peered into the bowl of filling. "It said, what, wait an hour? Has it been an hour?"

"I believe so," Cassandra said quietly. "Do the apples look... done?" She looked over to Leliana, and sighed when the Spymaster simply shrugged. She walked to the open cookbook, already dreading the next instructions. "How do you... drain apples?"

"I think you pour the liquid out of the bowl," Leliana said, standing on her toes to look over Cassandra's shoulder.

"Into a pan?"

"Well, I doubt that pouring it onto the ground would do anyone any favors," Leliana said.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and grabbed a pan from where they were hanging. "Have you seen Josephine?" She asked, grabbing the bowl full of filling and slowly pouring out the sugary syrup that had formed in the hour.

"She's probably lost in her work again," Leliana said, her blue eyes intense as she watched Cassandra pour at a maddeningly slow speed. She didn't want to mess up the gift she had already spent so much time on.

It felt like she spent forever trying to separate the apples from the syrup. The instructions didn't specify how thoroughly to do so, so she assumed that the more she followed the book's instructions, the better it would be. It was logical enough.

"I lost track of time!" Josephine's sudden voice and the loud opening of the door made Cassandra jump, a thin slice of apple flying from the bowl with the motion and sticking to her face. "Oh, goodness, I didn't mean-!"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise as she peeled the slimy fruit from her face, glaring at it as she held it between two fingers. It was one thing to get blood on her face, but it was something else entirely to have something leave a sticky residue.

"How's it taste?" Leliana asked, hiding an obvious smile behind her hand.

Cassandra glared harder at the offensive little slice of fruit before slowly putting it in her mouth. It... wasn't bad. It was odd, and didn't taste all too much like what she was used to, but she could tell that unless she burnt it, it might actually be half decent. She looked up and nodded to the two women. A temporary victory.

"Here, I'll get the next step," Josephine said, hurrying over to the book. "I am sorry for startling you, I just got so worried that it had been over an hour I couldn't help but rush over..."

"I was not startled," Cassandra said, setting the bowl of drained apple slices down.

"Of course not," Leliana said under her breath, smiling. It was odd to see the Left Hand so openly talking and smiling. Perhaps with Cassandra and Josephine, she felt more at ease, less worried about putting on such a serious face. It was a nice change.

"Oh, Leliana?" Josephine said, looking up. "I'm afraid I'll burn it." She indicated to the page, reading it aloud. "Bring the syrup to a boil, adding the bourbon. Wait for it to turn an amber colour before removing from the stove and cooking." She turned to Cassandra. "I'd hate to ruin it, and it is Cassandra's gift... And the most daunting task should go to our fearless leader..." She raised an eyebrow in suggestion. "And I think the Inquisitor would be impressed..."

Cassandra sighed, picking the pan up and moving to the stove.

Taking a deep breath, she set the pan to the low flame.

• • ♡ • •

She only burnt herself once.

It took another hour of finishing touches and baking, and it actually turned out decent-looking. Of course, Ozol's were better, but for her first try, Cassandra was proud of herself. She didn't doubt that she would have failed without assistance, so some shy thanks were doled out. Josephine said it was her pleasure, and she shooed Cassandra from the kitchens with an assurance that they and they staff would clean up, and that she should be spending time with the Inquisitor.

She met a messenger carrying flowers on the way to Ozol's room, and told the elf that she would take them to him for her, sending her on her way.

She stood in front of Ozol's door, taking a deep breath. And then another. She knocked with her foot, hands full with a warm box containing the pie and her other hand full of flowers.

"Come in," he called out from inside. She sighed to herself, putting the flowers between her teeth and twisting the doorknob. She quickly spit them out before he saw her. "Oh, Cassie," he said, look up from his desk and smiling. He had a large pair of dwarven spectacles on the end of his nose, the light from a candle dancing in the glass. He looked a little confused when he noticed how full her hands were, his eyes catching on the flowers the same hue as his irises.

"I... brought you some gifts," she said, awkwardly standing in one place. She was awful at this. She never knew what to say.

He set his spectacles down gingerly on the desk, pushing his chair out.

"You didn't have to do that," he smiled. "But these are lovely." She handed the flowers over to him, still marveling at how gentle his giant grey hands were. He could hoist her up in one swift motion and hold her with a thigh in each palm, and yet he didn't damage a single leaf on the delicate flowers. "Hold on a second, I have a vase these should go in," he said, taking long strides to the other side of his chambers, pulling a glass vase from a high shelf and setting the blue hydrangeas inside. He had a glass of water on his desk, and he decided to put it to better use and donate it to the flowers. "They look beautiful," he smiled, crouching down a little to get on eye level with the delicate little things. He smiled widely at her. She knew he had a love for botany, and she was happy to see him so excited by the gift.

"I have this, too," she said, walking over, feeling more confident from the first gift's success. "It might not be perfect, but-" He shook his head, and she fell quiet.

"Cassie," he chuckled, "nothing is perfect, but I'm certain it'll be amazing."

"You don't even know what it is," she said slowly.

"Really? You don't think I know what an apple pie smells like?" Alright, maybe she felt a little foolish for thinking that the man didn't have a functioning nose. "Come, join me on the floor," he said, taking one of her warm hands and gently pulling her to the stone floor. It wasn't too uncomfortable, actually.

"I packed plates," she said, smiling a little awkwardly as she opened the little wooden box she had stored his gift in. "And knives. And forks."

"You are so prepared," he said, leaning forward and smiling in adoration. Before she met him and Bull, she hadn't ever even considered that qunari could be so expressive. She felt her insides squirm under his soft gaze, warming her from the inside out despite the draft of the old castle.

"I know I'm not a typical lady..."

"And I love that about you."

"But, I will admit that I wanted to show you I could be more than a brute," she continued.

"Cassandra Pentaghast. I have never once thought of you as a brute," he said, conviction clear in his vote. "Perhaps a little violent at times, and strong-willed, too, but a brute?" He shook his head.

She wouldn't deny that his words made her happy. At least someone didn't think of her as a human battering ram. "Just eat this," she said, smiling softly and shaking her head. "I worked quite hard on it, you know."

"I don't doubt it," he smiled. She cut out a piece for them both. "It looks very pretty."

"Don't lie to me, Adaar." It was a little burnt around the edges and the sugar sprinkled over the top wasn't uniform. The apples were varying in size and the crust was uneven.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he chuckled.

"No philosophy, just take a bite!" She groaned, encouraging him with a hand.

"That's hardly philosophical," he smiled, shaking his head. He took a piece onto his fork, slowly and deliberately teasingly placing it in his mouth.

"So...?"

A large hand cupped the side of her face. "So good," he said, grinning as he held the fork between his teeth.

She grinned and nervously took a bite of her own piece. It wasn't bad. It's not bad! She wasn't aware pie could make a woman so happy.

• • ♡ • •

"I can't move." Cassandra buried her face into Ozol's chest, feeling the vibrations of his deep laughter. Three slices of pie, almost half a bottle of wine, and two rounds in bed with a qunari had left her full and exhausted.

"I feel that. A lot." His arms wrapped around her back, sweat-slicked bodies impossible to separate at this point. He yawned, chest rolling her entire body. "I don't even have enough energy to tie up my damn hair," he said, laughing softly even despite his fatigue. "You're too good, Cassie. Too good."

"I could say the same to you, Oz," she said, moving her head so that her scarred cheek pressed against his warm, smooth chest. The room was dark, the candles long extinguished. It could've been midnight or later. She wasn't sure. She didn't particularly care, either.

"We should get some rest," he said, those large arms heavy and comforting where they rested in the curves of her spine.

She hummed in agreement. "Goodnight, dear," she said. "And happy birthday. May the Maker bless you with many more, and may I have the privilege of spending them by your side."

"Thank you," he said, low voice soft and sweet. He didn't believe her her god, but he knew her religion came from a deep, sincere place within her, and he appreciated every prayer. He kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight, kadan." She should really ask him what that meant one of these days.

"Goodnight, dear."

#fanfiction #ozol's birthday #i am DYING #holy SHIT MY GUYS #FUCK #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #ozol adaar #da inquisitor #cassandra pentaghast #cassandra x inquisitor #this was SO MANY MORE WORDS THAN I ANTICIPATED #what the fuck #why am i like this??#not too much editing but hey it's 11 at night on the day this is ''due''#so fuck it

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