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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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End Game 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: the best way to spend you Tuesdays is pissed at an old man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sleep for a few minutes here and there. The rushing traffic, the motion of the car, and the general unease of your circumstance wakes you several times over until you give up. You recognise the highway signs and sit up, rubbing your temples as you try to focus your vision.

You gulp as you contemplate what’s ahead. You peek over at the man next to you. How do you explain this?

You mull it over as you peer through the windshield and daze out at the license plate ahead of you. Kara isn’t easy to lie to and you’re a horrible liar. You don’t lie, you just don’t always tell her everything. You sigh and Andy shifts in his seat.

“You alright, sweetie?” He asks, “we’re almost there. Can stretch our legs soon.”

“She can’t know,” you say abruptly.

He winces and shakes his head, “what do you mean?”

“Kara. She can’t know... you’re a lawyer. My grandmother knows you. Or you’re an old friend of my parents. You’re doing me favour but in front of her we’re not... not...” you struggle to push the truth through your tight throat, “together.”

“Right, makes sense.”

“You’re getting her off the hook. That’s all she needs to know.”

“Got it,” he replies crisply.

You close your eyes and cringe. You shake your head. This is humiliating. You’re negotiating with him for your own pride. You can’t imagine telling Kara everything. You know that creep I told you about, he owns me now. Ugh. The thought makes you want to hurl.

“I understand, sweetie, you gotta ease into this. I think it’s better we keep it on the down low anyway,” he speaks over the steering wheel. ‘Down low’, is he trying to be hip? “Wouldn’t be very ethical for me to represent your friend based on our relationship so...”

“Yeah,” you mutter. Ethical.

It’s more than that. It’s that you would have to say it all out loud. That you would have to admit that you are nothing. That even though you want desperately to say no, to tell him to go away, that you did over and over, that you have no ground to stand on. The only person that wants you in this world is him and that’s just pathetic.

“How about once we have everything sorted, you spend the day with her? Catch up with your friend? I’ll be at the hotel, give you some space to get your head on,” he offers gently, as if he’s doing a favour. In his eyes, everything he does is generous. “I mean, who knows the next time you’ll get to see her.”

That last part hits you like a kick in the stomach. Will you see her again after you go off with this man? You still don’t understand what’s in his head. What exactly does he have planned? Are you going to be his plaything? His dirty little secret? He’s an attorney, rather famous by Google’s metric, so can he really be flaunting around with a woman half his age? Less.

“Yeah, I guess,” you agree flatly and cross your arms.

Your stomach lets out a long growl, filling the silence. You turn your face to the window, embarrassed. He chuckles and reaches over you pet your arm.

“Hungry? Me too,” he goads.

“I’m fine,” you insist and lean away from him.

He puts his hand back on the wheel and switches lanes as you approach your exit. He sighs and merges onto the ramp. You grit your teeth to keep from screaming. He knows you don’t want this but he continues to pretend like it’s so normal. You don’t know if he’s gaslighting you or if he’s actually delusional.

“How about you and Kara go get lunch? I’ll venmo you some money and--”

“Jesus Christ!” You throw your hands up, “I get it! I get it! You’re such a good guy and I’m the poor fucking girl who can’t take care of herself, but goddamnit Andy, let me think. I still have a fucking brain.”

He sucks in sharply through his nostrils and juts out his chin. The quick glance of his profile startles you. His anger ripples hotly in the air and makes you shiver. Why did you say that?

“I’ve already told you not to talk like that. Profanity isn’t cute,” he snips as he grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles paling. “I know you have a brain, sweetie. That’s why I like you. You’re smart.” He takes measured breaths as you hear the tenuous control in his timbre, “I’m not trying to control you, I’m trying to help. I think I’m being pretty nice. Hm. I could just drag you back onto the road without stopping, couldn’t I?”

You look down at your lap and squirm. Something flickers inside of you. A memory itches in your head. Another car ride, another angry man, telling you what he’s done for you, telling you he’s done giving and not getting. Your cheeks pinch with the threat of tears.

“Sorry, dad,” you choke out.

“What?” He hisses and nearly swerves.

“Andy,” you cough and sit up straight, “sorry, I was mumbling. I’m sorry. Alright. I’m stressed and I haven’t slept.” You shake as you make yourself say what he wants to hear. “I know you’ve done a lot for me and I’m not... I’m not good enough. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Alright? I’m sorry. I just--” You swallow and roll your eyes up, “I’m sorry.”

He lets the silence hang over you. He slows as he joins the local traffic. You recognise the streets. You’re reminded of the convention and how it all turned sour. All because of him. It feels like a rotten sort of irony that you’re back there together.

“Sweetie, we’re both exhausted and it’s been such a long road,” he says quietly, “I forgive you but you need to watch your mouth. It’s not pretty when you talk like that.”

You flinch. What the fuck? You try not to let the frown break through and flare your nostrils.

“I’ll do better,” you utter.

“I know you will,” he declares victoriously, “you’re a good girl, sweetie.”

You don’t say much else. As he pulls up to the station, you mentally prepare yourself. You wish you could tell Kara everything. She was always the best shoulder to lean on but you know that’s too dangerous. She would flip out. You can imagine her confronting Andy and getting herself right back into trouble. No, this is your problem.

“Might take a while,” Andy warns as he gets out. He opens the back door and takes out his jacket. As he pulls it on, there’s a marked change. The full suit completes that attorney picture. “Did you wanna come in? You’ll have to wait in the lobby.”

“That’s fine,” you shrug. You’re restless. You just want Kara out and safe. “Are you sure you can fix this?”

“Trust me, honey. I do this stuff all the time. Bonds and whatnot. I know what I’m doing,” he assures you. Oh, he definitely is all too aware of what he’s doing.

“Alright.”

“This shouldn’t be too hard. First offense, young, hanging out with the wrong guy,” he checks his beard in the side mirror, “easy.”

The way he talks to lightly about the situation makes you sick. Does he think so little of other people and their lives? Is that why he just demolished yours? You nod and look away.

“Okay, let’s just do it then.”

You follow him past the police cruisers and to the front door of the precinct. He enters with confidence, holding the door for you. He points you to the chairs along the wall and promises he won’t be long. You sit and watch him, arms crossed as he marches briskly up to the front desk, shielded by panels of plexi-glass.

“Andy Barber,” he says as he gets his wallet out, “my client is here. She’s asked for her right to an attorney...”

You shrink in the chair. You are small compared to him. Look at how sure he is. Of everything. Of himself. He has had a lifetime whereas yours is already over. You barely keep from breaking right there. You could just keel over and dissolve into a puddle of self-pity.

Andy’s led behind the heavy metal door to the left of the desk and you turn your attention to the wall. You drift into a mindless trance. You don’t want to think. The time ticks by as you lean back, your head against the cold brick.

The ambient noise of the station buzzes around you and fades into the background. The ceiling turns fuzzy in your vision and your body detaches from your mind. You just sit there, waiting.

Your name carries across the lobby and you snap up, nearly tipping yourself out of the anchored chair. You stand up as Kara runs across the tiles and throws her arms around you. Andy walks calmly behind her, keeping a good breadth between them.

“Oh my god! You saved me,” she releases you, her eyes tired and swollen. She’s still in her pajamas. You can only think of the chaos that consumed her the last day; of how frightened she must have been. “How?”

“Uh...” you look at Andy then at Kara. “Family friend. I was so worried, Kara.”

“You were? I was,” she squeals, “I can’t believe...” she stops herself and spins around, “Mr. Barber, thank you.” She scurries over to him and shakes his hand, “thank you so much.”

“Well, you know, I owed her grandma a favour,” he smiles.

“I know but... oh, I’m just happy to be out.”

“Nothing at all,” he assures and sends you a smug smile. “Unfortunately, I do have to get back to my other clients, so...” he checks his watch. The way he plays his role so smoothly unsettles you. “You two have a good day. You got my number if you need anything else.”

He struts off and you stand in uncertainty. Shit. You need to come up with a story. Ugh. Your purse buzzes as Kara turns to you and you reach into it. ‘Andy Barber has sent you money.’ Fucker.

You exhale and do your best to smile, “crazy...”

“Oh my god, you have no idea. It was so cold in there. They took my shoes!” She looks down at her fluffy slides, “or slippers.”

“Jesus, Kara, that must’ve been so scary.”

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t think... I... I can’t believe did all this.”

“Er,” you glance over at the officers behind the counter, “let’s get out of here.”

“Happily,” she agrees and skips past you to the door.

As you come outside, she sighs and stretches her arms above her, “wait, how did you even get here?”

“Andy drove me... but I have a bus ticket for the way back. Tonight.”

The lies are too easy. You hate that. You don’t want to lie for him.

“He’s so nice,” she says, “wow, I... I’m just still so fucked up about this.”

“What about Calvin?”

“Oh, he got out last night. His parents. Loaded,” she sniffs, “left me in there all by myself.”

“Oh, Kar--”

“Whatever,” she snarls, “I’m about done with him anyways.” You plod along, aimless as you follow her lead. “Wait, alright, wait,” she snaps her fingers, “girl, you never told me what happened with that guy.”

You’re speechless. You don’t know what to say. Fuck.

“The catfish? Some old creeper? Ew. Nasty.”

“Right,” you murmur and clear your throat, “you know, I blocked him. Told him to get fucked.” That’s true, you did, it just didn’t work. “Ugh, the magic of technology, huh?”

“Sure,” she says, “some men are so nasty. Most of them, I swear.” She huffs and yawns as she checks her phone. It’s all she has on her. “We can catch a bus on the next block. Oof, fuck Calvin, I’m getting me a sugar daddy. I can’t do this shit no more.”

“Kara,” you groan.

“What? Men don’t give a fuck. If I’m gonna get anything out of them, may as well be money,” she scoffs.

“Kara,” you repeat as your stomach churns. You need to explain things, not the real things, but you need to give her a good story. She’s clever and you can’t leave the ends untied. “How about I buy us lunch?”

“Oh fuck yeah, I’m starving,” she exclaims, “I couldn’t handle that shit they gave me. The egg salad smelled like feet.”

“Mm, we can order to your place?”

“Sure,” she smiles, “what time are you out of here?”

“Bus doesn’t come til eleven,” you dart your eyes around.

“What’s wrong with you? I mean, I know it’s been a weird ride but you’re not telling me something.”

You stop by the sign for the bus. You look this way and that. Just say something.

“I’m moving.”

“Moving?” She echoes.

“Yeah, um, my grandma, she’s kinda done with me,” you speak quietly, carefully, weighing every word, “I got a transfer to a different school and uh, they offered me a scholarship...”

“Wow, you really sound excited,” she remarks dryly.

“Well, it’s a big change,” you shrug, “I’m still... tryna figure it out.”

“Of course. That’s huge. Is it far?”

You nod.

“Oh,” she hangs her head, “right. Yeah, that’s shitty. But good. Good,” she smiles and lifts her chin, “you need to get out on your own. Away from your grandma. It’ll be great.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you agree softly. “But I’ll miss you.”

“Miss you too but I mean we’re already in different towns, so what’s a few extra miles,” she says, “when do you leave?”

You stare across the street and your eyes glaze with tears, “tomorrow.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #defending jacob #end game

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pedrospatch · 1 year

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unconditional l a safe haven drabble

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After your first night together in the barn, Joel tells you he’s worried about the possibility of you getting pregnant; You tell him that he doesn’t have anything to worry about and it leads to a heartfelt conversation—and realization.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. talk of infertility, mention of pregnancy loss, reader admits Luke makes her feel insecure about her condition, hurt, comfort, soft Joel, dash of fluff sprinkled in at the end.

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: this drabble centers around a sensitive subject, so please be sure to read all of the tags! i know back in chapter five, the subject of reader not being able to have kids was touched on but i still want to make sure I give a good, proper warning. as someone who struggles with reproductive health (PCOS girlie here) i know i can get down about things of this nature so again please proceed with caution if this is a subject that might be hard for you to read about.

This takes place between chapters six and seven.

You lean forward against the wooden, paddock fence with your folded arms resting gently on top of it.

Joel stands behind you, his chest pressed into your back—his arms encircled you, comfortably caging you between the fence and his body with both his hands planted firmly on the wood on either side of you. His chin rests on top of your head, and every so often you would feel him press a soft kiss into your hair or on the delicate spot on your neck, right behind your ear.

He’d been quiet tonight—a bit too quiet.

Something is off.

You can feel it in your bones.

About twenty four hours ago, the both of you had taken the leap and slept together for the first time. Part of you couldn’t help but begin to spiral a little bit as you began to wonder if Joel had any regrets about what you two had done.

You certainly hoped that wasn’t the case

Because you sure as hell didn’t regret it.

“Joel,” you say his name tentatively.

You’re met with a questioning hum. “Hm?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you state, physically cringing at just how painfully obvious the anxious edge in your tone had been. “Everything alright?”

Joel sighs, his warm breath tickling your ear. He moves one of his hands and places it on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Sorry, my sweet girl. I just—my mind’s a bit preoccupied, that’s all it is.”

“About what?”

He hesitates, but then replies, “‘Bout last night.”

Your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

“You regret it, don’t you?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“Wait, what?” Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and he takes you by your shoulders. He shakes his head furiously. “No. That ain’t it. That ain’t it at all, peach. ‘Course I don’t regret it—are you crazy?”

You frown at him. “Then what is it, Joel?”

Once again, he hesitates. His hands fall away from your shoulders and he takes a step or two backwards, his gaze unable to meet yours. “The thing is, we were so caught up in the heat of the moment that—well neither of us even thought ‘bout protection,” he’d mumbled the last part of his sentence so quietly it had barely been audible. Even in the darkness, the redness burning his face and neck over the nature of the conversation was evident. “We just went for it without even thinkin’ ‘bout protection and I’ll be honest, baby. S’got me a bit worried, y’know?”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Jackson is fortunate to have an abundance of a lot of things—condoms aren’t one of them.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you assure him after a minute or two of silence. “I’m clean. Luke is the only person I have ever been with besides you, and he’s been so tired from working so much over the last couple of months that he hardly even touches me—”

“That ain’t what I’m worried ‘bout, darlin’.”

You stare at him with a puzzled look.

Then, a split second later, it sinks in.

“You’re worried about getting me pregnant,” you realize, slowly.

It’s Joel’s turn to seem confused.

“‘Course I’m worried. I finished inside of you last night—wait just a minute, ain’t you worried ‘bout it?”

Your lips part in slight surprise.

Ellie knows about your condition, but Joel doesn’t.

Well, that girl certainly knows how to keep a secret.

“I’m not worried, actually,” you tell him. “Because I can’t get pregnant. It’s not possible.”

He breathes out in relief. “You’re on birth control.”

You toss him an amused glance. “Yeah, you can find bottles of birth control pills in the commune’s market right next to the condom aisle.”

Joel glares at you. “That supposed to be funny?”

Your small smile fades and you look down, your eyes fixing themselves on the dirt. “Actually, there is something you should probably know about me. I, um, I can’t—” You pause just long enough to let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t have children, Joel.”

Although you can’t see him, you feel him staring at you. You can feel the way his eyes had gone wide, the way his mouth fell open in surprise.

“There’s a reason that me and Luke never had any kids over the course of our marriage. And it’s hard to admit it, but that reason is me.” Mustering a bit of courage, you finally bring your eyes up off of the ground and look at Joel. “We tried for a really long time to have children. I did get pregnant once, but then I lost it. That was a couple of years ago. I was never able to get pregnant again, so I think it’s fair for us to assume that I’m the problem.”

Joel frowns. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“You said that you’re the problem.”

“But I am—”

“That doesn’t make you a problem,” he says as he takes a step towards you. He grabs both of your hands, holding them firmly in his own. “It doesn’t make you a problem, peach. You not bein’ able to have children doesn’t mean there’s anythin’ wrong with you, alright? So don’t fuckin’ say it like that. I ain’t gonna let you.”

You can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well my husband certainly thinks otherwise.”

Anger flashes across Joel’s features. “He say somethin’ to you ‘bout it?”

“He’ll throw it right in my face whenever we fight,” you mumble to him in admission, feeling a batch of warm tears sting at your eyes. More than being saddened by your inability to conceive, you feel so damn humiliated. Over the years, Luke had all but drilled it into your brain that there must have been something wrong with you if you couldn’t bear his child—what if Joel thought the same? What if he’d start to think something was wrong with you now that he knew the truth? “I’ve accepted that I won’t ever be a mother, Joel. As much as it used to hurt me, I have done my very best to make peace with it because there’s nothing else I can do. But Luke? He can’t do the same. He always wanted a family and I couldn’t give him one.”

“Darlin’—”

“He always makes me feel like me not being able to have a baby makes me less of a woman.” A hot, stubborn tear slips down the side of your face. “And if I’m being honest, sometimes I can’t help but to think maybe I am less of a woman for it.”

Joel squeezes your hands. “Now you listen to me, m’gonna need you to stop that right now,” he all but demands. His voice is tough and firm, but somehow still gentle at the same time. “You don’t say that ever again, you understand me? That couldn’t be any fuckin’ further from the truth.”

“But—”

“Baby. Hey.” Joel drops one of your hands from his. He lifts his hand up towards your face and he hooks an index finger underneath your chin—his eyes meet yours as he delicately tilts your head up towards his. Simultaneously, he leans down and the tip of his nose brushes yours. “There’s no fuckin’ but here, darlin’. You are the most amazin’ woman that I’ve ever met in my whole, entire life. If Luke is too much of a fuckin’ idiot to see how perfect you are, that’s his fuckin’ problem. The way I see it, you’re too much woman for him and he doesn’t deserve somebody like you.”

Your free hand flies to your mouth, muffling a sob.

Joel Miller loves you.

He hasn’t said it yet, but you know that he does.

And not only does Joel love you, but his love, it’s unconditional.

It’s unconditional, it’s pure, and it’s real.

You’ve never known a feeling like this. Never in your life did you think you would even have the chance to know a feeling like this.

Not until Joel had come along.

Joel gingerly wipes at your face with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to make you cry darlin’—”

“It’s okay. I just—I didn’t know something like this was possible.” you release a small, tearful laugh.

“Somethin’ like what?” he asks, bringing his lips close to yours. He had known what you’d meant to say, but he needed to hear you say it out loud. He knew slapping a label on what the two of you had wouldn’t make a difference because regardless, it’s solid. He has never been so sure of someone or something in his life. Still, Joel would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to hear you say it and simply confirm what he already knew. “Somethin’ like what, sweet girl?”

You shiver at the way his mouth hovers about a centimeter or two over yours, so close but so far away from where you need it to be. Placing your hands on his chest, you peer up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes and say shyly, “I didn’t know a relationship like this was possible.”

An inexplicable warmth radiates throughout every inch of Joel’s body at the word.

Relationship.

“You make me happy, Joel. So incredibly, stupidly happy,” you confess to him. “You make me feel wanted, you make me feel beautiful—”

He cuts you off, pressing his mouth to yours softly.

After a brief moment, he pulls back slightly and murmurs against your lips, “C’mon, let’s head on over to the barn so I can spend the next couple of hours really makin’ you feel beautiful.”

#joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash

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verai-marcel · 1 year

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Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 3 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 is here.

AO3 link is here, darling.

Chapter Word Count: 2256

Act I, Chapter 3 - The Tension

Another day passed, and another evening of Astarion wandering off while the others ate their meal.

“Doesn’t he ever eat?” Karlach asked.

“Maybe he snacks throughout the day,” you commented idly. "He certainly doesn’t like my food," you muttered after.

“Then he doesn’t have good taste,” Wyll said, giving you a smile. “For what it’s worth, I think your food is absolutely delicious.”

You beamed. Gods, you had to admit to yourself that you were a whore for praise. It was what had kept you by your former employer’s side for longer than was healthy. You shook your head of the memories. Some things were better left in the past.

While the others finished up their meals, you went to prepare the tents.

As you finished Gale’s tent, you saw him coming up to you.

“Watching you work has been an absolute pleasure,” he said with a smile. “I’ve performed great magicks, manipulated the Weave into spells that could topple castles. But you? I’ve never felt a more welcoming and warm magic. It’s like a comforting blanket I could just wrap myself in and never leave.” He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’d love to learn some of those cantrips from you. If you don’t mind sharing your secrets.”

“Sure! I’m not sure how well I can teach you, but I’ll do my best.” You were quite giddy from the fact that a wizard was asking you, a mere hearth witch, to teach him something.

“Wonderful.” He reached out, perhaps to touch your arm, but you instinctively flinched away. Noticing your reaction, he let his hand fall. “Well, have a good night,” Gale said, giving you a friendly wave of his hand instead before turning in for the night.

You stayed still for a moment, turning over two things in your head: one, wondering if you were good enough to teach a wizard, and two, berating yourself for recoiling so obviously from a friendly touch. You had sleeves and gloves on, so there was no reason for you to have done that, yet habits instilled into you as a child were hard to change. Because of your ability to feel others’ emotions through skin contact, your mother had trained you to avoid touch in general as a safeguard. You could react appropriately with forewarning, and sometimes you even brushed someone’s hand or arm on purpose to get a read on them. But there were times when you were caught off guard.

I thought I had gotten better at that.

With your mind churning, you turned around and saw Astarion walking back to camp, watching you with a smirk.

“What?” you asked as your path crossed his on your way to the next tent. You inwardly cringed at your tone. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.

“Nothing,” said with his usual smarm. “Unless you were looking for praise from me as well.”

For a moment, a singular, split-second of a moment, you let your craving for praise show on your face before you locked it down.

But you had already revealed too much.

“Though you’d need to impress me first,” he replied, breezily walking past you toward the campfire to join the others who were still awake.

Never mind, he deserved that tone. Damn noble.

Out of spite, you neglected to cast warmth on his tent. Let him freeze for one night, see how he feels about being condescending to you tomorrow.

***

“It was awfully cold last night,” Astarion commented in the morning.

The others looked at each other, then they all looked at you.

You immediately got up, unable to stand their curious stares. “I need to check the fishing nets,” you said quickly as you stalked away toward the water.

You could hear Karlach distantly. “I thought my tent was fine.”

Once you reached the water’s edge, you knelt down and tugged at the nets, but your mind was elsewhere. Now that you were faced with the consequences of your actions, you regretted your petty revenge. Sure, you could have lied your ass off and gotten away with it. But since you had panicked and bailed without giving a good excuse, it was pretty clear what you did, or rather, didn’t do. What would everyone think of you now?

“You didn’t run very far, little hearth witch.”

Still in the middle of your existential crisis, you immediately stood and whirled around to see Astarion walking towards you.

“Now, I would have assumed you just forgot about poor me if you had just lied about it,” he said in a tone that clearly implied that he wouldn’t have believed a damn word out of your mouth. He stepped closer, and with the water at your back, you had nowhere to go. So you stood your ground and stared at him until he was practically toe to toe with you.

“Instead,” he continued, tipping his head, “you ran away, guilt written all over your face. Whatever could I have done to warrant being singled out like this?”

Seeing his smug face brought your previously squashed annoyance bubbling to the surface. You glared as you hissed, “You held a knife to my neck!”

“But I apologized for that, and I explained myself, didn’t I?” He tipped his head the other direction, looking like a kicked puppy. “I thought we were square.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, you knew he was faking it, but regardless, you did feel guilty. A moment of petty vengeance, not just against him, but against what he represented. The nobility.

It wasn’t fair to him. You knew it wasn't a fair thing, a night of discomfort in the cold for one snarky remark that you could have just ignored. You were better than that. And you knew not all nobles were bad. There were quite a few that were good, upstanding folks. One bad experience in the past should not have soured your outlook on an entire class of people.

You swallowed. Looked up at him. Remembered that he too had his own fears and shadows. Maybe he just had a bad day. You always prided yourself on being able to consider the situation of others before acting, and to have failed in doing so stung pretty damn hard. The guilt gnawed at you until tears began to well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. “That wasn’t fair, and… you didn’t deserve it.” Your voice had grown shaky with emotion. You hated that you sounded like a trembling kitten.

A self-satisfied grin spread on his face. “Well, I accept your apology.”

When you continued to silently cry, he began to look uncomfortable. “I’m not mad,” he said as he looked over his shoulder, starting to look a little panicked. “It’s not a big deal. The others will think I’m a monster if they see you cry. So stop.”

You were crying more out of anger at yourself and not because of him, but you had to admit, you felt some schadenfreude from seeing him so anxious. “Say please,” you joked through your tears.

He sighed. “Fine. Please.” Then he leaned in a little closer. “Please,” he repeated, quieter, gentler.

You looked up at him, surprised by the change in his tone. “Alright,” you said, your voice still a little shaky.

Astarion smiled at you then, and your heart skipped a beat. Dammit, he sure knew how to use his attractiveness to his benefit.

“Good girl,” he said before patting you on the head and walking away.

You touched your head where he had patted you. There had been a sense of satisfaction in his touch, but you weren’t sure if it was for you, or himself.

***

Late that night, you were awoken by the soft sounds of cloth moving around. You opened your eyes to quite the sight at the campfire, so you lay in your bedroll, feigning sleep so you could watch surreptitiously.

It was quite the contrast to Astarion’s usual day time persona.

He was shirtless, sitting cross legged by the fire pit. His profile was lit by the slowly dying light of the campfire and the full moon, his brows furrowed in concentration as he slowly sewed together the damage on his undershirt. You could tell from the toned muscles on his bare torso that he wasn’t just eye candy. He could hold his own in a fight, and from the past couple of days, you got the idea from the others that he was a little extra gleeful when he got to stab someone.

He hissed when he pricked himself with the needle, his brow furrowing even more. He brought the shirt closer to his face, examining the tear from different directions. His movements seemed a bit slow, as if he was exhausted from the day’s activities.

Maybe if he ate my fucking food, he wouldn’t be so tired.

You shook your head of your ire and sighed. You couldn’t watch him do this any longer when you could easily fix this with your cantrip. Rolling out of your bedroll, you quietly crawled over to him.

He looked over at you and promptly looked away.

“What, come to mock my sewing skills?” he asked. His usual sass was only half-present, as if he was too drained to defend himself.

His defeated tone saddened you a bit. Looking closer, you noticed that there were mends all over, and the stitching appeared to be a bit haphazard. You reached for the shirt, only to have him suddenly yank it away.

“Don’t. Touch.”

You blinked. Then you looked at him, truly looked at him. He was frowning, his body almost curled defensively. He was holding onto his shirt like it was his only possession in the world. Under your gaze, his glare changed to a tired expression.

“What do you want,” he asked in a deadpan tone as he slumped a little.

“I just wanted to help,” you said sincerely. For all the attitude you had given him before, you didn’t hate him. It wasn’t his fault you disliked most nobles.

He tipped his head and considered your offer. Slowly he held out the shirt to you, his eyes staring into yours. “Can you fix this?” he asked in barely a whisper.

Taking it gently, you examined it in the dim light. It was hard to see, so instead you ran your hands over all of the material and realized that it wasn’t haphazard stitching. It was layers and layers of thread, as if he had carefully mended his clothes over and over again. He was a noble, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he just buy new clothes? Why would he go through the trouble of repairing something that was worn out to such an extent?

Your fingers carefully searched for what seemed to be the oldest mend. From old to new, you told yourself. Contrary to how this spell was taught, you had figured out that reversing the order would strengthen the repairs of the newer section by unraveling everything down to the core and rebuilding it anew. It was a slower, more meticulous process, but it made for a stronger repair.

You focused closely on the fabric and began to hum. It was an old song, a song from your childhood. A song that made you think of sunlit evenings and aurora midnights that lasted but a moment, of moonlit days and months of snow. The cloth unraveled slowly, and then came back together, the old threads falling to the wayside and then woven back into the cloth as if they had always belonged there. The scars from the past make up the skin of today, so it must be incorporated back in, not discarded nor removed. At least, that was how your cantrip worked.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him leaning in closer, but you ignored him as you continued to work. It was critical to maintain the song, maintain the flow, otherwise you would have to start all over. And somehow, the importance of this was understood, since Astarion sat by quietly as you worked. You weren’t sure how long it took, but when you finished, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, and your throat was dry from the constant use of your voice.

Finally, you looked up and blinked. Your vision was a little blurry, but you could see Astarion looking at the shirt with awe in his expression.

He seemed far away as you handed the shirt back to him. His hands ran over the places that you had worked extra hard on, where several patches and mends had occurred, overlapping each other.

“It’s… perfect. As if it were brand new,” he murmured.

You were insightful enough to know that this shirt meant much more to him than he let on. So you quietly stood and left him to his musings.

He suddenly grabbed your hand. You were surprised to feel a deep gratitude before he let go, his expression vacillating from something softer to awkward before settling on his habitual sneer. “I suppose you’ll be wanting some coin for your trouble,” he said, his usual snarky tone returning.

You shook your head. “I just wanted to help,” you repeated, and meant it. You decided to just begin your morning chores, but not before glancing back to see him touching his shirt with a reverence that made your heart clench in sympathy.

What would make a noble cling to a simple piece of clothing so earnestly?

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

End Notes: More cantrips, more singing. Hope y’all don’t mind, as it's going to be a theme here. I re-wrote that internal monologue that Hearth Witch is having in her head while she’s standing by the water so many times, so I hope the emotions came through. Next week, the chapter that most of you are probably looking forward to - let’s get close to Astarion. Really close.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x F!Reader #slow burn #female reader #baldur's gate 3 #writing #your hearth is my home

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134340am · 2 years

Text

intertwined

sugawara koushi x gn!reader, 1.1k, sfw note: reader’s hair is long enough to be braided!

you met koushi in the last week of a month-long intensive training program for elementary school teachers.

even when you were standing a good distance away, you could feel how big his aura was – and the easy, jovial grin he always wore only served to strengthen his sunny character. simply looking at him healed your weary soul, tormented by the past four weeks of early mornings you still weren’t used to.

the cherry on top of the sweet sundae that is sugawara koushi was getting paired with him for what the head instructor called braiding lessons, because elementary school is when kids start getting fussy about how their hair looks – and we don’t want any complaints!

so here you are: twiddling your thumbs in a green plastic chair while koushi – or sugawara sensei, his vibrantly-decorated name tag reads – approaches you with a pack of rainbow hair elastics and a radiant smile.

“hello,” he greets you simply and politely, dipping into a full bow that you scrambled to mirror. “i’m sugawara koushi, but just koushi is fine.”

you introduce yourself in a similar fashion and inwardly curse the heat that spreads across your cheeks. koushi settles behind you quickly, and you relax just the slightest bit now that he isn’t directly in your line of sight.

he gets to work straight away – no dilly-dallying – and your eyes close instinctively at the feeling of his fingers combing through your hair. he’s gentle and patient, working through knots like he had all the time in the world and braiding your hair was his only task. when his hands return to the crown of your head to start on the braid, you could feel yourself starting to doze off…

“excuse me, sorry.”

until you perk up again at koushi’s voice behind you. “can you hold this for me please?” he asks, voice tinged with sheepishness. “my pockets are fake, so…”

you blindly stick your hand out in the general direction of where your partner is and he drops a piece of half-braided paracord in your palm. you bring it closer to you for inspection, blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes to note the combination of loose loops and swollen spots that make up the messy braid.

“where’d you get this?” you ask.

“grabbed it before i left the house because i heard we were getting braiding lessons today,” came koushi’s response, his hands still weaving through your hair carefully. you shiver involuntarily when one of his cold fingers brushed at the sensitive tip of your ear. “i practised during the seminar just now, but obviously didn’t get very far. i promise i’ll do a better job on your hair though, so just hang tight for a bit!”

“sure,” you said with a soft chuckle at his enthusiasm. “i must admit that the effort alone is impressive, but if you can make me look and feel great when you’re done, i’ll give you your teaching cert in a heartbeat.”

“even if i don’t pass the arts and crafts lesson?”

“even if you don’t pass the arts and crafts lesson.”

you let yourself relax into your chair. all around you, many other teacher-to-bes were struggling with their partners’ braids – you felt yourself cringe upon spotting a young lady shaking out her fingers in what seems to be an unfortunate cramp.

meanwhile, koushi was making good progress. you had to stop yourself from jumping each time his fingers brush your ears to round up a piece of hair or to smooth down flyaways. instead, you direct your attention to finishing up the half-braided paracord koushi handed you. the leaf green, koala grey, and slate blue paracords intertwined to form an unexpected but interesting colour palette you’ve never quite seen before, but adore nevertheless.

you finished off the braid with a flourish, pulling together a few strings to create an adjustable sliding knot – thank goodness for younger you who spent all of recess making friendship bracelets, because the skill has finally come in handy today.

as if planned, koushi finishes off your braid with a sparkly blue elastic at the same time.

“ta-da!” he sings as he snaps the elastic in place. “all done. now please tell me that i passed, because i don’t think i can handle making another cardboard dinosaur. my fingers hurt.”

you laugh at that, recalling your own disastrous and painful attempt at an archaeopteryx (you might have gotten a little ambitious there) at yesterday’s arts and crafts lesson.

“take a picture, please.” you hand your phone over to koushi.

“say cheese!” your partner sings back, and you throw up a quick peace sign. the shutter goes off behind you.

the photo koushi took reveals a lopsided braid – a little loose, especially towards the end (he must have gotten tired, or his fingers were really hurting from yesterday’s dinosaur making session), but it was a good attempt nevertheless. in fact, upon scanning the people around you, you realised that koushi probably did the best in this room, an observation that made your heart swell with pride.

koushi pulls out a chair from the table across you and sits himself down tiredly. “well? what do you think? you’re making me nervous.”

“you did a great job, koushi,” you say with a sincere smile.

“really? you think so?”

“yeah, maybe make the braid tighter next time.”

“i’ll give it a shot tomorrow then.” koushi nods seriously, before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “as in– if you’ll let me practise again on you tomorrow, i mean–”

“sure, no problem. it was nice having you braid my hair. i almost dozed off for a bit.” you confess with a nonchalant shrug, though you were sure the smile on your face was slipping into a grin. before you could forget, you hold out the finished paracord bracelet. “here, i finished it up. it’s a friendship bracelet now.”

your partner takes the bracelet from you with gleaming eyes. he turns it over in his hands, thumb rubbing at the sliding knot. he makes no move to put it on, however, instead leaning into you and grabbing your wrist with the same grace and tenderness he possessed while braiding your hair.

before you could react, koushi slips the paracord bracelet onto your wrist, pulling at the ends of the sliding knot to tighten it in place.

“keep it. take it as a thank you for letting me practise on you today and tomorrow.” he grins, turning over your wrist to marvel at the green-grey-blue against your skin. “and maybe next week, too, if you don’t mind.”

a/n: sugawara sensei my beloved <3 thank you for reading!

(masterlist)

#sugawara x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #sugawara fluff #haikyuu #sugawara koushi #sugawara koshi #sugawara x you #sugawara x y/n #yuna writes

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germvity · 3 years

Text

leon kennedy x reader // drunk puppy

chris drags leon through to your apartment after a night of drinking, and being the mess he is, leon wants your attention.

reader gender: female

genre: fluff with smut

tags: heavy drinking, reader helping leon get sober, clingy behaviour, chris is done with leons shit 😭

warnings: drinking/alcohol, the nickname puppy used for leon, smut, leon being horni and going to horni jail, swearing, thigh riding (giving), femdom, leon giving me hard switch energy 😭✋, calling someone mommy/mommy kink

---

three loud bangs interrupt your alone time and you jump, almost dropping your phone on the hardwood floor. "y/n!" a loud, familiar voice calls, and it sounds pissed. you swing the door open to see chris holding leon by the scruff of his jacket, and your boyfriend's cheeks are flushed red as he beams at you. "take him. i'm done with his constant whining about wanting to see you." chris deadpans, shoving your pretty blonde boy into your arms. "y/n..!" leon slurs, nuzzling up into your neck. "oh, chris!" you call before he walks off. "what?" the man stops suddenly and looks at you over his shoulder. "thanks for taking care of him." you smile at your friend, and he sighs grumpily. "sure, just get him sober and take care of him." chris replies, a soft smile on his face.

the apartment door closes behind you as you guide leon to the couch, but the blonde isn't making it easy. "y/n, i missed you sooooo much." he mumbles into your skin, arms tight around your waist as he takes in your scent. "you've only been gone for a few hours, lovely." you remind him, and he pouts at you as you push him on the couch. "don't call me thaaat!" leon cries, and you roll your eyes. "oh? what do you want me to call you then?" you fold your arms as you watch his curious face. it's as if you could see his brain ticking as he thinks. "the other one." he finally replies, big blue eyes looking back up at you. "baby?" you try, and he sticks his bottom lip out at you. "noooo.. the other other one!" your boyfriend whines, his drunken state slumping back on the couch. "how about... darling?"

"no... the nice one." leon huffs, his boot scraping at the hardwood like an upset child being made to sit in timeout. you hum in thought, sauntering to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. "where are you going?" he calls after you, about to get up until you respond. "getting you a drink to sober you up, puppy." you call back. "that's it!" your boyfriend yells and you almost drop the glass. "baby, what's-?" you get cut off by your boyfriend's voice. "that's the one! you said it!" he beams up at you. "puppy?" you test, and leon nods happily. "you like being called puppy?" you tease, pressing the glass into his hands. "yeah." the blonde sips the drink and cringes at the bland taste. "ahh.." he whimpers quietly, holding the glass away like a fussy child. "you need to keep drinking it to feel better, puppy." you say softly, sitting beside him on the couch. leon lets out a big huff, but drinks the water anyway. you smile when he finishes it, placing the empty glass on the floor and kicking his boots off.

"hmmm, y/n?" leon mumbles, and you hum as you look over at him. "can we cuddle, pleeeease??" he draws out, giving you his best puppy eyes. "c'mere then." you smile, offering him your arm so he could lay on your chest. leon clambers over you and flops down on top of you, gripping your shirt with his fingers. "mmmm.. thank you." he whispers, and you wrap your arms tightly around him. "no problem, puppy." you smile, kissing his head softly. "fuck... i love it when you call me that." leon admits again, voice barely above a whisper as he nuzzles into your chest. you comb your fingers through his soft hair, scratching at his scalp affectionately as you chuckle softly. "yeah? you like being my puppy?" you smile at his reaction, the way he seizes up and shudders at your words. "yeah." leon replies, hiding his blush in your chest. "speak up, puppy." you tease, moving your hand from his scalp to his face so he could look at you. "hnn." his eyes flicker away but the light tap of your finger on his cheek brings him back to you. "c'mon, tell me what you like." you continue. "i... like when you call me that." leon's cheeks are so red you can't help but giggle. "call you what? i call you many things." your thumb rubs his bottom lip gently. "i.. i like being your... i.." he stammers, eyes looking anywhere but you. "haha. alright, puppy. relax, i'm only teasing." you smile, giving him a gentle kiss.

"fuck, y/n you don't know what that does to me..." leon whimpers, hazy, drunk eyes fluttering closed. "my puppy.." you smile, gently rubbing his cheek as his eyebrows furrow. "stop..." the blonde's voice cracks slightly and you grin. "what's wrong, puppy?" you whisper to him. "y/n..." his breath is shuddery as he tightens his grip on your shirt. "puuuppyyy." you drawl out, your other hand cups his other cheek as you now hold his face with both hands. leon whimpers, hips catching on your thigh as he lets out a soft sigh. "damn, i knew this would get a rise out of you but wow. you really do like this, don't you? puppy?" you tease, and his blue eyes find yours. "fuck..." he whimpers, moving to nuzzle into your neck. "aww, puppy. you getting all worked up?" you continue, running your hand down his spine affectionately. "y/n..." he whispers, giving your thigh another hump, yet this time more shyly. "go on, puppy. you can do it." you straighten your leg for him, letting him find a steady pace against your leg. leon lets out a soft moan that vibrates against your neck, and you give his jaw a soft kiss to encourage him to keep going.

leon gasps against your neck, whimpering into your skin as his clothed dick grinds against your thigh. "aww, puppy. is that good?" you kiss his pulse softly, and leon's breath audibly hitches in his throat. "oh, my pretty puppy looks so puppy like this." you whisper into his ear, enjoying how he reacted. "c-can i please cum??" leon moans, pulling on your shirt so he could nuzzle closer. "so soon?" you tease, pretending to think. "please mommy, i've been good." he begs, hips speeding up a little. "fine, but only because you've asked so politely." you laugh, giving his ear a soft kiss as he keens with a mantra of thank you's. "come on, puppy, cum on mommy's leg." you grin, loving leon's moans and whimpers as his hips stutter then stop with a loud whine.

gently rubbing his back, you spoil leon with praise, and he absorbed all your words happily. "c'mon puppy, let's get you clean and get you to bed." you smile, sitting up with the blonde in your lap. "but-" he tries to start, but you cut him off with a playful "ah ah ah." which affectively hushes him. "come on, shower time." you smile, helping your boyfriend stand. before he went into police training you could of carried his scrawny ass to the shower, but now he's been working out and eating more healthy you couldn't scoop him up as easily which this leon, the needy sub kind, hated.

leon pouts, trying to get you to hold him but your much weaker arms couldn't manage. "puppy, c'mon. use your legs for mommy." you roll your eyes as he huffs stubbornly, nuzzling into your neck. "don't wanna." he pouts into your skin. "leon." you warn, and he whines softly at the tone. "i don't wanna..!" he cries and you roll your eyes. "fine, but if i drop you it's your own fault." you give in, knowing he's too stubborn to do anything in this still drunk and needy mindset.

your boyfriend gives a drunken giggle, wrapping his arms around your neck as you pull his legs around your waist. "you're not my little baby anymore, you're actually quite heavy." you remind him, but leon ignores you, happily kissing your neck up as you slowly carry him to the bathroom. "fuck puppy, c'mon let go." you wheeze as you manage to haul his ass onto the counter. leon pouts as he lets go of your neck, watching you leave to get some towels and clean clothes before turning the shower on for him. "c'mon, leon. this should sober you up." you smile, gesturing for him to come to you.

leon jumps off the counter and stumbles into you arms. "hi." your boyfriend giggles, kissing you softly. "do i have to undress you too?" you ask, joking, but he nods. "damn it.. you're lucky i love you, puppy." you sigh, tugging his jacket off and grabbing the hem of his shirt as he raises his arms for you to strip him off his shirt. "thank youuu..~" leon purrs, giving you a soft kiss as you help him out his pants and cum stained boxers. you go to leave to give your lover privacy, but he snatches your wrist with his damn puppy eyes. "stay? i don't wanna be alone." leon's bottom lip sticks out at you and you sigh. "fine, i'll stay with you but i'm not getting in." you reply, stepping back into the bathroom.

you sit on the counter as you wait for leon to sober up. eventually, leon sighs, turns the shower off and gets out. you toss him the towel you got for him and he mumbles a small thank you. "you feel better?" you ask as he dries himself off. "yeah. thanks for putting up with me." leon avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing red and this time not from alcohol. you laugh at his embarrassed look, getting down from the counter to give him a soft kiss. "i love you." you smile, helping him pull his shirt on. "i love you too." leon smiles, kissing you again. you give him one last kiss before heading through to the bedroom to get ready for bed.

settling was easy, and you wait for your boyfriend to get into bed with you. eventually, his side of the bed dips and he cuddles up to you. "i love you." leon mumbles into your ear, kissing behind your ear affectionately. "i love you too, puppy." you grin, rolling over to coddle him and flutter soft kisses onto his face. "stop..." leon blushes, going to turn away from you. "what? i thought you liked being called puppy." you continue to tease, kissing him lovingly. leon sighs, "i'm not gonna live this down, am i?" your boyfriend mumbles as he leans his forehead against yours. "nope. i love you." you giggle as the two of you settle. "i love you more."

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 3 #dead by daylight #dbd x reader #dbd #chris redfield #germvity writing

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Text

Darkness Hides Our Flaws

Pairing: Aleksander Kirigan x reader

Requests: She is a Tidemaker. No one knows they're married just that she's extremely powerful. She feels insecure with the whole Alina thing but she goes along with it cause it's part of the plan. She uses his real last name so people don't suspect them. Anonymous And She's the second in command. They've been together for a couple centuries. Alina does something to make her angry and she attacks her during training. The darkling and her get into a fight because she thinks he loves Alina. She’s sent on a mission cause of what happened with Alina. Her group is attacked and killed and everyone thinks she's dead but she was kidnapped by Fjerda. Anonymous

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi @alice-the-nerd @bshelley322

A/N I wasn’t sure if you meant his name in the Netflix show or his name in the book, so I did both.

You hate her from the moment she arrives. You’re not supposed to. She’s the Saint Aleksander has been waiting for. It’s a good thing she’s here, but you still just hate her. There’s something about the way he watches Alina that makes you cringe. It’s that pent up hatred towards her that makes you snap when he asks you to train her.

“I love you, Aleksander Morozova, but I will not spend any more time with her than needed.” You slip on your blue kefta taking a final look in the mirror before turning towards the man you consider the love of your very long life. His eyes are soft, but you know what hides within him. He’s angry that you’re refusing him.

“I beg your pardon?” He moves toward you with the kind of grace you’ve only ever seen a Shadow Summoner possess. It’s as if he moves with the shadows.

“You heard me. I know she’s part of your plan but I don’t care for her.” You don’t admit the insecurity you feel watching him with her. You’re a Tidemaker and she’s the Sun Summoner. The final piece of his puzzle to control the Fold entirely. Sometimes he looks at Alina as if she truly is a Saint.

“I’m not asking you to care for her. I’m asking you to train her.” You’re really not proud to admit that you’re jealous of her. You’ve been alive for centuries and still, you feel threatened by a whining, little girl. You let him cup your cheek with his hand but it doesn’t change anything for you. Alina will have to train with the others.

“Don’t force my hand. It won’t end well.” He kisses your forehead with such tenderness, you know that you’ve already lost the argument in advance. You’re his second in command, his right hand, and you can’t deny him. Of course, you’re right when you say that it won’t end well. 10 minutes after she arrives in your private training quarters, you’re fighting the urge to drown her just for the sake of it.

“How long has Aleksander-”

“I will not be discussing General Kirigan. If you wish to know, ask him.” You signal for her to come at you again but it’s just too easy. The girl has no idea how to pack a punch, and you feel a little better for every slap and punch you hit her with. You know it’s an awful thing to feel, but you’re not hurting her - it’s nothing compared to what the Fjerdans would do to her.

“Do better,” you say blocking yet another of her attacks. She’s only using half of her strength, but you’re not here to let her hold back. The sooner she learns to fight, the sooner you can go back to avoiding her.

“I think I enjoyed practice with Aleksander more.” She doesn’t understand the impact of what she just said but you see red. He never told he’d been training her. Your hands shake as you manipulate the water from the ewer forcing it down Alina’s throat. She’s drowning in a matter of seconds.

“What did you just say?” Unfortunately, this is how he finds the two of you. Alina choking on the water you’re controlling. His presence makes you lose focus, and she start coughing up the water immediately. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know just how angry he is right now.

“My office. Now.” He helps Alina stand letting her lean on him as they walk out the door. You’re ready to drown yourself rather than face his rage. You just risked the life of his stupid Saint, and you know he’ll berate you for being foolish. But you’re not expecting the level of cruelty when you enter his office. Shadows surrounds you and while they don’t hurt you, you still feel fear kick in.

“It’s not nice to choke on others’ ability, is it?” You keep quiet instead taking a few steps forward. The shadows follow you preventing you from seeing anything.

“She said you’d been training her already. I don’t like feeling like a fool.”

“I trained her abilities, not her fighting skills.” It doesn’t make you feel any better because it still means he’s spent days and nights alone with her without bothering to tell you.

“Let me go.” He doesn’t retract the shadows, but you don’t need to see to feel the water in his body. It’s fun being a Tidemaker when you start thinking about just how much of one’s body consist of water. It’s almost too easy to reach out and grab hold of his lungs. It doesn’t take long before the shadows retreat, and you instantly let go of your hold over his body. You hate fighting with him.

“I’ll need you to lead a team up North. We’ve got a lead on the stag.” It’s an excuse to send you away, and you both know it. But you’re happy to go. At least, you won’t have to watch him fawn over Alina then.

“Fine.” It’s the last word you say to him before leaving. None of you expect Fjerdans to find you and actually manage to kill five Grishas as well as take you prisoner. You can only imagine how distraught he’ll be when he hears everyone is dead. But Fjerdans don’t know Small Science, and you do. It’s almost too easy once you slip out of the entrapment they’ve made for Grisha. You take pleasure in their screams, as they run for their lives. Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at showing mercy.

You’re half dead by the time you make it back to the Little Palace. Fedyor is the first to find you convinced he’s seeing things.

“We thought you were dead!” he exclaims catching you as you collapse. Later, you’ll find out that there was a ceremony to mourn you and the group of Grishas lost, but right now you’re struggling to focus on Fedyor’s face long enough to realise his mouth is moving.

“... to the infirmary.” You zoom in on the sound of his voice still not able to catch all of it. At one point, you lose consciousness and when you wake up, he’s sitting right next to your bed in the infirmary.

“I thought you died.” You’re surprised to see his eyes glistening. He’s never shown this much emotion outside of the privacy of your own quarters.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” You try to smile but your muscles refuse to respond. Your body is simply too tired.

“I sent you on that mission. My love, I am truly sorry.” No part of you feels angry with Aleksander. You’re just happy to be back with him.

“It’s not the first time Fjerdans thought they could kill me,” you say earning a tiny smile from him. You don’t even care about Alina anymore. You just need to feel his warmth surround you in every way. He must sense your need somehow, because he crawls into bed with you wrapping his arms around you.

“We have about 20 minutes before the guards return.” You snuggle up even closer closing your eyes.

“I love you, Aleksander Morozova.”

“I love you more.”

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone series #shadow and bone blurb #sab imagine #sab blurb #sab #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling blurb #the darkling x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan blurb

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dreamsclock · 3 years

Note

The new red rabbits team is great considering dsmp canon. You have c!Dream (self-explanatory), c!Sapnap who currently is not at all fond of him, c!Quackity who hates his guts (and who has also been his handler (?) for the last mcc and also this one), c!Michael who really just happy to see/simp over him (and who also may be trying to create a distraction by blowing up Ace Race to he can escape with c!Dream in the chaos). The canon dynamic is unparalleled, hilarious, and also horrifically tragic.

RIGHT !! and with the buddy system in mcc which means people are more likely to get put together if they choose each other?? Ooh BOY that’s made for some interesting angst in my head… hope you don’t mind me kind of spinning off from this ask to write a little thing GSKSBDK !!

warnings: torture / abuse, injury, prison arc themes, manipulation, emotional distress, suicidal thoughts, temporary death (with respawn feature), unhappy ending (if anything else needs tagged let me know!)

“Who’d you pick?” Quackity asks after a session one day, where the world floats just out of Dream’s reach and is red and painfully hot against his fingertips. “For MCC?”

His voice is deliberately light — Dream would be a fool not to recognise this as a warning to tread carefully. Swallowing, trying to tether himself to reality again to comprehend the question (and pick the right answer), he forces his eyes open, whimpers incoherently at the pain raging throughout his body (is it worse than usual?). Quackity is standing above him, lava pours behind them, the cell is as bloodstained as ever, nothing changes, nothing ever changes.

Except it has. Except it will. Because MCC is coming up again, and as much as Dream had hoped to escape by the last, he knows at least Quackity will have to cease torture for a week or so before it to let them both train, if not to perform well then for the social aspect of the training server. Dream’s head spins at the thought of being allowed out: but from the blurry furious look on Quackity’s face, it’ll be a while before he gets that luxury.

“You,” he rasps out as he’s supposed to, once he can speak again, “I asked to be on a team with you.”

Quackity’s smile is hard and unforgiving. “You know, that’s what I thought, because, you know, that’s what I’d asked you to do,” he says, faux-cheerily, and Dream cringes back against the wall at the other’s frustrated laugh, “and somehow I just fucking know Sapnap wouldn’t have picked Michael, and wouldn’t be on this team unless someone picked him.”

Dream’s heart lodges in his chest, skipping a beat. This could go badly for him. “…Why would I want Sapnap?” He asks, hoping to any god listening that Quackity is listening. “He said he’d kill me if he saw me again.”

“Well, that’s what you told me,” Quackity agrees smoothly, “which is why I think it’s interesting that when I look at the buddy system that chose the teams this month, it shows you picking him.”

He smiles resentfully at Dream’s telling silence.

“Trick fucking question. You know, I wanted very badly to hear the truth from you, so I’ll ask again.”

And Dream’s breath hitches and it takes everything in him not to fall to pieces when Quackity’s bloodstained axe rests at his throat, the younger’s eyes dark with anger he doesn’t quite understand — surely he should be happy that Sapnap is on their team, surely he should be delighted that his fiancé will be there to work alongside him — but he knows in the end it won’t matter. Because he’s won.

So he answers Quackity as bravely as he dares. “I chose Sapnap,” he admits, and the axe tightens at his throat, “I— wanted to see him again. I wanted to see a familiar face other than… you. So I chose him.”

He swallows tightly, closing his eyes. He knows the buddy system. He knows how it works, knows the ins and outs of how teams are chosen.

“If you chose me and I chose Sapnap, that means— means that Sapnap also chose me or you. And Michael chose the other.” He sucks in a breath through pained lungs, knowing Quackity’s silence means he’s right. “So no. I didn’t choose you.”

And because he’s won, he doesn’t mind more than usual when the axe slams into him and dispels any sort of rational thought from his head. Because he’s won, Dream lets Quackity feel like he’s winning here — he screams until his voice gives out again, lets himself respawn once, twice, three times, until Quackity stumbles out with vicious promises of returning tomorrow. Because he’s won, Dream lies in the cell on one heart and coughs up blood and grins deliriously, because he’s won.

This won’t last much longer. He’ll train. He’ll compete. And after MCC, he’ll try to escape. And Sapnap will kill him.

And he’ll have won, because the Revive Book will die with him, and Quackity will be so mad and won’t have anyone to take it out on.

Sapnap’s face crystallises in his mind, and Dream lets his mind drift as he focuses on his old best friend’s face. He’ll see him soon enough — maybe he’ll get to apologise before Sapnap kills him.

Don’t let me down, he wills Sapnap, darkness fogging over his vision, I’m counting on you.

(Sapnap hasn’t let him down yet.)

(Dream’s confident he’ll do the right thing.)

#> my asks !!#> dsmp mcc au #tw torture #> my writing !!#tw abuse #tw injury #tw pain #tw suicidal thoughts #tw death #tw temporary death #tw manipulation #tw emotional distress #tw unhappy ending

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foli-vora · 4 years

Text

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?”

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment.

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky @linkpk88 @afootnoteofhappiness @livilottie

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller x reader

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

The Swan and her Handler

Emma Swan was cursed, and the only way to break it is with True Love's Kiss. Try breaking a curse with True Love's Kiss when you're a damn swan.

Yes, it's true, I've written a CS AU based on Walnut the Crane, a crane who fell in love with her handler. I'm ashamed at how idiotic this is. It’s by far the dumbest thing I've ever written in all my life. It’s nothing more than crack written in about an hour, un-betaed and barely edited. Sorry, and you’re welcome.

Rated T for language

~2000 words

Read my other stuff

Read on Ao3

These damn idiots can’t get anything right. It was bad enough when Emma showed up on their doorstep with perfectly clear care instructions that were completely ignored, but now they keep trying to get her to reproduce as if she’s some kind of zoo animal.

Of course, given her current living situation, it does make at least a tiny bit of sense.

Ever since the curse, Emma has been stuck in a wildlife refuge and has been unable to get any of her stupid caretakers to figure out how to help her. She knows exactly what she needs, but unfortunately, no one here speaks swan and she can’t exactly hold a pen. Her care instructions were translated upon her transformation, so the one thing that could have helped her now looks like chicken-- er, swan scratch.

“She needs a mate,” one of the jack asses points out. “She’ll probably want to mate for life.”

True, she thinks, although, not with any of the stinky fluff balls you have sent my way.

First it was Neal. He tried to mate with her, so she killed him. Last week, they put Walsh in her enclosure, and she pecked at him violently until they took pity on him and sent him to the medical unit.

Although today seems different, because her newest caretaker has shown up, and she realizes that he just might be exactly what she’s been looking for.

Emma Swan, unfortunately very appropriately named, requires a mate who can break her curse, True Loves Kiss the only thing that can bring her back to her truest form as a human adult woman. And when the new dark haired, stunning eyed veterinarian comes strutting into her enclosure, she hurries towards him to get a closer look at his name tag.

He jumps away, making some comment about her being fiery , and she blushes, squawking at him as she tries to get closer. Killian , it reads, and if she had lips and not a bill, she would smile.

“We think she’s depressed,” the stupid one with the big eyes says. “She’s killed every mate we’ve tried to pair her with.”

Good, she thinks. I must have done more damage on Walsh than I initially thought.

“You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you, love?” the angel-man asks, making her squawk in agreement. She thinks she could make this quick, this man obviously understanding her horrible twist of fate, so she lunges for him once more, trying hard to kiss his hand and hoping beyond hope that it will transform her back into the woman she's supposed to be. No more feathers, she prays.

He exclaims again, jumping and complaining of his hand hurting as she pecks him, so she rolls her eyes and squawks angrily. “Alright, darling,” he says with his hands up, his smooth, accented voice making her heart flutter inside her chest. Her breast? She knows very little about swan anatomy, despite having been turned into one. “Perhaps she’s stressed about her environment. Have you tried giving her a dark, quiet place to nest?”

“Not yet,” the dumbass admits.

The handsome one, Killian, a name she could get used to rolling off of her tongue, steps away from her, so she hurriedly follows. “Perhaps here in this corner will do.”

I would love to spend time in a dark corner with you, she thinks, giving the man what she hopes is a salacious smirk. She watches appreciatively as he sits down, crossing his legs as he starts to fiddle with some sticks as if she would be interested in them. Rather than helping him to make a nest out of the twigs and leaves, she plops herself right in his lap, nestling herself into his crossed legs and gazing up at his beautiful features, earning a smile from him.

“There we are, love,” he says happily, clearly surprised that she chose to plant herself upon him, although he shouldn't be. Just look at him, for god’s sake. “Comfortable?”

She squawks loudly, making him cringe, then fluffs her feathers in an attempt to gussy herself up for him. If she’s going to earn True Love’s Kiss from this perfect specimen, she’s going to have to work for it. The man chuckles as he looks down at her-- is he gazing? -- and lifts his hand slowly, placing a finger gently upon the top of her head and petting back down her neck, sending a chill down her spine, at least she thinks it’s her spine. She pushes her head towards him again, demanding more attention in an effort to get him to fall for her. It shouldn’t take long; she’s very enchanting.

“She’s never been this calm,” the dumb one says, making her snap her head towards him with a glare, shouting at him in disapproval. Killian shushes her soothingly, his finger softly stroking along her stupid feathers once more and making her shut her eyes.

“She just needed a bit of attention, it seems.”

“We’d best be careful,” someone else says, the bookworm who always thinks she knows everything about swan science. Of course, she probably knows more than Swan Emma. “We wouldn’t want her to imprint on you ,” she seems to joke.

“That’s quite alright, isn’t it love?” he asks her, essentially giving her permission to fall in love with this handsome bastard.

He comes by a few times a week for the next several months, each time sitting with her in her tiny, dirty nest and not seeming to care that his pants get soiled. She’s always careful to do her business elsewhere, making sure that her prince can sit in comfort when he arrives. She gets angry with him when he brings someone new, a sickly looking male named Graham who she assures is not welcome, so Killian gives up trying to get her to mate with someone. For some reason, they're concerned about her procreating, but she can assure everyone that she will not be giving birth to a damn swan baby while she’s under this curse.

One day, when Killian visits near the end of his shift, he’s finally alone, leaving behind the dumb one and the book worm and giving her all of the attention she desires as his strong hand softly pets along her soft feathers. She can’t wait to get rid of these stupid feathers.

“You’re quite funny,” he remarks as the sun starts to set. “Unlike any swan I’ve ever met.”

She squawks at him-- I’m not a damn swan-- and he smiles. “Quire the personality. It always seems like you’re trying to communicate with me.”

Yes, you stupid handsome man, that’s exactly right! She tries to nod, lifting and dropping her head in quick succession and making the beauty laugh. She nudges her head against his hand in demand of more pets.

“What is it you want me to know, darling?” he asks gently, his voice soft and soothing and deep.

She groans, a sound that comes out like a pained cry, and his face shifts. “Are you alright, love?”

In pure frustration, Emma drops her head against the man’s chest, likely assaulting him with how badly she smells like bird shit, and he chuckles again, letting his hand run along her feathers some more. “There, there. I know life as a swan must be difficult. All you seem to want is for someone to listen.”

She looks up, hoping that her expression conveys her complete and utter irritation at the fact that he’s literally hitting the nail on the head and yet he has no idea.

“Such a personality,” he says again. “I’ve got to head home now, love. I’m looking forward to having Chinese for dinner. Perhaps I'll bring you an eggroll tomorrow, or is that insensitive?”

She squawks, half because she’s laughing, and half because she would quite literally kill another potential mate for an eggroll. Wanting to beg him not to go, she gives him her best sad face through her inability to emote, and nestles her head against his palm one more time.

“I’ll sneak you one, love,” he laughs, and as he does, he finally, finally , leans down towards her, and plants his stupid, dumb, lucious lips upon the top of her stinky bird head.

Cramps start to run through her whole stupid bird body, the same ones she felt when she was cursed on Halloween decades ago. He stands, not seeming to notice her pain and discomfort until he’s a few steps away, and he turns back around. “Swan, are you alright?” he asks, as if she could answer, and she shouts back at him wordlessly.

She praises whatever gods might be listening as she feels things start to change, her feathers shedding as her skin is exposed to the chilly fall air. The webbing between her toes retracts, her legs turning flesh colored rather than that horrifying orange. Her bill turns back into her nose and mouth, preparing her to smooch her savior rather than peck at him. Finally, she’s back!

“Bloody fucking hell,” Killian breathes as he stares on, Emma transforming back into her old self, laying in a heap on the ground as she brushes off the dirt and twigs and leaves.

“You did it,” she praises before clearing her throat, raw from misuse after all these years. She grins at him as she’s been wanting to since they met, and is met with a horrified, shocked look on his face. His jaw is gaping, his eyes wide as they catch the light of the setting sun. “I knew you would.”

“What the fuck?”

“You broke the curse,” she says happily, standing up and exposing her nude form to him, cursing the lack of feathers although she vowed she never would. Immediately, he removes his jacket, despite his shock still clearly running through him, and hands it to her.

“I did what now?”

“I was cursed. Why do you think I was such a miserable swan?”

He’s looking around, his mouth snapping shut and dropping open in succession as he tries to process the fact that there was a swan in the enclosure just a second ago, and now there’s a frankly beautiful, naked woman standing before him. “You were cursed,” he says doubtfully.

“Yes, I was. An evil witch cursed me on Halloween decades ago and I've been stuck in that infernal bird form ever since. All I needed was True Love’s Kiss to break it, but imaging trying to fall in love with someone as a damn bird.”

“So you… you fell in love… with me…?”

“Obviously,” she smiles, taking a step towards him on shaky legs, tripping and falling into his waiting arms as he catches her, careful not to grope her, although she isn’t sure she would mind. “And you broke the curse, so… Do I have to tell you what that means?”

“I-- I’m having a lot of trouble processing the fact that I've evidently been in love with a swan for months.”

“Well, my name is Emma Swan, so you can be in love with a Swan for the rest of your life, if you’d like.”

“Emma,” he murmurs, staring into her eyes and smiling when he seems to recognize her. She’s never been able to see herself in the mirror, because the book worm was worried she would attack it, but based on the way he’s staring, she would guess that the evil witch let her keep her eyes. “Do you know it just happens to be Halloween tonight?”

“Kismet,” she says softly, gazing up at him. He lifts his hand like he did while she was planted in his lap, and she’s finally able to feel his calloused finger along the skin of her cheek, then of her neck, just as he had done before.

“Aye,” he agrees. “The spirit of the holiday does make this whole thing a bit easier to accept.”

“Yeah,” she says dismissively. “Now take me home. I was promised an eggroll and I haven't eaten anything but grass and stale bread in almost thirty years.”

~~~~

Tagging (with apologies):

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21 @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree

#Captain Swan #Captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #the swan and her handler #cs ff #the swan ff #cs crack #crack fic

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alexaplaysgames · 3 years

Note

Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

A Sky Full of Stars

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 11340 (I know I say this all the time but this really was supposed to be a short one-shot but it got away from me because I just loved this idea so so much. Sorry not sorry.)

Warning: Nothing but fluff. Some kissing that turns into a heated make-out session that turns into a cuddling session.

Inspired by this tiktok by the lovely ameliagonzales who was gracious enough to allow me to use her idea and write this.

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something that's fluffy slightly angsty and dialogue-centered. I'm not going to lie, this took longer than usual because of the lovely anon that decided to tell me my characterization of Din is hella off and I realized I don't care if it is because it's my writing and I get to do whatever I want with it. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments and reblogs are always always appreciated. You can add yourself to the taglist here. This is not beta'd btw.

“No silly this isn’t green, it’s blue.” The little girl put her toy away and brought out a new one, giggling at your faux pout as she shoves the new object in your hand and asks you what color you thought it was. You turn it around in your hands, trying your hardest to hide the hurt growing in your chest at not knowing what color it is. You think it’s closer to the first toy she gave you but you’re not sure. You’re never sure. You look at the girl and smile at her before setting the toy aside and wiggling your hands at her. She immediately stands up and screams as you run after her, laughing along with her giggles as you chase her around and watch as more kids join in and run away from you.

You’re not sure how long you’re chasing the little ones and you hear some of them gasp and ‘oooh’ when your young friend runs into a solid figure. You stand up and watch as the girl tears up as she apologizes to the man she just ran into. You’re immediately hugging her and assuring her that everything is okay, turning to the side and narrowing your eyes at the man that scared her half to death.

“Shame on you Mando,” you pretend to smack his shoulder three times and watch as the child in your arms sniffles between laughs when the Mandalorian tries to hide away from you.

“I’m sorry little flower, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You watch as the man reaches for a small bottle in his pocket and slowly hands it to the girl. “Here you go, a token of my apology.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, he’s a nice man...even though he doesn’t look it.” You wink at Boba Fett and giggle along with her when he sighs heavily and pushes the flask into her hand. She takes it and shakes it around, her eyes lighting up when the bottle shimmers at her ministrations and illuminates her hands.

“It’s so pretty! How did you know orange is my favorite color?” The girl slides down your arms and quickly hugs the hunter in front of you before running away and showing her friends. You look at her with longing in your eyes, wishing with all your heart that you saw the gift the same way she saw it.

“Still no color princess?” Fett questions and you shrug your shoulders as you make your way towards Slave I and sit on the ramp.

“Yup, same old same old. Who knows if I’ll ever see color.” There is a hint of hurt in your tone but Fett says nothing as he approaches you and stands to the side. He pats your shoulder once as he takes his helmet off and softly wipes at the visor to clean it.

“Don’t give up, kid. You’re still young...you’ve got all the time in the galaxy and you travel everywhere. You’ll meet them when you least expect it.”

“In this line of work? Yeah, I don’t think so Fett. But at least one of us didn’t lose the positive attitude. If I’m being honest, I was hoping to see color before the next supply run. The chances that I’ll live to go to Pasaana during another Festival of the Ancestors are practically non-existent. I heard they wear so many variations of the same color...maker, it would have been nice to experience that.” You pick up a rock and throw it away as you nervously ring your fingers and brush the conversation aside, not wanting to start the journey with a sour mood.

“Well, lucky for us, we have extra help on this run so it should be quicker. Maybe you’ll see color before you go?” Fett looks up and you follow his line of sight as another ship slowly lands just behind Slave I. You stand up and walk behind your old friend, looking back at the crates to ensure they’re still there before you approach the landing ship.

“Oh no, what poor soul did you manage to rope in this time?” You eye the ship and swear there is something familiar about it but you pay it no mind as Fett puts his helmet back on.

“Hey, I don’t always bend people to my will you know. He volunteered actually...he knows his way around the Narvath Sector and he might even tag along with us to the Forbidden Valley. So, be nice and don’t flirt with him.” Fett warns and you throw your hands up in defeat, failing to hide your smile as you respond with feigned offense.

“I’m not going to flirt with him.” You raise an eyebrow when Fett snorts at your high-pitched voice as he makes his way to the landing ship, and mutters something beneath his breath. The ship powers down after a couple of moments and you take a deep breath when the doors to the docking ramp slide and a figure appears at the corner.

“There he is...took you longer to land this time.” Fett yells to the other Mandalorian, not noticing how you take a few steps back as the man walks down towards the two of you.

“Oh well things just got a little more interesting now.” You break the silence and cringe when the Mandalorian struts past your friend and takes out his blaster. You hold your hands up when he points the weapon at your head and you watch as Fett strides to the two of you and stands in between your body and his brother’s weapon.

“You?” The Mandalorian growls and he tries to step aside and Fett holds his chest and pushes him back.

“Me!” You smile nervously and gulp when Fett turns around and looks at you. You swear you can almost see the look he’s giving you but you say nothing and hope that he can handle this situation for you.

“Oh.” You would have laughed at Fett’s response if there wasn’t a bounty hunter standing not five feet away from you and killing you a thousand different ways.

“You two know each other?” Fett breaks the silence and continues to stand between the two of you, knowing his friend’s short temper and your dumb comments might escalate this situation.

“I wouldn’t say we know each other. I’d say we met very briefly on-” You try to explain what happened the last time you saw the Mandalorian but he cuts you off. He pushes his blaster into its holster and you sigh heavily but keep your hands raised, afraid he'll change his mind any second and try to shoot you again.

“You almost blew up my ship!” The Mandalorian yells and you jump at his exclamation. His irritation seeps into your skin and you narrow your eyes at him as you walk around Fett and begin to nudge at the beskar armor with one finger. Your anger at his unfairness outgrows your fear of what he can do to you and you continue to push on his chest plate as you talk back at him and ignore Fett’s whispers to let it go.

“I did no such thing. I merely tried to fix your shitty cooling radiator panels but you scared the fuck out of me when you came up behind me and suggested I switch the parts, hence why I dropped the cauterizer and burned through the wires. So technically, you almost blew up your ship.” You’re breathing heavily and you’re sure your nose is flaring from how annoyed you are by the man in front of you. A few seconds pass between the two of you and it’s not until the Mandalorian tilts his head that you realize what you’ve just said and done. You take your hands away and swallow the growing lump in your throat as you step back and apologize a few times before you walk to the crates.

The Mandalorian stands there in silence, never once looking away from you retreating form, even when Boba Fett comes and stands him.

He’s missed this, and more than he preferred to admit.

“Little princess is fiery today.” Fett comments and notices when his friend turns and stares at him through the visor. The Mandalorian says nothing as he walks away from Fett and follows you. You’re in the middle of counting the supplies in the crates when you hear the crunching of footsteps approaching you. Thinking it’s Fett that’s come to help you move the supplies, you roll up your sleeves and ask him to take the opposite side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at your brother. I was just annoyed because I was only trying to help and he scared me.” When you look up and see that it was the Mandalorian and not your friend, you drop the crate and stare at him. He says nothing as he picks up his end of the large box and waits for you to mirror his actions before he begins to walk back to his ship. Neither of you say anything as you go back and forth until all the crates are on his ship. You walk out and stand next to Fett, waiting for his instructions to see whether you were going to go with him or with the new member of the crew.

“So what’s the plan?” You avoid the Mandalorian standing next to you and turn your body towards Fett, hoping that he’d say that you were tagging along with him.

“You’re going to go with him.” You cease to breathe at his command and clench your fists when you recognize his tone. He’s not leaving room for negotiation.

“W-why?” The Mandalorian walks back to his ship at your question and you pout when you realize that he may have misunderstood your inquiry. Not that it mattered whether or not he misunderstood...

“Fennec...we’ll meet you at Iktotchon.” You look to the ground and shuffle your feet against the sand, turning back to him and nodding quietly as you follow behind the Mandalorian.

“And princess!” Fett calls for you and you glance at him when you reach the top of the ramp.

“Hmm?”

“Try not to get into too much trouble.” You look at him with annoyance and shake your head when you realize he’s just teasing you. Standing at the large doors of the ship, you glimpse one last time at Mos Eisley before you make your way into the heart of the ship. A few moments later, the ship powers up and you watch as the barrier raises and locks just as light filters through the area. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do or where you’re allowed to go so you remain standing where you are. Not a minute later, you jump when a voice breaks the silence and booms through the ship.

“Come up to the cockpit.”

You take a deep, calming breath as you set your things to the side and ascend the ladder to the cockpit. You come face to face with a door and you’re about to knock when it slides open and reveals the Mandalorian sitting in the pilot chair.

“Sit down and buckle up.” He says as he flicks on buttons across the board. He turns his head towards you to make sure that you’re buckled in before he raises the throttle levers and begins to take off. You hold back from saying something snarky as the turbulence gets worse, only shutting your eyes when it gets to be too much. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there with your hands clasping the leather of the chair but it’s only when you hear the seat in front of you turning that you realize you were already in space.

You frown when you open your eyes and see the Mandalorian already looking at you, the tilt of his helmet letting you know that he was silently mocking you.

“What?” You break the silence and watch as he rights himself before he turns around and pushes the auto-pilot button.

“You’re a supply dealer who hates flying.” It’s more of a question than a comment and you can’t help but narrow your eyes when he stands up and continues to stare at you.

“So?”

“Not a good quality of life.” If you’re surprised by his response, you try not to show it as you stand up and face him defensively like before.

“Says the man who wears beskar armor every minute of the day.” It’s a low blow and you know you have no right involving his religion. But you’re fed up with his passive aggressiveness and you want to make sure he knows that he can’t talk down to you.

The Mandalorian turns away and looks at the passing stars of the galaxy, softly whispering for you to follow him as he exits the cockpit. You want to apologize for what you said but you hold back instead, following him down the ladder and standing to the side when you see him moving things around.

“This is my cot, and that right there is yours.” He points to two doors across from each other at the end of the hallway and waits for your confirmation before he walks past them and shows you the refresher.

“Help yourself to any of the rations. We’ll arrive at Iktotchon in four sleeping cycles so there should be enough food for the two of us until we get there.” You’re not sure what makes you reach for his wrist when he turns around to walk away. He stands still and looks down at the hand grasping his beskar before he looks at you.

“S-sorry...I- umm, are you coming to Pasaana?” You ring your fingers nervously as you look at yourself in his visor, taking two steps back when he straightens up and looks down at your hands.

“You’re going to the Festival of the Ancestors.”

“Yes. Well, it’s me, Mando, and Fennec. So I was just wondering, you know, if there was...if you had anything lined up after this supply run. Because if not, you can tag along...it only happens every-”

“42 years. I know.” He cuts you off and you’re not sure if his body-language seems more open or not but within a few seconds of chatting with him, he’s suddenly relaxing and leaning back against the metal wall. He’s silent for longer than you prefer so you force a smile and rub the back of your neck awkwardly as you prepare to tell him to forget that you asked since he probably has more important matters to handle.

“Ok.” It’s a simple response yet you feel your skin heat up as he nods at you and walks to his quarters. He hesitates at the door for a moment before he pushes the button and steps into the privacy of his room.

You let out a deep breath and stand in your spot for a few minutes before you slip back to the docking space to bring your belongings to the room. The ship is surprisingly more quiet than others you’ve been on and you remember what he told you about it the last time you saw him. A faint memory of how he defended the size of his ship makes you giggle. Then again, you’ve heard from Peli about the piece of junk he had before this and knew that it was barely considered as machinery.

“Maker, how am I going to make it four days on this ship with him?” You shake your head as you prepare to go to bed. The twin suns were just setting on Tatooine when you were leaving and you knew it was better to get as much sleep in as possible considering how quickly things sometimes escalated on these kinds of runs.

Surprisingly, things weren’t too bad when you left your sleeping cot the following day. The Mandalorian was already awake and cleaning his weapons. You bid him a quick good morning as you moved past him and looked for some snacks. He didn’t seem like he wanted to converse with you so you opted to stay in your room for the remainder of your waking hours. A voice in your head told you to keep the door open in case he did want to chat eventually but as you thought, he never once disturbed you.

The second day on the ship was perhaps slightly more eventful. Although he continued to pass his time in silence, he did manage to ask you to help him fix something in the cockpit. You were shocked he requested your services with ease and said nothing as he stood aside and watched you tinker away with the radar display screen. He thanked you twice when you finished and told you that he’d let you know if he needed your help with anything else.

The third day, however, made you wish you could open the docking doors and throw yourself out in space. You hadn’t seen him all morning long and you thought it was probably because he wanted some privacy in the cockpit. By the middle of the day, you jumped out of your cot and grabbed some spare clothes as you headed to the refresher, wanting to shower once before you landed on the sand-filled planet the following. As you walked to the door and pushed the button, you were met with a heavy fog escaping the room. When the fog cleared, you dropped your clothes and slammed your hands on your eyes, immediately backing away from the room as the Mandalorian scrambled to wrap something around his waist. You weren’t sure how many times you apologized in the span of one minute but when you heard the familiar sound of a blaster turning on, you stood in silence and waited for him to say something.

“Pfassk, do you have no kriffing regard for privacy?” He growled through the vocoder and you shook your head to try and explain to him that you saw nothing but his back.

“I- maker, I’m so sorry. I swear on my life I didn’t see anything except your back. I didn’t know you were in there...I really didn’t or else I wouldn't have gone in.” You sigh in relief when you hear him murmur to himself as he sets down the blaster and shuffles around in search of his clothes.

“What do you mean you didn’t know I was in there? The red light was on, which usually means someone is in the fucking refresher using it.” Hearing him swear shouldn’t make you shiver and yet you do. When you notice that he’s gone still, you assume it’s safe to look at him again. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and lower your hands as you muster up the courage to try and explain to him why you couldn’t see the red light.

And boy was that a mistake. You regret removing your hands from your eyes as soon as you take a good look at him. Turns out, the beskar armor only made him look more intimidating. The man was large, made to be a hunter. He was broad-shouldered, muscular in all the right places and soft in others. You unintentionally frown when you see his bronze skin littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Maker, the life he led was worse than you thought.

“I- uhh, I don’t...I couldn’t see it.” You hated how much your voice broke when you tried to explain yourself. As much as you wanted to blame it on being afraid of him, you knew it was less about the danger he exuded and more about the fact that you could see more of his skin than you thought you ever would.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know it was red.” You knew none of what you were saying was making sense but this wasn’t exactly a situation that you thought you’d find yourself having to deal with, and with the Mandalorian of all people.

“Are you fucking with me?” He was less hostile than earlier but his words were still spoken aggressively. You couldn’t blame him really, especially when you knew how strict his religion was.

“N-no. I- my species doesn’t see color until- well, it doesn’t matter. My species doesn’t see color. We just see grays. I’m sorry...I should have asked before if there was anything I needed to learn about the ship that required me seeing colors. It escaped me. I’ll try to pay more attention...I promise you I saw nothing.” You take one last glance at the heaving, glistening body in front of you before you turn around and walk in your room. You shut the door behind you this time, knowing that he probably wanted some of his privacy back and that he would need to limit himself should you keep it open.

It’s not until a few hours later that you sit up when you hear a soft knock on your door. You stand up and push open the barrier, finding the Mandalorian standing in front of you with his helmet looking straight at your reluctant expression. You wait for him to say something and when he doesn’t, you raise your eyebrows and silently ask him if he needs anything.

“I didn’t know about your...I didn’t know. And I didn’t mean to scare you with the blaster either, it’s a reflex to- umm.” You nod at him and look down to see what he’s holding in his hands. “You left your clothes lying on the floor.” He pushes the fabric towards you and averts his eyes when he sees your undergarments peaking through the shirt. You thank him as you set them down on your bag and look into his visor again.

“Ad'ika?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” The whispered exclamation does little to calm your nerves and you’re not sure what to say to him so you nod and awkwardly smile into the shiny beskar helmet. The Mandalorian murmurs a quick ‘good night’ before he makes his way to the cockpit, leaving you as confused as ever.

You don’t get an ounce of sleep that night, the image of him in nothing but a helmet and some flimsy pants making you wish he had shot you with his blaster instead. You refuse to admit the rising emotions you’re beginning to feel towards him, mostly because it didn’t matter whether or not he reciprocated them.

You still couldn’t see color.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

You’re afraid to leave the room the next morning, not sure which version of the Mandalorian you were going to have to deal with. It turns out, there was nothing to worry about because not surprisingly, you got the quiet, slightly shy man chatting with you. He pretends nothing happened the previous day and you go along with it. You’re just about to enter the atmosphere of Iktotchon when you receive a hologram from Fett telling the two of you of the sandstorm passing through the meeting point.

As you buckle into the seat behind the Mandalorian, he takes a moment to turn around and call for you.

“There’s going to be turbulence.”

“I- I know.” You barely hold back from furrowing your eyebrows at his comment but then he turns around to face you completely and you narrow your eyes at him with suspicion.

“I’ve landed on worse planets.” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize what he’s attempting to do and you can’t help but laugh and break the moment. You quiet down when he turns around and begins to descend to the planet.

“Are you worried about little old me Mandalorian?” You try to distract yourself from the sudden, harsh shaking of the ship but the teasing does little to calm your nerves when you realize that the sandstorm was as bad as Fett made it sound. You shut your eyes and try to picture the calm nights you’re so used to on Tatooine.

“You know, you can just call me Mando.” His voice breaks you out of your haze and you growl in response when you hear a few sounds go off above you.

“No, I- I can’t call you that. I reserved it for the other guy already!”

“You mean the Mandalorian who already told you his name?” He claps back and chuckles when you sigh in irritation at his question.

“Fine okay you’re right. How about this? Can you land this fucking ship without killing the two of us Mando?” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs and grasp the belt around your torso harder when you don’t hear back from him.

“Mando?”

“You mean the ship I already landed ad’ika?” Your eyes shoot wide open and you look around frantically, only to see that most of the turbulence you experienced was due to the sand and gravel hitting the metal of the ship.

“Oh...that was- not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Anything beats Maldo Kreis.” Mando says as he stands there across from you and the slight tilt of his helmet at your confused expression makes you realize he may not have meant to say that out loud.

“We need to go. The storm will only get worse if we wait until night.” You nod in agreement and follow him out of the cockpit to the docking station. Mando instantly regrets lowering the docking ramp when he sees gravel quickly entering the ship. You run to your room to grab the helmet you brought with you and lock it in as you return to help him with the crates.

It’s a difficult few hours on the planet, and you grow more irritated when the Ikotchi threatens you with less supply exchanges. When his demeanor suddenly changes and he asks you to take the crates and leave, you thank him and quickly take the crates up the ramp with Fennec before he changes his mind. You never once notice both Mandalorians as they subtly push their blasters back into their holsters.

You’re leaving Iktotchon later than you prefer, mostly because both bounty hunters find themselves in a heated argument that Fennec has to end not-so-gently. You don’t bother asking Mando what the issue was when you see him strutting into the cockpit, quickly strapping yourself in when he glances at you to make sure you’re safe.

It’s a rough take off for both his ship and Slave I, but you say nothing of it, knowing that he might not appreciate any light teasing at the moment. Once you’re out of the planet’s atmosphere, Mando puts in the coordinates for Pasaana and sends a hologram to Fett, letting him know that you would be reaching the planet in less than a day.

You want to ask him if you could help in any way but you decide against it and leave him to his thoughts. You want nothing more than to take a long, hot shower to rid yourself of all the sand that managed to seep into your clothes. But then you notice the state of the docking area and before you can talk yourself out of it, you look around for anything that resembles a sweeper and clean as much of the floor as you can. You’re thankful that Mando doesn’t leave the cockpit and when you’re done, you go back into your room to grab a change of clothes so you could use the refresher.

You think you hear Mando passing by your room but you say nothing and make your way to the refresher, halting in your steps when you look at the light and find it turned off.

Great.

“Mando? Are you in there?” You’re not sure if he can hear you or not so you try to ask him again a little louder.

“Mando!? Are you i-”

“No.” You jump as soon as you hear him respond from behind you. Turning around, you clutch at your chest when you see him standing in front of his door without the beskar armor.

“I- uhh, t-there’s no light. And I wasn’t sure what that meant really.” You’re ringing your fingers again, and hope that he doesn’t notice just how nervous you are in his presence.

“Well I- I rewired the electrical circuits of the refresher so you know when it’s occupied and when it isn’t. If the light is on, it means I’m in there, and if it isn’t, then it’s free for use. No more colores.”

You look at him as if he took off his helmet, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he went out of his way to accommodate you when you’re only on his ship for another few days.

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say before you push the door and scramble in. Mando looks at the door for another few minutes before he remembers that he hasn’t eaten in a while. He cooks up a meal for two quickly and eats his share before you finish your shower. When he hears you walking out, he sits in his usual corner and brings out his weapons to polish them.

You smell food as soon as you walk out of the refresher and you throw your clothes on your cot before you make your way to the large space across the hallway. You’re about to ask Mando about the food situation when you see a plate opposite of him on the table.

“It’s yours.” Mando breaks the silence as he wipes in between the crevasses of his blaster, nodding towards the space in front of him to let you know that you could join him,

“Thank you Mando.”

Neither of you say anything as you inhale your dinner and it’s not until you’ve washed your plates and set them aside that Mando decides to break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“S-sure.” You think he’s going to ask you what it’s like to not see colors and to only see gradations of gray but his question catches you off guard.

“When can your species see color?” If you were uncomfortable by his question, you did a good job hiding it from him. Mando watches as you push off the wall and return to sit in front of him, lazily pushing around the towel he was holding as you answer him.

“This might sound stupid and I’m usually told that it’s not real but I’ve seen those of my kind experience the second they could see color so I know it’s not just a fable we’re told when we’re young. Basically, we see color when we meet our soulmates.” Mando’s heart breaks when you throw him a forced smile, one he’s seen a million times looking back at him in the mirror.

“Your soulmate?”

“Yup, the person I’m destined to be with. My other half. The one that will belong to me and I to him.” Mando nods along with you as he stands up and hangs up his weapons one by one.

“I know what you’re thinking. What’s someone like me going to do at the Festival of the Ancestors? Honestly, I think it’ll be fun to attend it whether or not I can see the colors. It’s a rich culture so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it either way.”

“I can always walk around with you and describe to you the colors, t-the patterns even. If...if you want.” His suggestion throws you off guard and as earlier, you gape at him as you try to figure out what he was playing at. You think he’s pulling your leg and will laugh at you at any moment, but when he doesn’t, you realize that he’s being dead serious.

“That would be nice Mando. I might not see the colors but I could always imagine what they look like next to each other.”

And just like that, the conversation is over as quickly as it begins.

“Good night mesh’la.” Mando murmurs as he makes his way to his quarters, leaving you more hopeful than you’ve felt in a long while.

It’s a weird thing to admit but for the first time in years, you don’t go to sleep wishing you could wake up and see colors. No. You doze off wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand and maybe, just maybe, kiss it. You think of how soft his untouched skin must feel like and how calloused his scarred muscles would look.

When you dream that night, you see faint images of his lips caressing yours and his firm arms bringing you into his embrace.

And you wake up with a lazy smile etched on your face because those dreams, those sweet, lovely memories your brain conjured up during the night, felt as good as seeing color.

You can’t look at him for the duration of the morning, constantly pretending that you’re doing something or other so he doesn’t think you’re avoiding him because the last thing you wanted was to make him think you didn’t want to talk to him. But you just can’t find it in yourself to look into his visor. Every time you so much as glance at the beskar helmet, you remember what your subconscious conjured up and you stutter out a response to whatever he says.

Not surprisingly, Mando notices the shift in your behavior and he waits until you finish fixing the crates’ locks, which were clearly not broken, before he approaches you.

“Mesh’la.”

“Yes Mando?” You’re still not looking at him and Mando starts to genuinely believe that he’s done something wrong. When you try to walk past him to place the tool back in your room, Mando reaches out and takes hold of your wrist before you’re out of reach. You look at his gloved hand wrapped around your skin before you meet his eyes past his visor and Mando holds his breath because for a moment, he thinks you can see straight through him.

“You’re angry with me.”

You never realize until this moment that Mando tends to ask most of his questions in the form of a statement and it’s strange. It’s strange because it never occurred to you that he’s the type to perhaps jump to conclusions when he can’t read the situation. Setting the tool box down, you stand up and fix your shirt as you muster up the courage to respond to him.

“I’m not. I’m not angry with you. I’m- it’s...difficult to explain.” His hold loosens but he’s standing in your space and you think it’s because he’s not totally convinced by your answer and won’t let it go until you give him a proper explanation for the sudden change in your treatment.

“It’s difficult to explain why you’re not angry with me.”

There it goes again, that weird phrasing of his inner thoughts. You huff in irritation and Mando misunderstands your annoyed expression so he steps away and turns to look everywhere else but you.

“No, Mando...maker- yes it’s difficult to explain because you’re- no, not you. It’s not your fault it’s mine. I’m just not used to- gods why is this so hard?” You’re visibly stressed and it must be a sight because Mando comes back to stand in front of you and he rests one hand on your shoulder, waiting until you turn to look at him before he tries to break the anxiety-inducing silence.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I- I shouldn’t have offered to walk through the festival with you. I should have thought of how uncomfortable you’d feel before I selfishly asked t-” You perk up at his choice in words and you’re about to ask him what he meant by what he said but he doesn’t give you a chance. “Please believe me when I tell you I only wanted to...I thought it might help.”

“You see, this is exactly why I’m avoiding you.” You’re not sure who’s more surprised by your little outburst but when his hold tightens around your shoulder, you think maybe it’s him.

“So you are avoiding me.”

“Yes okay? I am, I’m avoiding you because the last few days felt like a whiplash of emotions and I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. One minute you’re angry and quiet and it’s as if I’m not in the same space as you, and the next thing I know, you’re rewiring your damn ship so I know how to use it and then offering to pretty much waste your time during one of the most beautiful festivals in the galaxy just to make sure I’m enjoying myself. And...and it’s difficult because I feel myself falling but I don’t want to because I’m afraid...I’m afraid you won’t be there to catch me...because you don’t have to. Because why would you when-”

You’re not sure how you got to this moment but all you know is that you're’ suddenly surrounded by Mando and the cold beskar armor and his natural musk and this unique woodsy scent and it’s-

It’s breathtaking.

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t know...I didn’t know I was causing you this much distress. It’s difficult for me to- to speak my he- to speak at times. I wasn’t thinking of how I’m coming off and I was so busy trying to figure out my- my own feelings...that I didn’t stop and think of what you must be going through.” His voice is low and you think perhaps that it’s breaking with every word he whispers through the vocoder, so you do the only thing you think of at the moment. Reluctantly, you wrap as much of your arms around him as physically possible, hoping he’d understand that you were listening to him and no longer trying to ignore him.

“Mando-”

“I- I volunteered for this supply run.” You’re not sure how this relates to this current affair but you sink further into his embrace, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from explaining why he’s bringing this up now.

“I know. Fett told me.”

“Did he tell you why?” Mando replies instantly and you furrow your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see you.

“N-no.”

“I- I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Ever since the last time I saw you, I’ve been at war with myself, with what I was allowing to happen. I knew you weren’t to blame with the cauterizer but I couldn’t accept my heart letting you...maker, I can see why you said this is difficult.” He chuckles nervously and you hold your breath in anticipation because he isn’t, he can’t be admitting what you think he is.

“W-what’re you saying Mando?”

“I’m saying I need you cyar’ika. I’m saying, I’ve been dreaming of you for the past 53 sleeping cycles. I’m saying, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you after Pasaana.” You don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale against him and Mando pulls away, keeping his helmet aimed to the floor as he continues. “And if- if you can give me a chance, I’d like to- I’d like to...well, I’m not exactly sure what you enjoy doing but I’d like to do it with you. You don't have to give me an answer now. I know I’m being selfish and I know that I- I don’t belong with you because you haven't seen color yet. But please, please consider this. Consider me.” His voice is much more reserved, lower even, than before and you realize it’s because he was probably considering not telling you up until now.

Your heart breaks at his last words because this was never something you thought you’d have to deal with. But looking back at the last few days, no matter how confusing or strange they were, you can’t help but admit how alive you’ve felt.

You know he doesn’t expect you to answer him right away and you know you should take some time to think over what he’s asking of you.

So when you lay both of your hands on his chest and ask him to look at you, Mando thinks you’re going to reject him and you feel his muscles tense when you step closer to him.

“I do...I- I am considering this Mando, I have been for the past few nights if I’m being honest...it’s actually part of the reason why I couldn’t look at you today. I woke up with this unusual thought, well, unusual to me. It’s been so long since I stopped thinking about seeing color and directed all of my attention to something, or rather, someone else.” You smile up into the visor and slowly reach to rest your hand on the space between his helmet and his cowl. The mere touch of your skin shakes him to his core and Mando has to clench his fists so he doesn’t lose control over himself.

“Today was the first time I woke up not caring if I hadn’t seen color because- because being with you, and- and talking with you and staying on this ship with you felt like I’ve already seen color. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do...if I do, but I know that I’d like to give this, us, a shot.”

“You...you do mesh’la?” He almost sounds like a young child asking his parents for permission to have something and when you nod at him, Mando can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around you once more, and carries you off the ground, smiling to himself when he hears you giggling at his dramatic display of affection.

He pulls away and you think he’s about to say something but a message comes through to the ship and Mando apologizes quickly before he ascends to the cockpit. You stay planted in your spot for what feels like hours before you hear Mando telling you that you’re nearing Pasaana. When you get to the cockpit and take your usual seat, Mando rises from his chair and approaches you, kneeling down at your feet to buckle your belt easier and ensure that you’re safe. It’s a small gesture but you know he’s conveying a thousand emotions in that little tap to make sure that you’re buckled in properly and when you smile at him, he reaches over and pushes a stray hair behind your ears before he returns to his pilot chair.

You don’t feel the turbulence once, mostly because you’re too busy replaying the brief moment over and over again in your mind until you’re sure you’ve committed it to memory.

Mando has to tap on your shoulder twice once he lands, and you nod in affirmation when he asks if you were feeling alright. The two of you make your way out of the ship just as Slave I lands. When you glance at Mando to ask him about the argument between him and Fett, you find him already staring at you. You smile at him and watch as he looks away apologetically. Maybe he really was as nervous as you.

“You’re coming along then?” Fett says to Mando as you make your way towards the desert and you pretend to focus on the dozens of kites flying in the air, unsure whether you were meant to be a part of this conversation or not.

Mando replies in Mando’a and you look to Fennec to ask her something about the kites to try and ignore the two men who may or may not have been talking about you. You’re about to ask Fennec about the colors of the flying toys when Mando steps in between the two of you and takes hold of your upper arm, pushing you ahead of the others so he could get a private moment with you.

“Is- are you okay?”

“Fine. He’s being difficult.” His curt answer lets you know that he wasn’t going to reveal what that whole ordeal was about so you nod and try to fall in step with him. You’re about to ask him about the colors of the kites when Mando leans over and whispers in your ears.

“Those two over there are red, like the color of the twin suns on Tatooine when they’re just setting. And, that one over there, the large one flying higher than the rest, it’s a dark blue...like the night sky.” You try to not let the proximity of his body affect you but the more he tells you of the colors, the closer you want him to get to you.

“That smaller one is light green, like many of the plants on Felucia.”

“I’ve never been to Felucia.” You admit to him as you keep your gaze on the kites, trying to differentiate between the colors but barely noticing a difference between the grays.

“I can take you there.” He offers with ease and you look into the visor and smile at him. “I’d like that.”

You can vaguely feel their eyes on you but you don’t bother to pay attention to them, wanting to spend as much time with Mando as you could. Once you reach the edge of the festival, you thank the Aki-Aki that approach you and wrap a necklace of flowers around you. You laugh when they reluctantly look at Mando and he sighs heavily at your death stare before he leans down and allows one of them to place a necklace around his cowl as well.

“Hey Mando?”

“Hmm.”

“Do the necklaces look the same?” Mando turns around and sees Fett and Fennec look away from the two of you. He waits until they walk the opposite direction before he looks at you and takes hold of your necklace.

“Yours have lighter colors...yellow, orange, white, pink and a few light greens here and there. Mine is darker. This is purple, and these are blue...and all of these are dark red and brown.” He points to each of the flowers and tells you its color, never once noticing the way you’re looking at him and hanging onto every single word he says.

When you hear the sound of distant music playing, you take Mando’s hand and make your way through the crowd, telling him that you want to see what they’re doing on the other side of the festival. Mando says nothing as you pull him through, only responding when you directly ask him about the color of the caravan fabrics and laughing when you joke about how he technically blends into the surroundings. And when you come across a large crate that you can vaguely see some designs on, Mando offers to make room for it on his ship so you can get it. It’s a long argument between the two of you but he wins in the end, telling you that he genuinely wanted to gift you something that you can remember him with and might enjoy some day. You almost cry at the unspoken implications of his words but when he shrugs his shoulders and hands over the credits, you quietly thank him and let the seller know that you’ll be taking it before you leave.

Over the next few hours, Mando never leaves your side once, even when you tell him that he should enjoy his time as well. You notice how he changes the subject every time you ask him to explore by himself and giggle when he responds with an opinion on some of the color combinations. It’s quite comical to be in the presence of such an intimidating individual who’s complaining about how ‘that blue doesn’t go too well with this red.’

As you’re making your way through the different caravans, you notice a table displaying a dozen large cloaks. Turning to Mando, you see that he’s busy asking one of the sellers if they have similar shirts but in darker colors. You walk to the table on the other side and look through the capes to try and differentiate between them. When you realize that it’s of no use, you hold one up and call for him to ask if he should buy a new one.

“Hey Mando, maybe you should get this instead of-”

The question dies in your throat when Mando glances away from the vendor and holds your gaze. Your brain refuses to catch up with what your eyes are seeing for what feels like an eternity and your hand flies to your chest and clench it tightly as your heart skips a beat at the sight in front of you. It takes a few seconds for you to inhale deeply when you realize that you aren’t breathing and you feel your heart skip a beat when you watch Mando strut towards you. He drops what he’s holding in his hands and takes a few strides in your way, not caring to hold back as he wraps one arm around your waist while the other rests on your neck and tilts your head so he could take a better look at you. You still can’t wrap your mind around what just happened and you’re not sure what he’s saying until he lightly shakes you in his arms and raises his voice to grab your attention.

Maker, his voice was unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It was hoarse yet calming, the kind of calming that one could only dream of feeling.

“Mesh’la, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice shakes you to your core and your eyes shift down to his lips, tilting your head to the side when you follow the scruff peppering his handsome features and memorize the different colors of his hair. Gods, you couldn’t put a name to any of them but you knew you liked the combination of the light and dark outlining his sharp jaw.

“I- I don’t...maker. You’re...you’re-” You’re unable to form a coherent thought and as you reach out to touch his cheeks, Mando clenches his jaw but doesn’t dare to move a muscle. He realizes that this is the first time you see him without his helmet and he finds himself praying that you find him, at the very least, okay to look at. His hold on you eases when he feels the palm of your hand caress the side of his face before you push his hair aside. Mando nuzzles into your touch and he shuts his eyes to commit this moment to memory. The last time someone was this gentle with him broke his heart, but he found himself longing for a similar feeling with you. Only if it was you.

“N-no...please. Look at me.” Your whispered request drowns out the music of the festival and Mando’s eyes flutter open immediately. He looks down at you and can’t help but shift his focus to your parted lips as you try to speak again.

“Mando? What...what color are your eyes?” You hold your breath as Mando’s gaze softens when he meets your eyes again. He doesn’t know why you’re asking but he answers you anyway.

“Brown.” His voice breaks but then you’re smiling up at him as you reach for his cheek with your other hand and rest it on his heated skin. He’s not sure what brought about any of this but he can’t care less, not when you were here, in his arms, touching him so gently and looking at him like he was the only one that mattered across the galaxy.

“Hmm...they’re a beautiful color.” The admission sends a shiver down his spine and he doesn’t register the meaning behind your words until he sees your expression change to one of panicked shock.

Oh.

“You can see color?” Mando doesn’t intend to sound so accusative but his tone must have been harsh because you nod and snatch your hands away from him as if he’s burned you. You don’t dare look anywhere else as the reality of the situation settles in your mind.

It’s him. It’s been him all along.

“I- I can see color.”

Mando watches as you blink in confusion before you look to the side. You do a double-take when you see the vibrant colors of the festival and Mando steps away as you walk around him and approach a caravan hanging clothing of all color gradations. You ignore everything else as you softly trace the different colors and patterns on the garments before you walk over to the next little cart and stare at the vibrant jewelry. There’s so much to take in and you forget for a moment where you are. When you look away and turn your eyes to the sky, you can’t help but smile at seeing the kites gliding through the air. You don’t know which one you want to focus on because they’re all so pretty so you stand in there for a few moments to take it all in.

It’s not until you feel a presence next to you that you remember how you came to see this new world. When you begin to ring your fingers anxiously, Mando takes a step towards you and takes your hands in his palms.

“Cyar’ika, do you need anything?” He doesn’t know what to say and your lungs refuse to expand when you finally look at him again.

You spent years conjuring up different scenarios in your head to try and anticipate what to expect when you finally meet your soulmate. But standing here, in front of Mando, in the middle of the Festival of the Ancestors, you realize that this compares to nothing.

“I- I don’t…”

“If you want me to go-”

“No! N-no, please. Stay here with me. Stay here with...me.” Y

ou tighten your hold around his hands to prevent him from leaving. Mando nods and turns back to the caravan he was standing by to grab his helmet. You say nothing as he carries it and looks at you, but your eyes must give you away because Mando throws you a quick smile as he keeps it on his side and leads you through the festival.

Neither of you discuss the new development but you don’t ignore it either. You continue to steal glances from each other every now and then, especially when Mando leans over and tells you about each of the colors. Except this time, he doesn’t tell you so you could imagine what they look like. He tells you so you could memorize what each pigment is and begin to recognize them on your own. It’s almost as if nothing changed with how often Mando describes to you the gradations and patterns, but you know that this was far from the truth. And with the way Mando breathes softly against your forehead when he leans down to talk to you, you sense that he knows this as well.

He’s much more forward with his touches now, perhaps even a little shameless too. Hours ago, he would apologize if he pushed you by accident or shifted closer to you. But now, he was walking with you with one hand on your lower back and he would stand longer behind you as you asked about a new color shade.

As the sun slowly sets across the sky, you turn to Mando and wait for him to finish his drink before you ask him about the others.

“Do you mind if we don’t tell the others just yet?” You watch as Mando’s expression falls and you shake your head immediately so he doesn’t misunderstand the reason behind your request.

“Not because I don’t want them to know about us, I- maker, it’s just that I’ve experienced so many changes in the span of a few days and I want to make sense of things without...without someone asking me too many questions about what I’m feeling. I want to let this sink in? And- and I’d like it if it’s just you and me. Please.” Mando is quiet for a while and you think that maybe it was the wrong thing to say to him.

“Us?”

You can’t hold back your laughter at the soft question and you almost fall over from how hard you’re giggling at him.

“That’s what you took away from everything I just said?” You sigh in relief when he mirrors you and chuckles in return.

“I’m sorry cyar’ika, I- of course. Whatever you need from me.” He’s a man of few words but he somehow knows what to say to calm your nerves.

“Thank you Mando.” You say as you turn your attention back to the setting sun to watch the colors change across the sky.

“Din Djarin.” He whispers to you after a long while, and you meet his eyes briefly, your furrowed eyebrows silently asking him what he was referring to.

“My name is Din Djarin.” His gaze is piercing and you find it much more intense now that you know for a fact that they’re your favorite color. “So you can start calling the other guy Mando again.” Your heart skips a beat when you see dimples appear on his cheeks as he grins at his own joke, and nudges your shoulder so you could relax into him again. You say nothing and lean against his shoulder, resting your head on his beskar armor and enjoying the cold sensation against your heated skin.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in your bubble and watch the festival as it continues on for, but you’re interrupted when Fett approaches you and clears his throat to catch your attention.

“We’re leaving.” The Mandalorian says as he watches you closely. You think you’re being subtle studying his armor but Fett notices how you continue to look between him and Din’s and he tilts his head to the side as he turns to his friend and barely holds back from smirking at him.

Din nods and lets them know that you would be returning with him back to Mos Eisley. Fennec is about to ask why the two of you are acting differently when Fett shakes his head as he looks at you.

“Until next time princess,” Din’s posture straightens when he hears the nickname and narrows his eyes at the man trying to get a rise out of him.

“Usenye.” You snap out of your haze when you hear Din growl at his brother and wave goodbye to him and Fennec as they walk away from you.

“Is everything okay between the two of you?”

“Yes sweet girl, don’t worry about it.” You flush at the pet name and Din notices how you shiver at his touch when he raises your chin to take a better look at you. He slowly leans towards you, never once breaking eye contact as he grows closer to your lips. “Is- is this okay?” He asks and refuses to move a muscle until you respond to him. You’re already breathless and he has barely touched you but you muster up the courage to answer him.

“Y-yes.”

He smirks when your hoarse voice fans over his cheeks and as much as you wish for him to take whatever he wants, you’re thankful that he’s being patient with you and ensuring that you’re comfortable.

“Sweet girl,” Din whispers as he finally captures your lips in a chaste kiss. It’s at this precise moment that the festivities begin to pick up but you don’t notice the fireworks filling the skies or the music growing louder. You shut your eyes and hold onto Din’s wrists as he moves against you and deepens the kiss. When you gasp at his ministrations, Din’s hold on your neck tightens and he pushes you back until you lay on the blanket he set down for you. You moan as he slips his tongue past your lips and swirls his tongue across yours. Fisting your hands into his cowl, you try to pull him closer but cry out in pain when the beskar armor digs into your hips.

“I’m- I’m sorry mesh’la. I didn’t mean to-”

“No no it’s...it’s just your armor. I promise, I- I liked this.” You gulp nervously when you see an amused expression take over his handsome features.

“Is that so?” You don’t have time to react to his question, squealing in surprise when he suddenly stands up and pulls you along with him.

“What- where are we going?” You ask him as he pulls you through the multitude of visitors and Aki-Aki. He stops abruptly and speaks to one of the natives before he pushes you into the caravan standing behind him.

“Din, we can’t just-”

“I asked for his permission. Don’t you know, all of these are for visitors who want to stay the night.” You’re about to ask him why you’re staying the night out here instead of his ship but you can’t seem to form the question because you see Din taking his armor off.

It’s mesmerizing watching him take each beskar piece apart but when he’s down to just his clothes, it occurs to you that this night might be going somewhere else. Your nervousness must show on your face because Din walks towards you slowly and takes your hands in his. He kisses your wrists before leans over and rests his forehead against yours.

“Don’t worry cyar’ika, I’m not… I won’t- we’re not here to do anything other than talk. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my beskar off out there so-”

“I trust you Din.” You interrupt his word-vomit and lead him to one of the corners of the tent so you could lay down next to each other. When you rest your head on the pillow and finally look up, you’re met with a small opening in the ceiling of the caravan that gives you a perfect view of the blue night sky lighting up with fireworks.

When Din finally seats himself next to you, you whine in irritation and pull him down until he’s on his back next to you. Din never once lets go of your hand and he occasionally raises the palm of your hand to his lips to kiss across the skin.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look away from the fireworks when you speak, not wanting to miss seeing any of the vibrant shades of reds and yellows as they broke through the clouds.

“Anything sweet girl.”

“Why did you take off your helmet? I thought your Creed prevented you from showing your face.” You hope the question isn’t too insensitive or private, and when Din takes longer than you like to respond, you finally turn to him to apologize. But Din cuts you off before you can even say anything, keeping his focus on your wrist to distract him long enough so he could respond.

“I had a son once, well, he wasn’t mine physically but, he was mine. He was a foundling by Creed and I was tasked with bringing him back to his kind. It’s a long story that I could tell you another time but...when I had to give him up, I couldn’t bear the thought of him never seeing me without the helmet. I needed him to see me, to know what I willingly gave up and what I had to do to ensure his safety. I’d taken off my helmet once before and even thought it was my choice, I didn’t want to. But in that moment, before I watched him go, I decided that he was more important than my Creed. He was...he was everything to me. And it took a long time to realize that personal connections and relationships weren’t a weakness, they were a strength. My strength.” You’re not sure when you turned to your side and nuzzled into his embrace. But you couldn’t focus on anything else but him and the way his eyes twinkled in sadness when he mentioned his kid. It was a shocking admission and you never once thought of him in such a role but looking back at the last few days, you didn’t find it impossible. He was kind, quiet, sweet, adn patient.

“I keep my helmet on almost all the time but I only take it off around people I trust. I’m telling you this because- because I trust you. I trust you cyar’ika. I took it off earlier today because I wanted you to see me...and also because I was trying to pick out a gift for you. I figured if I didn’t preface it with anything that it would be less dramatic but- little did I know.” The indirect mention of the not-so-little change you experienced earlier today makes you smile.

“If I knew you needed to look into my eyes for you to see color, I would have taken off the helmet the first time I saw you.” He trails his nose across your cheek before he kisses your eyes and your forehead, smiling down at you when he sees how relaxed you feel in his arms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Your response surprises him and he pulls away and looks at you quizzically.

“I- I saw you before my eyes saw you, Din. My heart chose you before my soul did. I...I think I knew when I saw you again…I think a part of me knew that you were it for me and that it didn’t matter if I didn’t see color with you because- because you were...you’re perfect.” You feel a weight lift off of your chest when you finally confess to him what you’ve been feeling for the past few days and you shift impossibly closer to him to let him know that you were telling the truth.

“I’m not perfect mesh’la.” His laugh is self-deprecating and he only stops when he feels your hand slip around his back and hold onto his shirt like your life depended on it.

“You are to me.” It’s perhaps too forward for him and Din doesn’t know how to react or respond to your confession so he nods at you and nuzzles into your neck to avoid any more of your intense emotions.

“You haven’t told me yet what your favorite color is.” He tries to change the topic, not expecting your response to shoot through his chest and into his heart like a blaster.

“Brown obviously.” You answer instantly and without hesitation.

“Why ‘obviously’?”

“Well, it’s-it’s your eye-color Din. What other color could be my favorite?”

His heart ceases to beat at your adamant reply and he pulls away again to look into your eyes to see if you were teasing him. Instead, he finds something swimming in your eyes that would have terrified his soul had he met you years ago.

“Ner kar’ta,” Din moans into your ear as he rests up on his elbow before molding his lips with yours again. You don't know what any of the Mando’a means but you have a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to convey in that moment and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer to you. When he lays back down and pulls you into his side, you can’t help but take one last look at the night sky, finding the stars shimmering behind the multitude of fireworks. You watch the different colors blend with each other, and you almost cry when you see the yellows and greens and blues mixing so beautifully together to create new gradients across the galaxy.

But none of them compared to the color of Din’s eyes. And you go to sleep dreaming of the moment those kind, dark, brown orbs captured your soul and whispered affections into your heart.

Translations

Mesh’la - beautiful Cyar’ika - beloved/darling Ad’ika - little one Usenye - go away Ner kar’ta - my heart

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson

#din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #soulmate au

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