#oc: trek hemming

[synelven]

i adore @that1overthere's cardassian oc, lunari dexhun. she is everything to me

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-seven // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 8k warnings for this chapter: drinking, a wee bit of p in v

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

my lovely beta reader 💕 banner credit @cafekitsune

Chapter Sixty-Seven:

It’s the day after Christmas and I spend it overthinking, worried about this ‘gathering’ at Cliveden. To distract myself, I fiddle around with the new camera Thomus bought me. 

And I might have taken a few… dozen pictures of him. 

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but regardless I now have images of him sitting at the kitchen table with a book, typing away at his desk on the typewriter, and even one I convinced him to take with me in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. 

“I think I’m… nervous,” I say as we’re getting ready to leave.

Thomus finishes adjusting the collar of his cloak around the collar of his sweater and gives me a curious look. “You likely have more in common with them than I do.”

I shift on my feet, clutching the Tupperware full of cookies tighter. “I highly doubt that. Ever since you told me about this party, all I can think about is the time you spanked me in front of them.” A satisfied smile spreads across his face as he chuckles and pulls a forest green knit scarf from beneath his cloak. “Are we all just supposed to pretend like that never happened?” He steps closer and loops the scarf around my neck, eyes focused on the task. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course.” His eyes snap up to mine as he flips one end of the scarf over my shoulder and the other down my front. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I release a strained groan and fidget with my Ilvermorny Christmas sweater, pulling the hem further down around my hips. “Let’s just go.”

We Apparate straight there and I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what to expect. The few parties Jacob Astor has hosted that I’ve witnessed have varied wildly. From a super serious Death Eater meeting about human trafficking to dancing with Thomus while high on a lust potion - you never really know. Not to mention, the usual crowd has been an unfortunate audience to my most embarrassing moments in the last six months. 

I shudder out of my thoughts while we trek to the large hosting room. The smell hits me first, cinnamon and oranges, and then I register the song playing gently from the corner of the room, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas . An Elf snaps away our outerwear as we approach the open doors.

The room is absolutely decked out . Floating candles light the room, hovering just under the high ceiling. Fake snow drifts down from a dim grey sky, fresh holly on every sconce. In the center of the room against the windows is a massive tree, covered in tinsel and twinkling lights. The grand fireplace is crackling with a delicious smelling fire. We walk closer to the tree, where people are gathered around on couches and chairs, and I can make out what lights the top of the tree... A bright, glowing Deathly Hallows mark. 

Well, that’s fucking weird.

I don’t have time to think on it further before Jacob Astor is standing before us. He looks as dashing as ever and not so surprised that I’m not currently blind. He smiles at both Thomus and me, and I wish I could tell if he’s being sincere.

“Glad you guys could make it,” Jake says cheerfully as he shakes Thomus’ hand, but he’s looking at me. 

Thomus smiles in return, looking more relaxed than he usually does when we’re out. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As they exchange a few more pleasantries, my eyes wander beyond Jake, trying to see if there’s any familiar faces. I clock Kyle sitting near Will when Jake says something that recaptures my attention. “I see you had your very own Christmas miracle.” 

Thomus’ arm slides around my waist. “Yes, I had some very good luck.”

I don’t miss the double meaning to his words. I wanna remark about how his good luck was really my hard work, but I bite my tongue and force a shy smile as Jake turns to shake my hand as well.

Jake gestures to a food and drinks table set up along a wall. “Help yourselves. I think Will’s trying to start up some drinking games here in a minute.”

I start walking toward the table before Thomus, mostly because I’m eager to exchange this box of cookies for something with alcohol in it. Towards the desert section, I glance back over my shoulder to make sure no one but Thomus is watching me slide trays aside, making enough room for my offering. 

Finally with free hands, I scooch next to Thomus standing by the drinks. 

“Can I pour you anything?” he asks me. 

My eyes scan the bottles, then point to the one I want. “Yeah, can I get orange juice with Malibu?”

He reaches for the white bottle I pointed to and pours a double into the iced glass he’s holding. “Coconut rum?” he questions as he’s reaching for the pitcher of orange liquid. 

“It’s my go-to,” I say as I grab a coffee straw, taking the glass and stirring it once it’s full. I take a sip and it’s just right. He’s busy pouring his own glass of whiskey, but I offer him the straw anyway. “Wanna try?”

I briefly pull his eyes away from pouring as he leans down to wrap his lips around the straw. There’s just something about seeing his jaw flex like that that has me pinching myself. 

“Well, it’s certainly a combination of flavors,” he says after swallowing. 

I snort and forget what I’m about to say when I feel an arm brush my other shoulder. When I see who it is, I relax. “Oh, hi.”

Will’s eyes immediately find the box that doesn’t match the rest of the dishes and nabs one of the bright red cookies. “Oh, hi,” he teases after he takes a bite. His face is sans beard and rocking a stache now. “You guys ready to get trashed?”

“What’re we playing?” I ask, taking a few big pulls of my drink.

“Anything,” Will answers immediately. He pulls out his wand and summons a tray pre-loaded with tiny cauldrons just big enough for shots. A bottle of firewhiskey floats from the collection before us and starts filling the cauldrons. “Got nothin’ but a good time on the agenda.”

“Can we play Thunderstruck?” I ask. 

Will beams. “Fuck yeah we can play Thunderstruck.”

As Thomus and I follow Will back to where everyone else is gathered, Thomus leans in. “Should I know what that is?”

I can’t help but smile. “Oh, you’ll find out.”

There’s an empty loveseat Thomus pulls me onto. He tucks his arm around my waist again as he settles back, practically tucking me into his side. 

As Will passes out the shot cauldrons, I can finally sneak a peek at who’s actually here. Kyle and Will - and obviously Jake. That Roosevelt guy is here, too, but I forget his first name. There’s a pretty blond woman talking to Jake that I don’t recognize and… oh, that’s it. Small group, I see. Which I will admit I’m glad for. 

I take the first shot that Will offers me and I down it immediately before putting it back and grabbing another one. I haven’t really eaten much today, so the alcohol hits my stomach like a warm blast.

“Alright, I wanna make a toast,” Jake announces, standing with his shot held out towards the blond next to him. “Firstly, to my sister, Diana, for the last minute decorating.”

“Well, you obviously weren’t going to do it,” Diana says with a laugh. 

“Exactly,” he says. “And then to all of you - for making this past year as successful as it has been.”

For one blissful moment I had allowed myself to forget why I was here, why they’ve had such a successful year. It takes .2 seconds for the anxious pit in my chest to grow twice its size. I’m the first one to finish my shot and then sip heavily on my cocktail to wash the taste down.

“Alright, the first game we’re playing is Thunderstruck, so everyone top off their drinks,” Will says, heading over to where the Christmas music’s playing from. 

Since mine is already more than halfway gone, I shoot to my feet to fill it back up. I’m not the first one to the drinks table because Kyle is there ladeling in some kind of fizzing purple punch. 

“Want one?” Kyle asks as I glance over my shoulder at Thomus, who briefly looked at me before turning to greet Diana.

“Yes, please,” I reply. “Two actually.”

“This your doing or his?” he asks, his voice low. By this he doesn’t even have to clarify - I just know.

I look up at him and shrug with one shoulder. “Mine.”

“Hmph,” he grunts unhappily. He finishes filling the first glass and then starts the second.

“What, don’t believe me?” I ask, taking a sip of the punch. Elderberry and something that tastes like Aloe juice. 

“I believe you,” he says quickly. “Now it’s just my turn to hold up my end of the bargain.”

I sigh heavily. “You haven’t figured out how to get me away from Thomus yet, have you?”

“Well, I have a few ideas, but I don’t think you’re going to like them.”

“Such as?”

Before he can answer, we get called back to the group to start the song. I’m supposed to hide the fact that I have my magic, so with both hands I carefully cradle my half drink plus the two new ones back to the loveseat. Thomus is still chatting with Diana, a conversation I’ve completely tuned out, so I just slide our drinks onto the coffee table in front of us. 

“Melisa, can you explain the rules?” Will asks. 

I’m a bit taken aback by the use of my whole first name - especially being pronounced correctly - instead of my last. Everyone’s eyes are on me now, so I take a deep breath before spilling the details. “Okay so, we go in a circle and every time the song says ‘thunder’, one person drinks until they say ‘thunder’ again, and then the next person starts and so on and so forth, does that make sense?”

“I’ll start!” Will says before pressing play and jogging over. He comes to sit on the armrest of our loveseat.

The first few thunders come in quick succession, so once Will goes, I go, and then Thomus. The thunders go around the circle a few times before the first long stretch lands on Thomus, who has to finish his whiskey, and with some encouragement, grabs the punch I push towards him. With the circle being small, by the time the song’s over, everyone has finished their drinks.

“Now that we’ve all settled in,” Will jokes, “the next game we’re playing is called Captain.” He sets the music back to Christmas music and turns the volume down to a background level. “Usually, it’s played with a pirate's hat or a sailors hat, but since it’s Christmas - “ he waves his wand and a Santa hat appears on Diana’s head, much to her delight “ - this is what we’ve got. Does everyone know how to play?”

I shake my head, noticing the alcohol has started to loosen my limbs. I’d finished my cocktail during the game and have started on the punch - which I swear keeps refilling itself.

Diana rubs her hands together conspiratorially and leans forward over Thomus to explain. “Whoever has the hat gets to pick someone to do a dare. If they do the dare, then we all take a shot and they get the hat, but if they don’t then they’re out of the game. Last person in the game wins.”

I smile at her. “Please don’t pick me first.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, I got my eyes on someone else.” She jerks her chin towards Jake, who immediately dons this ‘oh shit’ face. She leans back, crossing her arms with a shit eating grin.

“Why’s it called Captain?” I ask. “Just because of the hat?”

“Whenever someone gets the hat, we’re supposed to say ‘Aye, Aye Captain’,” Thomus explains for me, his face leaning in close. 

I immediately giggle. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”

He runs his hand down my thigh and tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

I shift in my seat, getting closer to him so our thighs touch. “Nevermind.”

“Aye, aye Captain!” Roosevelt and Will shout. 

Diana taps her chin like she’s still considering. “Hmm, dear brother, what shall I make you do?” Then she grins. “I dare you to take your socks off with your teeth and wear them tucked into your collar for the rest of the game.”

My head quickly swivels to where Jake is sitting to get his reaction and he does not disappoint. His face scrunches up in disgust as he slouches in his seat, already toeing off his nice shoes. 

“Hopefully those aren’t the ones you were wearing yesterday,” Will laughs. “Or are they?”

“Shut your trap, Hoffman,” Jake grumbles. 

We all wait with baited breath as he grabs his calf to pull his foot closer to his face. He quickly traps the sock between his bared teeth and pulls. It slips off and he does the same to the other one before tucking them both into his collar. 

He grins triumphantly and quickly summons house slippers for his bare feet. “Ha!” he says. “Drink up, assholes.”

We all take our drinks as the Santa hat gets transferred to Jake. 

“Aye, Aye Captain!” we all shout. 

His eyes jump from person to person, and he’s quick to settle on Kyle, who clearly isn’t paying attention. 

Kyle’s sole focus is on Thomus, blatantly staring at him with something akin to determination and consideration. 

The look quickly disperses as my stare gives Jake’s intention away and Kyle’s expression neutralizes. 

“Kyle,” Jake says. “I dare you to serenade the person to your right.”

Kyle sighs dramatically, rubbing his hand down his face. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

Nevertheless, he swiftly gets down on his knees in front of Diana, a hand clutched over his heart. As he’s clearly about to break out in song, I briefly wonder if he’ll have a decent singing voice, and I find out soon enough as he belts out the easily recognizable first notes to All I Want for Christmas is You . His voice is off-pitch and scratchy, and I genuinely can’t tell if he’s being bad on purpose or not. Everyone starts laughing and I can’t help but join in. 

When he gets to the end of the first verse, he takes Diana’s hand and gives the back of it an exaggerated kiss. We give him a round of applause as he takes his seat. Jake gives Kyle the hat while we take our drink for the round.

It doesn’t surprise me that Kyle chooses Thomus, I only worry what he’ll make him do. He’s looking around, trying to come up with an idea until his eyes land on Thomus’ drink in his hand. 

“Malfoy, I triple doxy dare you to… finish yours and Alder’s drinks in one go.”

Thomus scoffs. “And here I thought you were going to pick something difficult.” He quickly finishes the rest of his punch in a few gulps before trading glasses with me. “Tada,” he proudly announces after easily downing the rest of mine, then he stands holding our four empty glasses by the rim in one hand. “Drink up.”

As Thomus goes across the room to refill our punch, Kyle leans forward, staring at me intently. 

“We need to get him drunk,” he hisses low. 

I blink at him in surprise, then jump my gaze first to Thomus’ back and then to the rest of the group. No one seems as surprised as I am. Even Roosevelt, who I overheard someone refer to him as Eric, doesn’t bat an eye. Is everyone in on this plot?

“That’s your plan?” Will asks incredulously.

“It’s the start of one,” Kyle answers. “Get him so drunk he passes out and she can just… leave.”

“Just leave ?” I ask. I look to the windows, searching for that shimmer from the magical barrier from before. “What about -”

“The tattoo doesn’t work here,” Jake quickly adds. “And there aren't any additional wards to trap you here.”

Everyone is looking at me, waiting for my response. My heart has leapt to my throat to block any logistical questions I have before Thomus swoops back into his seat.

“What’s that look for?” Thomus asks me. I quickly snatch the glass he hands me to swallow my thrumming heart back into my chest. 

Diana jumps in for my rescue. “I was just telling her about my ex.”

“Oh Merlin,” Thomus groans, slumping back against the loveseat. “It’s not a story about me, is it?”

What? Jesus fuck, these people keep smacking bludgers at me one after another. 

I try not to react outwardly to the news that Diana and Thomus used to date, even if this news is just as jarring as the imminent plan for my escape from him. I focus on her, really taking in what she looks like. Extremely tall and willowy with big round hazel eyes and a cupid’s bow mouth. Jealousy flares up inside because I can’t help but compare us. Her thighs combined are the size of just one of mine. 

She flips her long dirty blond hair over her shoulder and crosses her legs, perching an elbow on the armrest of her chair. “No, but I ought to, shouldn’t I?”

“Definitely not,” Thomus says, quickly sitting forward with a hand outstretched towards Kyle. “Pass me the hat.” He settles the white faux fur rim of the Santa hat over his dark curls. 

“Aye aye, Captain!” they all shout. I’m too anxious and fixate my eyes on my drink, still fizzing on the coffee table in front of me. My mind is racing with all that could potentially happen. Where would I go? How long could I hide? Could I be summoned back because of the tattoo? If the idea is to get me close to Voldemort, wouldn’t fleeing just put a target on my back? I wonder if I’d be able to get a message to Hermione about -

Thomus’ hand brushes down my arm. “Melisa?”

My eyes snap to his, focused on me, and I swallow around nothing. “Yeah? Sorry.”

He gives me a sly smile. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright,” I sigh, making a face. “Lay it on me.”

He takes a deep breath and I expect it to be something genuinely challenging, but in all honesty it’s a bit underwhelming. “I dare you to sing the alphabet… backwards.”

I snort. “Jokes on you because I was taught that in the second grade.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he grins. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Looking at him, I feel less nervous about making a fool of myself in front of everyone else. So I start to sing, keeping my eyes on him or on his person, because after a few moments the prolonged eye contact makes my face heat. 

Even after I’m finished with the letters, I keep going with the end of the song. “ Now we know our ZYXs’, next time we will go to Texas. ”

Will laughs. “Why the fuck are we going to Texas?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Ask Mr. Morley.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“My elementary school music teacher,” I reply smoothly. “Now drink the fuck up.”

Jake is the first to finish his drink, so he stands to get a refill. “We should play something else. All our dares suck, no ones gotten out yet.”

“I’ve got a good one,” I say quickly. I’d taken a drink, too, because why not? Who wants to make hard decisions sober?

I pluck the Santa hat off Thomus’ head and slip it over mine. “You ready, Will?”

Will squares his shoulders, facing me dead on, expression serious. “Born ready.”

“I dare you to recite a poem - any poem, but you -” I start to blow a raspberry with my tongue in between every word “- have to talk like this.”

Will snickers. “You got that from Spongebob.”

“So what if I did? You still gotta do it,” I smile. “And I don’t think I heard my ‘aye aye, Captain’.”

Jake and Kyle are the only ones who don’t say it. Kyle is lost in his thoughts if his dead eye stare at his drink is evidence enough, and Jake is too far away at the food and drinks table to care.

It’s hard to keep the grin off my face as Will complies with my dare. “ Mosquito lands on my cheek. I try to slap her, but I just slap me. ” He finishes by standing with a bow. 

“That’s it?” Diana protests. “It was so short.”

“It’s a haiku,” Thomus explains. “A type of Japanese poem.”

“Oh, yeah that’s right,” she says. “Do you still work for the Daily Prophet? Or has that taken a backseat for… other things?” 

“A bit of both, really,” he sighs. “The Dark Lord hasn’t required much of me lately, so I’ve been helping Barnabas Cuffe with editing. In addition to helping my sister-in-law with the New Year’s Eve Gala she’s hosting.”

“Speaking of,” Jake says, rejoining the group, “why weren’t we invited?” It’s obvious he’s not really offended, just genuinely curious. 

Thomus sighs and speaks with a hint of resentment. “Only the Sacred Twenty-Eight and whoever’s crawled up through the Dark Lord’s ranks, I’m afraid. Not even the Lots are allowed to be present.”

“Well, if you’re free, Melisa,” Diana says, speaking to me. “You’re welcome to come to a New Years Eve party here. It would just be us and a few of my girlfriends from Oxford.”

I’m genuinely shocked and flattered that this goddess is inviting me to a party, but I know that this has to be a backup plan for escape if tonight doesn’t go as Kyle wants it. I don’t even get a chance to respond because Thomus puts a possessive hand on my leg, wedging his long fingers into the tight space between my thighs. 

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” Thomus says, speaking for me with a tone of finality, and doesn’t even bother to explain why.

She peers at us curiously for a moment before realization dawns. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”

The tray with all our mini shot cauldrons fill back up as Thomus just gives a silent nod of acknowledgement. 

We play another couple rounds of Captain before all the drinks finally start to do their job and loosen everyone up. I know I’m starting to feel it, especially when I stand to go find a bathroom. 

Thomus insists on accompanying me, especially when I steer towards the bathroom down by the kitchens. He takes me back out to the lobby, showing me where the bathrooms are there. Secretly, I’m glad, because I don’t think I’d be able to make it up and down all those stairs without tripping at least once. I don’t think Thomus would either, based on how many times he bumps into me. 

He even follows me into the women’s bathroom, insisting that it doesn’t matter since we’re the only ones in there. 

“I didn’t realize how clingy you were,” I tease, saddling my way into one of the stalls to do my business.

He slides into the one next to me. “Oh, poppycock. I’m just being a gentleman and making sure you don’t fall in.”

My laugh is sharp and loud in the echoey bathroom. “That actually happened to me when I was in preschool. The seat wasn’t down so my butt got all wet and I just sat there waiting to be rescued by a teacher.”

I hear his warm chuckle. “How old were you?”

“Four,” I say as I finish and leave the stall to wash my hands. He joins me a moment later, still chuckling to himself. “What?”

He shakes his head absently. “Nothing, you’re just… adorable.”

I snort as I reach for a paper towel. “Right.”

He dries his hands too and quickly reaches for me as I try to pass him to the door. He leans back against the counter, a hand on my hip and one on my cheek, pulling me towards him. I don’t resist and lean into him, our lips quickly meeting. My arms snake around his waist, wanting a hug at the same time, because it strikes me that if I leave tonight… this could be it. 

I still have a million doubts and questions that need answered, but right now… right now he wants me and I need to bask in it for as long as I can, while I still have the chance.

I deepen the kiss and I boldly slip one of my hands to the front of his jeans. He’s already semi-hard, but at my touch, he groans and bites my lip. 

“You want to do this here?” he asks, his voice husky.

I nod, my other hand coming around to undo his pants and slip my hand inside. “I want you so bad.”

He drags kisses along my jaw and down my neck. “It’ll have to be quick.”

“And hard,” I breathe, practically panting with want already.

Determination in his movements now, he flips us around until my fupa is pressed against the sink counter and he’s grinding against my ass. He moves my hair away from my neck, sensually kissing the soft spot below my ear. Over my sweater his hands slowly grope down from my chest, then my stomach and the fleshy “handles”, as he’s called them before, where my fupa meets my hips. 

I push my ass back against him. “I thought you said we had to be quick.”

He bites my neck, wringing a moan from me. “Patience,” he warns. 

One hand lets go of my handle and slips underneath to firmly cup the junction between my legs. I sigh heavily and whine, rocking my hips, increasing the pressure on my clit. 

“Fuck,” he groans out. Finally he hooks his fingers into my waistband and yanks my pants and undies down to my knees. I push my ass out towards him when he takes a step back to pull his cock out. He moans when his tip pushes through my lips, feeling how wet I am. Then he doesn’t waste a second longer and slides home. 

I cry out, biting my lip in an attempt to keep it muffled. I plant my hands on the smooth cold counter and immediately start rocking back and forth, desperately impatient. With a hand on the center of my back, he pushes me forward while snapping his hips to my ass, seamlessly sliding into the pace I’d set. Quick staccato slapping echoes around the room as he thrusts hard and deep. My eyes roll back into my head, hardly aware of the noises I’m making because I’m too busy losing my mind to the pleasure.

He slows all too soon, pulling me back up to attach his mouth to my neck again. My back bends to accommodate him, and while still keeping him buried to the hilt, my chest juts out. He takes advantage of the position and pushes my sweater up until his fingers find the band of my bra and he pushes that up too. My heavy breasts fall into his hands and he groans, pinching my nipples, and fucking into me with slow, but hard thrusts. 

My eyes flutter open briefly, a sudden urge to see. He’s fucked me in front of a mirror before, but he hasn’t done it since I’ve gotten my sight back. Admittedly, I have a bit of an out of body experience, looking at what’s happening instead of feeling it. I hate what I look like, of course. Sometimes in my head I look different than I really do and seeing myself in the mirror can be pretty jarring. 

But then I look at Thomus’ face. He’s so… wrapped up in me, hands full, mind clearly numb with ecstasy. 

I close my eyes again, grimacing, swallowing down the sudden onslaught of longing and loss. It’s probably all the alcohol, but tears fill my vision because I just can’t bear losing this. I quickly blink them away, avoiding looking in the mirror again. 

I don’t want to ruin the moment, so I start pushing back against him again, urging him to pick up the pace. 

He obliges me for a few moments until he slows to a stop. He’s still panting and holding me against him before he sighs heavily.

“Darling, you feel amazing, but I don’t think I can finish,” he murmurs hesitantly, sounding regretful. 

I nod, sniffling. “It’s okay, we can stop.”

He pulls out and I swiftly right myself, pants back over my hips, bra holding what it should, sweater in the right place. It’s only then that I look in the mirror again. Luckily he didn’t bite me too hard, so there’s no hickey to cover up. I just wet my fingers and run them through my hair before flipping it back over. Leaning close to the mirror, I check that my makeup is still good.

“Were you crying?” he asks point blank, staring at me in the mirror. 

“No,” I lie, but I feel a river about to gush out of my nose, so I quickly snag a paper towel and blow into it. “I just had to sneeze real bad and didn’t wanna ruin the moment.”

Fully dressed again, he slides a hand down my butt, gripping it appreciatively. “I’d be happy to help you finish,” he suggests.

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay,” I say, forcing a reassuring smile on my face. I rock up onto the balls of my feet to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Still scratched that itch and felt amazing.”

He takes my hand, pulling me to the door. “Then let’s get back. Hopefully they won’t give us too much grief for taking so long.” He smirks down at me and winks. Actually winks . It's such a quick thing, but it makes my heart contract in my chest with the need to be wrapped up in him again. 

God I’m so fucked.

~*~

As predicted, when we return Will and Jake are quick to wolf whistle. They’re over by the music and Thomus joins them while I sink into his seat next to Diana. My face has got to be as red as my sweater, but Diana doesn’t comment on it. She just hands me a full shot cauldron with an understanding look. Grateful, I take the shot. Getting dicked down sobered me a bit more than I wanted.

Eric is busy scribbling away in a little notebook and next to him is Kyle and his stupid judgmental face.

I ignore him and focus on Diana. “So what did you study at Oxford?”

“I studied Art History,” she says, “but I didn’t get, like, a degree or anything. I just wanted to know a little more about the art I was seeing in the museums here.”

“That’s one thing I haven’t done since I’ve gotten to England,” I say. “I used to love going to museums.”

She tilts her head, looking curious. “Were you meant to stay long?”

I shrug. “I had an internship at the Daily Prophet, which I’d been hoping would lead to a full time position at some point.”

“Oh, so you worked with Thomus then?” she asks. “You knew him… before.”

“No, actually,” I say, reaching over for my punch. “I… He wasn’t around all that much while I was there.” 

“What gives with the Deathly Hallows mark on the tree?” Kyle asks out of the blue. “You know it’s just a story, right?”

Diana, who’s clearly much more sober than Kyle is right now, looks at him without mirth. “It’s very real.”

I nod along, knowing all too well the truth behind the Deathly Hallows.

“Grindelwald murdered a lot of our family with the Elder Wand,” Diana continues. “Not to mention, I’ve seen invisibility cloaks with my own eyes.” She grimaces. “And yes, I know what I just said is an oxymoron.”

With another pull of my drink, I feel gutsy enough to ask something that’s been on my mind for a while. I lean closer to her and lower my voice. “So… has your brother… always been… “ I sigh. I feel silly saying ‘on our side’, but how else can I put it? “I don't know, I guess I'm asking about allegiances.”

Kyle gives me an ‘are you serious’ look. “Of course he’s been in on it,” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

“The entire time?” I ask skeptically, distinctly remembering how not nice he was when we met the night Montague got beat the fuck up by Thomus.

“He’s playing the long game,” Diana explains. “Jake’s very good at wasting The Great Order’s time.” 

Her eyes are on the three men in the corner and I turn to look just as the three of them take a shot. “Does Thomus know?” I ask, my voice low.

“Thomus is under the impression that Jake just has reservations about certain things,” she says. 

“Participating without actually participating,” I surmise.

She nods. “Exactly.” Her gaze is drawn to Eric, and she stares at him for a moment before she asks, “What happened to your hand, Eric?”

Eric looks up, seeming to have forgotten where he was. He looks around and finds the three of us looking at him. Then the question seems to sink in and he looks down at his hand. Bandages wrap around his palm and twist up his two middle fingers.

“Oh, I uh, had a bit of an accident a few days ago,” he says. “Working on the…“ He eyes me for a second before looking back at Diana. “On the thing.”

“You don’t have to speak in code,” Kyle says to him. “She can handle a few more secrets.”

I nod in agreement, though really it has nothing to do with how good I am at keeping secrets. I’m just too nosey for my own good.

“Right, sure, yeah,” Eric says. He looks down at his notebook. “I’m having a bit of a timing issue. I think I’ve got the explosive strong enough, but it seems the stronger it gets, the less time I have before it goes off.”

I quickly glance back at Thomus, catching him downing another shot, before turning back and whispering, “You’re building a bomb?”

He nods. “Something powerful enough to break through Anti-Apparition wards.”

My eyes widen. “That’s a thing?”

The corners of his mouth turn up in an amused grin. “I’m definitely trying to make it one.”

“Do you have the recipe?” I ask, a bit eager. “I’ve had a similar issue with magical film developer. I might be able to help.”

“Yeah, here.” He flips through a couple pages until he lands on a spread that’s definitely got more use than the rest, then passes it to me.

As I scan the page, I see that a few of the core ingredients are the same, just how they’re incorporated is slightly different. The measurements are also scaled down for testing purposes.

“If this were to scale, how much willow root would you add?” I ask. 

“The entire root, but I chop it up.”

“If you grind it down into a powder and then weigh it, it’s easier to be more precise with the amount you add,” I explain, not looking up from the page. “And you’re not adding nearly enough bursting mushroom powder.”

When I look up, Eric’s head is tilted, his eyes unfocused, his mind clearly running away from him with this new information. “Interesting,” he says. 

“Magical film developing potion always implodes on itself. It’s just a fact. But I’ve made it so much that I can time it down to the second it’ll implode,” I explain. “Would you… want me to write the recipe down for you? Then you can compare.”

He blinks back into focus, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please do. Here.” He passes me his pen and I quickly jot down my recipe on the next available page in his book.

By the time I’m done, the music gets turned up, and the three in the corner start making their way over to us. I toss down the rest of my drink before reaching for Thomus’, but Kyle stops me. 

“Don’t,” he warns.

I quickly put two and two together. “What did you put in here?” I demand with a hushed voice.

“Relax,” he says, standing. “It’s just something to speed things up.”

Completely oblivious, Thomus plops right down next to me, swinging his arm around my shoulders. 

“Is that mine?” he asks, not bothering to wait for my response before he grabs his drink and chugs it. He audibly plonks the glass onto the coffee table and turns to me, grinning mischievously from ear to ear, looking like he has a dirty secret he can’t wait to share with me. I return his smile with a hesitant one of my own. 

He leans close to speak in my ear, though he’s not exactly quiet. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

My face immediately flushes because everyone heard that. I look around in panic to find everyone staring at us, too. Their expressions aren’t of disgust, though, just surprise.

“Oh my god,” I say, covering my face with my hands. I shoot to my feet. “I need a drink.”

As I speed away, I hear Thomus ask, “What did I say?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Diana covering her mouth in a fit of giggles and Jake shakes his head. “Dude.”

I’m munching on one of my red cookies when Thomus comes up behind me, his hand drifting down my back to settle on my waist. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing. You just -” I glance up at him, noting his dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. “I guess I’ve just never seen you so relaxed. Especially around other people. And we’re acting like we’re…” My heart’s thundering in my chest as I force the last few words out. “Like we’re a couple.”

He turns to face me and leans a hip on the table. “You’re right, it is a bit out of our usual routine,” he admits, his expression serious. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

I sigh and shrug a shoulder. “No more than you usually do.” I put my hand over his where it rests on the table, pushing the tips of my fingers against his knuckles. “And I don’t hate… this, how it feels, you know? It’s just hard to pair it with everything else,” I say. “If that makes sense.”

He nods slowly, looking down at our hands. “This is all new for me, if you can believe it,” he says softly. “I just wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

I bump his hip with mine. “Hey, we fucked in the bathroom. I’d say I'm having a decent time.”

He snickers and leans in to kiss my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, based on tonight’s agenda, but luckily Will calls us over from a card table Jake summoned to play Exploding Snap.

~*~

A little while later we’re all sitting around the card table. I’ve elected not to play since I don’t have my wand and technically Thomus doesn’t know that they know I have my magic.

Throughout the game, Thomus gets noticeably drunker than everyone else, despite only sipping his drink. During one round while waiting for his turn, I guess all the drinks and whatever Kyle spiked his drink with, finally catch up with him. He passes out with his head propped in one hand and the other loosely clutching his cards. 

When they notice, the room goes silent except for the Christmas music still playing. Kyle slowly reaches over and shakes Thomus’ shoulder, making his head fall right onto the table with an ominous thunk that does not match the vibe of McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime .

I stare at his face, overwhelmingly anxious about his well-being, when an uncharacteristic snore breaks through the silence between songs. 

“Finally,” Jake sighs, tossing his cards onto the table and running a hand over his face. “You sure about this, Kyle? There’s no turning back from this.”

Kyle stands, pulling out his wand. “Trust me. This is the only way.’

“What happens now?” I ask. 

Kyle moves Thomus’ unconscious form into the air where he hovers with his arms and head dangling.

But he doesn’t answer me. 

“ Kyle ,” I press, “what happens now?”

“Now, we put him to bed and by the time he wakes in the morning, you’ll be long gone,” he answers, moving with Thomus towards the stairs on the other side of the room.

I stand too, quickly following him to demand answers. “Where, exactly, will I be?”

“That’s up to you,” he answers casually. “You can probably get away with hiding here in this massive fucking house until he leaves.”

“What, you think he’s just gonna accept that I’m gone?” I ask. “No questions asked?”

“Yeah, we’ll just tell him you must’ve left in the middle of the night or something. What room am I putting him in, Jake?”

We’ve gotten to the stairs and it’s only then I realize everyone has followed us, with Will right behind me. 

“Three doors down from the top of the stairs,” Jake answers. “On the left.”

I realize it’s the same room he put us in before and my face heats at the memory of being bound to the wall and fingered within an inch of my life. We get into the room and I rush forward to pull the velvety soft duvet back from the pillows. Kyle gently lowers him and I make sure he’s settled properly to avoid potentially choking on his own vomit in his sleep. 

“What now?” I ask, pulling off Thomus’ shoes and tucking his legs under the blankets before pulling up the unfitted sheet to his chest.

“Merlin,” Kyle exclaims. “Will you quit it?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “ No , I won’t,” I say tightly. “We need this figured out before there’s no going back.”

“Fine,” he says, mimicking my stance and leaning against the wall. “What’re you so worried about?”

I take a deep breath, trying to speak calmly. “What makes you so sure he’s not going to find me?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s literally the Death Eater’s best tracker.”

“He hasn’t found George Weasley,” Will says.

“I’ve no fucking idea how George has managed to avoid getting caught by anyone , given how much of a high profile he has, but there’s no way I could do the same and be close to Voldemort like you want. A missing Lot? The Death Eaters are gonna go apeshit.”

“What about that Lot that escaped early on? Killed her owner and everything,” Kyle says.

“I’m pretty positive she’s straight up left the country,” I say, talking with my hands. “And I don’t think any of us are on board with killing him.”

Kyle nearly rolls his eyes. “I never said we had to kill him,” he says. “You’re here, out of your wards. There’s no need.”

“Okay, well me leaving the country is the exact opposite of what we want,” I say and start to pace. “How long would I be hiding?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle answers, shrugging. “Could be months.”

“Great, so you’re just gonna come get me when it’s time to, what, attack Hogwarts? Do you really think there’s gonna be another fight there? Or are we waiting for him to make an appearance somewhere?”

“I’ve heard he’s pretty reclusive right now, actually,” Will pipes in. “He hardly leaves the school.”

“Great!” I exclaim with fake enthusiasm. “So I’ll just camp out in the Forbidden Forest, then? Take my chances at running into Dementors, Death Eaters, centaurs, fuckin’ giant spiders , for fucks’ sake?”

“Girl’s got a point, Kyle,” Jake says, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the ornate bed post. 

“Well, what else is she going to do? She’s useless to The True Order just playing house with a Malfoy,” Kyle says.

“Hey, I’ve done stuff,” I protest. “I’ve passed important notes to the Order, hidden a fugitive right under Thomus’ nose, and it was me who got the word to that safehouse that it was going to be raided.”

“ What ?!” Jake looks at me absolutely stunned. “That was you?”

“Yes! Who else in that room from the meeting would’ve tipped them off?” I ask. “ And I’ve managed to become immune to that scary as shit magic suppression potion. Have you ever taken that shit? It’s utterly terrifying to not have your magic.” I stop my pacing and look around at all of them. “To be completely at the mercy of someone who couldn’t give a shit whether you lived or died? We’ve all been sterilized and raped and branded as property. ” 

I pull my left sleeve up, bearing the tattoo and the scars Bellatrix left me. Diana’s visibly horrified and everyone else just looks mildly uncomfortable. “And these are just the scars I’m willing to show you.”

I force myself to calm down, breathing deep in through my nose and out my mouth. “I’m not going to jump headfirst into a plan held together with Spellotape and superglue,” I say after a moment. “Thomus trusts you guys. Aren’t you his best friend, Jake? Are you really gonna break his trust by losing something he obviously has put a lot of time and effort into keeping alive?”

Kyle is glaring hard at the carpet and Jake's intense focus jumps between me and Thomus. 

Jake exhales heavily. “She’s right.”

My shoulder’s sag with relief. “Thank you.”

“We have to think of a legitimate way to get you away from him,” Diana says. “Do you think he’d ever… let you go?”

I frown. “Like… set me free?” 

She nods. “Then maybe you could get scooped up by another Death Eater or something, someone who works more closely with You-Know-Who or who’d… loan you, I guess.”

I turn around to gaze at Thomus, sleeping soundly, and recall every possessive look or grab he’s given me. “No,” I say softly. “There’s no way he’d let me go willingly.”

Kyle snorts. “Yeah I second that. The asshole nearly slits my throat if I even talk to her when he’s not around.”

“Even if I could convince him somehow,” I say, “it wouldn’t matter what he wanted. I know he’d use the Death Eaters as an excuse. He couldn’t pretend I was gone if someone saw me. The Malfoy’s reputation and the trust the Dark Lord has in them would be put in jeopardy. There’s no way he’d risk the lives of his family.”

“Is there anybody that out ranks him?” Will asks. “Someone who could make that choice for him.”

“I’m not sure, really,” I admit. “I’m sure there is, but I don’t know who. Someone older, like his brother maybe?”

“We just need a reason for them to take you from him,” Jake explains. “Like a change of… ownership.”

“Who, though?” I ask. “And why?”

“Probably best if that’s something for us to figure out,” Kyle says pointedly. “Just in case.”

I sigh heavily and start heading towards the door. “Whatever. All I care about is that it’s legit, okay? Something that’s not gonna get any of us killed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will agrees, stepping out of my way. “Where’re you going?”

“To stand outside and pretend that I’m free.”

[tieflingfingers]

Foraging for Ripened Fruits

What and who: Soft Dom Astarion smut, Character Study, Half-Drow Bard OC. Summary: Thomasin goes off to forage for a meal for camp, but Astarion pops in to remind her of a bet she lost. Realizing he's rehashing an old promise, she reluctantly agrees in hopes of enjoying his company. Warning/Content: 18+, Reimagining of first sexual encounter. Post bite-scene, part of series. A lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. Partial mentions of past traumas that inform their current actions. Word Count: 4,174 Ao3 Link

Thomasin wandered off the beaten path. Unknown thickets and brambles were an easy trek though. From a young age, the half-elf had been taught a labyrinth of knowledge about living off the land. A library of resources left to collect dust with each decade for she’d become dependent on ship crews and city streets with passing years. Now to only blow off those dusty tomes to reread with fondness.

Although, camp was just thankful she could identify a meal.

There was escapism in placing a floral handkerchief and guidebook in her wicker basket. Buckling her skirt at the waist to watch the length sway at her feet. Perhaps she’d find the same little blue flowers dancing along its hem. Handfuls of berries. Bitter leafy greens. Hidden roots revealing hearty starches to soak in broth. Dirt, crisp and cool, compressed beneath her boots. Patches of grass where plants raised their heads to the sky, bathing in sunlight and twisting at its joints.

Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a leaf whose colors were difficult to distinguish.

She narrowed her vision and wracked the encyclopedia embedded in her memories.

Poisonous markers found themselves hazier and hazier as the years went on. Rhymes recited to know danger by its features. Whether speckles and lines were meant to be fine. Whether pinks and blues sent you praying at the pews. Or was it yellows at the tips? Spikes and spines? The longer this troubleshooting ran through her filters, the more she felt the urge to laugh. What a thing to have a lapse of judgment on. Poisoning the camp on the off chance their stew was more savory than usual.

Just as absurd stakes set in, the leaf was flicked away from her fingertips. The ball of her foot spun in the dirt, twirling in whimsy to head another direction. Skirt in tow. Light dramatics to match the melody humming from her lips.

That was, until the sight of another in her presence. Astarion had created a habit of startling her for his own entertainment. Knowing the windows of calm and isolation meant her propensity to be skittish. Thomasin scowled, immediate embarrassment melting into frustration.

“In the gods’ names, Astarion! Make your presence known or I’ll start sharpening every shard of wood in our vicinity.” She took a deep breath to calm herself from offering more creative threats.

Astarion couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in self-satisfied laughter. When they approached conflict, Thomasin was no stranger to deescalating those with sharp tongues or unflinching convictions. Her own proclivities for chaos even pulled the group into a few hi-jinks. She always wiggled her way out of things unscathed for the most part, from his short experience.

And so, how could he not take advantage of such a glaring pitfall? A gap exposed in her armor? Only for his own amusement, of course. Each of his steps became looser, bouncing with their weight, partaking in one of his favorite activities. Peacocking.

“Is it not hilarious that you’re more frightened of me than those giant bandits we encountered? Although…” He placed a hand upon his chest. “Maybe it’s a bit of a compliment. Thank you for that. I have felt quite the masculine energy in me with all this newfound freedom.”

Thomasin snickered. “Glowing. Don’t look a day over three hundred years old.”

“Excuse me, it’s not my fault you hop around here like a scared little fawn.”

“Okay, fine. What are you doing out here anyways?”

“It is a curse to simply be, I don’t know. Bored? The woods aren’t as magical as druids like to make a big fuss about. ”

Finding his answer lackluster at best, Thomasin continued to search her surroundings. Like a puppy gnawing at her ankles, he followed her trail, preparing quips to throw over her shoulder. Watching her pluck foreign fruits from mysterious branches. He’d offer an agreeable “hm” and “ah” in half-hearted acknowledgment as she conjured up ways to poison Cazador.

Nothing worth pocketing for later though. Scary flowers? To defeat the reign of vampiric terror? Child’s play. Absolute yawn.

Thomasin turned to be greeted by his eyes wandering about the flora with little thought brewing within. She found his predictability charming.

“You’re not even listening,” she said.

“Bah, nothing but accusatory language. I am immensely interested in what the leaves are up to. Which herbs are the biggest gossips or whatever,” he followed up. Almost too immediately. “I did have something to bring to your attention though.”

“Hm? Another confession? Lycan blood also in your veins?”

“Oh, I’d be unstoppable with Lycan blood in me. Imagine? A dinner of champions– Although I wouldn’t want to spoil my snack.” He inched toward her, keeping just enough distance to offset potential rejections.

Thomasin arched her brow, leaning back and compensating for the closing quarters between them. “Are you going to kill me now?”

”This is a peaceful coup, on my heart, I swear it.” One hand raised, chest puffed and proud. “Consider this a midday snack. Don’t be a sore loser now. A deal is a deal.”

Thomasin slipped into momentary bemusement, attempting to recollect what bet they made. The prize seemed obvious at least. His glances failed at subtlety and she’d catch his eyes dart to the clavicle peeking from her neckline. Not the most bizarre way she’d been objectified, but it still took some getting used to.

It was all uncharted territory. Even if she felt flustered, she had to press it down. Blushing admitted defeat. Docile defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary nor her nature.

He twirled his hand about, gesturing to matters as casual as the weather. “You cannot tell me my winning hand at cards is suddenly incorrect, Thomasin. I love delusion as much as the next man, don’t get me wrong. I mean, Karlach and Wyll could read you the contract as if straight from Avernus itself. Just a light nibble of thy neck.”

Thomasin wanted to retort. Yet, she had been around the campfire those long nights. She was aware of exchanges lightening the load of their gold pouches. The glory of riches on the line. Opportunity to watch Karlach drunkenly arm-wrestle Wyll or Astarion throw daggers at glass bottles with precision. Irresponsible banter around the fire was prime for it. Even if the night was hazy at this point, vague stipulations of a retired magistrate couldn’t be disputed. He was right. She didn’t think her hand was that bad, from what she could recollect, but he was right.

If anything, the length he waited was more of an oddity. The bet went unredeemed for a long while. Weeks even. They had been busy though. Shooing the feistier of goblins and gnolls into early graves, resolving power struggle after power struggle. Hunching over hastily cooked meals and soothing aching muscles in lakes. Perhaps flirtation here and there, but the sweet nothings had been there for comic relief. Cheeky remarks to remind them of normalcy.

“Fine, fine. C’mon,” she said, amused by his persistence.

The half-elf tugged at her skirt, sweeping it into the direction of a cushioned patch of wildflowers and clovers tucked beneath a tree. Her basket slipped from her hands, cradled by clovers.

Astarion grinned at Thomasin, following in suit, pinching at the bow helping fasten her skirt to her waist. He studied her shape like many times before. Quietly, but nevertheless. The drapery of her blouse and how it tucked in along the small of her back. Her sleeves pushed up to her forearm, billowing fabric tapered, cuffed, and buttoned.

She flicked her view up from her under her lashes. The stitches of her linens had folded into themselves to reveal her shoulder, her fingertips pressing into her clavicle as if she’d gather more answers from touch alone. She was a peach, carefully cut into slivers for his enjoyment. To drip and glisten down his palms. To sticky the already unspoken laws of the platonic.

“I caught you staring earlier. I-Would that hurt more? My shoulder?” Thomasin glanced down at the grass for a split second to consider her options, meeting him again with a quick answer. “Actually, that’s a lot more hidden than the neck.”

It’d been ages since one of Astarion’s conquests felt like less of a chore.

He was quick to slip into his role. Rehearsed as often as a shopkeeper stocked their wares, he turned on the “pursuer”. Sexual conquests and their success were a promise of relief. As much as he would never admit, he had dug into his filing cabinet of archetypes he’d approach. Whether she was a romantic, a bookish sort, or looking for sexual wanderlust. The complexities mixed with their constant travels made for rocky waters though. Talking alone wasn’t going to work.

This made him toss and turn at night. Feeling like the ground could crack under his cot every reverie and swallow him up. A man not suited for more than being hung up like a rug, heavy with dust, to be beaten and displayed as usual. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Perfect,” he finally spoke up.

Astarion gingerly pulled her wrist in to close distance once again. The chimes of nervous giggling made his ears twitch. As if it ignited something ingrained deep in the recesses of his mind. Was it an internal monstrous instinct? Was it a matter of preying on vulnerability? The promise of a quick and easy night in most circumstances. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was a positive emotion he couldn’t distinguish yet. No matter how benign.

He scouted out the landscape of her skin, although it wasn’t long before he noticed how quick her breathing was picking up. Despite her best efforts, his sense of hearing betrayed her act. The cold touch of his hand slid up under her jaw to guide her attention to him. “Your heart is beating out of your chest.” He asked, his words quiet but tentative for her response. “Does this frighten you? Shall we not keep going?”

Thomasin couldn’t answer with honesty. The anticipation of stinging pain brought forth memories of their last exchange. As much as mild affection was as sought after as a hot meal, she couldn’t deny the way his last bite felt. The half-elf bounced between its warm embrace and its cold isolated depths.

“Oh? Maybe a little…I don’t know. Go slow. Remember how Karlach said she’d throw you to the goblins if you accidentally kill me,” she said, downplaying her racing thoughts.

She knew to keep her wits about her. A woman grandfathered into the art of being a commodity. Her hands had been adroit at distraction en masse or individual consort. Easier dealt with when jaws slackened. Those equally alert, still capable of negotiating. Those were the ones to take with caution.

Astarion debated his next course of action. The consequences of a plan diverged gnawed at him, but luck had been on his side. Divine intervention that he might be able to leech off one more day. He forced himself to commit to the move, nestled in the crook of her neck planting his lips upon her skin. A kiss. Tender and hesitant. He could feel her process the change, an inkling of a whimper escaping her.

Another, applying slight pressure this time. A pause to gauge her reaction and then another. The affection felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders, clicking something in his brain. Until his sleeve was strained by her grip, sudden and uncertain. He glanced up at her, suppressing the urge to express his fear. That be may have muddied the waters of what ethics were left in him. That he may have read her body language wrong and he was still swimming rigid circles in an overwhelming ocean.

”Thomasin. Use your words,” he said, rising to meet her gaze again.

She let the silence linger, not knowing exactly what would be the best answer. What would be the most appropriate. And so, in times of high stress, Thomasin did what she knew best. Impulsivity was at least one answer.

Thomasin reached out for the nape of his neck. Sometimes giving into the soma, rich in delights and vices, was the only means of relief. The corporeal body hungered for finger foods and bite-sized delicacies. To imprint oneself into another’s skin. To find solace in desire.

Before she realized, they met in a kiss.

The half-elf’s cheeks felt the buzz of his laughter against her lips. One of the few displays of pure joy she had ever witnessed, not born from slaughter or rightful revenge. She could feel him relax for only that brief instant. Rare was a chance to enjoy sins without the looming threat of vampiric lords, and so Astarion had latched on. Twisting and shifting, subtle yet effective at slipping into the lead. His hands veered off course, groping at every curve, tender flesh hidden away under thin linens. Grumbles and mumbles. He exchanged his thanks for her body heat and traced along her thighs in their clumsy shuffle. Finding the hem of her skirt was only half the battle. The urge to toss her into the grass felt like a warm haze throughout his skull. Never let yourself sink too deep though. Always have one foot in the door of composure.

Thomasin tilted her hips forward out of instinct. Fidgeting against greedy hands and the covetous cursed pressed up against her undergarments. He had crept his way to the delicate floral embroidery lining her underwear. Whose stitching was preyed upon by his touch. Pulling the cloth aside to slip digits right against her clit, he felt her grasp around his arms for support.

Their foreheads were mere inches apart, exchanging inaudible but palpable tension. One couldn’t avert their focus from the other. But why would they? He was reveling in his victories, the way he locked her into a vulnerable position, finding himself enraptured by the noises that left her lungs. A surrender in her panting.

“You should have told me it would be this easy to break you down,” Astarion teased.

The satisfaction from any inkling of power was powerful in itself. His mind, clear and direct, whilst hers wavered. Thomasin welcomed alleviation though. She would strike down his ego with the fearsome sword blow of one thousand men another day. A safety net was being created in ribbon. The same tied precisely at the ends of her braids, flowing wherever their rhythm took them. What a strange feeling that welled up in his chest. Over a woman he could compare to thousands of others he slept with before. Surely, if he tried. She was half-elven of no noble blood.

Perhaps it was the promise of a bloodletting. A high he continued to chase after their last exchange weeks prior. Regardless, his eyelids grew heavy. That was, until he felt a tug at his waistband. Between the two, she had begun to untie his trousers, earning some pause.

”Now, now, hey.” Astarion’s words would've sounded casual if there weren’t for the tinge of concern in its abruptness.

His fingers slipped from her thighs, index and middle sneaking their way to her mouth. An act of indecency graced upon her tongue. Although Thomasin had not a single hesitation. Her own jaw had slackened. Her own mind clouded by the undivided attention. Sampling the fruits of his labor, attentive to his next move.

“You get distracted far too easily, darling,” he managed, despite his own voice at the edge of devolving, betraying him with his own lust. “All you need to do is tell me when you’ve had your fill. Until then, I’ll have mine.”

His eyes dialed in like daggers to the plum-stained lips wrapping around his fingers. The thought of succumbing now screamed at every aspect of his being and enveloped his loins. He blinked the interference away, a string of her saliva ever so delicate in the way it clung and snapped upon his exit.

He followed Thomasin's quiet desperation. One that spoke up in a whimper as his knuckles found themselves tucked under her jaw once more. The pressure was light, but firm, wrapping around her neck and bracing her against the tree. Just enough give to allow her shallow breaths.

”Would you like to lift your skirt for me?”

Light glinted off her cheekbones as she smiled, struggling to remember the last time she felt such an intensity coloring her cheeks. Her posture wobbled and waned, but the weight of the realms were no longer her responsibility. Fistfuls of linens were balled up in her palms as asked of her. Simple instructions. She clutched them against her chest, bare and adorned in the same blush.

Her compliance meant he was onto the next act. With a great thud, Astarion planted his boot upon one of the many hearty roots growing from the oak. Thick and sturdy, weaving throughout the soil. Using his now elevated knee, he positioned her for leverage. Her freckled thigh to be placed atop his and help widen her hips.

“How could you have traveled all these years? Met so many people, played so many silly little games, and yet you’re so bad at cards.” Astarion’s snuck back into her waistband once more, interrupting the scoff Thomasin let out by her heavy breath. “All those folks out there? Falling for your feminine wiles, no? Letting you win?”

Without warning, Thomasin felt the undeniable pressure of his fingers inside of her. He had positioned his feet in a firm stable stance and balanced her body with the weight of his own, pumping into her at a steady pace. She was locked in place, but couldn’t fathom a complaint.

Time lingered. Her legs began to tremble. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Or are you losing bets on purpose?” he said. “It sounds like you should take your own advice. What was it you told me? ‘Watch out for men with sharp tongues and charming dispositions.’ But, alas, you’re not a woman of your word.”

He leaned in, quickening his pace. Such feverish passion that even Thomasin had to continuously acclimate to whatever he decided was her next venture. One of the bundles of her skirt fell and draped the two, her free hand opting to grab onto the back of his head instead. Her rings intertwined with his curls in aimless desperation. A gesture that made him let go of the powerplay upon her neck and join in the embrace.

“A sound that could lure a million sailors to their deaths. I could listen to you whine for centuries,” he purred, keeping the half-elf at bay whilst refusing any mercy. His name stretched its syllables from her lips, thick like honey. Urgent and stifled, yet strung out like another composition. It made Elvish infiltrate his vocabulary. Internal needs even he had never been allowed to unpack. “Hinual sreea, tell me. Your body belongs to me.”

Thomasin cracked a smile through her fatigued disposition, throwing her head back and fighting the urge to shout every Drow profanity she knew. “It’s yours— by sweet Eilistraeens. My body is yours. In the name raggath, please.” Thoughts consumed by the curl his knuckles and each stroke punctuating the last.

Little was left to upkeep in his performance. He had dissolved Thomasin’s intuition and judgment, free to shed his own anxieties. That was, until he realized what he was having trouble steering his own motives. Astarion simply watched her in a sort of awe. The way her body writhed. Scarred, freckled, silver tinted skin glistening from exhaustion. There was beauty in the crass and resilient. Something breathtaking. Like unattainable dusky silk, admired through storefront windows, awaiting to be torn into.

Needle-point teeth dug their way into her shoulder. Scraping under epidermis and into her veins, Astarion indulged, zeal twisting itself around her like ropes of sprawling ivy. Nothing more than waves of confusing ecstasy and questionable faith for the two. No god or goddesses in existence, only the light headed leap of faith toward her orgasm. Eilistraeens would want this, surely.

Before Thomasin could figure out his next move, she was riding every wave that crashed. It made her gasp. An audible panic as the puncture startled her. But the emotions were quick to mellow, pain much more manageable this time around. The intensity of blood purging seemed to be dampened by its coinciding pleasure. As if each corresponding sense knocked into one another, overlapping and tripping over themselves.

From the corner of his eye, he watched streams of blood spill down her shoulder, pooling where their bodies met and settling on her chest. “Decadent little thing,” he whispered in Elvish, as if the comment were more of an internal monologue leaking out. If fate would allow it, if the stars aligned, he would’ve kept going for eons. Dinner and a show. Her body lent an intoxication that made colors brighter. Sounds enticing, words processed as if eternally wading through molasses. Her yelping in pain and its subsequent laughter of thanks. The way her thighs tried to cling upon one another as his fingers buried deeper inside.

The conflicting sensations pummeled her nerves, shocking through her limbs in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Every movement became involuntary and overstimulated.

“Astarion, please. Enough, enough, enough!” She couldn’t help but choke out each word.

Astarion swallowed the last of his meal, licking his plate clean in such a primitive manner. Being fed after fasting for ages unlocked a rudimentary part of his brain. The elf swallowed hard, lips stained with the taste of copper, a thin red veil coating his mouth. Per her request, he gave her mercy from his selfish play. The bombardment simmered into a kiss to exchange their spoils within a sloppy rhythm. The direction of his mind seemed to have pivoted. Now his body couldn’t get close enough to hers, as much as he tried.

The inside of her eyelids shone a red velvet curtain. A shade not unlike the almost blackened hue of blood trailing down her chest. Catching shimmers of its highlights and plush, as if lit by bulbs of light in her mind’s eye. Enveloping everything until she was enraptured by pure endorphins. Cushioning the blow of her feelings until there was nothing more but pleasant horizons and hands to hold. Coziness in the desire of being wanted and the ephemeral homestead created for a bit. Until Astarion tore back the curtains.

Her eyes shot open. Reality rapid in its arrival and sunshine forcing her pupils to re-adjust. Thomasin fell victim to gravity’s disposal. Her body was propped up languid against tree bark. Its surface skid along her flesh until she could lower just enough to ease herself atop a bulbous protruding root.

The conclusion wasn't her untimely demise. Astarion wasn’t dragging her off to the guillotine, but that meant there was a different ending to this. He hadn’t thought that part through. The elf had thrown himself backward shortly after her pleas, taking enough steps away to collect his thoughts, chest heaving with the pulse of vitality coursing through him. Enough to power him into an entire night of mania if he wasn’t careful. With his back to her for these few brief seconds, he could think. His hand ran through his hair, dislodging tangles in the midst of his now disheveled facade.

“Are you okay?” Thomasin eventually said.

Her voice made his ears perk up. The question grounded him, the material realm known for being all too punctual. He palmed his mouth to wipe away any lingering blood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers posthaste. What little grooming he could conjure up before turning around. He grinned back at her, toothy and elated. Polar opposite to the disorientation on his expression not a second before.

“You think something is wrong after that performance?” He promptly gave two claps. “Would be offensive to not applaud.”

Despite his avoidance and fidgety demeanor, Thomasin decided to not pry. Her own knees were buckled. Emotion scrambled. What words she had uttered would be her own to contend with later, she proposed and shoved aside.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” she said, humoring him as she buttoned her blouse back up.

Astarion scoffed. “Gods, no. As if your gambling woes are going to become my problem. Encouraging your bad decisions is far more fun.”

Thomasin laughed, weakened by all their efforts, and proceeded to unhinge her jaw to speak. By the time she made a noise, she noticed he was already starting to walk back up the trail.

“Wait, you don’t want–”

“Nothing you’re going to dig up here is of my tastes, love! Still, grand efforts!” he cheered, volume rising as he went further and further along. “Dig up an old bottle of vintage and maybe I’ll bite my tongue! Good luck!”

And like that, she let him leave uninterrupted, rolling her head back and letting out a deep sigh.

[dienette-666]

[GUTS SPILLING OUT] - Unit S.L.E.D.G.E Leon S Kennedy x OC

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x OC Tags: cheeky, flirting, sexual tension, building of a relationship, strangers to lovers, injuries, mental health, past trauma, TW: graphic description of wounds, overcoming trauma, emotional bond, Summary: A sarcastic and even more so traumatized BSAA Officer found her peace of mind in the lucious green of Woodkirk's forests, where BSAA authorities had "kindly" established the rehabilitation and training camp "ReTra" vor all soldiers too messed up and broken down to be immediately sent back into yet another suicide mission for the greater good. However, a slash to her guts later along with a marathon to run for her life and a missed swoosh to the head of a mysterious blonde with her coat rack, the brunette found herself acquainted with Leon S Kennedy himself.

____________________________

PART ONE - Guts spilling out

The dawn of this very Sunday - it was April - had announced itself mightily, by silencing the chirping birds and striking the pale, blue sky with its suffocating clouds of an ashy grey color. Even the moon had been greedy with its glow – merely scattering weak beams of light upon the busy highways and rural areas.

In the pulsating darkness of that night, swollen puddles marked the sodden gravel paths, cold drizzle tickled the calm surfaces of nearby waters and the whistling wind lulled even the most reluctant visitor to the "ReTra camp" in Woodkirk to sleep.

The sun hadn’t even set properly, as its golden rays were harshly swallowed by dense towers of clouds and the first droplets of rain had started falling, right when General Brooks was busy locking the entrance to the camp with two thick chains and called in the last soldier, who hadn't stopped running his legs sore since afternoon.

While ReTra therefore proceeded according to its daily protocol, everyone stationed there knew how to behave and peacefully settled into their cabins as dusk fell, rushing tires screeched wildly across the asphalt of the adjacent highway, hurling themselves through the sticky mud of nearby dirt roads and finally, coming to a silent halt at the edge of the Woodkirk forest – smoking with frictional heat.

Between its untouched treetops and massive rocks, no roaring truck and no agile bike could fit, but only the brunette with her body's exhaling strength.

The dripping wet leaves of shrubs along her path clung to the tattered sleeve of her dark green plaid button up, while the cold rain settled around her shoulders like a stinging breeze, drawing an icy chill into her skin and causing her muscles to stiffen.

The hem of her flared jeans soaked up the muddy water, that she flung up the narrow gravel path with each disoriented step.

She was not a prepared hiker, a secret agent in a tight black outfit, nor a brainless teenager, seeking adrenaline in the shadows of the night.

For if she were a hiker, she'd be lugging a heavy backpack, lacing sturdy trekking shoes with a rough profile around her feet, and throwing on tactical pants with a cheeky camouflage print, instead of hurrying around knee-high grass in nothing but a plaid shirt and way too fancy bell-bottoms, tearing her elbows on the rough bark of ancient trees.

The panicked brunette seemed out of place and completely ill-fitted in the overgrown wilderness that surrounded her like a pitch-black cave.

The only thing that even remotely aired her true purpose, was a leather weapon holster that strapped tightly around her thigh, but was yelpingly empty.

However, her determined steps, the straight path she steadily took and the committed glance she cast, before turning in yet another direction, revealed that she couldn't have been lost after all.

Calculated yet staggering weakly, she turned left when she had to and held her course until a right fork called out to her.

The flat heel of her neat Chucks sank deep into the dirt and rose from the slippery ground again, this time stained by mud, while her hurried steps began to lose their span and pace.

Each breath squeezed her chest tightly, only to puff it up widely again in the next moment - forcing the forest's moist air into her lungs.

Her calves began to toughen like over-chewed gum and the white tank top under her button-up became so wet, that she gradually grew unable to distinguish the rain from her bleeding wound.

It was an oozing wound, her brutally torn skin in the shape of three barbaric claw marks and the fleshy red color, which melted into the fibers of her simple white top.

With every of her snorting breaths and each time the muscles of her abdomen spasmed into a cramp, its ribbed fabric got stuck in the throbbing gash and plucked at it to the brunette's suffering.

The wide cuts stamped themselves into the cloth of her white tank top, yet gradually washed away with the pattering rain.

So, the top wrapped itself tighter and tighter around her shaken ribs, whereas the browned blood slowly soaked itself up to her bra and exposed the paleness of her cold skin underneath.

Eventually there came a point, when she no longer knew to make out whether the wetness around the waistband of her pants came from the insatiable rain, or if it was the gore pouring out of her own guts.

Therewith came black dots flickering in her vision - a shallow drift from consciousness to unconsciousness - and yet the brunette kept tramping through the undergrowth, until the forest’s dense trees gradually thinned out and the pitch-black outline of the training camp appeared against the pale night sky.

Her temples were undercut with blood, her upper lip viciously torn on the right side, and the inside of her cheeks completely chewed up by the grinding bites, that the pain coaxed out of her.

With the brunette’s lips trembling as if she was freezing terribly and her left arm wrapped around her crunching ribs, she ducked under the wetly dripping chains of the entrance with the last strength of her numb legs - already plotting out the way to her cabin in her fogged-up mind. The edge of her delicate shoe tore gravel along, whilst her weight stirred up the swollen ground under her soles into narrow streaks and left irrevocable traces of her presence. And yet, she met her silently planned route to the meter. 

Thus, however, the moment of unbarring pain announced itself, where the overflowing aches of her torn skin began to mimic the beating of her very heart and the searing burning became more overwhelming, than the brunette could have ever been able to endure.

The nipping of her teeth into the sore flesh of her cheek, the embattled grip of her pointed fingernails into the sides of her torso, and the harsh growl that escaped her throat like a bestial snarl, were nowhere near enough to express the pain and terrified panic within her.

Although the seriously wounded brunette did not want to arouse any commotion, let alone wake any of her sleeping comrades, her unbearable suffering chased any of those rational thoughts out of her mind a unbarring pain and replaced her initial cautiousness with an animalistic instinct of survival.

The staggered sleeping cabins were built across a large courtyard, that was meant for the locally stationed residents' morning runs, whereas the panting brunette hardly even arrived at the corner of the guard house in the entrance area of the ReTra camp.

Eventually, her knees blocked from advancing, begging for a break, right as they let out a rusty crack and inevitably forced the brunette to halt and clamp her red-stained fingers around a rusty rain pipe for a brief moment.

The stained metal tube vibrated under her fingertips, as masses of water washed through, giving her a new sensation to focus on.

However, it would never be cold or rushing enough, to quench the infinitely deep ache clawing at her waist.

Losing her balance on one of her heels, the brunette therefore grasped the rippling pipe all the tighter and ultimately couldn't take it anymore.

Each of her vertebrae curled into a quivering hollowed back, while she pitifully reached her right arm to the ground, trembling bitterly, until finally a thundering scream tore itself from her throat, which she had tried to suppress for so long.

It made her lips twitch and her cheeks tremble - a frothy thread of saliva dripping from her split lips as she contorted her face for a moment, to unravel the true despair inside, leaving her torso to hang down inevitably exhausted. 

The pain-distorted scream, that got louder as her suffering reached a new high, echoed across each pebble amongst the soaked dirt, moving every little puddle, and yet the courtyard remained silently still.

Before her arrival, the brunette had managed not to sob and to even forget the wound on her stomach, due to the ferally pumping adrenaline in her body.

But now, as she already saw the safety of her little cabin from a reachable distance and knew to soon have reached her destination, she was given no other choice, than to be caught by the sheer horror that marked her abdomen.

Thus, the intolerable rumbling in her guts continued to plague her, but the brunette finally gave herself a firm jerk away from the downpipe, stumbling for a few steps at first, but then compulsively catching herself and fighting against every throb of her wounds.

The purposeful brunette, who had previously turned nimbly around every tree and ducked just when she had to, turned into a disoriented woman who, from one blink of an eye to the next, was suddenly no longer certain which cabin was really hers.

Her memory deceived her treacherously, as she first tried the small key to her room on the iron lock of one of the six doors and tried to hit the keyhole with her dazed, numb fingers.

Followingly, the grooves of her silver key struck the rusty lock unsuccessfully at first, right before the brunette ended up jiggling at it in frustration.

The old wooden door wobbled on its hinges, but would not open at any price. And that was simply, because it was the wrong one.

With great effort, she spluttered in confusion, shimmying herself to the knob of the adjacent door and crashed into it uncontrollably, as her trembling fingers tried to thread the key inside once more.

This time its indentations fit like a glove and so the dizzy brunette turned the key a few times to her right, before immediately pushing the door open.

[tara-the-medium]

[drunk text]: lveae me alone for 29 minutes !!! jeezss trek u clkingy fuck

[text: mal] I AM NOT CLINGEYT[text: mal] you’RE NOT WFUCKING ANSWEIOTN SO MAybe YOUTRE DED IDK

[crosshatchedpokemonau]

Made a fun little “what-if” comic script and realised how long it would be, I drew out the first 2 pages then wrote the rest as a fic :)

This is with an OC based off my PLA play through named Charlie (They/Them)

Underdressed for Winter

Warden Ingo stood in a daze, after a mute day of only a few battles strewn across the day he was prepared to return to the highlands. He took up residence by the gate waiting to see if a specific passenger would be joining him on the returning trek.

Snapping him out of the cloudiness in his own mind, Charlie had walked passed.

“I’m going to the highlands with you.” They said as they went pass, pausing by the gate to check something on their “arc-phone” as they had called it.

He blinked himself back into reality and took stock of what the teen was bringing with them. But not before noticing how little they wore. He called out to them.

“Young Passenger! Would you wait a moment?!” Charlie turned around to meet him with a questioning gaze. He walked up to them as he spoke. “You are very underdressed for your intended station.”

Charlie gave a look that clearly said the comment earned some offence. Although he continued on his track, “I recommend a detour to Anthe’s-“ They held up the scarf they wore as apart of the survey corps uniform. “- A scarf does not count.” What were they teaching these kids…

They messed around with their bag for a moment before pulling out a pokéball, gesturing to it.

“You are surely not going to rely on a lone Pokémon in winter for several hours.” His voice deadpanned. They put the pokéball away and crossed their arms, pouting slightly, coming across a lot more accurate for their age than running around with deadly dangers at every corner.

“What does the professor say about this violation of safety checks?” He queried. The teenager merely shrugged. “All members use this uniform.”

That struck Ingo as odd. “That does not make it less safe.” Charlie muttered something incomprehensible.

“What was that Charlie?” They stared at the ground when they answered.

“I shredded my last one…” They didn’t explain further. He was a bit confused on why they couldn’t just… He recalled the amount of crafting they’d spent doing over the last few days, talking to Anvin about the missing resources.

“…Do you not have the funds?” They tightened on themselves.

“…no.” They said quietly, almost ashamed of the fact. He straightened himself up and walked towards the clothing store.

“Then I will take you myself.” He announced. Charlie look puzzled so instead Ingo took ahold of the back of their scarf and directed them towards the store. The method felt very familiar somehow.

“You must take care to pass all safety checks before attempt to depart a station.”

“I’ve done it before. I was fine then.”

The younger trainer took a moment to orient themselves before they walked beside him, giving up on deterring him.

“That is incredibly irresponsible. I will be intending to talk to the professor about safety checks.” Charlie remained silent besides the warden.

They got up to the stall, the woman in front of it looked up from her sewing, looking at the coat Ingo cherished with poorly disguised disgust.

“What brings you here Warden? Are you going to let me repair that icky coat?” She jabbed, Ingo politely deflected it.

“My coat is just fine, thank you. But I do request some warmer clothing for the passenger here.” He said, gesturing to the teen who’d taken to staring at the ground. Anthe stared for a moment before looking back up to the Pearl Clan Warden.

“I do believe they had bought some barely a week ago.”

“I’m under the impression it become same collateral damage recently. They’ve been content with being underdressed for harsher weather since.” He gestured with his hands absentmindedly. Charlie picked at the hem of their current Kimono.

“Hm, Alright, I’ll see what I have.” She walked into the store and browsed across some shelves Ingo couldn’t see. There was a tug on the back of his coat.

“You don’t have to do this… I can deal.” Charlie said, meeting his gaze with determination and a bit of guilt.

“It would be incredibly wrong of me to not assure you arrive at your station safely Charlie. It is the sole responsibility of a conductor to take care of a passenger up to their destination.”

Ingo could swear he heard a voice in the breeze as it went pass his ear.

Follow the rules. Safe Driving!

“Haven’t you already done that?” Charlie asked, expression softening.

Follow the schedule. Everybody smile!

“I have once. And I intend to do it again to assure your safety as my passenger.” Charlie looked a bit taken aback at the last statement. He worried he overstepped somewhere.

Check Safety. Everything’s ready!

Anthe walked back out, carrying a few kimonos, “I have a few different variations, but all should serve to be warmer than-“ she looks up at the two. “Am I interrupting?” She asked politely.

Aim for victory.

Ingo put aside his worries for the solution at hand. “Not at all. Charlie would you like to…” The teen looked between the black kimono with fur hems and Ingo’s coat with an almost longing.

All aboard!

He bit back a fond sigh, and pointed to the one Charlie had been looking at.

“The black one please.” He spotted the winter hats above the shelves. “Could I get the matching winter hat as well?”

“Ingo-“ The teen tried, he interrupted them with a hand on their shoulder. Anthe gave a fond look between them and with a shake of her head pulled down the matching hat with a small smile.

“6,800 coin Warden, it’d be a discount if you let me fix that coat.”

He handed the money over, “Never… Thank you for the clothes.” He tried doing the math in his head for the prices he could make out, he was sure he paid less than the actual amount. He attempted to speak up and was stopped by a stern look from the woman. She handed off the kimono and hat to Charlie, who tugged Ingo’s coat towards their quarters waiting for him to join them. He tipped his hat to the women an and followed the teen.

A few minutes later they’d emerged from the closed off section of their quarters and showed off the outfit with a grin, he praised them and they’d tackled him in a hug, enjoying the warmth the clothes brought.

He heard them mutter “Thank you, Uncle Ingo” into his coat and he ruffled their hair, before leading them out towards the highlands with all safety checks complete.

[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #1  “The Jabari that Stole Christmas”

[M’Baku x OC]

Word Count: 1.6K

M’Baku looks outside, over the cliff that oversees his vast, snowy kingdom.  The chilled air whips around his gear as he tightens his grip around the neck of his staff.  Below three of his children play in the snow, laughing and shouting as they dip behind boulders while kicking up the light and fluffy substance behind them in pursuit,  

He lets out a deep exhale, heavy hearted by the task put forth to him the prior week.  Adebisi’s hands wrap around part of M’Baku’s bicep to grab his attention, but his gaze remains forward.

“Don’t start,” he begins.

“What do you mean, my love?”  Adebisi responds innocently, laying her head against him.

“You still take me as a fool under your affections?  I said I will not discuss it further and that is final.”

Adebisi tuts at M’Baku, admiring the structure of his profile as she runs her hand from his neck up to the side of his face, turning his head towards her.  His jawline remained stern but his eyes glowed with a softness he held only for his love’s: his children and Adebisi.

“M’Baku…” she mewls in a tone that instantly causes him to retort with grunt from deep within his belly.  “They are only children.  They like fairy tales, what can you do?”

“I can control what is brought into my palace!  I never heard of such a story as heinous as that of a Santa!”

“Aish, come on…”  Adebisi rolls her eyes, folding her arms.  “I thought it sounded nice after thinking about it!  It’s presents for children around the world for their goodness, what’s so wrong?”

M’Baku stamps his staff down in the ground.  “A white comes into our home at night, eating our food and keeping surveillance on our youth for him to influence with greed and excess so they can expect their most hoped for play things in order to continue the cycle of brainwashed worship?”

“I told you to please be easy on Bucky for once,”  Adebisi says, holding for laughter that M’Baku doesn’t give.

“This is serious.  This western idea of accumulating wealth based on your behavior while being some of the most corrupt and taking advantage of the lives of the least fortunate and most vulnerable is bastardizing their minds!  We aren’t even Christian!”

“Christmas has a very secular view now, M’Baku.  Can’t you pretend?  Give them a new perspective on what they heard so that it fits what they want  and what you want.”

M’Baku grunts.  “Sounds like more work than I am willing to offer.  I do have other things to do as a leader of the Jabari-”

“Like stew over our children in the middle of the afternoon quietly to yourself pondering their mental capacity to learn about other cultures while maintaining their own belief set?  Yes...busy busy…”

“Baba!  I’m going to get you, Baba!”  M’Baku’s eldest attempts to throw a snowball that has now integrity as soon as it leaves his hand.  His sister’s guffaw at his attempt, trying their own with the same result.

M’Baku’s face cracks a smile at their debauchery.  “This snow is not wet enough to make into balls or whatever you all are trying to do!  I will remain untouched! HA!”  M’Baku spreads his arms out wide as his children boo and jeer, kicking snow up at him that only flies back in their faces.

Adebisi laughs at the exchange.  “See?  They want to have fun with you.  Why not make it worth both of your time?”

---

Later on that evening, M’Baku produces a set of kimoyo beads he was gifted a while back.  He is not keen on vibranium technology still, but he admits that this comes in handy for communication sparingly; especially when there’s a blizzard outside he would have to trek through.  

As he sits on his throne, he conjures up Shuri’s image.

“M’Baku?  I did not expect to ever hear from you like this!  Was this your first try at calling or did little Abeni help you?”

“Ayyye, my youngest is down for her rest, so I will accept full credit, if you must.”  

Shuri laughs.  “Only kidding, big guy.  What do you need?”

M’Baku clears his throat, fidgeting in his seat slightly as he leans forward for inner confidence.  He feels silly requesting help from anyone, much less an opinionated youth like Shuri.

“What do you know about...Christmas?”  M’Baku slowly asks.

Shuri pauses for only a second before she can contain herself.  Her laughter echoed through the halls, making M’Baku jumpy about his family hearing.  He waves at Shuri to hush, trying to muffle her sounds with his arms.

She continues, “Sorry, but...Christmas?  Why on earth would you care about that?  That’s one of the most western holidays ever.  Are you doing Thanksgiving as well?”

M’Baku looks at her with confusion, “What is that?”

Shuri shakes her head.  “Really, don’t worry about it, you’ll hate it more.  Except there is a big feast involved.”

“That sounds better than this Santa.”

“Trust me, it isn’t.  It is more of the same but with the death of native people but let’s not get ahead of yourself.  Why do you want to know about Christmas?”

“My children...they all heard about it from some other children in the marketplace.  They came to me so excited talking about a happy white man who gives gifts to good children in red and green shiny paper with bows, being pulled by reindeer over a city filled with lights wishing for world peace.  It was infuriating to listen to.”

Shuri nods.  “I see.  Now I understand your disdain for the commercialism and religious aspects of the holiday that don’t match your beliefs but I think we can at least entertain their imagination while maintaining your dignity, hm?”

M’Baku nods.  “That’s the least I could get out of this at this point.  I tried to get Adebisi to forget it but the woman is stubborn as one of those rhinos-”

“M’BAKU!  Where are you?  It is time for bed and I am growing impatient!”   Adebisi howls.

M’Baku sputters.  “I think this is where our conversation ends, Shuri.”

“Meet me in my lab at the end of the week.  I can put something together for your children to enjoy, eh?”

“Until then, good night.”  M’Baku ends the call, rushing to Adebisi’s call.

--

“Keep your eyes closed, children.  I am serious, Bisi, closed!”  Adebisi instructs her children as they walk through the shin deep snow on a clear evening.  

Aremu, their son, moans.  “Mama, I will miss the game with my friends.  What are we doing?”

“Your Baba has a surprise that I think you all will enjoy thoroughly, if you would just quiet down and practice patience.  Now!”

Adebisi ululates to the sky before patting her children’s heads to observe their surroundings.  All is dark and quiet for a moment until a bellow is heard from the carved cliff of the Jabari leader’s lair.  Suddenly a wave of lights flowed across the mountain, framing the notable ape face in stone with a glory of red, green, and white light bulbs.

“Happy Christmas to my children!”  M’Baku is seen coming from the mouth of his lair, riding atop a rhino with a holly wreath collar and some non-toxic paint that makes the rhino’s horn glow red in the night.  

M’Baku’s children cheer in excitement, exclaiming praise for Santa and Christmas as M’Baku rides the rhino down the mountain to his family.  

As he dismounts, a closer look of his outfit is not the traditional Santa suit but Santa no less.  Instead of the solid red wool cloth, aso oke of a red and white geometric pattern tailors his frame in the style of Santa, with grass trimming along the cuffs and hem.  His face is obscured by his traditional gorilla god mask, with the only recognizable piece atop his head: the red and white Santa hat.

“It’s you!  Wow!  So cool!”  his children overlap amazement as they hug their father tightly, examining his clothing and petting the red nose rhinoceros. 

“Santa, have you any presents for us?”  Chetachi, his middle child, asks.  

M’Baku removes his mask, kneeling in front of her. “Daughter, I do not have what you are asking for.”

She looks at him in bewilderment.  “Baba!  Are you Santa?  Why didn’t you tell us?  Is that why you were mad?  We know your secret?”

He shakes his head.  “I could never be mad with my children.  You all challenge, as always.  But I will not lie and say Santa is real or that I am him.  He is a character like in the storybooks Mama and I read to you all each night.”

“I love those stories!”  Bisi exclaims.

“Good!  And it is nice to enjoy a story, so this is one to add to the ones we have right?  As for a gift…”  M’Baku stands, pointing back at the bedazzled mountain behind him.  “Is this not enough for you?  The hours spent to put these lights up?!”

“Baku…”Adebisi hisses.  “Baba means that he did this for you guys to enjoy.  Plus a new pet rhino!”

“We can have him?!”  Aremu shouts.

“Or her.  Is it a boy or girl Baba?”  Chetachi asks.

“What do they eat?  Will it eat my candy”  Bisi ponders.

“Ayye, what pet?  Adebisi!”  M’Baku is flustered as Adebisi pulls him aside.  

“Be nice.  We can take care of one rhino.  The border tribe won’t mind.”

“I mind the amount of walking to the border to care for it.”

“Thank you, Baku,”  Adebisi says lovingly.

“This is what I am talking about.  Spoiling the children!”

“My husband, I love you.”  Adebisi pulls him in for a sweet peck.

“...it was very difficult going through the fitting for this costume as well…”

Adebisi groans sympathetically.  “My poor king, but you wear it well.”

“I do?  Ah yes, I do!”  M’Baku observes the children arguing over the name of the rhino, feeling his heart melt over the joy his family brings him.

[loosesodamarble]

Suzume and Shizuka

Summary: This is something I actually wrote a while ago. It's the first time Shizuka Hisasue (my OC) met Suzume Hayashi (@cringeyvanillamilk's OC).

Genre: general

Word count: 1073

..........

Suzume huffed wearily but the air around her failed to give her sufficient strength.

“Who…would ever train…at the top of a mountain?” she grunted as she leaped across a narrow stream. “This man must be a sadist.”

Suzume had let her mind wander, causing her foot to snag on something and trip her. As she fell, Suzume heard the clatter of wood above her. An alert system. Whether or not Yanagidate lived on Mount Mioka, there could be threats that she gave away her presence to. As swift as a breath, Suzume was back on her feet, hand gripping her sword as a precaution. Her steps were slow—careful, quiet, and precise—as she continued her trek. After about ten minutes of walking, nothing happened. No swordsmen, no forest beasts, nothing came.

“What was that?” Suzume pondered aloud, looking up at the trees, spying the rigs of wire and wooden blocks. “Why have the alarms if—?”

The leaves above Suzume rustled. Then, a single leaf fluttered down to the ground. The hand on her sword hilt tightened as she dared to look up. Staring down at Suzume was a petite-looking girl wearing hakama, a kosode, and a dark colored haori. In her hand was a glinting tanto knife and her face bore a nasty glare.

“GAAH! What the—?!”

“You’re carrying a blade,” the girl said, her voice sharp and demanding. “You didn’t just wander here, did you?”

“Uh, actually, I’m here beca—” Suzume was interrupted by the girl jumping down and aiming the knife at her. “Eek!” Instantly, Suzume drew her sword and intercepted the girl’s strike.

Clang!

The girl pushed herself off Suzume’s sword and landed a few shaku* away.

Now that the girl was closer, Suzume could make out more of her features. The hakama was an earthy brown while her kosode was mostly white with black hems. The haori was navy blue with a pattern of lighter blue morning glories. While petite, the girl stood firm and with poise. Her hair was ink black until it reached her shoulders, at which point it shifted to dark green, stopping just below the position of her shoulder blades. Her facial features were feminine and soft, perhaps even cute. The things offsetting her appearance were the sharpness of her eyes and the scowl she wore.

The girl’s eyes locked onto the brown of Suzume’s blade. Her eyes went wide, only momentarily, before narrowing into a scrutinizing glare.

“Your sword is brown?” she muttered, body rising to stand straight.

“Oh? My sword? Yeah, it’s a nichirin blade,” Suzume confessed, bashfully rubbing her neck and looking off to the side. “It’s not an especially eye-catching color but I like it well en—” When she looked back up, the girl was gone. “Huh?”

“You’re a tad foolish if you can so casually look away from a possible enemy.”

“Gyah!” Suzume spun around to see the girl standing in the spot that used to be behind her. “H-h-how did you—?! When did you—?!”

“Tch. You’re awfully jumpy for a warrior who fights demons for a living,” the girl retorted with a shake of her head. Without looking away from Suzume, she tucked her knife behind her back. “So.” A beat. “Who are you?”

“Oh right! Well uh…” Suzume coughed into a fist then smiled at the girl. “I’m, uh, Suzume Hayashi. I-I’m a demon slayer. From the Demon… Slaying… Corps… Obviously.”

The girl raised a brow, clearly unimpressed.

“I came here to, well, to spend some time training under Master Yanagidate.”

When the name slipped past Suzume’s lips, the small girl paled in the face. Her lips twitched, as if fighting to keep her frown in place.

“You’re either ignorant or crazy—”

“—if you’re willingly seeking him out.” A shorter woman dressed in the demon slayer uniform and a bright pink, daisy-patterned haori nervously laughed when Suzume had questioned her about Kenta Yanagidate.

“…You’re not the first person to have said that to me.”

“And you still came all this way?” The girl sighed, shook her head, then walked around and ahead of Suzume. “Fine. Your choice.”

Suzume blinked. After a pause, she gasped.

“Oh, are you going to show me the way?” she asked while sheathing her sword and hurrying after the girl until they walked side-by-side.

“Tch. There’s no need,” she scoffed. “Master Yanagidate just lives at the top of the mountain so no matter what angle you come from, you should find him at the top.”

She calls him “Master,” huh? Suzume thought and nodded to herself. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name. What was it again?”

“I never gave it in the first place.”

“Care to share it then?” Suzume inquired with a toothy grin.

The nameless girl glanced at Suzume in her periphery then scowled.

“Beat me to the top and we’ll see.”

Suzume blinked and the next thing she knew, the girl was ahead of her again and climbing the mountain with incredible speed. Or rather, she was jumping off boulders and tree trunks to propel herself up the mountain’s slope.

What speed! Suzume took a deep breath then made haste to follow. It must be Master Yanagidate’s Breath Style. Able to make the most of thin air such as this and focus that into improving one’s speed.

Try as she might, Suzume wasn’t unable to get the lead on the nameless girl. Sure, she got close behind and even matched speed at times, but she was never able to surpass the girl. She wasn’t as light or nimble and didn’t know the layout of the forest as well. The chase continued until the bright blue sky of late afternoon started to show shades of purple as the sun began to set. Eventually, the girl landed on a boulder twice Suzume’s height that curled over itself like an ocean wave. Past the boulder was a none-too-modest manor that could house two or three families.

“If you seek Master Yanagidate, he abides here.”

“I know I didn’t beat you to the top…” Suzume panted back in a weak retort, feeling the chill in her lungs. The chase had given her a thorough workout and there was a dull ache in her legs from the extended exertion. “But can I know, please?”

“Shizuka Hisasue. That’s my name.”

“Shizuka. Okay.” Suzume pushed her mussed up hair back and slowly made her way to the door. I sure hope the training is worth it, Fukushima-san.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Switched

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Humor

Story Warnings: Body swapping, Foreplay (fingering / hand job), Masturbation, Sex (vaginal), Implied oral at the end, Alcohol, Intoxication, Cursing, Degrading dirty talk

Words: 7,447

a/n: This was incredibly difficult, awkward, and confusing to write, but I had a lot of fun with it and I hope it’s not too all over the place! I also hope no one gets too confused reading it but... either way, enjoy!

Written for the @bnhabookclub​​ ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Body Swap

Bingo Masterlist

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Art in banner by me

“Uh… Katsuki-” Koge choked on her own voice, covering her mouth as she peered down at her lover in complete shock. Or, well, she was technically staring down at… herself? What had happened? How the hell was she staring down at herself, her own pale blue gaze locked on her with just as much confusion. Her eyes that she had only ever seen through a reflection grew from surprised to absolutely horrified, skin growing pale - or, paler - as her body began to tremble.

“W-what the fuck, why do I-- wait, that’s not--!” Mimicking Koge’s previous movements of covering her mouth, the petite woman took a few steps back, looking up and down the body that Koge herself currently inhabited. “Not my voice! Why are you--? How did we--?!” 

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Koge finally looked down at her body, squeaking out in shock at the view she had of a muscular torso clad in a black tank top. Next, her large hands moved up into her hair, feeling around the shortness of the soft locks that she was highly familiar with. 

“Don’t make that sound with my voice!” 

“Your voice?” Koge looked back down at Bakugou, and she could now, without a doubt, confirm the horrible and shocking truth. 

The two of them had switched bodies. 

“Katsuki, how the hell did this happen?” Koge took a few steps forward, placing both of her hands on Bakugou’s cheeks, though the size of them threw her off, nearly poking him in the eye. With a scoff and a snarl that Koge had never seen on her own face before, Bakugou smacked her hands away, frantically looking around them for the source of what had caused this catastrophe. 

“That person that bumped into us earlier! It had to have been them! Where the fuck did they go?” Bakugou began his trek back down the sidewalk the way the couple had originally come, white hair flipping and bobbing in its high ponytail as he looked around with snappy and rushed movements. People around them were also quite confused, stepping out of his way to avoid the fuming tiny body. Not wanting him to get too far away from her, Koge trotted after him, her newfound long legs making it quite easy to catch up. 

“Wait, wait, wait! Katsuki, we didn’t even see what he looked like, we can’t just go storming through the streets like this.” 

“No, I saw what he looked like!” Bakugou tried to look back at her, though his gaze instinctively went down, instead landing on Koge’s thighs. Embarrassment flashed across his face before he looked up, catching Koge’s gaze only for a moment before becoming visibly frustrated. “We can’t stay like this!” 

“I know that we can’t, Katsuki, but there are literally hundreds of people out right now. And you… don’t have a quirk that can get you up high anymore…” Koge timidly fiddled with her unfamiliar blunt nails, brow furrowed in worry. “I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“He was a fucking bald dude. And don’t pick at my nails, they’re short enough as it is!” Bakugou slapped her hands, though he did step in closer. “Take us up onto that building! I have my hero license if someone tries to stop us--” 

“I can’t use your quirk!” Her voice went higher than she had ever heard Bakugou’s in her panic, and the annoyance was visible on Bakugou’s face as his nose scrunched up. “Katsuki I wouldn’t even know how to activate it. And what if I did too strong of an explosion? I could kill people!” With a shake of her head, Koge shoved her hands into her pockets firmly. “No, I won’t even try--” 

“-- But we gotta find that asshole!” 

“I know we do, my love, but that just isn’t safe! We still have to be responsible…” 

“Then what do we do?” 

Koge looked up and down the sidewalk, giving a heavy sigh as she gazed over the bobbing heads of the packed crowds walking around them. “We just… we’ll have to look for him on foot, I guess. Let’s just go down the way we came from and I’ll try to spot him. You said bald? Anything else?” 

Falling oddly silent, Bakugou’s face flushed in agitation, both of his hands clutching onto the hem of the skirt Koge had worn that day. The longer he stood there silently, trying to coordinate his thoughts, the more his body began to tremble. 

“I… can’t remember…” Bakugou grumbled, eyes falling to look down at the sidewalk in defeat. “And there’s a million bald bastards in this city. Fuck!” 

Frowning, Koge caressed Bakugou’s arms gently, momentarily surprised at the way his entire hand could easily wrap around her body's upper arm. She truly was a tiny woman, though seeing it from this point of view was shocking. “Katsuki, let’s just… Why don’t we go to the police? If I was paying attention correctly, he seemed to bump into us very purposefully… I wonder if he’s doing these things to couples and random people to cause trouble.” 

Suddenly, Bakugou’s eyes lit up, as if a lightbulb had gone off inside his brain. “Ah, wait…! Shit.” Fumbling with the small purse slung over his shoulder, Bakugou pulled out Koge’s phone, poking the screen with lightning fast panic before holding the phone up to his ear. While they waited for whoever it was to answer, Koge used her grip on his arm to pull him off to the side into a little alleyway between businesses, so that they wouldn’t be in the way and she could possibly hear the conversation as well. 

“Put it on speaker--” 

With another glance up at her, Bakugou did so, holding the phone between them as they listened to it ring. Finally, a ring cut off, the cheery voice of their close friend ringing through the air. 

“Koge! Hey, how’s it going?” 

“It’s not Koge, shittyhair, it’s me!” 

“What? You sound like Koge, but she never calls me that.” 

“It’s me, Bakugou!” 

“Bakugou? Uh… Koge, is this like… a prank?” 

Tensing up with teeth clenched in a snarl, Bakugou nearly looked like he was about to throw the phone on the ground, even squatting down slightly in his typical aggressive posture with his other hand held up in agitation. “No-!” 

“N-no, Eijirou, it’s not a prank. Just… something happened, I’m not sure why Bakugou called you--” Koge interrupted, stepping in a bit closer to not only make sure that Kirishima could hear her clearly, but also to keep Bakugou from breaking her phone. 

“Okay, this is really trippy, man. You’re not messing with me?” 

“Just listen to me!” Bakugou barked loudly, startling Koge enough to make her jump. “You know that fucking guy we got a report on yesterday? The bitch that is making people switch bodies?” Koge caught Bakugou’s gaze, though the glare he gave her told her to hold her tongue for a moment. “What’d it say? It wasn’t in my jurisdiction, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.” 

“That’s not very hero-ish of you, man, you should pay attention to all of--” 

“I don’t need a fucking lecture, asshole!” 

“Wow, it’s so weird to hear Koge talk like this! Okay, okay. Yeah, I remember, what about it?” 

“Did they say anything about the quirk? How long it lasts or what to do if you get hit by it?” Seeming comforted by the fact that Kirishima knew what he was talking about, Bakugou’s posture relaxed, standing up straight with his free hand firmly on his hip. Koge had to admit that seeing her body acting out all these familiar reactions was very trippy, especially since she had grown quite desensitized from years and years of being with Bakugou. 

“Oh, wait, did you really get hit with it--?” 

“Are you shitting me right now?!” Bakugou barked, even somehow producing his signature growl using Koge’s meek voice. “Would I be asking if it hadn’t happened?!” 

“Oh, true, I guess. Uh, yeah, they said that it goes away on its own after a few days-” 

“Days?!” 

“Yeah, man. Just lay low for a while. You’re on vacation anyway, aren’t you? No one has to know! I won’t tell.” 

“Don’t fucking talk to anyone about it. Not even Curls, got it?!” As he gave an aggressive point at the phone screen, Koge had to hold back a laugh and keep her snide comments to herself. She couldn’t help a little snort from escaping, however, and Bakugou’s finger moved to her, as did his warning glare that this statement applied to her, too. 

“Haha, don’t worry, Nene won’t hear it from me! Ya need anything else, man? I actually have a villain like… tied up right now-” 

“And you still answered the fucking phone?” 

“Well yeah, why wouldn’t I?” 

Bakugou gave a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, mumbling to himself at the idiocy of his best friend. “Alright. Thanks.” 

“No problem! Later!” 

With the farewell, Bakugou hung up the call, turning his annoyed glare up to Koge, who released a small sigh in relief. “Well, Katsuki, I guess… We should do that?” 

Putting the phone away, Bakugou shook his head, turning his glare out to watch the people passing by. “I fucking hate it. I want to be able to catch that fucker.” How antsy he had become was visible, as if he were hanging on the tips of his toes to run off again and search the entire city himself. That would be a fruitless venture, and if Koge didn’t come up with some way to pull him back, he was going to go trotting around in her body and cause who knows how much trouble. 

“I know, love.” Koge took both of his hands again gently, unable to help the small smile on her lips at how Bakugou’s cheeks flushed at her touch. “But don’t worry. It’ll pass. How about we just continue on with our day?” 

“There’s no fucking way I’m going to a movie and shit like this, Utsuro. Let’s just go home.” How quickly he gave in was quite surprising, his brow furrowing in helplessness. “I feel fucking weird standing out here in a damn skirt, anyway. Couldn’t you have worn hose or leggings? Something besides just these fucking underwear that are all the way up my crack!” 

Koge instantly burst out in a choked laugh, covering her lips with one hand to try and hide her amused smile. “Well, someone told me to wear those earlier while we were getting ready. They look cute, but they’re really uncomfortable.” 

“Then why do you wear them!?” 

“Because they’re your favorite right now. Though I bet that’s gonna change now that you gotta walk all the way home in them.” Koge placed both her hands on his cheeks, pushing white bangs out of the way to press a sweet kiss on his forehead. “Or, if you really want, just slip them off and put them in the purse. No one will know unless the wind blows the skirt up.” 

Growling as his face flushed a dark crimson from the affection, Bakugou gripped onto both of her hands, digging the tips of his fingers between her palms and his cheeks. “Don’t use my body to kiss yours! It’s weird! And no, I’m not going to pussy out and take them off. If you can deal with them for me, then I can take it.” Even though his voice was aggressive, the softness in his gaze as he looked up at her gave away how appreciative he was of her calming and distracting him. 

Ignoring his command, Koge gave him another smooch on the forehead before releasing him, though one of his hands stayed clutched onto hers tightly. “Let’s go home, then. We can just get tipsy off whisky and watch stupid horror movies instead.” 

“I need to get fucking wasted to handle this shit.” Bakugou began to storm out of the ally, tugging her along by the hand, even though he was nearly pulled back just from the sturdiness of his muscular original body. “Fuck, walk, would’ya!?” 

“I am!” Koge kept up with him, though she let out an audible groan only a few steps down the sidewalk, shoving her free hand into her pocket nervously. “I’m going to bump into all these people, I know it. I’m not used to being this huge!” 

“And you think it’s easy for me to be this small?!” Bakugou scoffed, glaring up at Koge out of the corner of his eye. “You’re a shrimp! I feel like anyone could just step on me. I hate it.” 

“Your dick is also super weird feeling,” Koge mumbled barely loud enough for Bakugou to hear. “It jiggles around when I walk, why do you wear such loose pants and boxers?” 

“Maybe because I like the freedom? Be grateful I even wore boxers today, you know I usually don’t with sweatpants.” 

“It’s weird! I feel like I need to walk with my legs spread-” 

“-Don’t, you’ll make me look like a dipshit!” 

“Oh, hm. Then I’m gonna do it, all the way home, and tomorrow there will be reports of the great Ground Zero walking around like he has a stick up his ass.” 

“Utsuro…!” 

…

They returned home within the hour, having bickered most of the way back on how to properly carry each other’s bodies and basic etiquette concerning skirts, which Bakugou failed to follow, as he demonstrated quite well by nearly flashing everyone while not holding the skirt down as a train flew past in the station. Koge was quick to hold it down for him, even if his initial reaction and bark not to touch his ass pulled in more attention than a little cheeky peek would have. 

Otherwise it was a cacophony of “don’t slouch”, “you can’t just reach into your shirt to fix your bra in front of everyone”, “pull up your pants, they’re too far down your ass”, “don’t play pocket pool, everyone can see”, “stop frowning so much, you’ll give my face permanent wrinkles”, and whatever other little thing the couple could find to nitpick. 

By the time they walked through the door to their apartment, Bakugou was beyond agitated, taking off his shoes before storming into the kitchen. “I’m not leaving this damn place until we’re normal again! Not for anything!” 

With a small roll of her eyes at his attitude, Koge took her shoes off as well, leaving them at the entrance. Following her lover, she immediately burst out into laughter at the sight of him trying to reach up to their alcohol stash, which was on a cabinet shelf that she could never reach, not without the help of a chair, a stool, or a strong man. “What’s the matter, Katsuki? A little short, aren't cha?” 

“I fucking swear Utsuro, I will destroy your stupid ass!” 

“So you’ll destroy yourself? Doesn’t sound very productive.” Smirk on her lips, Koge slipped her hands under his arms, grabbing him by the armpits to easily hoist him up. “Up you go!” 

Flailing, Bakugou didn’t even bother to grab the alcohol, snatching the skirt and holding it against his hips as a shocked squeak left his lips. “Hey! You bitch, put me down!” 

Koge sputtered a chuckle, giving a roll of her eyes as she nudged him towards the cabinet. “Oh my god, Katsuki, it’s literally my body, why are you hiding yourself! Get the whisky!” 

“I don’t need your help!” 

“Love, I know better than anyone that you do need my help.” 

“I’m not a fucking child-!” 

“-Just get it and I’ll let you down!”

Huffing in defiance, Bakugou glared up at the bottle of alcohol before snatching it, holding it tightly to his chest before slamming the cabinet door closed. “Put me the fuck down!” 

“But you’re so light! I could just carry you forever. Like my own little pocket Katsuki,” Koge plopped him down onto his feet, putting her hands triumphantly on her hips as she smiled down at him, though all she received in return was a flustered glare. 

“Don’t ever pick me up again.” 

“No?” Smile turning sly, Koge placed both of her hands firmly against the edge of the countertop, arms on either side of his body and trapping him in place. “I promise I won’t do it again. If you give me a kiss.” 

Bakugou’s cheeks flushed all the way to his ears, immediately shaking his head. “No! Utsuro, that’s weird! That’s like kissing myself.” 

“Nuh uh, you’re just kissing me.” 

“You could kiss your own body and not be creeped out?” Glowering up at her, Bakugou popped the cork out of the whisky bottle, holding it tightly by the neck. Koge sighed, letting her head hang for a moment as she met his glare with one of her own. 

“Katsuki. I want you to think of all the other weird shit we’ve done. You shove your fingers and your dick in my mouth during and after fucking me all the time. You eat me out - pussy and ass - and then kiss me. Honestly. You think I’m scared of kissing myself? Also,” Koge shifted her weight to the other foot, smile returning to her lips. “You have no excuses to be grossed out, either. You literally ate me out the other day, even after you had already cum in me. And you let me kiss you after sucking you off and everything else, too. No excuses.” 

Falling silent in contemplation, Bakugou brought the bottle up to his lips, taking a decent swig of the dark liquid. “Why do you always have to have a rational reasoning for everything? I love that about you, but sometimes it pisses me off, ‘cause I can never win!” 

“Soooo?” Koge’s smile grew, eyes growing brighter with her victory. “Kiss?” 

Aggressively snatching onto the front of Koge’s shirt, Bakugou yanked her down, allowing their lips to press together in an awkward and uncoordinated mess. Koge was quick to try and recover it, however, taking hold of his cheeks and using her memory of the way he kissed her to mimic his movement and position. Bakugou wasn’t quite able to do the same, his smaller mouth a bit awkward for him, but neither seemed to mind when Koge pulled away. She nearly burst out into laughter at how incredibly red his face was, giving him one more peck on the lips before pulling away. 

“Don’t be so shy, Katsuki! You have really soft lips, you know, you should enjoy it.” 

“Yeah but your mouth is so fucking tiny, I felt like you were going to eat my face.” 

“Well, we have a few days to practice. Maybe it’ll make us better kissers when we’re normal again.” 

“You’re not getting another kiss, that was it.” 

“I dunno, Katsuki. Who knows what that whisky will make you feel like in my body.” 

…

As the sun set, the couple sat on the couch in their living room, watching whatever movie looked the most absurd. By now, the two of them had finished off the bottle of whisky, with Bakugou being the one to really go at it. Even though Koge had just as much as he had, she wasn’t feeling anything more than a little buzz, her body relaxed and eyes feeling heavy with the weight of alcohol. But, at the other end of the couch from where she sat, Bakugou seemed to be barely holding himself together. 

Koge had warned him, though. She had told him that she was a total lightweight, and getting drunk was incredibly, and almost frighteningly, easy for her. Still, here he was, drinking like he was still in his own body. Pushed right to the edge of no longer being coherent or truly conscious of his actions or surroundings, Koge had taken the whisky away and put it up, leaving Bakugou to pout and whine. She could deal with it, since it was better than having to take care of him while he puked on the floor. Thankfully, they had a lot of snacks, too, so that helped to offset the intoxication just a little bit. 

That didn’t help his attitude, though. Frustrated that she had taken the whisky away from him, he plopped himself on the other end of the couch, a permanent pout on his lips as he watched the television with hazy focus. She had tried to get him to return to cuddles, but he was being stubborn, so in the end, she let him sit alone to pout until he got lonely on his own. 

“This movie is the worst.” Koge mumbled as she plopped some popcorn into her mouth, giving a sigh as she stretched out her legs along the couch, giving a small groan as they crackled and popped at the joints. “Jeez, Katsuki, your body is so sore! What the hell have you been doing that’s different with your workouts?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Bakugou mumbled, ignoring her feet as they rested against his thigh. “Whisky thief.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Koge tossed some popcorn at him, hitting him in the cheek and making him jump. Huffing, Bakugou picked up the piece and threw it back, only to be pelted with at least five more pieces. “Stop, ya salty bitch!” 

“You’re the salty bitch tonight.” Koge tossed another, only for Bakugou to somehow successfully catch it in his mouth despite his incoordination. “Ooh, nice one, babe. Even shitfaced you can still catch popcorn.” 

“I am not shitfaced.” Bakugou began to pick up the pieces of popcorn that had fallen over his body, though one was particularly difficult as it fell between the impressive cleavage he now sported. “Damn you and your big tits!” 

“What?! You love my tits, don’t act like that.” Koge’s attention was pulled back to the television with the sound of a particularly horrific scream, the gruesome death scene doing nothing to perturb her. “Aw, poor thing. Getting chopped up by a meat cleaver.” 

“Oh damn, is that the sexy one?” 

“Nah, it’s her friend. The sexy one is still off with her boyfriend.” 

“The sexy one needs to come back, she looks like you.” Bakugou let out a belch, reaching out to grab the bottle of water Koge had given to him to drink. “I can’t look at you, so I have to look at her instead.” 

Koge gave a small chortle, having to control herself to not burst out laughing as water accidentally dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin, once again landing on his chest and slipping down into his cleavage. “Katsuki, you can look at me. Just look down, you are literally in my body.” 

“It’s not the same… Fuck!” Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he grumbled in annoyance to himself, nearly missing the table while attempting to put the water bottle back in its place. “Why is this table so fucking far away.” 

“It’s not. You drunk.” 

“Fuck off. Ooh damn, there she is. How much she looks like you is fucking crazy. Oh shit, they’re getting frisky.” Bakugou settled back against the couch, intently focused on the TV to his highest capability. 

“Do you love her more than me?” 

“I want to fucking bone the shit out of you, Utsuro, but I can’t, so all I can do is stare at this cunt who looks like you.” 

“So vicious. What if that was me? What if I’ve been a secret actor my whole life?” 

“I said that she looked like you, but that doesn’t mean she’s exactly like you. You’re way fucking hotter than that bitch. Also, her fake moans sound like shit.” Pulling out another piece of popcorn that he had previously forgotten on his lap, Bakugou ate it, effectively ending that conversation as the hated fake moans filled the room. As the sex scene went on, Koge found herself watching for when they would be attacked by the murderer, but there was something that bothered her about it. 

It was so damn long and more realistic than what she was used to seeing in B-rated horror movies. Usually they were quick and to the point before the couple got interrupted or murdered while fucking. But this seemed to be going on forever, and she was about to make a snide comment about it when she noticed something out of her peripheral. 

Bakugou was moving, however miniscule, and how long it had gone unnoticed wasn’t something Koge was sure about. From what she could tell without looking at him directly, he seemed to have his hands up inside the tank top he was wearing, massaging and squeezing his chest. What was more, she could hear his more hitched and deep breathing behind the sounds coming from the TV, truly giving away exactly what he was doing. 

Is he seriously touching my body? He really must be horny. 

Holding her breath so she could hear him better, Koge clutched on tightly to the bowl of popcorn still sitting on her lap, a heat rising into the tips of her ears. Why would he be doing that with her sitting right here? Could he really just not wait, or was this some kind of signal that he didn’t care about the circumstances and wanted to fuck anyway? There was also the possibility that he was so wasted that he just completely forgot that she was even there. 

With a particular loud hitching of his breath, Koge felt an unfamiliar twitch between her legs, becoming quite hyper aware of the pulsing presence pushing up against the bowl. Oooh god, I have a boner! Damn, this is bad! 

Adjusting the way she was sitting so that she could put the bowl down, she tried to sit with her legs in different positions, but in the end, she found that any position didn’t hide her affliction. Faster than she could even prepare herself, the cock she had always adored and craved was hard and pressing up uncomfortably against the sweatpants she wore. It was so sensitive, every little twitch to shifting of the fabric against it making her body tingle and crave for contact. 

She had always wondered what it felt like to have a boner, but now that she did, she could understand why Bakugou got incredibly frustrated and impatient. The urge to fuck that came with it was familiar to her, but damn was it difficult to not just start stroking it. 

“You got a fucking boner, Utsuro?” 

Koge nearly jumped out of her skin at Bakugou’s voice, finally finding the courage to look at him. Leaning back and sunk down a bit with feet placed firmly on the floor, Bakugou was still playing with his breasts beneath the tank, the shape and movement of his hands visible beneath the thin fabric. Although Koge wanted to watch, her gaze was locked with his, the heat in her ears spreading across her cheeks to the tip of her nose. 

“I… So what if I do?” Koge huffed, once again trying to hide her hips with her arms. “I’m not the one touching myself. Look at you, squeezing your - my - tits like a horny teenager who’s never seen them before. Are you even listening?!” 

Bakugou leaned his head back, mouth open in a choked moan and eyes fluttering closed, fingers clearly clamped down tightly around his hard nipples. “Fuck, your tits are so perfect and sensitive. No wonder you scream when I bite them.” 

Koge’s stomach began to bubble with nervous arousal, wishing so desperately to scoot over and join him. “What… made you want to start that?” 

“I don’t fucking know. I think… that even though I’m in your body… It still naturally reacts to things that would turn you on before, on top of my attraction to your body, I just… Fuck, I just needed to feel something!” 

At first, the theory that he proposed seemed reasonable, especially with the way Bakugou’s original body reacted just to hearing the soft and sensual gasps he had been making. Normally, just a sultry little giggle could turn Bakugou on like a furnace and his hands would be latched to her body in seconds. He adored her voice, and she loved his, but it was such a strange sensation to be turned on by her original sounds. Or maybe that wasn’t the case, and this entire theory was just drunken ramblings, his mind trying to come up with anything to rationalize what he was feeling. 

A fire rushed down Koge’s spine as Bakugou pushed the tank up over his chest, letting his breasts fall free before he took hold of them again. In the dim blue glow of the TV, Koge could see that his nipples were puffy and dark pink from the abuse, telling her that he was really going strong. The cock between her legs once again twitched impatiently at the sight, strained against the fabric that concealed it. Unsure of what else to do, she cupped it in her hand, trying to hold it in hopes that the touch would at least help a little. All it did was make the blush on her face grow hotter as she could feel it pulsing, only able to imagine the way it always felt so good being shoved down her throat. 

“How’s it feel, Utsuro? Huh? To have a dick so hard that you feel crazy, with no pussy or mouth to stick it in.” One of Bakugou’s hands left his breasts, slipping down between his legs to rub his sex on the outside of his underwear. A simple stroke to the unfamiliar and sensitive clit had him trembling, biting lazily at his bottom lip. “Fuck… You have such a slutty body. It’s weird to see it like this… To touch you as you.” 

Koge began to palm up and down the length of the cock in her hand, watching him continue to pleasure himself. “You’re the worst, you know that. You go on and on, refusing to even let me kiss you, and now you’re over there touching yourself and saying all that dirty shit.” 

“Fuck off. I don’t need you to get off, I can make your body cum myself and be done with it. You can go jack off in the bathroom or right there, I don’t fucking care.” Being familiar with her body and how to touch her, Bakugou’s hand was quick to slip inside his underwear, fingers immediately starting to plunge in and out of him. Though, Koge was immediately able to recognize the slightly confused furrow of his brow as his fingers defaulted back to his clit. 

Koge couldn’t get off on just her fingers. At this point in her life, having been with him for so long and growing used to either him getting her off or using toys, there wasn’t ever anything she could do using her own hands or fingers to truly get her off. Sure, it felt good, but very rarely and only in times of true desperation could she get herself to cum. And, if it was her body still getting turned on and not necessarily just his own horny thoughts, Koge knew that her stubborn body would want either thick fingers or a fat cock inside her, and nothing else would suffice. 

Knowing this fact could be her chance, Koge shifted herself in just a bit closer, still softly rubbing and teasing her cock through the fabric of her sweats. “What’s wrong, Katsuki? Did you forget a little something about my body? You seem a little surprised.” 

“I said fuck off! I can’t do it with you staring at me like that!” Bakugou’s hazy glare was only set on her face for a moment before it fell to her hips, the already fierce blush growing darker. He wiggled, as if his body had begun to ache for the source of pleasure it craved before he had to forcibly tear his eyes away. “I don’t need your help!” 

“You do, though, Katsuki.” Moving to sit right up beside him on her knees, Koge placed one hand on his bare thigh, feeling the corners of her lips twitch in excitement as his legs spread further open instinctively. “You’ll never be able to get off on just those little fingers. My body needs more… Why don’t you let me show you?” Moving slowly, Koge’s hand began to travel up towards Bakugou's hips, the urges within her only growing stronger by the feeling of such soft skin against rough and calloused palms. So focused on trying to persuade him, she barely noticed her other hand shifting her sweatpants out of the way, setting her cock free. 

Bakugou's eyes were immediately on her hips again, that familiar hint of contemplation in his gaze. “Utsuro, what makes you think I need your help?”

“I know you do. Just look,” It took very little pressure for Koge to slip her hand into Bakugou's underwear, finding no resistance as she replaced his fingers along his soaked cunt. With the first rough roll of her large fingers against his clit, Bakugou’s body immediately reacted just as she expected, giving a light jerk inwards with a moan slipping unrestrained from his lips. Smirk crossing her own, Koge used her memory of what he always did to her, rolling the puffy and sensitive button with hard pressure. “See the difference? See how good it feels…”

Bakugou’s chest began to heave with his breathing, eyes locked on the form of Koge’s hand moving beneath the little lace underwear. “I-it doesn’t feel any different- a-ah, fuck, I said I don’t need you!” One of Bakugou’s legs lifted to unconsciously give Koge more room, his foot slamming firmly onto the table. Taking the hint, Koge slipped her middle and third finger into him, her entire body flushing with a fierce and burning heat at the moan that left his lips. Just watching him come undone so quickly with just the deep and rhythmic movements of her fingers made her want to immediately sink her cock into whatever orifice he’d allow, but she kept control of herself. 

“You do need me, Katsuki. Look at you… Just admit that it’s amazing. That it’s exactly what my body wants. I know what my body wants.” 

Giving a click of his tongue in between his deep breaths and moans, Bakugou took hold of Koge’s cock with the hand he had been using to pleasure himself, using the slick that still coated his fingers and the dripping precum from her tip to start stroking. “I know, too! You couldn’t handle my body on your own, either!” 

Unable to resist the shuddering of her body and the deep groan that left her lips, Koge leaned forward a bit over Bakugou’s body, using her free arm against the back of the couch to hold herself steady. With every tight squeeze against her tip, Koge felt her body become more overwhelmed with the pleasure and desires for more, her hips lightly bucking up into his touch. Although it felt amazing, her eyes wandering his body and head filled with the sounds of his moans only pushed her buttons further. She needed more. This wasn’t going to be enough. 

Though, before Koge could even make another move, Bakugou cursed out loudly, putting both hands onto her chest and pushing her back roughly to force her to down onto her back. “Fuck this! Lay your stupid ass down! I’m going to take care of this, now!” 

“W-what? Wait, Katsuki-!” 

Not even giving Koge a moment to fix her position, Bakugou climbed up on top of her all while stripping off his underwear, straddling her hips. “No more waiting! I swore I wasn’t going to do this shit, but your fucking body is so slutty it can’t survive not having my cock inside it. You damn fucking whore.” Bakugou took hold of Koge’s face roughly, his drunken and horny rage making him very uncoordinated and rough, though Koge wasn’t going to complain, as the feeling of his nails in her skin made her cock ache and twitch impatiently. “You’re a whore, aren’t you? You’re my little cock hungry slut.” 

“Y-yes, Katsuki-” Koge bit down onto her bottom lip as Bakugou sat firmly down onto her hips, her cock squished between her abdomen and Bakugou’s dripping cunt. With a slow rolling of his hips, Bakugou began to grind his clit along her, from the base to the tip. “Fuck-!” 

“What’s that?” A wicked smirk crossed Bakugou’s lips, putting more pressure with each grind of his hips. “What’s wrong, Utsuro?” 

“I-” A hiss left her lips as Bakugou released her face, both of his hands resting against her stomach with nails digging into her skin. In response, Koge gripped onto his hips tightly, wishing so desperately to just shove herself inside him. “Stop teasing!” 

“You say that, but my body fucking loves it, right? Isn’t that what you’ve been going on about? And yours… fuck!” Losing his composure, Bakugou made rough and small movements right against the tip of Koge’s cock, using the ridges along the underside to pleasure himself. “Yours is on fire! This damn… fucking slutty body of yours… Only one way to deal with it-!” 

Finally lifting his hips, Bakugou wasted no time in beginning to lower himself down onto Koge’s cock, but he barely got past the tip before he had to pause. Koge might have had a bit to do with that, as the initial squeezing against her tip and the heat felt as if she might lose control of herself that instant. So, she kept a tight grip on his hips, using her strength to keep him from moving another inch as she let herself grow used to the unfamiliar pleasures. 

“Bitching out already, Utsuro?” 

Breathing heavily, Koge glared up at Bakugou, who’s smug smirk made her immediately quite flustered. “Shut up, Katsuki. You don’t even know what’s about to come.” 

“Don’t be so fucking cocky-” 

Koge didn’t allow him to even catch a breath before she pulled his hips down with a thrust of her own hips upward, bringing his hips down flush against hers to bury her cock completely inside him. All the air knocked out of his lungs, Bakugou barely even got a squeak out, nearly collapsing forward onto Koge’s chest. Eyes wide and mouth agape with shock, Bakugou’s began to tremble, struggling to take in a breath or get out a single word. Koge, however, couldn��t stand waiting a single second longer, the feeling of being so deep inside him already driving her crazy. “A-ah, Katsuki! It’s so hot!” 

“D-don’t, don’t-!” 

Bakugou’s voice was a choked whisper as Koge began to thrust upwards into him, overpowering him to keep control so he couldn’t move away. Although he was being defiant, Bakugou couldn’t stop the moans that spilled from his lips, completely overwhelmed with the pleasure. Koge was the same, the feeling of being squeezed like this with each thrust so blissful that she already felt the urge to cum. But, within a few moments, Bakugou gathered himself, giving a frustrated yell as one of his hands came to rest roughly and firmly on Koge’s face, two of his fingers plunging into her mouth to get her attention. 

“I said don’t!” With the momentary confusion, Bakugou began to take over the pace, bouncing his body. “I said I was going to take care of this! Don’t fuck me unless I say so!” 

“W-what are you saying?” Koge’s ability to speak was inhibited by his fingers, but she was too overcome with wave after wave of pleasure to care. “I am fucking you! Ack, don’t-!” Koge pulled his hand away from her mouth. “Your body has a weak gag reflex! You can’t stick your fingers down my throat right now, I’ll puke!” 

“No shit! I don’t suck cock like you do every day! Fuck, it’s already in there so fucking deep, how can your body want more?!” 

“A-ah, mm- wait! Wait, Katsuki!” Koge felt completely helpless as Bakugou rode her with vigor, bouncing his body rougher and more eager than Koge could ever remember doing herself. He was completely smitten, the pleasure only intoxicating him further until he wasn’t holding himself back. “I-I’m not sure I can hold out! How do you hold it in?!” 

“Shut the fuck up and clench your balls, Utsuro!” 

“That isn’t how it works!” 

“I don’t fucking know, I can’t think! Distract yourself-!” A squeak left his lips as Koge snatched onto the tank he still wore, yanking him down and pulling him into a kiss to do just that. Bakugou was quick to reciprocate, only having to pause his hips for a moment before he began to pick back up the pace, moaning and gasping into the kiss as both of his hands buried into Koge’s hair. His nails in her scalp and how eager he was didn’t help Koge’s condition at all, and just hearing the way his voice hitched in that familiar sign of getting close to his peak made her body tense in frustration. 

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Koge once again began thrusting upwards into him, matching his pace and rhythm. Bakugou’s voice immediately spiked, his head resting into Koge’s shoulder, though he didn’t do anything to stop her. “Utsuro! I said… I-... I said don’t!” 

“Shut up, Katsuki! Just let me do it! It’s obvious you’re enjoying getting fucked by your own cock, so take it!” 

“I’m not! I’m not- it’s your fucking slutty body! It has nothing to do with me! Oh shit, that spot there! There- fuck!” 

“A-ah, Katsuki, don’t squeeze, I can’t-!” 

From that moment on, there was nothing Koge could do to restrain herself. His moans, the slapping of skin and the feeling of his walls constricting around her like a vice pushed her over the edge, a burst of pleasure rocketing from the pressure within her hips. It was unlike anything she was used to feeling, the singular powerful pop of pleasure bringing her body nearly to a complete halt, gasping and groaning into Bakugou’s hair as her hips bucked up hard and deep into him. 

With the last twinge of pleasure, it felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of her body, falling limp as she struggled to catch her breath. “Damn… That’s… Nothing like normal. Not as strong as what I’m used to either but- OUCH!” Koge winced as there was a sudden harsh yank to her hair, peering up at Bakugou through one clenched eye as he sat up, though the dark look on his face immediately made Koge’s stomach churn nervously. “Oh no-” 

“I didn’t cum yet, Utsuro.” Bakugou’s glare was dark, as if he were about to go on a murderous rampage. “You fucking scum.” 

“K-Katsuki, wait, I couldn’t help it!” Koge nervously grabbed onto Bakugou’s sides, unsure of what was about to happen. Of course, she knew exactly how he was feeling, and how badly she probably just edged him would have been unbearable. “I’m sorry! Let me, uh… Just let me get hard again, I can finish you off!” Suddenly, there was a hitch of Bakugou’s breath, his eyes growing teary and face flushing from ear to ear. Now, Bakugou was truly going through the torment of edging and dissatisfaction that Koge had to suffer through on a daily basis because of him and his teasing, and even if he had a strong consciousness, the intoxication and feeling of his new body wasn’t going to let him have all the control. 

“Bullshit! You bitch! I was so close!” 

“Oh what, does it hurt? See what I suffer through, Katsuki?! Maybe now you’ll never edge me again!” 

“Oh, oh no.” Bakugou’s frustration morphed into true malicious intent, his mouth quivering as a smirk stretched across his lips. “You torture me? I’m about to make sure you go through hell until I’m satisfied.” 

“What? You can’t torture your own body, Katsuki-- Ah! Wait, no, don’t sit on my face, I- mmph!” 

“I’m not in my body right now, Utsuro. I’ll do whatever I want to you until you’re fucking begging for me to stop. Now drink up, I’m sure you’re thirsty after that huge fucking load. And look, you are already hard again. No matter what body you’re in, you’re nothing but a slut… and I’m going to treat you like one.”  

Tag: @gallickingun​

[chinateacup]

Commission for @asrasdarling

So thankful to @asrasdarling for being such a lovely customer. This commission was super delayed thanks to covid 19, but it’s all ready now! 3k of fluff with MC and Asra having fun with their friends!

Fandom: The Arcana

Characters: Asra, Nadia, Julian, Portia, Muriel, OC

Pairings: Asra/OC, (briefly implied Nadia/Portia)

No rating required

“Camping trip, camping trip, camping trip!”

Julian groaned, tipping his head back. “Pasha, I am begging you to stop chanting that.”

“Come on, Ilya,” Asra shifted the bag on his back, and nudged him with his elbow. “Maybe she’s worried we’ll forget why we’re here.”

“Yes, thank you very much, Portia,” Jenna smiled. She had a picnic basket in her arms. “That explains all the luggage and tents.”

The fields surrounding Vesuvia were beautiful, of course, and usually, Jenna would jump at the offer of a walk in them. But as she was discovering, in the middle of summer, the yellow grass was glaring, and the heat haze made her eyes hurt. The sun beat down heavily on the group of five, and she wiped her brow, gulping water from the canteen Asra had packed. She’d insisted she wouldn’t need it. Thank goodness he’d ignored her.

Despite the punishing weather, Portia still grinned, swinging her arms as she led the way. “You are welcome for the reminder. Come on, it’s just round the corner.”

“Traitors,” Julian muttered. “Both of you.”

“Are we nearing this little spot of yours, Portia?” Nadia called from the back of the party. “I don’t feel it’s fair to let poor Muriel carry all this much longer.”

Jenna looked over her shoulder, and winced. Muriel’s torso had practically vanished under the sheer number of bags slung around his shoulders, not to mention the ones piled high in his arms. Suddenly her picnic basket felt much lighter.

“I don’t mind,” he said quietly. Jenna believed it; he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Not to worry, milady, because…” Portia ducked under a branch that proceeded to smack Julian in the chest.

“Ouch!”

“Shush you. Let’s see… it should be right around… aha!” She ran forward past a line of trees into a clearing. Jenna followed close behind, tugging Asra after her, and gasped.

Pine trees surrounded them, the shade cool and welcome against her skin. A tiny rock pool babbled on the edge of the clearing, half hidden among a thick cluster of purple wild flowers. The yellowed grass had given way to mossy cobblestone, cracked and slippery, with the odd tiny sprig growing between the slabs.

Asra sighed blissfully, tilting his face towards the sky like a satisfied cat. “This place is beautiful,” Jenna whispered, and he hummed in agreement.

“Ta-da!” Portia gestured with a wide sweep of the arm. “Was it worth the trek?”

“It’s incredible,” Julian blinked at his surroundings and dropped his bags at his feet. “When on Earth did you find it?”

“Oh, y’know,” she shrugged. “I used to come here to blow off steam about… stuff.” She glanced over her brother briefly, smile wavering, before it returned in full force. “…But that’s all solved now, so no reason not to share it! And we’ll get a perfect view of the meteor shower tonight!”

Nadia beamed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for sharing it with us, Portia. We’re very grateful to you.”

Portia shrugged the compliment off, giggling. “Yeah, well, it’s – it’s no big thing,” she protested weakly, though her face had gone very red.

Jenna glanced at Asra. He winked knowingly.

Near the treeline, Muriel had already set up three tents on the cobblestone, tracing a protection rune in chalk in front of each one. An old habit, and one that he didn’t seem to be growing out of any time soon. Jenna set her picnic basket down while the Devoraks struggled to spread out a blanket, squabbling over which of them was twisting it the wrong way.

She exhaled slowly, and left them in favour of the rock pool. The water looked clean and clear, so she rolled up the hem of her pants, and sat on a large rock to soak her tired feet.

Asra sat right beside her, smiling softly. “You okay, Jen?”

“Yeah,” she replied, yawning. “Worn out.”

“It was a long walk,” he agreed, kicking away his boots and dipping his feet as well. His lips parted in a soft sigh, kicking his legs slowly. “This place kinda reminds me of Kitha.”

“Kitha?” Jenna leant her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“I never told you about Kitha?” Asra chuckled, breath tickling her hair. “It must have been years ago now… Such a cute town. I spent a few weeks down there one Summer. It was burning hot and in the middle of nowhere, and so, so gorgeous. So dry they could build their houses out of tightly packed sand, like an igloo.”

“Mm hm.” With her head pressed against him, Jenna could hear how Asra’s voice rumbled soothingly in his chest. His arm had found its way around her waist, thumb stroking her hip in slow circles.

“Anyway, when I told them I was a magician, they got really excited. One of them literally grabbed me by my collar, and dragged me to their mayor’s house. I thought I might choke.” Jenna smiled weakly at the image, half asleep. “When I got there, the mayor begged me to help them with their drought. It hadn’t rained there for years, and there was only one small well for the whole town to share.”

“Hang on,” Jenna opened her eyes. “You’ve told me this one.”

Asra blinked at her. “Have I?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. The owner of the well had made a deal with a demon so no rain would fall in the town, and people would have to pay to take his water, right?”

“Oh. Yes.” He thought for a moment, before brightening. “Okay, but have I told you about when I first visited Prakra?”

“When Nadia’s sister didn’t recognise you and tried to have you arrested for breaking into the palace?”

Asra bit his lip. “…Kamanar?”

“You convinced Muriel to come with you and they mistook him for a minor deity.” Jenna grinned, pressing their foreheads together. “I know all your stories, my love.”

“That can’t be true! I’ve taken so many trips…”

“And you’ve talked my ear off about them all,” she tucked a curl behind his ear, cradling his face in one hand. “As well you should.”

“Right, I have a goal for this camping trip,” Asra placed a hand on his heart, and his other on Jenna’s. “I swear that by tomorrow morning, I will find a story I have never told you.”

“Aw, just what every relaxing vacation needs. A time-based challenge.”

He giggled, cupping her jaw and kissing her softly. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, and he sighed against her lips, pulling her into his lap. The kiss broke, and Jenna looked down at Asra, flushed and staring up at her with an expression of wonder.

“Excuse me?” Nadia’s voice broke them from their trance. The group was already halfway through their picnic, sat around a blanket that (despite all odds) had been spread out quite nicely. She gave them a wry smile. “I hate to interrupt a tender moment, but you should know that I can only protect your share of the cookies for so long.”

“Ooh, tasty.” Asra stood, not even a little embarrassed, and tugged Jenna over by the hand. They sat crossed-legged on the blanket, and he stuck a pastry under Muriel’s nose. He went slightly cross-eyed trying to look at it. “Muri, please eat the tarts. We packed them for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but took it anyway. “Thanks.”

Asra grinned, holding one up to Jenna’s face as well. She smiled, tucking her hair out of the way before taking a bite. “Thank you,” she said around the mouthful.

“You’re welcome,” he winked. “So, Jenna and I were talking, and she seems to think I’ve told her all of my stories.”

“Well, that can’t be true,” Julian poured boiling water over a tea bag, bobbing it up and down by the string, “because I happen to know hundreds of Asra stories. Jenna, have you heard the one where the two of us broke into the palace’s wine cellar in the dead of the night –”

“The Count brought a party in there, and you hid in a barrel for three hours before climbing out of the window with half a dozen bottles stuffed down your pants.” Jenna quirked a brow, smirking. “That all you got, Doc?”

“Oh, she’s good.”

Asra groaned, burying his face in his hands. Nadia leaned over to pat his shoulder. “Come now, don’t look like that. I think it’s rather sweet you know one another so well.”

“Yeah, milady’s right,” Portia took a look sip from what looked like a cup of lemonade. “I mean, that’s what everyone wants in a relationship, isn’t it? Someone who knows all your stories.”

“I will find a new story,” Asra straightened, voice determined. “Mark my words, I will find Jenna a story.”

“Alright, what now?”

“You twist it.”

“I can’t twist it.”

“Twist it.”

“It’s already twisted!” Julian huffed, holding a very wilted bunch of purple wildflowers. “I’m not very good at this.” Muriel snorted in response.

Jenna bit her lip, trying to fold and twist the stems into a crown like he’d showed them. Asra looked down at her lap. “You’ve… almost got it.”

She pouted. “I really don’t.”

He smiled, placing his own creation on her head. The flowers were a little loose, but they held in place nicely. “This is a good colour on you.”

Jenna smiled gently, before breathing a sigh. “Okay, tell me why.”

Asra blinked. “Why what?”

“Why is it so important I haven’t heard all your stories?” Jenna dropped her crown in her lap. “Portia’s right. Isn’t it a good thing that we know each other so well?”

He shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t know. You deserve a good story.”

“And you have given me more than enough. What is it? Are you sad about losing your ‘wandering magician’ reputation since we settled down?”

“Don’t be silly,” Asra chuckled, guiding her hands to help weave the flower stems together. “I happen to like my ‘always doting on his apprentice magician’ title much more. Though let’s be honest, at this point you could be my teacher.”

Jenna snorted, despite the blush she felt creeping up her face. “You should be so lucky.”

“Yeah, I should,” he grinned shamelessly, but his eyes were still distant. “Look, I just think that… if you know all my stories, and I definitely know all of yours, then where does that leave us?”

She frowned, distantly registering Portia celebrating her finished wreath. “What do you mean?”

Asra shrugged helplessly, not quite meeting her gaze and fumbling with the petals of a flower. “We’re finally done getting to know each other.”

If his voice hadn’t been so earnest, Jenna probably would have burst out laughing. She smiled widely instead, restraining herself. “Asra, I’ve known you for years. We’ve been partners for years! I’d like to think I know you pretty damn well!”

“But what happens now?” He asked, scratching his head. “With us, I mean. Now that we know each other.”

“We keep getting to know each other,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “People don’t stop growing, and they don’t stop changing, no matter how well you know them. Look at Muriel. You thought you knew him inside and out; doesn’t he still find ways to surprise you?”

“Surprise me?” Asra laughed. “A year ago if you’d told me he’d come on a trip like this, I’d have had a heart attack.”

“Oof, that would’ve been bad for us,” Jenna winced, clutching at her chest with one hand. He swatted it away, giggling.

“Hey, speaking of!” Asra beamed at Muriel as he trundled over to them. “A surprise.”

Jenna snickered, and Muriel looked between them, confused, before clearly deciding it wasn’t worth dwelling on. “Do you need any help?”

“Not at all,” she smiled, holding up her very loose, very messy, not at all connected flower crown. Well, it was more of a chain really.

He looked it over with a very serious expression, chewing his lip thoughtfully. A few flowers fell away. Asra giggled.

“It’s, um…” Muriel took a moment to find the right words. “It’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Jenna nodded. “It’s great.”

“It’s perfect,” Asra agreed vigorously. “We should have it pressed and framed. Hang it behind the counter.”

“Please don’t do that,” Nadia called over. She was wearing her own finished crown. Of course it was lovely. “I don’t mean any offense, really, but I must say it out of concern for your business.”

“Aw, don’t feel bad, Jen!” Portia plopped herself down next her, and perched her grass wreath on Muriel’s head. He blushed, mumbling his thanks. “Ilya made some art as well. I call it ‘Very Dead Flowers.’”

Asra smirked. “I’d call it something else.”

Julian pouted, cradling two wilted stems in his hands that could have been flowers once. It was hard to tell. “I really did try my best!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Poor flowers never saw it coming,” Jenna said solemnly.

“Oh, leave him be,” Nadia tutted, removing her own wreath and placing it gently on his head. “There. Now no one will ever know.”

Julian flushed beet red, barely stammering his way through a thank you before Portia groaned loudly. “Yeah, yeah, real cute of you. Who has the best crown though?”

“Yeah, Muriel,” Asra backed her up, nudging his friend on the arm. “Who’s the winner?”

He blinked. “Was… this a contest?”

“It is now, apparently.” Jenna motioned with her hand. “So who won?”

“I, um…” Muriel shrugged half-heartedly. “Nadia won.”

“Ah, I think you’re confused,” Nadia said smoothly, shaking her head. “I was not taking part in the competition. I do, however, feel that Julian’s crown is particularly lovely.”

Julian blinked. “Wait, what?”

“No, you can’t do that!” Portia puffed out her cheeks, huffing. “That’s cheating! He couldn’t even make a start!”

“Well that makes no sense,” Nadia tilted her head, smiling playfully. “If he couldn’t make a start, where did the crown come from?”

“You gave it to him!”

“Nah, Nadi’s right,” Asra winked at Jenna. “Congrats, Ilya.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” she nodded quickly. “Good job.”

“Cheats!” Portia pointed between Nadia and her brother accusingly. “Dirty cheats, the lot of you!”

“Thank you very much,” Julian grinned smugly at Muriel, tipping the crown like a hat. “I will wear this victory like a badge of honour.”

Muriel didn’t return the smile. “You didn’t win.”

“Shush now.”

“Nadia did.”

“I won.”

Asra leaned over to whisper in Jenna’s ear. “We both know who really won, right?”

“Of course we do,” she replied. “I did.”

“Obviously.”

“Is everybody comfortable?” Nadia lay back beside Portia, head resting against a plush cushion. The sun had long set, but it still wasn’t dark. The summer sky was lit up with stars, scattered like gems across dark blue velvet. It made Jenna grateful they’d hiked all the way out to the fields; in Vesuvia, the stars had fallen to earth and arranged themselves neatly on a circular grid. Not that she didn’t like the brightness and bustle of the city, but it wasn’t exactly the best place to view a meteor shower.

Asra was laid on his back, legs stretched out, hands folded on his belly. Jenna lay beside him and linked their arms together just as a comet started to trail across the sky.

Portia made a squeak of excitement. “There’s the first one! Quick, make a wish!”

“Two steps ahead of you, Pasha,” Julian bumped his shoulder against Muriel’s. “What did you wish for, big guy?”

Muriel’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say.”

“Oho, keeping secrets are we?” Julian crooked a brow, pouting slightly. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

Jenna chuckled. “No, Julian, you can’t tell someone what you wished for. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

He went quiet. “Ah, right. Of course not.”

Asra rolled his eyes, smirking, and Jenna leaned her chin against his shoulder. “You’re not still upset about your epic tales of misadventure?”

He crossed one leg over his knee so his foot swung in mid-air. “You know what’s wrong with the stories I’ve been telling all these years?”

“How often you tell them?”

Asra snorted, pulling her close with an arm around her waist. “No, the fact that you’re… not in them. They were from a different time in my life. When you weren’t around. Jen, when I lost you, I…” His voice wavered, and he paused, swallowing thickly.

Jenna cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his mouth, feeling him sigh against her lips and relax in her arms. “…Things are different now,” she whispered when they parted. “Different for both of us. I want to make new stories now, happier ones. With you.”

Asra searched her eyes for a moment, before beaming, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “I love you so much.”

Jenna smiled. “I love you too.”

“Is everybody watching us right now?”

“They absolutely are.”

“I was not,” Nadia said smoothly. “However I think one of the Devoraks may be crying.”

Asra laughed. “I bet I can guess which one.”

Portia cackled while Julian spluttered helplessly. “Sh-shut up, you three,” he cleared his throat, pounding a fist against his chest. “Just watch the stars, will you?”

Jenna hummed, resting her head against Asra’s chest just as another meteor left a pale stripe above them. “Hey, there’s another one. Make a wish.”

Asra tucked her head under his chin. “Would it be cheesy if I said I’ve already got mine?”

“Massively,” Jenna mumbled, already half asleep. “But I’m glad that you said it anyways.”

[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24​ is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page. 

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,566! 

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST

NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!! >> ! << 

Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme. 

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been. 

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. 

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case. 

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri. 

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her. 

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account. 

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems. 

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians. 

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him. 

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes. 

Their children are equally unattractive. 

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet. 

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children. 

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward. 

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.” 

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out. 

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls. 

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green. 

The makeup can’t be a popular trend. 

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga. 

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it. 

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short. 

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri. 

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked. 

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief. 

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core. 

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital. 

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact. 

 Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy. 

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun. 

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here. 

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in. 

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father. 

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner. 

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier. 

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them. 

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself. 

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.” 

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach. 

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed. 

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently. 

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint. 

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles. 

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair. 

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!” 

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off. 

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love. 

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents. 

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins. 

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers. 

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin. 

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare.  “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away. 

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day. 

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first. 

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty. 

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off. 

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock  while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand. 

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness. 

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags. 

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?” 

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second. 

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction. 

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees. 

“Emelea,”a voice booms. 

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down. 

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another. 

Emelea broke it off with a nod. 

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see. 

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster. 

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade. 

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.” 

What the fuck? Din thinks. 

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?” 

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him. 

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king. 

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain. 

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge. 

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain. 

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead. 

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried. 

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse. 

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace. 

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members. 

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike. 

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name. 

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass. 

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before. 

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you. 

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again. 

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom. 

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough. 

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice. 

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship. 

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit. 

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed. 

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you. 

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain. 

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened. 

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own. 

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle. 

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind. 

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles. 

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship. 

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety. 

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe. 

You stay hidden until your legs hurt. 

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat. 

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone. 

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior. 

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet. 

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings. 

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you. 

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way. 

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door. 

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them? 

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete. 

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger. 

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy. 

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you. 

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you. 

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. 

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find. 

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you. 

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired. 

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed. 

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands. 

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy. 

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance. 

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way. 

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means. 

"Bathe," Din corrects himself. 

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety. 

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward. 

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm. 

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint. 

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water. 

It's amazing. 

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again. 

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself. 

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying. 

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes. 

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth. 

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you. 

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you. 

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm. 

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs. 

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror. 

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with. 

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out. 

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name. 

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit. 

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included. 

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur. 

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking. 

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind. 

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter. 

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?" 

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary. 

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as  pressing as what’s happening tomorrow. 

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer. 

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question. 

“I’ll be here if you need me.” 

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket. 

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed. 

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him. 

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes. 

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type. 

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old. 

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short. 

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit. 

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute. 

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick. 

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet. 

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would. 

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing. 

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in. 

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else? 

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest. 

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?” 

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs? 

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been. 

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair. 

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent. 

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked. 

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked. 

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night. 

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you. 

You have never been cared for. 

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him. 

>> next chapter! 

[miss-spooky-eyes]

OC Inspirations: Devinahl & Indy

I was (delightfully) tagged by @vespertine-legacy​ a while ago and I’ve hesitated to do this because I knew I was going to talk WAY too much - but it was weighing on me, so I decided to open up about the sources from which I stole, that is, drew inspiration for Devinahl and Indirae.

What three fictional characters is your OC a combination of?  

This doesn’t apply to every OC - not even mine - but its certainly true for a few : Many of our characters are, to an extent, inspired by characters we see in movies, books, games, TV shows, etc.

Does this apply to any of your OCs? Was it a conscious decision on your part or not? Is your OC a combination of three (or more) fictional characters?

If so - post some GIFs / pics and tell us about them! What does your OC draw from other characters?

Too much Devinahl & Indy chat after the cut.

DEVINAHL

The truth is that when I came to creating my Imperial Agent Devinahl, and in particular fleshing out her backstory in far, far too much detail, there were some sources that I went to extremely explicitly and deliberately. And chief among them was ...

1. Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

That’s right. Garak from Deep Space Nine. Plain, simple Garak. Outcast. Exile. Spy. Addict. Perennial liar. Patriot. Terrorist. Would-be genocider. Very good tailor.

(If you haven’t seen DS9, then you need to. It’s like Star Trek, but if it was actually good? And Garak is a big part of what elevates it.) 

Is it weird to compare my ancient video game Barbie/gorgeous sex bomb badass assassin and seductress to a cold-blooded space lizard who spends his days hemming pants? Possibly. But there are aspects of Garak’s character that, consciously and unconsciously, I made parts of Devinahl’s DNA. 

Firstly, Garak is a patriot. He loves Cardassia so much that despite seeing its flaws with absolute clarity, despite having been exiled and reviled by it, he would die without question to serve it (of course, he’d much rather make someone else die). And while seeing that as a weakness, despite knowing that the Cardassia he has committed to serving is disappearing before his eyes, there is still a part of him that believes that that commitment - that neverending sacrifice - is noble. The only noble part of him. That’s central to Devinahl’s character (which is, in turn, the way I made sense of the IA storyline). That while hating and despising the Sith, she would nevertheless believe in the Empire - not so much believe that it is good (at best, I think she sees it as order and stability where the Republic is corruption and chaos) as believe that her commitment to it is the only redeeming thing available to her.

Secondly, the way that Garak will take his needs, vulnerabilities, sincere emotions and package them in ways which gets him what he has to have to keep going, without ever giving up full control? Particularly in the extraordinary episode The Wire, in which a dying Garak tells Dr Bashir a series of lies about himself in order to elicit Bashir’s forgiveness, because he needs to be sincerely forgiven but without ever telling the truth?

Out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren’t? My dear doctor, they’re all true. Even the lies?

That is everything I tried to do with Dev, particularly in my fic about her and SCORPIO, particularly when it comes to her and Arcann. To know what she needs, as Garak needs absolution from Bashir, and tell just enough truth - put herself into just vulnerable enough a position - to get it, but never without reserving something, holding something back, whether it’s the knowledge that she can maneouvre herself out of SCORPIO’s clutches at any time or her real name? That’s a fucking survivor.

Thirdly, the relationship between Devinahl and Sifter (the spymaster who finds her as a traumatised child and grooms her for Intelligence) and specifically, the deathbed scene I wrote in Riddle was directly inspired by Garak’s relationship with Enabran Tain and that death scene. 

Yes, Devinahl was not Sifter’s actual daughter, but in every real sense she was formed by Sifter - and had Sifter had just one day with Dev like Tain had with Garak, Dev would have been lost. She would have turned herself into a carbon copy of Sifter, and she would have died. But the bittersweetness? The acknowledgement that the parental figure you love will never, not even now that they’re dying, love you as you want them to?

‘I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can't afford.’ ‘So you've told me. Many times. ...’ ‘Elim, remember that day…in the country. You must've been almost five.’ ‘How can I forget it? It was the only day.’

(The love and infinite sadness with which Andrew Robinson says that line, ‘It was the only day’? I’m crying just thinking about it. Anyway, it was everything I was thinking about and wanted to achieve in that scene.)

Oh ... and Devinahl’s ambiguous relationship with her implants? Well, Garak also has an implant in his head. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

2. Oryx from Oryx & Crake by Margaret Atwood

A novel character rather than from TV or movies, I hope that’s OK. And I know that there are ... very problematic elements to the way Atwood writes about Oryx, her family, her culture, her background. But she was one of the strongest elements that went into creating Devinahl and her backstory.

There were specific aspects of the story Oryx tells to Jimmie - particularly the parts about being told to scream and make a fuss if a man tries to take you away to a hotel room, and then being told not to make a fuss when a man tries to take you away to a hotel room - that became part of Dev’s story. But there was also a general attitude and way of looking at life I wanted to capture and incorporate. Oryx’s philosophy of value?

Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was good to have a money value, because then at least those who wanted to make a profit from you would make sure you were fed enough and not damaged too much. Also there were many who had neither love nor a money value, and having one of these things was better than having nothing.

I wanted to create a character who could look at life and suffering and abuse, even her own, and view it in that dispassionate way which horrifies someone from my middle-class Western background - and then I wanted to test that idea, to bring it up against SCORPIO and have SCORPIO try to break it down with torture, to see if it was just a cool facade/necessary illusion. I wimped out of really testing that belief, instead having Dev always know that she could get out of her situation/having her find a way to be loved without truly having to sacrifice her protective patterns ... but if I was a little braver and better, I’d have tested it to breaking point. How far can a character go who thinks like that while still remaining, on some level, compassionate/human/likeable?

3. Saffron (Firefly)

I could have gone Black Widow (definitely the inspiration for Dev’s aesthetic in terms of outfit etc). But the plain truth is that I thought more about Saffron while dreaming up Devinahl/writing her backstory than I did about Black Widow (yes, Widow turned her weakness into strength in a manipulative fashion all the time, but Garak did it better, and other than that she mainly looked after boys in a way that I did not want Dev to be limited to). 

Firefly, for a show that had - what - 13 episodes? - exercises far too much of a hold on my imagination and Saffron, especially in the first episode in which she appeared, was such a tremendous character. The way that she found exactly the triggers to turn each member of the crew inside out? (And if she’d had more time, it absolutely would have worked on Wash and Inara, too - it only didn’t because she had to hurry.) Dev has that. I can’t write it, because I suck, but she has it. 

Oh, and nobody will ever know Devinahl’s real name (apart from you, if you read my fic about her backstory) and she’d die before letting you know it. That’s straight from Saffron. As is, I suppose, the man who would accept her just as she is without needing to push to know her secrets, except it worked out a little better for Dev and Arcann than it did for Yolanda and Durran Haymer because Dev and Arcann will always have pegging.

INDIRAE

(This will be a lot shorter than the section on Devinahl, I promise.)

1. Steve Rogers, Captain America (and whatever else)

I have never been super into the MCU, but the key reference I used to find a way into Indy’s character, back when she was nothing more than a cool-looking Cathar Bounty Hunter, was Steve Rogers. (November can attest to this)

Indy’s physical size - she’s six foot if she’s an inch, and big - is key to her personality, but equally key is the idea that she would always experience that size as uncomfortable and slightly alien to her. Like Steve Rogers, she started out as the scrawny kid always getting beat up by everybody ... And when she got her strength (with a hefty assist from the toxic waste run-off into what was her family’s only source of water) and suddenly got TALL and STRONG? She did not like bullies - which was what led her to help Coda out of a jam at the spacesport and started them on their road.

(If there’s a better way to play the BH storyline than as a stone-cold mercenary with an utterly unwilling heart of gold ... then I don’t know about it.)

2. Xena, Xena Warrior Princess

I’ll be completely fucking straight with anybody about this (so to speak): I love Xena, I had an obsession with it as a teenager I’m still unpacking, and the show tends to feed into my characters in an ... odd way.

Indy is physically imposing like Xena, is the main thing; and her dynamic with Coda owes a lot to Xena’s with Gabrielle (although Coda is as big and tough as Indy, she is the fast talker/smooth operator to Indy’s laconic strongman). I wanted Indy to dominate action scenes the way that Xena does, be that kind of a force of nature; and watch her struggle to find ways to channel that charisma, to need Coda’s help to understand how to do it.

3. Dottie Henson, A League of Their Own

OK, first of all, I do not want to hear any kind of mockery. This is, unironically, one of my favourite films of all time.

Again, we come back to the core theme of a character struggling with her own greatness/potential. That’s what is the most fascinating through-line of A League of Their Own: Dottie, this unbelievable baseball player/physical presence (yes, she’s very tall, just like Indy) who is so terrified to admit that she wants anything more than her smalltown life and dreadful husband, even while the evidence of her talent and passion for the game is burning up these ... fields? Diamonds? I don’t know baseball apart from this film.

Indy certainly hides behind not wanting to be a bounty hunter. She doesn’t believe in any Mandalorian nonsense about romanticising what is an unglamorous job. She’s just doing it for credits and afterwards, once she’s secured her family’s future, she’s totally going to go home and settle down in some acceptable, domestic way. Being on the Mantis with Coda, it’s absolutely just a means to an end. She doesn’t want to be there, she doesn’t care about it, it’s not who she is, she doesn’t need it. This life, the adventure, the freedom, the fighting for survival, it’s certainly not what gets inside her and what lights her up, no, not at all. 

Oh, and Dottie is also a reluctant leader. She doesn’t see why her talent should put her in the position of telling other people what to do - but then, on the other hand, she sees so clearly what they need to be doing, and when she says to do it, they listen. She doesn’t want to carry this team, but they’re only a team so long as she carries them.

(Don’t worry, Coda’s not going to let her lie to herself for too long.)

[tara-the-medium]

THREE SONGS FOR MY CHARRIES!

Because lets be real I’m never on here and they need love... this whole tumblr needs love. Thank you for the tag, @playingwithroles !! Got some major creative juices flowing from doing this..

Tara: 1. “Learn to Fly” - The Foo Fighters 2. “Waiting for Superman” - Daughtry  3. “Inner Demons” - Julia Brennan (Marchin’ On - OneRepublic)

Norah: 1. “Yellow Flicker Beat” - Lorde  2. “Love You Like That” - Dagny   3. “Won’t Back Down” - Eminem ft. P!nk

Trek: 1. “Warriors” - Imagine Dragons 2. “Bad Liar” - Imagine Dragons 3. “Machine” - Imagine Dragons (Hustler- Zayde Wolf) (Apparently Trek is just an imaginary dragon)

Mori: 1. “Hideaway” - Dan Owens  2. “I’m Still Here” - John Rzeznik 3. “Monster” - Beth Crowley

Nieve: 1. “Hey Brother” - Avicii 2. “Woman” - Kesha 3. “Oh My My” - Ruelle

Atticus: 

1. “I Bet My Life” - Imagine Dragons 2. “Arabella” - Arctic Monkeys 3. “Wildest Ones” - Znyde Wolf

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (10)

Chapter 10: Unread Pages of an Open Book | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also tagging @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms​ @berenilion​ @stellar-trinity​ @queen-destenie​ @sweeetteaa​ @calgasm​ @justtinfoley​ @peterwandaparker​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @calsponchoemporium ​ @cal-jestis ​ @superwarsofthrones ​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Part 9 | Next: Part 11 | Masterlist

10 of ?

Jidné checks her homing beacon, the blue light’s brightness weakened and the beating slowed down, signaling the Mantis’s departure from Ombari. She’s climbed up to the mesas of the badlands, situating herself at a vantage point, a silhouette of a ship flying away from the planet caught the corner of her eye.

“May the Force be with you,” she uttered, supposedly for Cal, but the humid wind carried her words into its nothingness.

Cal surely made true to his promise. In a newfound sense of adrenaline and determination, he skimmed through the temple in Ilum, easily cutting through the enemies lurking there until he could find a second kyber crystal for the waterproofing modification. Despite his child-like excitement, he kept in mind to be patient for the call of the kyber.

“Beee, chirp trill!” BD-1 initiated as Cal had found his way into another part of the cave that he’d not been in last time.

“Jidné? What do I think of her?”

The little droid perched on the boy’s shoulder sang a string of whistles and beeps, conveying his own thoughts on the girl—Cal roughly translated it to somewhere along the lines of “I really like her! Kind of her to help us out!”

“Yeah, buddy, I like her too,” the redheaded Jedi concurred, as he punched a wall of ice with his climbing claws.

By the time Cal had arrived to Ombari, it was already afternoon and the sun blazed its strongest at that hour—compared to the morning blizzard that welcomed him back in Ilum. Jidné was alerted of his arrival when the homing beacon returned to its usual constant state—the light grew bright and the rhythmic beeping became livelier again.

“Cal,” Jidné uttered while staring at the blue glowing circle sitting on the palm of her hand.

Meanwhile, back in the Mantis, Cere—as well as the rest of the crew—had been noticing Cal’s new eagerness of things. In a Jedi’s perspective, she wasn’t surprised to learn that Cal wanted to have his saber modified into a waterproof design, though it intrigued her on where he was getting such ideas. The better question being: who gave him these ideas?

Cere watched the boy frisk his entire person to see if he still had his handy tools on him, Cal barely paid attention or responded to anything the older woman has to say—not out of rudeness, but simply out of haste.

“Cal, a word, please?”

That request seemed to have paused Cal from checking himself for the third time in a row.

“Something up?”

“It looks like Ombari has a lot to offer you,”

Cal scoffed, slightly puzzled, “Heh. Erm… I guess? I mean, it’s a quaint town—nice locals, good food, Greez might like the marketplace for a change.”

Cere gave up with the subtexts and went straight to her point.

“You seem like you found someone interesting,” she implied.

“Yeah, I suppose I did,”

The woman bobbed her head to the side, prompting Cal to elaborate on his new acquaintance. Cal told Cere—along with Greez and Merrin—about Jidné. He introduced her to them verbally as a fellow Jedi, he narrated their first meeting in the jungle when he helped her out with the pack of Bashiji cats, followed by the hot pursuit of the bounty hunters—he added her Force ability as well, which piqued Cere’s interest in the same fashion as Cordova would—and their skirmish with another pair of Haxion Brood bounty hunters earlier this morning.

When asked on who her mentor was, Cal couldn’t answer. Instead, he reasoned that he hasn’t exactly brought up that topic yet as it might make Jidné uncomfortable.

“Well, you’ll get to meet her soon… I hope,”

However, Cere’s next query would pause him from what he’s doing and stop him in his tracks.

“Do you trust her?”

There was a split second’s worth of silence from Cal’s end. His eyes shifted from Cere to the floor, panning the interior of the Mantis for the right words.

“Of course, I do,”

“Off to meet her, I see?”

“Yeah, she promised to help me modify this,” he waved his saber hilt in his hand as he headed out.

Cere watched the redheaded boy leave the ship and disappear into the forest. Merrin approached and stood by the woman’s side, watching the now-empty view of the forest where they’re landed in.

“Do you think that girl can sense his… fondness of her?”

The former Jedi chuckled with her arms crossed, “If there’s one thing Cal is bad at: it’s hiding his emotions and being so… direct. Alright, now make that two things.”

“I strongly agree,” the Nightsister parroted Cere’s posture, now both ladies watch the silhouette of the smitten boy shrink into the distance.

Cal made his way to the badlands, even if he and Jidné didn’t exactly agree where they’d meet once he comes back, he simply followed his instincts—which were strongly sure that she’d be around there. He pulled up the hood of his beige poncho, protecting himself as he trekked under the blaze of high noon.

The boy and his droid stood underneath a withering tree whose branches were thick enough to cast a shadow to shield them from the heat. BD-1 gave Cal a lead by scanning a sampling of the plant Jidné traded to the vendor.

“Chirp, trill. Bee!”

“Puffreeds,” Cal translates. “This is what Jidné had in her hands earlier.”

Following the river had brought him to the other side of the lake—away from the island where he and Jidné fought off the Haxion Brood hunters—and searched for puffreeds.

From Cal’s back, Jidné appears out of nowhere. She quietly comes into Cal’s vicinity and watched him survey the area as if searching for someone. She cleared her throat to get his attention and he spun around a bit too strongly that he lost his left foot’s balance when he faced Jidné, the little blunder drew out a giggle from the girl.

“Hello there,” she greeted casually.

“I figured I’d find you here,” Cal straightened himself up and tugged the hem of his shirt that crumpled underneath his armor in front of the girl.

“Did you now?” cooed an amused Jidné.

“Of course,” he cleared his throat. “I got the kyber crystal. I didn’t wanna make you wait.”

“I’ve told you that I don’t mind waiting. But,” she sighed, then flopped her arms to her sides. “I kept my promise: I waited.”

A smile curled along Cal’s lips, he fished out the new kyber crystal from his pocket as he approached Jidné; he cupped her hands and let her cradle the kyber in the palm of her hand. It fits perfectly at the center of her palm, she slightly angled her hand to let it roll up and down.

“Just the perfect size. You ready to fix this in?” she beamed as she continued to study the clear, flawless crystal.

“I was hoping that you don’t mind if we do it in our ship,” Cal gazed at her fondly, almost as if he’s pleading her to come with this time.

Jidné found the allure of Cal’s eyes, only to realize that he was standing a little bit too close; she bit her lip, her genuine smile was quickly replaced with an anxious one as she contemplated on her response.

“Sure, why not?”

Why did I say that!? She scolded herself in her mind.

“Great! Come on!”

Cal snatched her hand, she had returned the tiny crystal to him before letting him drag her towards the direction of the Mantis. They jogged across the badlands, they kept running even though they’re both out of breath. With her free hand, Jidné concealed her homing beacon into the back of her belt—the beeping pace become more rapid, she hoped that it wasn’t loud enough to reach Cal’s earshot.

The silver fin that she first spotted only through her binoculars grew in size as they got closer. The trees that blocked her view once now revealed it before her behind their wide trunks. The exit ramp unfurled when its motion sensors picked up Cal’s presence and he invited her into the ship. Cal found the three gathered around the dining table.

“Jidné, this is everyone—Cere, Merrin, and Greez! Everyone, this is Jidné,”

During his introduction, the three of them moved away from the table and gravitated towards the girl—who shyly raised her hand and weakly waved at them.

Her voice was almost a whisper, “Hi.”

Greez pointed at the girl, “What’s that? That’s a probe droid behind her! You brought an Imp?!”

Jidné—and ID-3—were startled by the Lateron’s exclamation that she didn’t act fast enough to explain.

“That is ID-3, he’s reprogrammed and he’s with her,” Cal explained.

“Ugh!” Greez clutched his chest with his two right hands. “For a second there, I thought you blatantly brought the enemy to us!”

“Don’t worry, I trained ID-3 not to alert the Imperials until I say so,” Jidné joked. “Don’t you, ID-3?”

The hovering droid beeped, playing along with his owner, of course. When the girl and her droid saw the Lateron’s next reaction, she quickly followed up that she was kidding—reassuring the gray creature that ID-3 is completely out of Imperial commission, thus sparing him from a cardiac arrest.

Cere’s eyes examined the girl from head to toe, she smirked in a teasing manner as she rolled her eyes to the side—to Cal.

“So, you must be the girl that Cal keeps talking about,” the older woman blurted.

Jidné turned her head to Cal for confirmation, his beaming grin subsequently reduced into just a display of his clenched teeth. His initial reaction warranted a single, small chuckle from Jidné, not even Merrin covering her mouth with her hand spared her from releasing a nasal chuckle.

“Right, well, if you’ll excuse us: we have some modifications to do,” Cal stood behind Jidné, clasped his hands over her shoulders, and then shepherded her into the engine room until Cere stopped them in their tracks.

“What modifications?”

“Waterproofing a lightsaber,” Jidné directly answered on both of their behalf.

Cere’s smile melted as well, that sentence was enough a stimuli to bring memories of her prime into mind.

The mood went from jolly to somber. The three of them were reminded of that day; however, Cere was particularly interested with the girl’s knowledge of the lightsaber modification.

“W-Where…? How did you—?”

“My master,” Jidné politely cuts in her reply. “She taught me how. Though, I know she learned it from another Jedi—at least, through his Holocron.”

“Master Fisto,” the woman uttered out of memory’s impulse, her head hung low and scanned the floor. Shortly after, she faced the girl again. “Who was your master?”

Jidné took a deep breath, it’s been a while since she uttered her late master’s name. She puffed out her chest, it was her way of honoring her master, even at the mere mention of her name.

“Her name is Nomara Anesh,” her expression stiffened at the sight of Cere gasping as a reaction. “Do you know her?”

“Yes,” Cere breathed. “She was a Seeker, too. Like me.”

A silence loomed around the ship that only the hum of the air through the ventilation shafts spoke.

“I’m sorry,” there was a heaviness in Cere’s delivery of that very small phrase, though those words carried a great burden for everyone who’s experienced what they have experienced.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. None of us kind of knew what was coming,” Jidné somberly replied.

“Then perhaps that was our fault,”

“Perhaps…”

Cal spared Jidné from further gloom, he kept his hands on her shoulders and gently escorted her into the engine room until he’s shown her the workbench.

“Jidné, are you alright?”

She sniffled, “Yeah, I’m okay. They seem nice.”

“They like you alright,”

The two youngsters traded glances and awkward chuckles, which seemed to be a constant in their interactions—as well as the bashful smiles that they miserably fail to hide from one another just by looking the other way. Jidné began her instruction; she went out of her way to open the hilt of her saber until Cal is shown of the cross-section to see what goes where.

“Now since you got a dual saber, we’re gonna have to halve the crystal,”

“So that’s why you said it was the perfect size,”

Using the Force, Cal carefully meditates on the crystal until it neatly split into half; afterwards, Jidné coached him on the rearrangement of the parts to give way for the second crystal to make the modification work. To lighten up the mood, Cal bantered with Jidné as they worked, bringing up topics and questions initially revolving around the modification; the Jedi girl switched between replies, her own questions, and actual instructions.

“Did you go with the other kids who were about to have their Gathering?”

She shakes her head, “Not really. My master and I flew to Ilum, but I went through the caves by myself. Did you knew about this back then?”

“I’ve heard from the masters, I even asked my master if I could modify mine,”

“Did he allow you?”

“Yeah, he once promised me that…”

Jidné paused from tinkering, hinting at Cal who trailed off in his words and watched his expression soften, apparently reminiscing that exact scenario in his head.

“He promised that once we were done with a campaign we’re in, he’d help me with my saber,” he scoffed, Jidné sensed contempt or perhaps regret. “It never happened.”

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay, Jidné,”

“Good to know,” she blinked and focused her attention back to his opened lightsaber. “Um… see that space below the energy channels? That’s where we’re gonna put the secondary crystal’s chamber.”

Cal grunted, “The copper wires bounce off even if I press them.”

“Here,” Jidné pressed down the ends of the wires with her fingernails. She managed to crack a joke. “Don’t try to shock my fingers with your soldering gun now!”

The boy chuckled, and then winked.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

All of a sudden, the trauma and the memories seem lighter to talk about—like a badly needed heart-to-heart with someone who truly understands.

It took them less than a few hours to finish. Never have they ever been this close with each other—physically speaking. Their fingers brushed together when one helped the other with a certain part, their foreheads literally touched whenever Jidné would point at a tiny portion of the saber and Cal had to lean closer. Keeping their eyes on the saber distracted one from catching a glimpse of the other.

When Cal ignited his saber for testing, it was nothing special, the true quality check lies literally in the waters. Jidné had her arms crossed while leaning against the bannister of the engine hatch as she watched Cal study his saber even though the changes were internal, she nodded her head sideways, pointing at the door.

“Shall we mosey on over to test it?”

“Let’s,”

Jidné excused herself and headed out first, as she got out of Cal’s room, she took a breather and massaged her cheeks, she felt the warmth on her face and simply brushed it off as the heat that the engine radiated. From the dining table, she wandered to the lounge after the galley, it was a scene of leftover leisure: the hallikset rested on the middle corner of the sofa and a small potted plant sat on the center of the table. But something more interesting than a guitar and a plant caught the corner of her pretty eye…

A small pile of green, crystalline shards scattered on the floor, sitting at the foot of the table.

Jidné’s head panned discreetly but briskly around the ship, she knelt down and picked up the biggest shard she could find. She brought it closer to her face for examination, the texture was familiar but she only had a foundationless assumption.

Her shoulders jumped when she heard Cal call her name and his footsteps approach. She tucked the shard into her jacket’s inner pocket before he could appear out of his bedroom.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, and you?” Jidné shifted back to her calm demeanor.

“Come on then,”

Jidné felt her lungs constrict while she followed Cal in the lead. They were so indulged with fixing up his saber that they didn’t realize they’d reached dusk. The girl was immensely fascinated at how the painted sky gleamed in front of the setting sun; she kept her head up as they hiked through the forest, staring at the colored clouds as they go along.

“Jidné, over here,” Cal beckoned.

Both of them found a water hole that ended the line of the stream, the pair knelt by the bank and Cal unclipped his saber from his belt.

“Go on,”

Cal hesitated to dip the hilt into the water. He coaxed himself with deep breaths and pivoted his elbow so the emitter faces downwards. The saber in his hand sank into the water until his forearm was submerged. His thumb pressed the switch and the blade hissed out; bubbles foamed and rose to the surface when the rod of light flashed underwater—both youngsters had their jaws dropped open, initially startled at the bubbles, and then they retained their stiff postures until it occurred to them that it worked. Their eyes met and exhaled laughs blew out of their rounded mouths.

The boy hoisted his saber—blade still ignited—out of the water; he gave it a slow, gentle swing and it was functioning as it normally would. Their modification was a success!

“It worked…” Jidné uttered.

“It worked!!” Cal parroted, only louder and more celebratory in tone.

A bottle full of laughter was released from their bellies, but Cal’s was louder.

“We did it!!” the boy exclaimed in a child-like radiance, taking her hands into his and giving it a tight squeeze.

He had his eyes stuck to hers, looking into the earthy brown irises where the sunset’s light reflected. He absentmindedly smiled, her small hands still caged within his gentle grasp. When Cal snapped back to reality, he pulled his hands away from hers slowly and cleared his throat—once again failing to recompose himself after acting like a child in front of Jidné, as a matter of fact, she was endeared whenever he does that.

“I seriously could not thank you enough,”

“It’s nothing, Cal, really,”

A pause. Cal took the time to study Jidné’s features better; he could feel himself closing in, but not of his own volition, it seemed like his body was controlling him instead of the other way around. Only an inch stood between his lips and Jidné’s, the girl could’ve sworn she felt her heart stop. The deed was hindered by a hand on Cal’s chest.

Jidné bit her lip and spoke in a hush, “I should go. It’s getting late.”

She could feel Cal’s chest pull away from her fingertips.

“Right…” he murmured. The distance between them grew.

“So, I’ll see you around—like always?”

She flashed a coy smile, “You always seem to have a way of finding me.”

“Or you finding me,”

Jidné chuckled as she stood up, dusting the soil and grass that stuck to her clothes.

“Good night, Cal.”

“Good night, Jidné.”

What was I thinking!? Jidné screamed in her mind as she sprinted through the badlands on the way back to the Scarab.

You are such an idiot, Jidné Sheedra!! IDIOT!!

Even if she scolded herself as harshly as the biting cold that blanketed the desert in the evening, she found herself in wheezing giggles—confusing her lungs between catching air to breathe or to laugh—her speed fluctuated as she brought her hand to her lips and regained speed when she put it back down.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking hell of an idiot!!” she screamed gleefully in the expanse of the empty desert.

The animals, the plants, and the nocturnal birds circling the evening sky bear witness to Jidné’s proclamation.

[fairyhaven13]

I didn’t make the background; I used a screenshot from the Star Trek Online game. These are my Star Trek: Deep Space Nine OCs. I again experimented with brush textures; I used a chalk for the shading, because I liked the chiseled look it gave the image, and I used a crosshatch brush for the clothing textures on the rightmost character. 

I desperately wanted to give the Vorta a lush head of curly hair, but her thing is that she was “raised” by Romulans, so I had to give her a Romulan do. Very unfortunate, but I can say that part of her arc is separating herself from those Romulan regulations and maybe draw a later version of her with curly hair. I also wondered if the Trill girl’s outfit was too bright and loud, but then I remembered that Ferengi wear suits made of rainbow sparkles and felt better. I’m pretty happy with how their different body shapes came out.

Character descriptions under the cut. It’s very long this time, I had a lot of thoughts.

Ryakna was a defective Vorta clone that regressed to some of her early genetics in the cloning facility. When she refused to activate her suicide gland, her superiors attempted to kill her and threw her body out in a garbage trolley. The trolley passed by a small moon settled by Romulans, and they found her barely alive inside. This is where she got her name--Ryakna means “garbage.” She has no memory of her past clones, only some vague memories of living in trees. The Romulans healed her and then trained her to be a bodyguard servant for the chief’s house family. 

She’s adept in both Romulan martial arts and in Romulan assassination tactics. When the moon’s settlement inevitably fell to civil war--due to another family trying to usurp the chief, as Romulans are wont to do--one of the chief’s daughters took pity on Ryakna and helped her escape. She wandered for a while before ending up on Deep Space Nine in one of their refugee groups. This was early on in the series, before the crew knew what a Vorta was, so they welcomed her onboard and allowed her to become a security officer under Odo’s leadership.

Sera Hamilton was a half-Trill, half-human girl who was unable to become Joined due to her human heritage. To Trill, and to her father, this made her a second-class citizen. She took her mother’s last name and was raised on Earth instead, to escape the oppression. Eventually, she joined a group of Earth’s settlers heading for Deep Space Nine, hoping to help build the frontier. 

She made her outfit herself, as a tribute to the orchids her mother grew back home. Garak took notice and hired her as his assistant, to do the hemming and some of the concept design in his tailor’s shop. She’s the opposite of Ryakna; where the Vorta is gruff and introverted, Sera is bubbly and chatty. Ryakna prefers to meet mind with mind in interactions, to the point of being philosophical, and Sera prefers lively conversations full of jokes and laughter. Garak finds Sera charming, but very naive, and appreciates Ryakna’s intellect more.

As the series goes on, they both have growing up to do. Ryakna has a similar revelation to Odo; Odo’s name means “nothing,” and at first that was all he thought of himself as. Over time, building friendships on the station has them begin to think of their names as just that, names, and see how others care about them. Ryakna also relates to both Odo and Garak in being one of the only members of their species not involved in the Dominion’s side of the war.

Sera becomes less immediately trusting, especially after Weyoun takes over the station the first time. She initially thinks she can befriend him and show him how he’s wrong, but he very cheerfully almost gets her executed before Kira rescues her. Weyoun also tries to get rid of Ryakna, finding her defection reprehensible, but Odo gets very upset with him and puts a stop to that.

By the end of the series, I have a sort of sequel planned, the big closure for their arcs. There’s a secret planet where the Founders tried to experiment with making Vorta more “mouldable,” more liquid than solid, more controllable as slaves and weapons. This resulted in a facility akin to Resident Evil’s Biohazard, where everything went wrong, the experiments went mad, and the Founders created the disease that eventually starts killing them in the series. Weyoun 9 finds himself on this planet, and a set of messages make their way to Ryakna, Sera, and Garak, telling them in different ways to come to the planet and stop the Founders. 

This results in Sera teaming up with Weyoun, and them finding out about the experiments, causing Weyoun to painfully realize that not only did the Founders lie and demolish many of his race’s lives, but they can’t be gods if they were able to be killed by their own experiments. Garak and Ryakna team up meanwhile and have some closure over both their difficulties with their people’s stubborness and with each other, and when Garak sees Weyoun save Sera from the experiments, he decides not to kill him for her sake. Although he does continuously snark and threaten him. 

It ends with Ryakna and Garak--and Sera and Weyoun--being open to getting together romantically, although they all have to deal with a whole lot of mess that the Dominion has left them with first.

[hiraethhh-h]

The Matchmaker.

Warning(s): Trigger warnings such as emotional abuse, and mentions of  suicide, gore, spoilers for JBHK/TBHK.

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun/Toilet Bound Hanako-kun

Wordcount: 3.7k

Note(s): Um… This is a bit darker than what I usually write, and um… Tsukasa scares me but he’s kinda cute- Anyway, enjoy! This fic was also inspired by Outer Science (English Cover)【Will Stetson】「アウターサイエンス. Also, Akiko (my oc) is about 15-16 years old, and the past is in italics. Last note! I’m sorry if this fic seems all over the place. It’s currently 2:35 am and I just finished this… 

Summary: It wasn’t fair. If Amane could have his fun with her, why couldn’t he either? So, out of boredom, Tsukasa takes it upon himself to venture into Akiko’s past and toy with her.

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿ ✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

“Have you heard of the Matchmaker?

“Rumor has it that if you stand in the eastern corner of the rooftop where the moon rises, a girl will appear and tell you who you’re destined to be with. But in return, she takes something you love to fill the void in her heart.”

The two girls giggled as they walked down the hallway, both chatting happily amongst themselves. Both girls were fairly tall, but the brunette was taller. They were dressed in a black dress with a white collar paired with  a crimson red blazer on top, they also had black knee-highs with matching black flats. Akiko ran a hand through her hair, turning to wave at a few familiar faces in the hallway. Eichi her did the same, a kind smile on her face as she did so. Her blue eyes locked onto the girl beside her, a hum escaping her lips. Grey eyes met her blue ones, the raven-haired girl raising a brow at her friend.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Akiko questioned, Eichi simply giggled at her words.

“No, it's just that,” she began, “With how popular you are, I figured you would’ve caught  Masaki-san’s attention already.”

Akiko stopped in her tracks, flushing at Eichi’s words. Her head snapped up to look at the taller girl, her brain short circuiting as she stammered, trying to formulate words. Eichi laughed at her reaction, stopping beside her friend with a smile on her face. The brunette gave a few more giggles before placing a hand on Akiko’s shoulder, the grey eyed girl composing herself after a few moments of silence.

“Don’t worry Kiko,” Eichi gave her shoulder a small squeeze, “I’ll be here to help you with him, okay?” she smiled down at the girl.

Akiko blinked, glancing at Eichi’s hand before looking her in the eyes and giving a small nod. Eichi released Akiko’s shoulder, the two resuming their trek down the hall. The brunette picked up the conversation between them once more. Akiko listened to her friend silently, glancing over her shoulder as a familiar black-haired male entered the corner of her vision. Eichi trailed off, eventually going silent as she followed Akiko’s gaze. A faint smirk graced her lips as an idea popped into her head.

“Masaki-san!” Eichi called for the male, Masaki blinked, looking up from his partner’s side.

The smaller male beside Masaki muttered something, the red-head nudging his friend forward. Masaki said something to his friend before rushing ahead, a faint blush on his cheeks as he smiled at Eichi. His grey eyes scanned over Akiko. Masaki gave her a small wave, his smile widening just a bit. Eichi smiled, letting Masaki stand next to Akiko just to torment her a bit more.

“Hello Eichi-kun, Akiko-kun,” he greeted with a brief bow, “Are you two headed to the student council room?”

Akiko’s heart stopped then and there as Masaki’s shoulder brushed against hers, steam practically billowing out of her ears as her whole face flushed a bright red color. Eichi giggled at her friend, shaking her head with a wide smile as she turned to look at Masaki.

“Yes, we are in fact.” Eichi confirmed, “We decided to go a bit early today since we heard you would be giving an important speech today, President Masaki-san.”

Masaki blinked at her words, the faint blush returning to his cheeks. He gave a nervous chuckle, gently tugging on the hem of his blazer. Akiko’s expression returned to normal, her eyes scanning over his frame as she noticed his odd behavior. A small frown grazed her lips as she followed his gaze, Masaki seemed more interested in Eichi. This didn’t go unnoticed by Eichi as she gently nudged her friend to get her attention, Akiko’s gaze snapped up to meet with Masaki’s grey eyes.

“Is that true, Akiko-kun?” he asked her with a raised brow.

“Huh..?” Akiko blinked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“You wanted to talk to me..?”

Akiko processed his words for a moment, Eichi giving a soft chuckle. The raven-haired girl clutched the hem of her skirt tightly, her cheeks turning red yet again. She turned her head away from Masaki, her hair falling forward to obscure her face. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. Akiko gave a soft huff when Eichi nudged her side again, motioning for her to speak. 

“I did but…” Akiko trailed off, trying to think of what else to say. She raised her head, looking Masaki dead in the eye. “It can wait ‘till after the meeting, I’m sure.” she said with a shaky smile.

Hours later, Akiko sat in the meeting room with Eichi and the remaining student council members. Masaki stood at the wooden podium, answering a few remaining questions before he closed off the meeting. He soon looked at Akiko, the girl stiffening in her seat as her heartrate picked up. Masaki gave her a small nod, Akiko rose from her seat, clearing her throat uneasily. She looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the other student council members.

“This meeting is now adjourned.” Akiko announced, watching as people grabbed their things and stood to leave, filing out of the room shortly after.

Eichi stood from her seat as well, shouldering her bag. She turned to face her friend, a kind smile on her face. She patted Akiko’s head gently, chuckling as the raven-haired girl glowered up at her. Akiko gave a small huff, pouting as she looked away from Eichi now. Eichi sighed, gripping her bag strap silently.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine Kiko…” she reassured the girl, “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eichi gave her head another brief pat before turning on her heel to leave. “See you tomorrow Masaki-san.” she waved at the male before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Akiko’s gaze lingered at the door silently. With Eichi gone, it just left her and Masaki alone. Her eyes snapped over to Masaki when he cleared his throat, stepping out from behind the podium.

“You wanted to talk right..?” he raised a brow, approaching the girl.

Akiko gave a meek nod, gulping at the close distance between them. Anxiety flared up inside the girl, cold sweat nipping at the back of her neck as she looked down at the ground. She began to pick at her nails subconsciously, trying to distract herself before she let her words flow. Akiko was sure he would reject her, after all, she knew he had gotten confessions on the daily since he was quite good-looking, kind, and the student council president. And from what she had heard, he had turned down all of the confessions, admitting that he had his eyes set on someone else. Akiko raised her head, chewing at her bottom lip. She inhaled shakily as she prepared herself.

“Masaki-san,” Akiko began, “I… I like you, a lot, and I… Was wondering-”

“Akiko-kun.” Masaki interrupted, a soft look in his eyes. “I’m sorry but I have my eyes set on someone else at the moment.” he confessed. 

Akiko stiffened at his words. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she quickly super glued and taped it back in place. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. She shook her head, sadness filling her eyes as she suppressed the urge to cry. She gave a soft sniffle, a faint smile finding its way to her lips. Her red eyes shone in the faint orange glow of the setting sun, tears still finding their way to the corners of her eyes.

“No… Don’t apologize,” Akiko said, “You were nice enough to hear me out, and that’s enough for me.” she muttered, lowering her head. “Can I… At least know who..?”

Masaki pursed his lips, giving a soft sigh as he shut his eyes. He contemplated on whether or not to tell her girl. He knew she was on the verge of tears, and he was well aware that he had broken her heart. Akiko was infamous around the school for crushing over many boys, so he knew she had most likely gotten rejected constantly, as mean as that sounded. He opened his eyes, his hand slowly reaching out to rest on her shoulder.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone?” he questioned in a soft voice.

Akiko locked eyes with him, giving a small nod.

“Eichi-kun.”

How foolish of me. I should’ve known.

Akiko sat in the dark hallway, her head hung low as she basked in the ethereal glow of the moon. The light gave the hallway a faint blue glow, it drew Akiko in, yet she hesitated since she knew what awaited her. She gave a shaky exhale, shutting her eyes as she lifted her head, resting it on the wall behind her. Her black hair brushed against her neck, leaving a tingly sensation as she shifted her legs, adjusting the grip on the teddy bear in her lap. Akiko knew fully well where her best friend, Eichi, and ex-crush, Masaki were.

They were happily married together, moved to Tokyo, and had two children. One girl and one boy. The girl had mostly taken after Eichi, brunette with mixed blue-grey eyes. She had even taken her name, Akiko, though she suspected it was because Eichi pitied her ever since she died. The boy had taken after Masaki, black hair, grey eyes, and his name was Takao. 

Even though Akiko was stuck within the confines of the school, whenever Eichi would visit her grave, she would hear her whispers. Though it had been some time ever since she had stopped by, Akiko just figured that Eichi was just busy with her family. She gave a soft sigh, hugging her stuffed bear close to her chest. Akiko shut her eyes tightly, lowering her head to inhale the scent of the bear. His body was a pastel red color and its belly, paws, and face was a pastel pastel pink. He had crimson red button eyes and a small smile with a tongue sticking out. Arisu smelled faintly of strawberry sweets, just like the ones Eichi would occasionally bring her for lunch if time allowed her to make them. In fact, Eichi had given her the teddy bear at the end of their first year, saying the bear symbolized their everlasting bond.

Akiko tightened her grip on him, giving a faint chuckle at the memory that surged through her mind. She shut her eyes with a tired sigh, eventually loosening her grip on Arisu. Silence overtook her thoughts as she began to doze off. The bear fell from her lap, hitting the wooden floor with a soft ‘thud.’ Akiko let the sounds of the quiet school lull her to sleep.

An abrupt sound of giggling filled her ears, causing Akiko’s eyes to shoot open. She snatched up the bear, lifting her head to inspect her surroundings. She hated that sound, the sound of his giggles sent unpleasant shivers down her spine. Akiko held her teddy bear close to her chest, rising from her spot on the floor. She furrowed her brows upon feeling a faint gust of cold air brushing past her, followed by a soft ‘woosh.’ It wasn’t until then had she realized what was going on.

“Akiko..?”

The girl whipped around with lightning speed, her red eyes widening impossibly at the sight that met her. There stood a blonde male in a white button up and black tie, paired with matching black slacks and dress shoes. His stark blue eyes met her red ones, the moon casting an unearthly glow on his figure. He slowly outstretched his arm, holding his hand out to her. Akiko narrowed her eyes, hiding her mouth behind her bear.

“Come with me Akiko… I want to show you something…” Mamoru spoke in a deep, silk, velvety voice.

Akiko took a step back, keeping her hardened gaze on the male before her. She couldn’t trust him. No matter how much her heart had ached for Mamoru in the past, Akiko had moved on. Akiko stepped back once more, preparing to turn and run away. She grunted when her back collided with someone’s chest. Akiko spun around with a soft gasp.

“You should listen sweetheart…” the red-haired male purred, gazing down at the girl with half-lidded eyes.

His grey eyes shone with an unknown emotion. Panic began to swell up inside the girl, Akiko giving a shaky breath. She wracked her brain for a plan. Mamoru dropped his arm, beginning to take long strides towards her and Junichi. Junichi gave a soft sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watched Akiko back away from him. She had her back to Mamoru, the male picking up his pace at this. Junichi also began to walk towards Akiko, both males looking to trap the girl between them.

Akiko stopped in her tracks, both males watching curiously. She dropped the stuffed animal onto the floor, it landed on it’s side with a soft ‘thud.’ Akiko clapped her hands together twice, breaking the unsteady silence. She pursed her lips, lowering her head as she glowered at Junichi. The bear began to writhe in it’s spot, giving mangled cries as it began to change form.

“I think it's time to play Arisu…” Akiko echoed softly, now dashing towards Junichi.

He smiled at this, outstretching his arms for her to come crashing into. But he hadn’t been paying attention to Arisu. The bear was larger now, crouching over to fit into the hallway. His fur was fluffier, and his small smile had turned into a sharp-toothed grin. Piercing red eyes met with his grey ones, Junichi watched with wide eyes as the bear flexed it’s razor-sharp claws. The bear swiped at Junichi, the male flickering out of existence as he was slashed in half.

“There will be more of us.” Mamoru called after the girl.

Akiko paid no mind to his words, dashing around the corner and rushing up the steps. She came to a screeching halt when she saw another figure awaiting her at the top of the steps. He was smaller than her, his strawberry-blonde hair shining in the moonlight. He had on a uniform much similar to Mamoru. A wide smile graced his lips, his green eyes sparkling in joy at the sight of her.

“Ne, ne, Akiko-chan,” Kishou chanted, his grin widening as he saw Akiko’s face drop. “Don’t you want to play?”

Akiko exhaled shakily, clenching her fists tightly. She lowered her head. Akiko chewed on her bottom lip, not caring if she drew blood. Her fear began to transform into anger. She knew damn well who was behind all of this.

“Get out of my way!” Akiko roared, charging into the smaller boy with her shoulder.

Kishou gave a yelp as they flew back, his form disappearing as Akiko landed on top of him. She blinked as she was momentarily stunned from the impact. She scrambled back up, telling herself that she had no time to waste. Her red cardigan trailed after her as she continued to rush up the steps, taking down anyone who was in her way. Blood roared in her ears, accompanied with her heavy breathing and flats hitting the wooden floor.

Akiko eventually burst through the metal door that led to the rooftop of the school. She panted heavily, shivering as a gust of wind drifted through the area. Her anger and fear began to battle each other. This is where she had fallen to death all those years ago. It wasn’t on purpose no, it had all been an accident. She breathed shakily, shutting the door behind her as she began to make her way to the fenced edge.

Her legs wobbled slightly as she recalled that night, but she still forged on. Akiko stood at the foot of the fence. She looked down at the ground, a wave of queasiness washed over her at the sight. Her head shot up to the sound of the metal door bursting open, she spun on her feet to face her perpitrators. If Akiko could vomit, she surely would’ve done so.

Mamoru, Junichi, and Kishou stepped out of the stairwell, filing onto the rooftop. Though, they looked more battered than before. They each had holes where their hearts should be, blood seeping into their clothes from the hole. Their skin was deathly pale, but that was nothing compared to their faces. Their eyes were missing, scratch marks on their eyelids or below their eye sockets.

Akiko panted heavily as she began to back away slowly. She gave a soft whimper, watching as Kishou stepped out from between the two taller males. He still had that impossibly wide grin on his face as he ‘stared’ at Akiko. The trio began to advance towards her. Akiko’s back eventually met the fence.

“Stay away from me!” Akiko cried, giving hysterical hiccups as she clenched the fence tightly.

Kishou gave a hearty laugh, outstretching his arm to the girl. Junichi watched with a lazy grin on his face. Mamoru kept a blank look. Akiko pressed her body into the fence, it creaked beneath her weight as she tried to put as much distance between them and her. Tears began to stream down her face as the three stood around her, Kishou gently placing his hand on her cheek. His palm was ice cold against her skin. Akiko turned her head, shutting her eyes tightly as she wished them away.

“Akiko…” an unfamiliar voice said now. “Open your eyes for me…”

Akiko flinched as Kishou’s hand lifted from her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, more tears streaming from her eyes. The three were gone. Akiko locked eyes with another taller male, his paper-white hair done in a low ponytail that snaked over his shoulder. Warm grey eyes met hers, a kind smile dancing on his lips. He wore a black blazer, white undershirt, black slacks, and matching shoes, an outfit that looked much more crisp than the other three.

“I’m sorry…”

Akiko furrowed her brows at his words. She opened her mouth to shout at him in confusion, until she felt the air behind her. It was as if the fence had completely disappeared, like it had never been there in the first place. Akiko tripped on herself, giving a cry of pain as her ankle scraped against the small wall on the rooftop. Her hair flew forward as she fell back. Time seemed to slow then and there, Akiko barely being able to process what was happening. She blinked once, twice… Then accepted her fate. Akiko’s eyes fluttered shut, her tears flying from her eyes as she let gravity overtake her body.

“We can’t have you falling again, now can we?” a sickly sweet voice cooed, arms wrapping around her waist to prevent her from going any further.

Akiko slowly opened her eyes, big amber irises staring back at her happily. The smaller male giggled as he returned her to her feet. Tsukasa grinned, looking up at her. He had an innocent look on his face, hiding his arms behind his back. Akiko furrowed her brows, taking a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Tsukasa…” she ground out, gritting her teeth as she glowered at the male.

His grin widened as he thrust out Arisu towards the girl. Akiko grunted as the small stuffed animal hit her stomach. She huffed in frustration, snatching the bear from his grip and holding it close to her. Tsukasa hummed, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Akiko opened her mouth to speak yet again, but Tsukasa beat her to the chase. He rested his pointer finger at the corner of his mouth, pouting playfully at the girl.

“Don’t be mad, okay?” he said in a hurt tone, “You left me bored and alone…” he whined.

Akiko furrowed her brows, a small scowl finding its way to her face. She clenched Arisu tightly. With a scoff, Akiko brushed past him. Holding Arisu with one arm, she used her sleeve to wipe at her face. She looked at the raven-haired boy over her shoulder.

“That doesn’t give you the right to toy with my emotions-”

Akiko gave a strangled cry as Tsukasa launched himself at her, Arisu flew from her grip, flying to the floor helplessly. The duo landed on the ground, Tsukasa sitting on her stomach with a crazed grin. His amber eyes burned holes into her red ones, Tsukasa’s hands flying to grip her wrists tightly and pin them beside her head. His black kimono draped over her, his knees digging into her sides. Akiko gave a soft whimper as he dug his nails into her skin.

“Now,” he cooed slowly, “That’s no way to talk to your soulmate, is it?”

Tsukasa raised her left wrist, his other hand coming to pull down the cloth that obscured her skin. He gave a low chuckle, his eyes searching for the marking. Akiko stayed in place, knowing there was no use in fighting him. She breathed shakily when he showed her the familiar mark on her skin. Tsukasa then moved to pull his white sleeve back slightly, letting her hand fall back against the concrete.

Akiko grimaced at the impact, but she made no comment. Tsukasa hummed constantly, eventually setting his exposed wrist next to hers. They had the same mole there at the base of their wrists. Tsukasa turned his head to gaze down at the girl, casting a toothy grin at her. He chuckled at the petrified look in her eyes.

“After all, you matched us together, and I think it’s meant to be.” Tsukasa chirped. “Don’t you?” he tilted his head slightly with a wide grin.