#the more I feel like a moron for nursing any interest in it at all

[cherryluvrx3]

Sadists and men are irritating. One who is both is the worst of all.

Okita Sougo x fem afab reader 

This is pretty much just a self indulgent stupid fic I thought would be funny. Based of a screenshot from another fic (I’ll put it at the end cuz I don’t wanna spoil the part lol) 

Cw. talk about pregnancy, abortion, (not at all seriously though), Okita calls you a slut like twice, some smut at the end and breeding??? Also in general Okita being a piece of shit like usual

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As the Shinsengumi nurse, I was no stranger to the spontaneous idiotic conversations men talk about. After all, my job keeps me surrounded by uncivilized men all the time. At first, the soldiers were a bit wary and even shy to act crude around me, not used to having a woman in the workplace, but after years of working there, the excitement and special treatment had worn off. Now they have no issue talking about any questionable, disgusting, filthy topics.

The other day I heard a debate that spanned about an hour long on ‘What do you think would kill you faster? Uncontrollable vomiting or shitting?’ 

Seriously the topics these men conjure up can be nothing short of abysmal. Part of me understands that as men who follow such a strict code, uphold the law, put their lives on the line, and are forced to live with other men, they don’t have as much freedom as others or much time to enjoy themselves. And since they’re stuck with each other, all their stupid ass energy is quick to infect and spread and soon enough you got everyone talking about vomit and shit when they should be, I don’t know, doing their jobs?

At the end of the day it’s whatever though. 

While they can be moronic and gross, I have to admit that they bring personality and excitement to my job. Since I’m just a lone nurse working in a simple on-grounds clinic, serious injuries go to hospitals while I mainly give them check ups and treat their scrapes and boo-boos. Having to treat a bunch of beat up men is much more entertaining when they pass the time talking passionately about the most dumb or horrid things imaginable. At times like those, I find myself having to rewrap some guy's arm for the third time because I can’t focus from all the gut wrenching laughter and tears in my eyes. 

Of course there are times when they try to involve me in the conversations. I usually opt out of all the really nasty sick ones because of personal preference but this was one that wasn’t a disgusting talk really, more like a hypothetical. Specifically about me and my boyfriend, Sougo Okita. 

The two of us had met because of our jobs of course and he ended up taking an interest in me because I bit back when he teased me. Initially he just liked messing with me and I hated his guts but after a while we both had grown strangely close and ended up falling into a relationship without either of us actually asking each other out. Too much pride for either of us to spit out our feelings? How embarrassing..

Anyway, the question was asked by Yamazaki, who was accompanied by Saitou. The two of them were getting their bruises, scrapes and cuts treated that they had gained from training together. 

“So (Y/n), what would you do if you were pregnant with Captain Okita’s kid?” 

“What?” The dead look I shot him quickly told him I was not amused with where the conversation was heading. 

“No- I mean-ow! C’mon! Surely it’s crossed your mind?” Yamazaki yelped as I aggressively dabbed an alcohol soaked cotton ball into a bad scrape on his knee. 

[Assuming that you two are… active?] Saitou’s notebook read. 

I huffed and felt my cheeks get hot before muttering, “We are,” I got up to throw the cotton ball in the trash can, “but! That’s really none of your business.” I said and poked Yamazaki’s shoulder where I knew he had a tender bruise making him yelp again. 

“But Okita’s always telling your business!”

“What?” The dead look once again on my face as I waited for them to explain. 

[Well sometimes the other men ask him about how things are between you two and he says that..] 

Saitou flips the page,

[..You’re really a big cock slut who can’t get enough of him -///-] he used his notebook to cover up his blushing face as if he didn’t already have a mask on and draw a blushing emoticon. 

Holy shit.

I mean.. men have always been shameless assholes that often have no problems over sharing the personal details of their girlfriends to other men for the imaginary cool guy points that dudes have but HOLY SHIT!?

I felt all color drain from my face only for it to instantly come back with how hard my blood was pumping from anger and embarrassment. 

“Oh my- That’s not true by the way!” I grab Yamazaki by his bruised shoulders and shake him. “If anything, he’s the slut! He’s the one that can’t keep his hands off me!” I yell, shaking Yamazaki even harder while Saitou helplessly watches. 

“Whatever!” I drop Yamazaki onto the medical bed where he lays lifelessly. “To answer your question, if I was pregnant with that asshole’s child, it’d be gone as soon as I can schedule the appointment!” 

“What?” 

I turn to the door to see said asshole boyfriend at the doorway.

Under normal circumstances I’d maybe be happy to see him but instead I huff and roll my eyes. “You heard me, if I had your kid in my stomach I’d get rid of it before that devil spawn could be formed!” I turned around and started gathering what I needed to treat Saitou now. 

“Okay wait. What’s even going on?” Okita asked confused on the random topic and why I was even mad at him when he hadn’t done anything yet. 

Saitou quickly wrote to give him a swift summary. 

“Oh. So you heard about that huh? Or I mean read about that.” Okita chuckled, not at all ashamed that I found out he’d been telling people that I’m practically a horn dog. “What? Are you embarrassed?” He went to wrap his arms around my waist from behind and leaned to talk by my ear, “All I’m doing is telling everyone how much you love me and how insatiable you get for my di-” I elbow him in the gut hard and watch as he doubled over with a groan. 

“God you are so irritating!” I yell and walk over to Saitou so I could start treating him but he backs away in fear I’ll do more harm than good. 

“Yeah I guess I could see why you wouldn’t want his child,” Yamazaki chuckles, “I’m sure he’d stress you out like crazy- Ow! Ow!” He whimpers as Okita starts rubbing into Yamazaki’s bruises that he somehow was able to find.

“Really? That’s why you wouldn’t have my kid?” He asks while still harassing poor Yamazaki. 

“Not just that. There’s no way you’d be a good dad. You’re way too childish and would probably ditch me, making me end up as a single mother because you ‘couldn’t handle the pressure!’” I grumbled while I disinfected some of Saitou’s cuts. 

[I have to admit that makes sense. After all you both are still young and a child is a lot of responsibility] Saitou’s notebook read. “Right? You get me.” I patted his back before going to toss the garbage in the bin. 

Okita walked up to me and gently cupped my chin, tilting my face to the side. I think that he’s gonna give me a sweet kiss on the cheek to make me feel better, something he does whenever I get too worked up over his bullying. 

He leans down slowly and I let him, after all I deserve some sweet loving- nevermind he just stuck his tongue in my ear. 

“Sougo! Ew!” I scream as I shove him away and frantically try to clean his spit. He smirked from the satisfaction of irritating me once again but his smug look eventually faded.

I could tell Okita was upset but I wasn’t sure if it was because I said he’d be a bad dad or that I’d accused him of leaving me when times got tough. 

“Hmph. Whatever. Not like you'd be a good mother either.” He huffed and left the room before I could argue back. 

A few days had passed since then. I thought he was upset but he seemed normal as ever when I had seen him again so I eventually forgot about the whole conversation. I mean, life as the nurse for a bunch of idiots is very demanding y'know. A gal like me has got a lot on her mind at once. Like.. well..uhh…

Today me and Okita were… hanging out…in my apartment…alone..

Ahem…

The bed creaked under the weight and strain that came from Okita’s hips slapping into my own. He’d always been rough so this was nothing new. I was on my back, my legs wrapped around his waist while his face was buried in my neck, leaving rough bite marks, hickeys, and an occasional tender kiss behind. My nails dug into his shoulders as I held on for support, the pain making him groan. 

How did things end up like this? I’m not entirely sure. It seems like whenever we have time alone together we just jump at the opportunity to get into each other’s pants. To us it feels like this is the best way to truly let each other know how we feel. The passion, the aggression and the sincerity of our touches convey our emotions better than our words could.

My back arched as his cock plunged itself into me, each thrust somehow feeling deeper than the last. I would be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds that came after each eager pump of his hips if I didn’t have Okita struggling to hold back his moans by ear, busying his mouth with licking and sucking on the skin of my neck instead. 

Our bodies were coated with a thin layer of sweat as they held onto each other. My hips bucked against his, never having enough of him. 

I gripped his soft hair and tugged him away from my neck, his plump lips already slick with spit before I crashed my lips to his. My tongue shooting into his already parted, panting mouth. He let out a throaty groan and his hips stuttered against mine, overwhelmed with all the sensations. 

Our tongues slid against each other’s aggressively. Even now we fought, trying to make the other submit. The kiss was sloppy and hot, I couldn’t help but moan at the familiar feeling of him dominating my mouth. 

One of his hands slid between us, his thumb rubbing rough circles on my clit to win me over. I gasped and broke from the kiss entirely, legs shuddering as my hips raised to hump against the pressure of his thumb.

“Oh! Sougo I’m gonna-” before I could finish, he pulled out entirely and moved my legs, pushing them against my chest. My legs naturally hung over his shoulders as he once again pushed himself into me, now in a mating press.

The pressure of his weight and the feeling of his cock pushing much deeper into me than before was almost overwhelming. My breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t even moan until he started pounding away.

Once again his hips continued their familiar, desperate pace, chasing after his own high. 

He sneered at the dazed look on my face, “You gonna cum? You should see yourself, honestly it’s embarrassing that you could be this slutty. I should take pictures and post them on the Shinsengumi bulletin board so people can see what you’re really like with me.” He chuckled, his voice slurred from pleasure. All I could do was grasp the sheets and whimper as he wrecked me.

I was so close to cumming and I could tell he was too with how his body shook with excitement. 

Then, Sougo’s eyes darkened, he leaned down so we were face to face. His eyes entirely focused on me and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. He looked me dead in the eyes before asking, “You ready to be a single mother?” 

…What the fuck? 

My eyes widened and face contorted into a look of confusion and disgust and that look was all he needed to push over the edge. He slammed into me one last time and let out an airy moan and his hips shook from how hard he just came. 

I felt his cum shoot into me in bursts, hot and sticky as it was, I stayed frozen in place. Any semblance of an orgasm was long gone for me, it felt like I’d just been splashed with cold water. 

Seriously what the actual fuck?

He lifted his head up with a smug smirk and gave me a sweet kiss on my cheek. 

“YOU’RE SO FUCKING IRRITATING!” I kicked him off the bed.

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okay so I thought of this after seeing this screenshot

I havent actually read the fic but I was going though old pics on my phone and seen it and since I'm now Okita obsessed I decided to write this lol

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I feel like it would be nice to acquire a cool military antique while I’m here, like a cool compass or pair of binoculars, but also I feel like a fucking moron for collecting army stuff and the feeling becomes more intense with every passing year

[storiumemporium]

"Do you love me, Eddie?"

The question is uttered into the quietness of a late night, wrapped up in his arms.

You know you've been... difficult, lately. In and out of the hospital, tests on tests on tests, feeling like a guinea pig but knowing you're not nearly interesting enough for the honor.

Multiple Sclerosis.

It's the title given to your particular brand of suffering, said to you with clinical professionalism as Eddie held your hand tightly between the two of his.

Not lethal, they said.

No mentioning the fact that a disease could do worse than just kill you.

The migraines, the mood swings, the forgetfulness, the tremors and spasms, locking muscles and hallucinations.

You've gone completely blind, this time.

Anytime you look into the corners of your eyes the pain is so sharp you want to cry, your brain is throbbing with veritable agony no matter what it is you do, so you remain bed-locked, and by extension Eddie was imprisoned next to you.

Despite all of this Eddie has been so, so good to you. Remembering your medications when you didn't, icepacks and blankets and bringing your food and drinks to you, speaking in a whisper and keeping himself restrained at all times. Absolutely subdued and quiet.

It's hard to not let the insecurity seep out. The inferiority.

Eddie was so loud, so proudly himself, so boisterous and energetic, it was impossible not to feel as if he could do a thousand times better than some cripple he has to babysit like a child. The runt that forces him into a cage- just so he wouldn't hurt you.

"'Course I love you, sweetheart."

You can feel the bed dip and shift as Eddie moves, and you shudder against the feeling of his hands suddenly cupping your face and his thumb rubbing a little pattern next to your nose, which he bumps affectionately with his own.

You wish so badly to be able to see him again that tears dot your eyes again.

"Babe? Are you okay?" His voice wavers with concern and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he can't see you, moron.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine I just..." When you trail off for too long, Eddie starts to gently kiss your cheekbones, plush lips so light against your skin that it tickles.

"Y'know I won't blame you if you move on, yeah?"

He stills, at that.

"What?"

You turn your head to the side, facing where you know his door is, even though there's nothing you can see. "Do you know... how much I hate what I've done to you, Eddie?"

"Babe-"

"I-I mean, you're not even my boyfriend anymore Eddie, you're my nurse. Ha-half our conversations are about my health and recovery. Eddie, what happened to us? What happened to DnD and music and- and life?

I don't want you held back, baby. I don't want you to be trapped- because- because it would hurt for you to leave, but it'd hurt so much more for you to resent me someday because I took your freedom from you."

You slur over half the words, stumbling and getting caught as the stress of your emotions makes the disease flare up, catching your words in a net and twisting them amok. But Eddie understands well enough, enough to know that every single one builds up a tiny little spark of rage.

"You don't get to decide that for me," Eddie's words are alarming, but he's not stopping to let you interject. "You don't get to decide whether or not I'm losing my freedom, or if I'm going to resent you or- or any of that bullshit that just left your mouth."

He sounds livid, and it makes you want to shrink away. The moment you start to curl in, though, he's shoving his arms up underneath your armpits and bracing himself over you on his elbows, the smell of him thick and intoxicating.

"No- no, don't- I'm sorry." His voice has softened again, and you cringe knowing he's monitoring himself because of you. "I didn't mean to sound so harsh.

Princess, I love you. I adore you- I fucking covet you. I am not a religious man but I'd go to church every fuckin' Sunday for you, baby girl. I enjoy getting to do this for you-"

He stammers to a halt, and then tries again. "No, okay, that sounded bad. I meant- I love you, and taking care of you makes me feel good, because it means less pain for you every day. It makes me feel useful, baby. It makes me feel like I'm not just- just sitting to the side watching you suffer feeling like a jackass constantly."

You can't help the little whine that escapes your throat, tears spilling over the sides of your useless eyes.

"Don't cry, baby. Don't cry..." His face comes down to nuzzle yours, his forehead resting gently against you and his chest pressed down enough you can feel the vibrations tickle your sternum as he murmurs.

"You fight so hard, every damn day just to be able to keep up- I watch you wear yourself to the bone. So when we come home, I want you to collapse, I want you to be able to do that with me, okay? So I can take care of you. So I can make you feel good."

He kisses your lips, "I will never hate you or resent you for what you couldn't control, I just wish it'd been me instead of you- I'm a hell of a lot more useless at this whole 'living life' thing than you."

Your voice comes out wet and whiny. "Now it's your turn to shut up... You're perfect, Eddie."

Another kiss, softer and slower, and this time Eddie coaxes your tongue into his mouth, sighing at the taste of you. When he pulls away with a soft, wet smack, his voice is a little rough.

"If you'll have me, I'll be with you for the rest of our lives. You make me believe in soulmates, beautiful."

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

Oooh i'm gonna with #3 please! And Valtor as a bartender.

He truly loathed his job.

The disgusting smell of cheap drinks spilled on the bar mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap perfume, from grinding bodies on the dancefloor and humping barely-legals in the corner, made him nauseous. The music was loud to the point his heartbeat developed arrhythmia whenever a bass boosted song played through the obnoxious sound system. To make matters worse, one of the speakers was set directly above the bar and Valtor was sick of buying earplugs every week, because if he didn’t use any protection, he’s pretty sure he would go deaf before he hit 40 and he once again cursed himself for forgetting them at home.

A particularly high note came on, and the crowd cheered while Valtor cringed as he felt the microscopic hairs in his ears, sensitive to high notes, shrivel up and die. He rolled his eyes as he spotted a tall blonde dragging taller brunette towards the restroom. Apparently, couples basically dry humping each other on the dancefloor and sucking their faces off in the corners wasn’t enough, so universe also decided to throw in a couple about to commit an indecent act in a public bathroom?

He was just about to call one of the bouncers when it hit him – he doesn’t care. Oh well. What can you do?

A woman, wearing something Valtor could only describe as lingerie, came to the bar and ordered a fruity cocktail and for the umpteenth time, he wondered how his life turned into this? How did he go from graduating on a prestigious college, having a stable job and a fiancée, to wiping down spit from the counter top on a Saturday night.

He used to be a successful attorney, his yearly salary reaching up to five-zero figure, a stable relationships, loving girlfriend and more, and yet, all of that collapsed under the enormous weight couple of words held.

His hands worked on autopilot, mixing the necessary drinks while his thoughts were miles away.

Now, whatever’s left of his past life lives in a small condo across the town and Valtor chuckled at the irony of life giving him lemons while he chopped one to mix it into the cocktail. He squeezed the juice out of the poor fruit, with probably more force than was necessary, getting some of it on his shirt in the process.

“What are you chuckling about?” The woman was leaning over the counter, her chest basically spilling out of her dress as she played with the ends of her dark hair.

Valtor raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve one of the decorative umbrellas. “Nothing that would be of interest to you.” He saw her flinch in surprise at the rather sharp tone he unintentionally used. “Miss.” He added as an afterthought, hoping it would make him look less abrasive. Unhappy customers don’t tip well after all.

“Oh. Well maybe it does interest me. You’ll never know unless you try.” The woman smiled flirtatiously while her fingers continued twirling the strands of her hair. “I’m Mitzi, by the way.” She offered her hand to him.

Valtor only quirked an unamused eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for your name.” The smile was quick to disappear from her face and she snatched her hand back like it’s been burned.

He closed his eyes as his tongue, once again, proved to be faster than his brain. It’s what got him into trouble a lot of times and this one might’ve just taken a cake because if the girl went to complain to his boss, he’d be in a world of shit. “I was trying to be nice, but it seems to me you’re too much of an asshole to appreciate it.” Mitzi gritted out with obvious false confidence because a fierce blush was very much present on her face. This obviously didn’t happen to her a lot.

First time for everything, Valtor thought.

“What I would really appreciate, Mitzi,” Don’t do it, “is if you could stop your 36C's, that you stuffed into a 34B bra, from spilling all over my counter.” You absolute moron! “I have to wipe it.”

Now you’ve done it.

Mitzi turned even reader, and Valtor wondered if he should start dialing an ambulance just in case, but she only snatched the drink he placed in front of her and threw a 5$ bill in his face. “Jerk!” And just like that, she was gone.

“Have a nice evening!” Drop dead.

He rolled his eyes and took a glass that needed wiping just to occupy his hands for a minute because he felt like a coiled string, just about to snap and burn everything in its path.

“I have to say,” girl’s voice reached him, “you just fixed my evening.” Valtor lowered the glass to the solid surface and turned to face the owner.

His brain short circuited.

Though her body was mostly obstructed by the counter, he could see that the navy blue slip dress she wore draped beautifully across her slender figure. She was also incredibly short that even standing up straight, in what Valtor assumed were ridiculously high heels, she was at least head and a half shorten than him. But the most obvious, and striking thing about her, was her red hair. Valtor never even thought that hair could be as vibrant as hers.

In his almost 35 years of life, Valtor has never seen someone as interesting as the girl standing in front of him.

When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, and when it became painfully obvious he was making her uncomfortable with his gawking (really, there was no other word for it), he smiled and spoke. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that because it will undoubtedly ruin my life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her reporting you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her ego is too big for her to accept she just got rejected.”

“You know her?”

There was something nostalgic in her smile. “I used to know her… or maybe I just thought I know her.”

Valtor observed the unusual girl in front of him. In his several years as a bartender and even before, he developed quite a knack for reading people. She seemed, to him at least, like one of those lost souls that recently had their world turned upside down but tried despite to appear normal. You and me both. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her head snapped up and her electric blue eyes met his. “Oh! Yes, um,” she fidgeted slightly, her hands wringing together and picking at her nails, “anything with vodka.”

He nodded and turned his back on her to find a bottle of the best vodka the club had to offer. He didn’t know why he suddenly paid so much attention to what he’s mixing into drinks but something pulled him towards this girl like gravity and he was too weak to resist it. “Straight?” He asked without turning around.

“Ummm, that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I mean, I just met you.” Valtor stopped what he was doing and turned his head so she could see the confused frown on his face. “I don’t even know your name. As far as I know you could be a serial killer.”

It downed on Valtor what she was talking about and he chuckled at her adorable rant. “I meant the Vodka.”

Her lips shaped into a silent “O" and he saw how her neck and face turned red from embarrassed. She moaned and buried her face into her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He picked the bottle and turned back around so he was facing her. He extended his unoccupied hand across the counter top. “I’m Valtor.”

She shook his hand, her hand incredibly small in his huge one, blush still present on her cheeks. “Bloom. And yes, straight vodka is fine.”

“I’ve only seen Russians drink vodka by itself.”

“I’m quarter Russian. My mom’s dad is from Russia.” Valtor nodded along as he fixed her a drink.

“Impressive.”

“it’s really not. It only made me the laughing stock of the entire class.” She took the glass filled with clear liquid, their fingers brushing together on accident, and Valtor felt a spark rushing up his nerve endings. “But, I can drink most people under the table so I guess I should be grateful.”

Humor was obviously one of the things she used to deflect the pain and trauma bullying inevitably caused. “Your hair is very… unusual. Natural?”

She nodded. “Yup. This is one of the things I inherited from grandpa.”

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No no, don’t worry.” Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she took a sip and closed her eyes to savor the feeling of burning liquid sliding down her throat. “It’s actually one of the nicest things someone has said to me about my hair.”

Valtor looked at her with a small smirk on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t want to know.” Bloom tilted the glass and took a large swing of the drink, only a small amount remaining at the bottom. “What about you?”

Valtor shrugged. “What about me?”

“You have an unusual hair too.”

Indeed. His long strawberry blond hair was tied in a ponytail, but unlike herself, he loved his hair and didn’t particularly give a damn what anybody else thought about it. “I don’t really care about somebody else’s opinion and neither should you.”

“I’ve stopped that long time ago.” Valtor nodded towards her almost empty glass and she slid it towards him for a refill. “But you know, scars remain.”

He nodded. “That I do know.” Valtor saw another guy coming up to the bar so he excused himself. As soon as he moved away from her, the unpleasant sensations that accompany prolonged presence in a loud room came rushing back like a rogue train and Valtor felt the onsets of a headache forming. He served the guy and returned to Bloom who was now nursing her drink instead of knocking it back like the first time.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She quirked one eyebrow. “A girl like me?”

“Not to be rude, but this doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”

She laughed. “It’s my friend’s birthday. She dragged me here against my will while promising she’ll stay with me the entire time. It took me turning around for her to vanish without a trace with her boyfriend.”

“That friend of yours,” he started, “wouldn’t happen to be a tall blonde dragging a brunette with her?”

“That’s her.”

Valtor made a face. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing a lot of her tonight.” His eyes slid to the direction of the restroom.

Bloom followed his gaze and she groaned when she saw where her friend went to. “Not this again.”

“Again? This happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like to.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Right,” he drawled, “because who doesn’t like seeing their friends going at it.” Sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“How long have they been in there?” She asked while looking at her wrist watch.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

“Damn animals. I’m never coming to the club with her again.”

An amused chuckle escaped him. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, am I right?”

She smiled and took a sip of vodka. “Nope.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, her blonde friend wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Valtor’s eyebrow did a backflip. How she managed to avoid detection while leaving the bathroom was beyond him.

“Damn Bloom, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already seducing hot bartenders!”

“Stella! First of all, I am not seducing anybody,” Maybe not intentionally, “secondly, it’s been almost twenty minutes and thirdly, what happened to your promise of not ditching me? And the moment I turn around, you’re already gone?”

Stella, if Valtor heeard correctly, giggled. “Oh live a little Bloom. Besides, it’s not like you were in a bad company.” Her eyes ran over Valtor’s form. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that.” She ogled Valtor like a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Okay, that’s enough for today! We’re going home.” Bloom grabbed her purse and was about to pull out her wallet when Valtor raised his arm to stop her.

“It’s on the house.”

“But Blooooom,” There was really no words to describe the sound that exited blonde’s mouth, “we just got here.”

“The fact that you're talking about having a threesome with a stranger says enough about your state.”

“I’m pretty sure Brandon wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, time out. Let’s go.” She turned towards Valtor, a small card between her fingers. She leaned over the counter while one of her arms stayed behind, supporting her friend. “Thank you.” She slipped the card into his hand. “Call me if you wanna talk sometimes.” And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Stella towards the exit.

Valtor stood in shock, not knowing how to react for a few minutes, staring at the business card in his hands.

Bloom Peters MD.

He shook his head, hand safely pocketing the precious cargo before he picked up the glass she’s been drinking from and turning around to wash it. The sound of retching caused him to turn around in time to see some wasted man empty the content of his stomach on an obnoxious red carpet. The stench of vomit mixed with other delightful aromas and Valtor was once again reminded how much he hated his job.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[janicho88]

Fire, Fur & Mistletoe  Chapter 4

 Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female Reader.

Word Count-3,045

Warning- Mentions of car accidents.  Possible swearing. Slight angst. Fluff.

Summary- A rewrite of the Nine Lives of Christmas, Hallmark movie. AU, Dean is a firefighter who doesn’t do commitment, the Holiday’s don’t mean much to him.  Coming home after a shift he finds a dog in trouble.  The reader is a veterinary student who works in a coffee shop trying to make it to graduation, until someone causes problems there for her.  She isn’t interested in finding anyone other than her own dog until after she finishes school.  Do their four legged friends have other plans?

A/N- This series is written for @spnchristmasbingo​.  The square filled for this chapter is presents.  The first two chapters will stay closer to the movie than the rest will.   This has its own tag list and it is open.  That way I am not tagging anyone who doesn’t want to be tagged in Christmas stories.   This story is unbeta’d.

Header by the amazing @winchest09

Divider from freepngimg.com

Series Masterlist   The next morning you were in the kitchen looking through ads when Dean came down.  “I was wondering what do you think about doing our Christmas shopping together?  I thought it would be fun to tackle the stores together?”

“I usually just do Visa gift cards, or regular gift cards.”

“Do you remember how you were saying you can’t recall the last time you really enjoyed Christmas?”

“Yeah, you really think going to the mall is going to help me feel..”  He paused looking at you with a smirk, “Christmassy?”

“I think going and seeing all the festive decorations could help.  One afternoon, we can make it fun, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Yeah, we can give it a shot.”

“I’m going to help you do it right this year.  We can go to the mall after your shift tomorrow.”

“I can hardly wait,” he grumbles as you leave the kitchen. 

Dean’s shift started earlier today, he headed in just before noon.  They started off busy before things slowed down.  They were called out for two car accidents, the light snow falling today causing some problems.  Dispatch also had them at two nursing homes.  The first resident was fine and back on their feet before they and the paramedics left.  The second was a fall and the poor guy wasn’t happy about having to go to the hospital to be checked out further.

When things calmed down later Dean was sitting in the common room with Sam and Benny. Those two watching the game, Dean going through paint samples.

“What are you trying to figure out now?”  Sam wanted to know.

“Which color is going to look best in the dining room. I picked up some new color swatches on the way in.  I have a light green, pale blue, a really light grey, or a cream.”

“Which one does the design genius living with you like?” Benny questioned.

“She thought maybe a light green would go with the trim in there.”

“I’d go with what she likes so you don’t have to redo it in a year or so.”

“What’s being redone in a year?”  Bobby asked walking in.

“I hope to have sold it by then.”

“Dean’s trying to pick a paint color, we told him to go with what Y/N picked so he wouldn’t have to redo it later when everything is all done and she doesn’t like it.”

“Yep, need to keep the women happy.”  Bobby agrees.

“How’s the girlfriend doing while we are on that subject?”  His brother wanted to know.

“You’ve all lost me. Still don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure about that Chief?  You do spend a lot of time with her.  You trust her opinion to remodel your house.”

“What was your excuse earlier about not going out with us tomorrow?  Oh right you have plans with Y/N, like a date.”

“What was going on the other day when you couldn’t come over and watch the game with me and your brother? Pretty sure you were with her again.”

“How many dates are you going to have before you realize you are dating?”

“Are you two morons done?  We aren’t dating.  I trust her opinion, because she’s good at this.  Still selling the house when I’m done.  She just wanted to get a tree for the house, so we picked one up and decorated it that night.”

“It really took you a couple hours to pick up a tree, did you carry it home.”

“No, we went to a tree farm, not a tree lot.”

“Hold up.  You actually went and cut down a tree for her?  You wouldn’t do that for me. We always went to the tree lot and just grabbed one.  You are more gone on this girl than you think.”

“You are reading too much into a simple tree, Sam.”

“What are you busy doing when the shifts over?”  Benny wanted to know.

“Apparently Christmas shopping.  She thinks it will be fun to do it together.”

“You, Dean Winchester are going Christmas shopping?”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“I wasn’t sure you knew what a mall was, I’ve been getting a gift certificate from you for years now.”

“And I’ve had enough of this conversation, I’m going to go clean the truck or something.”

Dean walked out to the sound of the guy's laughter.

When his shift ended the next day Dean headed home to shower and change so he would be ready to head to the mall with you.  You were in the living room sitting with the dogs when he came down.

“I’m ready if you are.”

“I’m good to go.  I’ll see you babies later.”  Giving the dogs each a little hug you got up to follow Dean to the truck.

As you are entering the mall Dean turns to you.  “I realized I haven’t told you lately, thanks for your help with the house.  I might just be able to sell it sooner than I thought.  I really appreciate all you have been doing.”

That caught you off guard.  “Oh yeah, no problem.”  You had gotten wrapped up in staying with him you kind of forgot it was temporary, and that wasn’t really his home.

“That’s really great.  You didn’t just fix a house this time, you created a beautiful home.  Some family is going to be incredibly lucky.”

Dean nods, sneaking a glance at you, “Yeah they are.”

“Alright, who’s on your list?” You were eager to change the subject.

“My brother and his girlfriend, Jess.  Bobby, he’s the Fire Chief.  Cas and Benny, you met all them at the station when you found Miracle.”

“Okay.  Any ideas on what to get?”

“Gift cards.”

“No.”

“Then I don't know.”

“You’re helpful.  What is your brother’s girlfriend like, what kind of things does she like?”

“Um, she’s a nurse.  She likes my brother.  I think she likes the beach.”  This might be harder than you thought. 

“What about any of the guys?”  

“Sam likes Jess, and healthy crap like green shakes. He’s always bringing some into work. Benny wants a girlfriend.   Cas, who knows.  He’s a little different some days.  He does like to sit and think, and bees. He’s a tad obsessed with them.  Chief likes, um his job, family, Miracle.”

“Okay, so where do you want to start?”

“That store sells gift cards to multiple places.”  He points to a big store behind you. 

“The next time you’re at work I’m going to paint the living room hot pink if you mention gift cards again in the next hour.”

Dean starts to open his mouth but isn’t too sure how serious you are, so he shuts it again and rethinks what he wants to say.  “What do you need to get?”  He asks instead.

“A gift for my sister and brother-in-law, then a few friends.  I have a thought for your brother if you want to hear it?”

“Sure, what are you thinking?

“The bookstore might have a recipe book for different health drinks, maybe we can find a little smoothie maker so he could make them fresh at the station instead of bringing and storing them.” 

Dean thinks about if for a minute, “He would actually probably like that, although I hate to enable his bad habit.”

Laughing at his jab at his brother you head toward your destination.

The book store is your first stop, while there you browse through the shelves to see if anything else catches your eye.   Finding a book, The Buzz about Bees, you show it to Dean who puts it in the cart for Cas. As you were heading to the check out, Dean started laughing at a book which caught his eye.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have to get this for Bobby, it’s Tori Spelling's autobiography.”

“Um, okay. That’s a random gift.”

“Bobby is a closet fan.  Big fan actually.  Not very many people know.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”  Maybe you should have let him get his boss a gift card.

At the sporting goods store he found some fishing gear for Benny who likes to spend time on his sometimes girlfriend boat.  Dean figured they were due to get back together soon. 

While there you found part of your sister's gift.  You got her an extra magazine for her off duty gun, and a new cleaning kit.  The woman loved her weapons. 

Heading to the next store you came across some Santa hats and antlers you made Dean try on with you and take some selfies.  He grumbled about it at first but he did seem to have fun with it, making silly faces in the photos. 

With your hands full you took what you had out to the truck so you didn’t have to carry it to the rest of the stores.  The fishing gear was a little big to lug around.

Coming back inside Dean suggested a quick stop at the food court for a snack before hitting more stores.  

You grabbed your drinks of choice and a couple of cookies and sat down for a few minutes. Dean was complaining because none of them sold pie.  The mall was starting to get busier and people were hustling everywhere.  

“Do you enjoy shopping and all this craziness?”  Dean asked, drawing your attention away from people watching.

“Generally no.  I’m a get in get out person.  My sister and I used to try and go together, but she’s busier with work and she has Doug to go with.  I’m used to doing most things on my own now.   It’s better if you have someone with you, which is why I thought we could have fun with it.”

“I will admit, this hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.  You did make it fun. Thank you for that.”

“No problem,” you give him a small smile and go back to drinking your coffee. 

The next stop was the pet store for some treats for your favorite four legged friends.  You passed stockings on the way in and went to pick one up.

“Dakota needs a new stocking, does Miracle have one yet?”

“No, he doesn’t have a stocking.  I don’t think I even have one.”

“Well, we need to remedy that for the both of you.”

“Of course we do.”

There weren’t many stockings left.  They were on one side of a middle aisle display, the back side had various balls and kongs.  The few stockings that  were there were on the back of a shelf behind some toys.  You had to move the toys out of your way to pick through the stockings.  With one arm full of squeaking toys you used one hand to look at the stockings.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Uh huh.”

You found two white and red stockings you liked so you were pulling them out, when your elbow hit a toy still on the shelf, trying to use your arm to keep it up on the shelf you missed the toy and hit the display instead.  Apparently you used more force than you meant because the display you were looking at tipped backward and hit the one behind it.  This sent various balls and kongs bouncing to the ground. 

Dean was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed watching, “Now do you need help?”

“It appears so.”

Other people in the store did their best to avoid your mess while the two of you cleaned it up.  Getting the last toy back on the shelf you pick up the stockings and turn to Dean.  “What do you think about these?”

“I think we aren’t going to go through that again just so you can pick out a different one. So let’s go with those and head out before you knock over the display of canned food.”

“You don’t want to clean that up too?”

“Let’s save that one for the next time we’re here.”

Sam’s girlfriend was a little harder than you thought since you didn’t know her and Dean wasn’t much help.  You ran with his comment about her liking the beach and picked up some scented lotions and bath bombs along with hand cream.  Being a nurse her hands would be constantly washed and most likely very dry.

In a men’s store you found a new tie for your brother in law to go with the briefcase organizer you found for him. 

You found a mug that Charlie would get a kick out of.  You also came across a Hermione Granger bobblehead she would like. 

You had picked up a couple small things for your old coworkers, Claire and Kevin.  You did miss working with those two. 

There was one more person on your list, but it was hard with him right next to you.  

Dean’s shopping was done, he had picked up some little things to complete Bobby and Cas’ gifts.  

Browsing the picture frames as you walked by you saw one you had to get. 

 You had the perfect picture to put inside.  Dean had texted you a picture from the station one day of him and Miracle.  Miracle was wearing Dean’s firehat, both were in front of the fire truck.

You passed Santa in his village the mall had put up.  “Are you sure you don’t want to ask Santa for anything this year?”

“I told you Sweetheart, he and I are extremely close.  I’m good.”

“If you say so.”

“I think you need to go see Santa though.”

“What me?”

“Yep, you keep trying to send me so why don’t you go tell him your wish.”  Dean stood there smirking at you, fully believing you wouldn’t do it.

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’re going to go up there?”

“Yep.”  You went and got in line behind a group of young children, who all turned to stare at you.  Oh this wasn’t awkward at all. Dean had walked off while you stood in line waiting your turn.  A part of you thought about walking away and telling Dean you had gone through the line already when he returned. 

“Got you something.”  Too late, he’s back.  He was handing you a bag and trying to hold back a smile.

Warily you took the bag and opened it up, chuckling when you saw what was inside.  “I’m going to guess I’m supposed to wear this up there?”

“You know it.”

Dean stood next to you in line as you waited, when you were the next one up, you took the elf hat he gave you out of the bag and put it on your head.  “How do I look?”

“Like Santa’s perfect helper.”

Heading up you were fairly certain Santa was looking for a child with you, and finally realized there wasn’t one.  “Ho ho ho, what can Santa bring you for Christmas, miss?”

While in line you had been thinking about what to say when you go up here.  “I have a friend over there who has had a rough time of it over the years.  He’s lost his Christmas spirit and the belief in happy endings.  I wish he could find that again.”

“Well, that’s some Christmas wish.”  He looks over at Dean who’s smiling at the two of you.  “It looks like someone is already working on bringing that Christmas spirit back to him.  Santa will see what he can do to help.  Is there anything for you?”

“Not unless your workshop is looking for another elf.” 

Giving you a candy cane he wishes you a Merry Christmas and sends you off.

“So what did you ask Santa for?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“I think you are confusing Santa with birthday wishes.”

“Either way, I’m not telling you.  You can ask Santa since you are so close though.”

Dean just shakes his head at you.

Behind Santa was a Christmas shop and you dragged Dean inside with you to find him a stocking.   Holding up a Grinch stocking he shook his head, next you tried Superman.

“I’m sorry you have me mistaken for someone else, I’m Batman.”

You looked around.  “You aren’t the only one.  Sorry, Batman is all sold out.  There is Batgirl though.”

“I’ll keep looking.”

“Pink snowflakes?”

“I’m really starting to doubt your decorating tastes now.”

You laughed at that and went through a few more stockings.

“What kind of crazy is on your stocking?”

“It’s the same one I had growing up, classic red and white with my name in glitter.  It looks like that one over there.”

Dean walked over where you had pointed and looked at those.  “That’s what I want too, I don’t need flashy or cartoons.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

Finishing your shopping you were on your way back to the truck to head home.  After unloading the packages in the living room Dean headed for the kitchen.

“Are you good with ordering pizza for dinner?”

“I can make something up really quick.”

“I know you could, but I thought we had to wrap all that stuff we got today.  I figured we didn’t need another mess.”

“If you want that’s fine with me.”

You made sure to take what you had for Dean up to your apartment before you came back to start wrapping anything else.  When the pizza was ordered Dean did his best to help you out.  You were surprised by how well he did.  

“You buy gift cards for people, I wouldn’t think you had practice with wrapping.”

“We have to wrap all the donated toys for the kids every Christmas, so I get my fair share of practice with that.  Bobby wouldn’t let us hand out sloppily wrapped gifts to the kids.”

The two of you took a break from wrapping when the pizza arrived then went back to finishing it up. When the presents are wrapped and under the tree Dean builds a fire and you go off to make some popcorn.  When you come back the stockings are all hung over the fireplace.

  The two of you get comfy on the couch with another Christmas movie playing while you enjoy the fire and the sight of the tree and gifts around you.

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 5

Tags-@winchest09  @waywardbeanie @whatareyousearchingfordean  @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @jensengirl83 @abuavnee @lunarmoon8 @amyzombie1013 @akshi8278 @that-one-gay-girl @mandalou29  @igotmadskills  @440mxs-wife @paryl @supernatural-love14 @krazykelly @anotherspnfanfic @bobbie3939 @deanwinchestersnightmoves @winchestergirl2 @thoughts-and-funnies​

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Ten: Shereshoy

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: The Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! Rejoice my step-children, for today is prime indulgence hours. You've waited long enough. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @hoodedbirdie @fioccodineveautunnale @thyestean-feast @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell @theorderoffallenstars @iwantsethrollinstohitmeintheface @fan-g0rl

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

Part Nine: Swan Song

Interlude: How He Sees The World

Shereshoy [pronounced sheh-REYSH-oy]:

"Lust for life and much more." "Hanging onto life and relishing it." A uniquely Mandalorian word meaning the whole-hearted enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as living to see the next day. Unrestrained, unrestricted, wild and eager.

...x...

Waking up with the clammy chill of bacta all over your body was not an experience that bore repeating. Somewhat like being Shanghaied. You weren't sure how you could feel both sticky and slimy, but the sensation was managed with flying colors. 

You had only been in the Nevarro med-center once before, when you had accidentally degloved your fingertip in a rivet hole. As you were an independent contractor (who normally prioritized trades of goods or food over credits in exchange for your labor) the best you could get at the time with your limited funding was a bacta patch. Your left index finger still bore a faded ring of scar tissue around the first knuckle.

So when the droid nurse in the medbay informed you of the fact that you had been healing in an actual bacta tank for a little over half a cycle, the blood loss and internal damage having nearly done you in, you were thrown for a loop. 

"You organic lifeforms are so foolhardy, always pushing your bodies too far." It scolded after removing the basin of lukewarm water that you had scrubbed your face and hands with. The artificially warm tone of its vocoder took some of the bite out of its words. "You have been cleared for removal from the tank, but I would advise against strenuous activities for several days."

You nodded from the cot, still staring down at your legs. You were a bit dazed, a bit fuzzy on the details of how you had gotten here in the first place. Your last intact memory was of tilting your head back to watch Moff Gideon's ship soar through the sky with the Mandalorian attached. After that, there was nothing but vague flashes, more sensation than visual. "How...how much is this going to cost me?" You asked, trying to remember the conversion rates for liquids and solids and whether bacta counted as a liquid or a solid. Was it sold by the pound or by the liter? Maker, this would be a hell of a debt to work off.

The droid tittered strangely, patting your arm. "Oh, I suppose you would not recall being delivered to us. The man who brought you in paid the deposit for the tank, and then returned three days later with the rest of the credits. You are very fortunate to have such a good friend!"

The man who brought you in. "Was...w-were they a Mandalorian?" You knew you sounded a little too desperate, but you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment. 

"You do remember! Yes, that is correct." The droid affirmed cheerily.

"Do you have any way to get in touch with a man named Greef Karga?" You rushed to inquire as the bot turned to roll back out the door. You had been about to ask for Cara, but decided against it at the last second. You were uncertain if she was still...at odds with the law.

"The leader of the Nevarro Bounty Hunters Guild? Of course, everyone knows how to contact him! But you rest, rest rest. If I can get ahold of him and if he's not busy, I'm sure he'll be along shortly." The droid assured you.

You flexed your hands with a soft yawn after it left, and then you settled back against the pillow. Every muscle in your body felt a bit stiff, likely from lack of use. Half a cycle. Two weeks. Maker, you had nearly died. What a horrible scenario. 

He had nearly died. Your throat ached with an unnameable emotion, you hand sliding down to graze over the new scar on your side. It was larger than you expected, and you flinched when you actually looked at it. Better scarred than dead, you thought pragmatically, even while tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, biting your lip.

You only meant to close your eyes for a moment, but when you opened them again, it appeared to be much later in the day. Afternoon sunlight was pouring in via the small window over your bed, the tiny fan doing little to combat the heat seeping through the sheet that covered you.

You heard someone clearing their throat beside you and you turned your head, eyes landing upon the visage of one Greef Karga. Posted up beside him was Cara, her arms crossed over her chest. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to doze off." You apologized, floundering to sit up.

Greef waved off your words. "Relax, we've only been here for a few minutes. You looked so peaceful, we didn't want to interrupt." The older man jibed. 

"You gave us a hell of a scare, rookie." Dune scolded, sharply contrasting with Karga's lackadaisical opening statement.

"How did...what happened?" You asked nervously.

"Well, it was all very dramatic. Mando blew Gideon's ship clean out of the sky with one of those fancy gadgets he's got, then he gave you a quick burner patch on the spot." Karga mused, "Your Mandalorian caused quite the stir when he came back here with you. Damn near kicked the doors down."

"Not mine." You corrected him automatically. 

Cara scoffed and Karga raised an eyebrow. "Are you entirely certain about that, my wayward little friend?" You gave him a confused look and he shrugged, adjusting his body in the obviously-uncomfortable folding chair beside your cot. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. Really, I ought to thank you. If you hadn't dragged that metal-plated moron off the battlefield, I'm certain we would still be under ex-Imperial control. I got my best hunter back, and a new enforcer to boot." Greef said with a smirk, gesturing up and down at the sturdy dropship trooper alongside him.

"Glad to be of assistance." You informed him dryly.

Karga chuckled at your wry tone, and then folded his hands in his lap. "All joking aside though, it's good to see you out of that tank. I think...I think it'll do him some good as well." The older man sighed, "For lack of a better word, he's been inconsolable since the big brouhaha. Gonna' run the Guild out of bounties if he keeps it up."

You cocked your head, asking, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Mando has an interesting way of coping with his emotions." He elaborated dryly. "I get the feeling he's one of those people that, if he wasn't a Mandalorian, he'd probably resort to panic baking."

The idea of the armored man in a bakery somewhere (probably using his flamethrower to carmelize the top of a crème brûlée or to dispense justice to unruly customers) sprang into your mind unbidden and you burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just--that's such an image, I-" you wheezed helplessly.

Greef chuckled again, taking your hand. "Do me a favor, alright? I promise it won't be difficult."

"Absolutely." You agreed quickly. After all, Greef was probably the one responsible for feeding the Mandalorian the bounties that had funded your healing time. Stars, the debt you owed the armored man seemed to be climbing higher by the second!

"He's due back in two...maybe three days, if his hunting track record is anything to go by." Karga squeezed your hand gently. "Go to see him." The serious tone of his voice caught you a little off-guard and you shook your head at him after a moment of silence. 

"I doubt he'll want to see me." You mumbled. "I mean, I left the ship because he told me he didn't want me involved. He said...he said it was Guild business. Then, I ended up getting involved anyway and...well, almost killed in the bargain. I guess he was right to try and keep me out of it." You rubbed at the scar on your side nervously. It sat just above where you had landed on Calican's buckle, puckering the skin slightly where it had once been smooth. You weren't certain you would get used to the odd sensation.

"That's why you left?" Cara sputtered. "He said he hurt you. I gave him an earful and everything!" She grimaced. "Now I feel like an asshole."

"He...what?"

"Yeah, he said that he 'lost control' and hurt you, and that it was better that you stay as far away from him as possible. He sounded all kinds of fucked-up over it." Dune pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "If he didn't believe that he deserved it, I doubt he would have just sat there and taken the tirade I unleashed. I uh...I lit him up pretty good." She finished with a wince.

You stared up at her, somewhat dumbfounded. "O…Oh." You replied weakly.

"I think...well, it's not my place to say, but I think he'll be happy to see you. As happy as a Mando can be, anyway." Karga said quietly.

You thought back on every instance you had heard the smile in his voice, the precious times that you had made him laugh--

And you nodded firmly. "You'd have to knock me out with beskar to keep me away."

Cara grinned and thumped her forehead against yours. "That's the spirit!"

Greef's laughter was raucous (and a little sheepish) and you couldn't help joining in. 

...

Getting back into the Crest was the easy part. The worst issue you encountered was that it was raining softly, making a humid haze rise from every surface and ensuring that you would leave footprints. 

After two members of the Guild offloaded the carbonite plaques and trotted away with their hoverskiffs, you slunk out from behind the crates and bolted forward.

It only took one try to get the combination this time. He hadn't changed it. He usually changed it once every three days, so that was strange.

You entered the cool, dark hold with a small amount of trepidation, tiptoeing towards the ladder as the hatch slid shut behind you. Soft sniffling from behind the bunk shutter met your ears faintly and your heart broke. Almost before you could think about it, you hammered your fist down on the controls to raise the barrier. 

The kid was sitting in the bunk, little hands pressed to their eyes while they snuffled and whimpered. They looked up at you in panic and it was so strange to see the second that they recognized you. They stumbled forward into your arms, those tiny claws scrabbling at your damp tunic as they sobbed. 

"Oh sweetheart, sweetheart…" you whispered, cradling them close to your chest. "I'm right here with you, it's alright now. Everything will be fine." You stroked the back of their head, blinking away your own tears. 

They started hiccupping, their little body jolting with the force of it, and you toted them into the refresher. With a bit of cajoling, you got them to hold still while you swabbed over their face with a warm cloth, cleaning off the grime of the day and those tear tracks. 

They were still sniffling slightly when you pressed a cup of water into their little hands. "You're probably thirsty after all that hard work, huh?" You asked softly, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in front of the bunk. "I wonder how long he's been gone for." You continued, thinking aloud. The child hurriedly gulped down the water, holding the empty cup back out with a little whine. "Ha! Of course, as soon as I sit down." You teased, hauling yourself back up to refill the paper cup. "Alright, slower this time. Don't want you getting a tummy ache." You instructed, holding the cup for them so you could moderate their sips.

You watched as their huge ears began to perk back up. They looked for all the world like a freshly-watered plant, and the mental comparison made you snicker. 

"My favorite little mudjumper." You sighed, straightening out their teeny robes. At least they were clean and dry, not that you had anticipated the Mandalorian letting the kid's health or hygiene fall by the wayside. Knowing him, he was probably more likely to forget to wear his helmet than cause the kid to suffer.

You sat there peacefully for a while as the sky outside darkened, just listening to the rain beating on the hull and stroking your fingers over the kid's head. The child sprawled out on your chest, their eyes slowly sliding shut as you continued to console them.

You were eventually roused from your staring contest with the floor by the sound of the ramp extending and then heavy footsteps. The cargo bay was almost pitch-black now, the only light coming in from the now-closing boarding ramp. The rain was still beating down, though. It had picked up while you sat, drumming a tattoo on the roof high overhead.

There was a faint click and machinery hummed to life, the hold becoming softly illuminated by the orange running lights beneath the floor grates. Your heart lurched in your chest when you spotted the Mandalorian fiddling with his gauntlet by the loading ramp, obviously focused on it. Your heart now felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. It was a miracle you didn't wake the child with the frantic motion alone!

You couldn't move. You could barely breathe, your nerves threatening to strangle you. All you could manage to do was sit there in silence and just...wait. 

How would he react? Would he be angry that you were here? He had paid for the bacta tank, would he require you to pay him back? The thoughts bounced around in your head frantically, making your stomach drop out with apprehension.

He grunted something, sounding upset as he dragged a hand down over the front of his helmet and sagged against the wall. Maybe you shouldn't have done this, maybe...maybe you should have waited to see whether he sought you out first.

Your brow furrowed. No. You had done enough of that. It was your turn now.

You heard his breath hitch and you realized belatedly that you had stopped paying attention to what he was doing. Clearly he had noticed you, if the tilt of his head was any indication. His hands fell slack at his sides, like he had forgotten about his gauntlet entirely.

"Didn't mean to startle you." You said quietly, not wanting to rouse the child that was still slumped over on your chest. 

He didn't move. Didn't respond. Hell, you weren't even certain if he was breathing anymore. He just stood there, his cape dripping a small puddle onto the grating beneath his feet. 

The kid yawned, smacking their lips and snuggling back down against your collarbone. 

"Put the...put the kid in his crib. Please." The Mandalorian requested. His tone was even, giving you absolutely nothing to go on as far as gauging his thoughts. 

Stars, you had missed the sound of his voice. You almost didn't want to admit it, but it was the truth. 

You carefully got to your feet and turned, laying the child down in their bassinet. Your hand hovered over the controls to close the protective shielding, silently waiting for confirmation.

"Yeah. I...yeah. Please." He muttered. 

Once you had done so, you shifted back to face him. You kept your eyes on your boots though, unable to look at him just yet. Anxious nerves wrung the life right out of your voice, making it crack when you finally began to speak. "I-I'm sorry. I know you didn't...I know that I went against what you told me to do, b-but--" You heard him swear and then a sharp clatter met your ears. He must have lunged across the hold because abruptly, a set of gloved hands were cupping your face and dragging it upwards. 

You had shut your eyes and tensed up on instinct when you saw the hands coming, so the mouth that pressed to your own was a bit of a shock. You froze, then sighed with relief and leaned hard into the kiss. Your hands rested on his chest, greedily pawing the familiar beskar (and the not-as-familiar way that it pitched under your touch). He groaned against your lips and pressed your back to the wall, his own hands grasping for purchase on your shoulders.

He had missed you. Or at least, it certainly seemed that way! Any other thoughts you had at the moment fled under the assault of his desperate mouth.

He exhaled raggedly and then buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder. He didn't say anything for the longest time, one hand falling to clutch at the fabric of your tunic over your side. His shoulders heaved and you realized he was crying, breath wheezing through his teeth from where he had bitten down on his glove to stifle the sound.

You kept your eyes closed and cautiously, carefully, you slid your hand up into the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm here." You whispered. You felt his knees buckle and he swayed, forcing you to grab a handful of his soaked flight suit to steady him.

"M' sorry, I-" he rasped. "I'm getting you all wet. The rain, I..." 

"Yeah...I don't know what they call it on Mandalore, but here, we call it crying." You teased him softly.

He actually laughed at that, pulling back a little. "Guess now I know why Karga and Dune told me to take the day off. I went to the medbay and you weren't there, I-I figured you'd left Nevarro for good. Why…" he swallowed hard, then continued, "why are your eyes shut?"

"I uh, it was mostly a reflex." You admitted. "Should I…" Your throat had gone bone dry. "Sh-Should I open them?" 

"I…" He hesitated. "You already know my name."

Din Djarin, the words tripping over one another as he struggled to get them out through a mouth that barely worked--

"Well yeah, but that doesn't give me viewing privileges." You retorted. "Hell, that doesn't even give me permission to use your name. Knowing it is only a part of the equation."

"Do you...want to use my name?" He sounded breathless.

"I mean, I wouldn't--I wouldn't mind it." You admitted weakly after a few seconds of hemming and hawing. "Only if you're okay with it though!" You rushed to add, feeling as if you needed to make sure he knew he could retract the offer. "I know that it's got a lot of weight to it." He wasn't angry at you. He wanted you to say his name and see his face.

"I'm terrified." He replied bluntly. "I haven't shown anyone...well, ever. You're the only one that's--I-I mean, you're the...you're it." How could someone make you weak in the knees while also simultaneously being absolutely, entirely, outrageously awkward? 

"I can start with your name, and if you still want to...I mean, you make that choice, okay?"

"I want you to see. I just don't know if I…I mean, the idea of you...I thought you were going to die, all because I screwed up, pushed you away. I want--I need to make sure you don't...that you don't…" He struggled with his words, gloved hands wrinkling your tunic beyond hope when he tightened his grip. "I can't, not again. I'm so sorry." He finally muttered. His mouth pressed to your neck, kisses trailing wet and hungry over your skin. "Please, please say my name."

"Din." You whispered, again struck with the sensation that you were breaking a multitude of rules as you felt him shudder bodily. "Din...Djarin."

"Shit." He groaned, tilting his head back. "That's...that's nice." He sounded a bit faint.

"Please don't pass out." You murmured. "All the beskar would absolutely crush me and I don't think you want to try and scrape me up out of the floor grates."

He choked out another laugh, wet gloves smoothing over your hair. "Sorry. M' just tired. This feels like a dream." He sighed heavily. "I have to wash up. Get out of this suit so it'll dry."

"I'm all for getting you out of the suit."

He smiled against your neck, "yeah?" 

"Mmhm." You nodded, blindly reaching for the clasps on his gription harness. 

Between your sightless fumbling and his hungry kisses, it took much longer than normal for him to get out of his armor. He couldn't seem to stop kissing you, seeking your mouth again and again.

"Making up for lost time." Din grunted, finally managing to divest himself of his flight suit altogether and then jerking the liner shirt off over his head. He pressed his body to your own and you flushed wildly. Last time he hadn't even fully removed his flight suit, and he had kept the liner shirt on. It was surreal to be able to touch him like this.

He seemed to agree, if the helpless noises in his throat were any indicator. You trailed your fingers along his chest, sliding boldly down to stroke through the thick curls that started right above the waist of his compression leggings. "Pare, wait, I need…t-to shower." He pleaded, his hands fumbling on your shoulders. "H-Have to do this right." His forehead bumped against yours. "Have to do this right." He repeated, now grinding himself down into your palm instinctively. You easily found the thick arch of his cock through the leggings and you couldn't resist giving him a gentle caress before you pulled away.

His breathing sounded distinctly shaky. "Okay. Go ahead." You urged him, making a shooing gesture in what you hoped was the direction of the refresher. 

"Hang on," he protested. "Wait, ch-changed my mind, come here."

"Mm, nope! Go shower." You cupped his jaw, feeling him swallow hard. "Get cleaned up. I'll be here when you get out."

"Stay...stay at the sink?" He bargained. You could hear him fumbling with something, probably his leggings. 

"Absolutely." You kissed his nose. "Now go shower, you smell like wet Wookie." 

He embraced you without warning, wrapping his arms around you tightly and pressing his cock against your stomach. "Wait for me." He requested, the kiss that followed absolutely voracious. You clung to his shoulders, rendered helpless under the attack of his mouth. 

"Y-Yeah, 'course." You stammered when you could think again.

He took your wrist and led you forward until you could touch the sink, and then he got into the shower. "When did you wake up?" He asked after he had keyed the shutter closed. 

You opened your eyes and leaned back on the sink, tapping your chin. "It's been about...three days?"

He swore under his breath and you heard a metallic rattle. "Shit, c'mon, stupid-" The water abruptly burst on and he yelped. You couldn't stifle your laughter, though you did try. "So glad my pain amuses you." He groused through the divider. "Here I was, coming back to my ship all torn up, thinking that you were gone forever and that I'd never see you again."

His words were annoyed but you could hear the soft sadness in his tone. "I think I've made it abundantly clear that I don't know how to leave you behind." You replied gently. "Plus, bacta tank time isn't exactly cheap."

He scoffed, "Yeah, we need to talk about that. Later. Once we're in a proper headspace for it." He was silent for several minutes, the only noise the running water of the shower and the thunder of the rain overhead. "I don't...look, the bacta doesn't fucking matter. I'm just...I'm glad you came back," he muttered finally. "Glad I didn't ruin everything like I thought I did."

"You've got an uphill battle ahead of you, Din." You luxuriated in saying his name, though your words were ultimately serious. "Why didn't you tell Cara the truth? She said she yelled at you pretty bad."

"I did tell her the truth." Din sighed. "Look, I hurt you. You can't say that I didn't. Physically, emotionally...wounding happened. You didn't feel welcome to stay anymore and I sure as hell didn't give you a reason to." There was a quiet thud. "I knew she would rip me apart and honestly, I think I needed that to parse everything. But stars, that woman took the paint off."

You grimaced. You could only imagine the awful things she had (probably) shouted at him. You heard the shower turn off and you shut your eyes again, tilting your head at the sound of the shutter sliding.

"Mm, I could get used to this." He murmured. All you got for a warning was the rustle of a towel and then, he was on you. His mouth claimed your own and he chuckled when your hands immediately found his damp hair. "You really like that, huh?" He commented, sounding amused.

"Listen, I've been through enough. Let me have this." You complained, yanking playfully at his shaggy locks and laughing when he grunted. 

"You keep it up and I'll let you have a lot more than just that." He threatened, peppering your cheeks with kisses. He then grabbed the hem of your tunic, stripping it up off your body to leave you there in your breast wrap. The breathy noise he made was enough to have you flushing hot; you could almost feel him looking at you. "Maker, I don't deserve this." He whispered as he pressed his palm to the faint scar on your side. "Any of this. Over this...half a fucking cycle, I kept thinking that I must have made you up. That there's no way someone like you could even be real."

He sounded reverent again and it made your head spin, it had you gripping his shoulders while he slid down your body to peel your pants off. The mental image of him naked on his knees in front of you--

Stars, you wished you were brave enough to open your eyes.

One large hand slipped between your thighs, urging you open with the gentle press of his other hand hooked right above your knee. "Let me see you, let me see." He breathed, his fingers groping forward until they encountered your slick. You squirmed a little, hoping that he wasn't put off by how wet you already were. You couldn't really help it, of course. "Oh, fuck, you're s-so--you're dripping for me, fuck." 

"D-Din…" Your fingers were in his curls again, and you gave a gentle tug. 

His tongue-

You felt the inquisitive, flat press of it against your cunt and you gasped out, quickly tilting your face up so that you wouldn't see him if you accidentally opened your eyes. Wait, if he's not supposed to take off his helmet--

Your thoughts ground to a halt when he moaned from between your thighs, wedging his shoulder in to keep your legs apart. "Taste--t-taste so-" he mumbled, laving sloppily over your clit. "Good, fuck. Good." His fingers spread you wide, allowing him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts. You knew you ought to be embarrassed about being splayed open like this, but you couldn't seem to muster up the feeling over the sensations you were being gifted.

Din was clearly spurred on by your enthusiasm if his sounds were any indication, his already limited words dissolving into soft growls and rumbles as he ate you out. 

That wasn't exactly the correct term for what he was doing, really. He was devouring you, his nose clumsily bumping into your clit with every other motion, his hands trembling as he tried to keep you still under his ministrations. You thought it couldn't get any better, but then his tongue licked inside of you and you couldn't help the way your voice broke when you cried his name, one hand flying up to cover your mouth. Having your eyes closed did nothing but intensify the feeling of surrender, you were his prey and he was hungry.

The snarl that he let out in reply had you quivering, his tongue fucking your cunt almost lazily. He was teasing now, drawing it out. "Beg me." He slurred, smiling against you. "Beg."

"Please--oh f-fuck, please, please-" you whimpered, almost in tears when he backed away.

"Please…?" He trailed off and you abruptly understood what he was waiting for.

"Please, Din, p-please make me come." You begged pitifully, your hips twitching as they sought out his mouth. 

"One more time?" He implored, groaning after you fisted your hands in his shaggy curls again.

"Please, Din, please let me come, p-please, please--" Your voice cracked when he hitched your leg up over his shoulder and buried his face in your cunt. He locked his hot, wet mouth around your clit, rubbing his tongue down on it in a focused attack that had your knees buckling, chest heaving, nails digging into his scalp and-

Your Mandalorian, Din Djarin, was not a man who did anything by halves.

You fell apart, soaking his tongue with your orgasm as you sobbed out his name again and again. He moaned hungrily, the noise sending vibrations through your sensitive sex and making you shudder while he continued to move his mouth, continued to gently lick at your cunt and lap up your come. 

"Are you alright?" He asked cautiously once he finally took pity on you and let you catch your breath. 

"'Am I alright', like you didn't just take my soul out of my body with your tongue." You panted.

"Yeah?" There was a smile in his voice. "Alright." With a quiet grunt, he got to his feet. "Wasn't sure if I'd be any good at it, but-" You cupped his jaw, delving your tongue into his mouth to catch a taste of yourself. He choked a little, obviously startled when you bit down on his lower lip and tugged it gently. "You...more?" He queried, sounding hopeful. 

"Yes, absolutely yes." You answered breathlessly. He hesitated for a second, his arm brushing your shoulder on its way by. 

"There. Turn around and open your eyes."

You did so, stumbling a little on your still-unsteady legs. When you blinked your eyes open you realized that he had opened the tiny mirrored cabinet over the sink, effectively rendering the reflective surface harmless. You wanted to feel disappointed, but you knew that he would do it in his own time, on his own terms.

His hands roamed up your body, unraveling the binding that you had to support your breasts. They fell into his palms and he exhaled harshly in your ear, the heated air making you shiver all over as he pressed himself to your back. He toyed with your breasts inquisitively, squeezing them and teasing your nipples with his calloused fingers until you were writhing back against him, wordless pleas making their way out of your throat. "What? I didn't catch that." He murmured in your ear, roughly sinking his teeth into the shell of it and making you keen loudly. "Something you want?" 

"Din-" you protested, leaning a little further forward in obvious invitation. He fell silent and the head of his cock rubbed against your pussy, coating the shaft with your slick. Agonizingly slow, he pressed in until his tip was inside you.

"Hah, f-uck, you're…" His forehead hit the space between your shoulder blades and stayed there as you squirmed, trying to push back onto him. "Mmfuck, I have t-to be...y' tight, cyar'ika, breathe-" 

"Sorry--" you whimpered, startled when he nipped at your shoulder.

"Don't f-fucking apologize, don't y' dare--" Din stammered indignantly, "gripping me like a f-f-ucking vice, don't want to hurt you." His hands smoothed down over your hips and he clumsily repositioned you, arching your back a bit more to open you up. 

You exhaled and you heard him grunt in what sounded like relief. He then penetrated you fully in one long, smooth thrust, the mass of him punching the rest of the breath out of your lungs and leaving you grasping blindly at the sink for something to anchor yourself. His cock was so thick, you felt like it was searing your insides and branding you as his forever. 

Your Mandalorian.

You shakily pushed yourself up and wrapped your arm around his neck to support your body as he began to stroke into you against the sink, your eyes sliding closed before you could glimpse him in your periphery. 

His lips pressed to your cheek and one hand groped over your stomach until his palm ground down on your pubic mound, sending stars across your vision and making you whine out his name. You tilted your head back down to stare dazedly at his arms around you, watching the way his musculature coiled and bunched with every thrust. Maker, he was strong. 

Din kept your back pinned tightly to his chest, giving you his cock without mercy as he rambled disjointedly in your ear about how much he had missed you, about how much he craved you, how much he needed you-

"I-I love--" His voice faltered, then he gritted his teeth. "I l-love you, y--you know that, r-right?" Din blurted out desperately. 

"I--" the breath caught in your throat, due in no small part to the man currently fucking you into sweet oblivion. "-love you." You managed to say, closing your eyes and knocking the side of your head into his. 

He made a pained noise, one hand reaching forward. "Open--open your eyes. P-Please, please open 'em." He begged. 

"Are you-"

"Fuck, fuck fuc-k-k I need it pl-ease," Din cried, his voice rasping and then cracking. "Need you to see, need you to see, need it need it need it--"

The sound of his breathless, sobbing entreaty was more than enough to convince you to oblige him, and so (eventually) your eyes fluttered open.

It took a minute, but you managed to focus on the now-closed cabinet in front of you. The mirrored surface revealed the man that you had saved, the man who had, in turn, saved you. 

He had his eyes downcast, no doubt transfixed by the sight of his cock splitting you open again and again. His hair was shaggy; brown, a few grays peppered in here and there. Heavy, furrowed brow, square jawline, full lips currently pressed together in a concentrated grimace. Several fresh-looking scrapes and bruises littered his face. His nose was a little crooked, like it had been broken several times, but that wasn't surprising. Mandalorian helmets, for all their protection, did sport incredibly flat fronts.

Your Mandalorian, Din Djarin, was devastatingly attractive even beneath the armor.

"Hey," You breathed and he jerked his head up, dark, dark brown eyes meeting your own for the first time. You were abruptly breathless, and not simply because his cock felt like it was making itself at home in your chest cavity. You curled your fingers weakly on the nape of his neck, the motion almost a wave. "You could have w-warned me that the helmet was for my protection, not yours."

He tilted his head to the side, illustrating his confusion even without the helmet to mask his expression. His hips pressed to your rear almost idly, rutting his cock as deeply in you as it could possibly reach.

"Didn't expect you to be so h-andsome." You gasped, a guttural cry leaving your lips when he shifted his weight to drag his cock back out of you.

His smile was incredibly shy, an awkward little tilt of his lips before he buried his face against your shoulder blade again. Maker, was he...was he blushing? 

You had made a Mandalorian blush. While he was pounding you into the next cycle, no less. You could feel the temperature difference of his face and you giggled, your breath hitching.

"Don't--don't laugh at m-me, dammit." He grunted. "Not while...I'm f-fucking you like this--"

"Not--at you," you panted. "I j-just love you, that's all."

He choked on his next breath and his tempo stuttered, that thick cock throbbing inside you. "Who do y-you love?" He whispered, his hands fondling your breasts.

"Din Djarin." You replied quickly, arching your back a little more.

"Ah--a-and I love--I love you." He groaned. "So...so much." He slid his hand down again, spreading your cunt open so he could play with your clit. You could hear how wet you were, and it filled you with a delight that was borderline shameful. "Come on me. Want you t-to...f-ucking soak me, soak my cock, c'mon." He demanded hotly in your ear, making brief eye contact with you in the mirror. His look was smoldering, burying itself in the hungry tension that teemed in your groin. "I can feel you, fucking squeezing me every t-time I talk, so come, come on me--"

Your clit was unbearably sensitive from your earlier orgasm, every motion of his body sending shockwaves through you. You squirmed and writhed but he had you trapped, safe and secure and begging you to submit to the pleasure he wanted to give you. It was almost too much to bear; you felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes when you finally succumbed with a primal growl.

Din didn't stop, though. He fucked you through your orgasm, fucked you into the blinding delight of overstimulation and pressed the heel of his palm down onto your pubic mound once more. You could feel his cock twitching, could feel how tense his thighs had gotten, Maker you could feel everything and it was a blissful torture. Thoroughly strung out, all senses ablaze, you begged him to come.

"I want to, I want to, gedet'ye I w-want to so fucking badly, I want--" Din chanted. Without any ceremony, he thrust his fingers into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, urging you to extend it and lick his fingers. You obliged almost automatically and he dragged his now wet fingertips down your chest to roll and tweak your nipples hard.

You clenched down on him without conscious input, your pussy in spasm around his cock as the cool air combined with his rough little tugs to rouse and torment your breasts. You sobbed out his name again and again, pleading for relief and praying it never came all at once.

He met your eyes in the mirror, pupils blown wide and his mouth just barely open, and-- "Oh, fuck." He choked. "I love you." And then he came, wrapping an arm around your midsection to keep you firmly planted in the shuddering cradle of his thighs. He bucked into you over and over and you knew you were dead weight but you couldn't bring yourself to move, moaning helplessly in his trembling grip. "Ner, mine." He grunted. 

"Mmhm." You breathed, too beyond words to function at this point in time. 

He let out a breathless chuckle, threading his fingers through your hair. "You're mesh'la, beautiful. My beautiful little mudhorn." He sighed.

"Again...with that name." You replied haltingly, the air slowly returning to your lungs. He slung both of his arms around your waist, holding you tight to his chest once more. You were bewildered by your body's reaction, aftershocks hitting hard enough to make your legs shake. "Couple of things that come to mind when I think of a mudhorn." You continued after a few deep, deep breaths. "Beautiful and little are definitely not among them. I tend to think big, and dangerous. So you know. You."

"I remember the first time I thought of you like that." He murmured in your ear. "You had just killed seven raiders. I came into the hut and you were ready to kill me too."

"Oh...oh." You trailed off, flushing slightly. "I-I wouldn't have, you know I wouldn't."

"Mm, I'm not so sure." He exhaled into your ear, making you squeak. "It was intense. I...I'm pretty sure that was it for me. Fought for so long, y'know, but it was useless. You took my heart with that look, cyar'ika."

"You really...I mean, you thought about me like that?" You asked shyly. And it was an insane thing to be shy about, considering the fact that his cock was still inside you. "You mentioned some things the last time we...uh, got involved, but I assumed you were just saying stuff to get me excited."

"I don't know how to talk like that." He answered you bluntly.

"That's a lie." You retorted. "You told me you fucked your hand thinking about me!"

"Mmmultiple times." He drawled the 'm' out in a self-satisfied manner, kissing down the side of your neck.

"That's not you just trying to say something...y'know, to get me worked up?" 

"I said it because it's true." He muttered, "should I...should I not say things like that?"

"No, no, you definitely should!" You backtracked quickly. "It's just...it's nice to know that you were thinking about me even before I was...well, masturbation material. It's nice that you saw me, I guess I should say."

"I always saw you." He breathed, his fingers sliding up the side of your neck to tilt your head so he could kiss your cheek. "Saw you play with the younglings. Saw how you took care of the kid. Saw how you protected him. Saw how you took care of me."

Your flush was a raging inferno at this point.

"I don't remember a lot about the...whole situation with Ran's group. Xi'an's poison threw me off my track pretty good. But I remember…" Those brown eyes half-lidded as he collected his thoughts. "Remember you singing to me."

"You asked me to." You whispered. 

"I don't mind that memory. Out of all the ones that I have, it's one of the few that isn't shit." Din mused, adding, "today's nice too, don't get me wrong. No deadly neuro-toxins to take the edge off either." He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder and swaying you gently back and forth as you watched him in the mirror. Stars, you were still a little tongue-tied at how handsome he was. "I need you to promise me something, stowaway." 

"What is it?"

"Don't you e-ever try to fucking die on me again." His voice cracked, "okay?" He dropped his forehead against your shoulder. "Please."

"Din…" You said softly, stroking your fingers through his hair.

"Just...just promise me that." He choked out. "If you get hurt, fucking tell me. If something happens, if…shit, if something goes wrong, please--please, don't hide from me. I'm sorry f-for...I'm sorry that I...I fucked everything up. I'm so sorry. All I've been able to think about is how much you m-must hate me. You were almost killed because you were pulling my stupid, stupid ass out of the fire."

"Hey, hey. You literally told me to stay out of Guild business. You can't blame yourself for my inability to follow your instructions." You protested, nudging your head against his. "I'm an adult and I take full responsibility for my own stupidity when it comes to you, okay?"

One large hand trailed down to skim the scar from the blaster wound and he huffed, sniffling quietly. He pulled your hips back more firmly into the seat of his pelvis, shifting his weight a little. "All heart and no fucking armor to defend it." He managed to say.

"You've got more than enough for the both of us." You replied gently. Then, you whimpered as he palmed over your breasts again, his fingers tugging your nipples mercilessly. "How are you still-"

"Missed you." He rasped, his words husky with longing and unshed tears. "You're so warm. Sensitive. I love...I love you. Don't want to stop touching you."

"Din--" Your voice broke as he rolled his hips, his cock hilted in you deliciously.

"Mm, one more? Maybe?" He begged.

"I don't know if my legs are going to last that long." You confessed. "Or the rest of me, to be honest."

"If it's too much for you, I'll stop." He breathed in your ear. "Can tell me to stop and I'll stop."

"I don't want you to stop, but I'm just-"

"'But' means you need me to stop." Din interjected softly. "I'll stop." 

"Wait, wait, it's just that--I'm-!" Your orgasm struck without warning as he attempted to withdraw, the drag of his cock over your spot making your vision briefly white out from the overload. You shuddered and writhed, the pleasure nearly to the point of pain as your inner walls clutched at his cock. You couldn't help the way your nails raked into his arm, clawing for purchase.

You vaguely heard him moan, "oh, f-fuck--" the words nothing but a gravelly rumble. He struggled to keep pulling out, rambling about how tight you were like he couldn't even help it. "Easy, easy cyar'ika--relax, relax relax. You grip me so--f-ucking-"

"Sorry, sorry-" you sobbed, your words catching in your throat as you felt the head of his cock finally leave your cunt with a lewd, wet sound. It was like a breath of relief and anguish all at once; you were too sensitive to handle more but you had missed him so much-

He tipped your chin back with one hand, kissing your forehead clumsily as he dragged his other hand over the inside of your thighs. "Mm, shh, no apologies. Gonna' come." He slurred through gritted teeth. "Right here, just l-like this, using your come to fuck my hand. You ready? Ready for my come?" 

Your words failed you at his declaration and all you could do was nod, drowsily meeting his gaze in the mirror. His breath hitched again, like he was startled. It was wildly endearing to know you had that sort of effect on him. "Love you." You whispered, propping yourself up with your elbows on the sink to enjoy the show.

"Hnn, f-fuck, fuck-" he panted, "that's not fair. With the eyes too? N-Not--not fair, you can't do that."

You just smiled sweetly, arched your back and he lost it. His release hit the small of your back and you listened to him gasp and grunt his way through his orgasm with an exhausted tremor of delight. He came for what seemed like an eternity to you (and him as well, if his voice dissolving into a broken, raspy growl had anything to say about it). 

"You make the nicest sounds." You complimented him once he seemed to be able to breathe again. 

"Wh...What?" Din croaked after clearing his throat several times. 

"Your voice. It's nice. I like it."

"Um…huh." His fingers absently smeared the come on the small of your back. He appeared to be at a loss for words. "I should...uh. Get a...something. Gotta' clean. Don't move. I...yeah, don't move." He said finally, awkwardly clearing his throat again and avoiding your eyes in the mirror.

"Helmet back on?" You suggested. He froze, looking a little guilty. "Hey, no. It's part of your life. It's who you are. Don't ever worry about putting it back on, okay?"

"I'm sorry." He mumbled. 

You swatted his leg. "What did I just say? Listen to me when I talk!" You chided. 

"I know, I just-"

"Nope! Nope. You're more comfortable with it on, right? You're used to it. That's how your world is and that's fine." You assured him. "I'm a new addition. That's only if you want to keep me around, of course."

"Don't you dare say something like that." He grumbled, obviously bashful. "'Course I want you around. I'm not letting you out of my fucking sight for at least a week."

"Is that...possessiveness I detect in your tone, Djarin?" You asked in mock surprise. "I didn't think you had it in you!"

He scoffed, shaking his head and then walking through the bay to pick his helmet up from its forlorn place next to the loading ramp. "More like soul-crushing anxiety over your wellbeing, but that too I guess." He grunted after donning his familiar headgear. He padded back over to the fresher, reaching into the shower and scooping up a washcloth.

The water was cold and you yelped, making him flinch. "Fuck, what, a-are you alright?" Din stammered, palms cupping your hips gingerly.

"Could have used warm water." You squeaked, wriggling a little in an effort to shake off the chill. 

He breathed a sigh. "Maker, don't...don't fucking scare me like that." He muttered, obligingly running the cloth under the hot water tap. "I thought I hurt you."

"No no, it was just cold. Sorry." You apologized, feeling a little sheepish. The cloth was barely lukewarm when he laid it back on your skin, but it was absolutely better than it had been the first time. 

His motions were clumsily tender, like he wasn't used to being careful. When he moved lower to run the cloth over the inside of your thighs, he slowed to rub circles on your still-trembling muscles. "Maker, I...you're shaking." 

"Yeah, you kind of gave me a workout." You teased, turning your head to smile at him over your shoulder. "Also, I think I'm still supposed to be taking it easy. According to that nurse, anyway."

"You're what." 

"Supposed to...uh, you know what? Never mind." You tried to brush it off, but he rose to his full height and wrapped his arms back around you.

"If you're supposed to be taking it easy," he growled in your ear, modulated voice sending that familiar tremor through your body, "I shouldn't have just railed you against the fucking sink."

"Hey, I needed that. You did too. Don't act like you didn't, Djarin." You stuck out your tongue, blowing a raspberry at him. 

Din shook his head, tapping the helmet against your temple. "I wouldn't have made you stand. Would have...would have laid you down or something." He eased your full weight against his chest. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. A little achy and stiff, but that's okay." He hummed disapprovingly in his throat, tugging you back a step from the sink. You flung your arm around his neck, clinging to him as your legs tried to dump you on the ground. "Not hurt!" You insisted when you heard his breath hitch. "I promise. Just well-fucked."

"Still. You can barely stand. We need to lay you down." He murmured, smoothing his palm over the top of your head. "You want the bunk?"

"No, we can't both fit in there." You tightened your hold on him without meaning to. Don't go. 

"I don't want you to be on the floor if you're hurt." He protested.

"I don't want to be alone." You hated how your voice cracked. "Please, Din. Not right now."

"Oh. Oh. Alright, I...alright. I didn't mean...I just didn't want you to--the floor isn't comfortable." Din fumbled to say, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. 

"I lived with it before, I can definitely manage it now." 

The jaw contour of his helmet gently pressed to your cheek like a kiss. "Okay. Give me...I'll get some more blankets together or something. You stay still." He ordered sternly, patting your hip. "Stay."

Your laugh was a little shaky. "I'm not the kid, y'know." 

Din grumbled something under his breath, sounding exasperated.

…

You had no idea that he even possessed this many blankets. You blinked down at the pile, certain you recognized a few blue ones from your stay on Sorgan. 

"Something most people don't know about Mandalorians is that we build nests." Din informed you, his voice utterly deadpan.

"You are...a liar." You sputtered, giggling when he nuzzled his helmet into the crook of your neck. You had taken a quick shower while he was distracted by his nest building, so your skin was still warm and a little damp. His beskar squeaked slightly at the moisture.

"I could be lying, yes. But I might also be telling the truth." He reasoned, tugging you down to settle on the floor. 

"This is the Way, right?" You teased, cupping the sides of his helmet. He stilled and your smile slipped a notch as you remembered the way you had thrown the phrase in his face, how heartbroken he had sounded when he begged you to wait. 

Hesitantly, his hands raised to cover your own. "This is the Way." He intoned quietly, pressing his forehead against yours before continuing, "With you. I'm never leaving you behind. Ever again." 

"My Mandalorian." You whispered, relief making your eyes slide closed. "Thank you, Din."

He breathed, "Thank you for loving me," his tone unbearably soft even through the modulator. "Thank...thank you for saving me, my little mudhorn."

Your chuckle was a bit more watery than you would have liked. "That pet name is going to take some getting used to." You stroked the sides of his helmet. "Luckily, I'll have plenty of time to do so." You proceeded to press your thumb to his sternum, drawing it downwards. He did the same to you and you could feel the affection he had for you radiating through the delicacy of his touch when he softly tapped his fingers to your lips. "I promise." You whispered, your own fingers making a dull ringing sound on his beskar helmet. 

He just...stared down at you for several long moments. Long enough for you to half-lid your eyes again, lashes sweeping down as you focused your gaze self-consciously on his knees.

Slowly, slowly, his hand extended, and you could see it shaking ever so slightly in your peripheral for a second. "I share my name with you." Din slid his index finger down your jaw. "I share my face with you." He trailed his hand across your visage from temple to chin, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. "I share my body with you." He cupped his palm tenderly over the top of your left breast (no doubt feeling the way that your chest heaved excitedly under his touch). "I share...I share my heart with you." He murmured, threading his fingers through your own and raising them to his chin. "This is a riduurok bond. An oath that I swear to you. It's...it's very important." His sentence dissolved into a bit of a mumble, but you still heard him when he stammered, "s'a marital...l-love bond."

"Oh." You replied dumbly, before erupting with, "oh! Oh, you're--oh wow, stars, okay. What...uh, what do I have to say in return? To say yes?!" You rushed to ask, certain your eyes had gone glassy with tears.

"If...um, if you accept, y-you just...repeat what I said, and the gestures." Din seemed flustered by your enthusiastic reply, his hand trembling in your grip. "You...you really-?"

You tapped your index finger to the apex of his jaw contour and he fell silent. There was no possible way he could feel your touch through the armor, and yet you were still incredibly careful. "I share my name with you, Din." You breathed, your finger gliding over the beskar without so much as a sound. You then gently, so gently, rested your palm on the flat front of his visor. "I share my face with you, Din." 

"Maker, yes." He sighed, knocking his forehead roughly into your palm before you swept it down over his face like he had done for you. 

Your fingers splayed above his left pectoral, digging in a bit more than you needed to. "I share my body with you, Din." He shifted restlessly under your touch and you could feel your cheeks ache with how hard you were smiling as you took his hand in your own. Turning it over, you scrutinized his bruised knuckles with a soft noise of distress. Then, you raised his fingers to your lips and kissed every bruise, every battered knuckle, every scar that crisscrossed his olive skin.

"Please," Din begged brokenly, his voice nothing but a breathy groan. "P-Please."

You obliged him without hesitation, tapping your joined fingers against your chin with an air of solemn finality as you stated, "I share my heart with you, Din."

From his spot on his knees facing you, Din all but fell forward, cradling the back of your head with one hand as he pressed you down into the soft cocoon of blankets with his weight. "You precious...mesh'la...stars, you mean so fucking much to me." He gritted out, his voice almost pained while he framed your hips with his thighs. "So much, so much I don't know enough Basic for it. You are fucking healing, mirjahaal, you are rain, pitat, you are soft, pel, you are fucking stunning, kandosii'la, you a-are--you are dral, ner cabur, ner haal, you are...haar'chak, osi'kyr, I always lose my words." He growled in frustration, resting his forehead against your own. "My mouth can't even try to whisper what my heart screams. M'not used to talking so much." He admitted, sounding defeated.

"I hear you anyway." You assured him softly. Din raised his head, leveling that visor with your eyes. 

"How?" He asked desperately.

"I hear you when you speak with your hands. I hear you when you speak with your concern. I hear you...I h-hear you when you speak with your body." Your breath hitched and your eyes closed as he rolled that body against your own in one long, sensual grind. "I don't need you to talk if you can't. I hear you just fine, I promise." You managed to finish, even with his deliciously-distracting form stretched languidly over you.

"Then," Din hesitated. His hand sought out the scar on your side yet again, fingers caressing the marked skin. "I…I love you." He mumbled.

"I know, Din." You smiled warmly up at him. "I love you too." He ducked his head against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide his face despite already wearing a helmet. "Don't be shy!"

"I'm not shy, I-I'm…" 

"You're not used to this. It's new. That's okay." You cupped the back of his helmet. "I'll be here to help you figure it out. The kid and I." 

"You are my aliit, my clan. I'll...I'll keep you two safe, I promise. K'oyacyi." He choked out, his hand trembling when he drew the circle on your chest and rubbed his knuckles gently in the center. "My armor for you and the kid. My whole body. Anything you need." 

You slipped your legs out from beneath his thighs and opened them a little wider, letting him relax down into the sheltered harbor of your embrace. "Shh," you soothed, running your palms up and down his tense back. "Everything is fine. All we need is you. We're safe. You're safe with me. You can rest, sweetheart."

Din sighed, digging his hands into the blankets beneath your back. "Safe." He slurred. "Can't lay on y' though. Too heavy...lemme'..." He clumsily grappled with your body, somehow managing to roll the two of you over without accidentally braining you with his helmet. "Better." He grunted, threading his fingers through your hair and resting your head on his chest. "Should...put my suit back on."

"Five minutes." You bargained, stroking down the line of his visor. "Would you like me to sing for you?"

"...mmhm." He agreed through a yawn, his head drooping when he nodded. "Five...f-ive…"

You smiled as you listened to him struggle against sleep to try and talk to you, his breathing finally evening out after a few more minutes of incoherent mumbling. You pressed a careful kiss to his forehead and then snuggled down against his chest. "Stars fading, but I linger on dear...still craving your kiss. I'm longing to linger 'til dawn dear, just saying this…" You half-whispered, your words petering out as you too succumbed to the allure of slumber.

The future was uncertain but, if only for this brief moment in time, the two of you found solace in the other's presence.

Stay safe, sweetheart. K'oyacyi, cyar'ika.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Cuck for One Uses Tinder

"All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously??"

A/N:  I'm sorry, I don't have any excuse for this. I woke up in the middle of the night with the plot idea for this fic and thus this monstrosity was born. Bone Apple Teeth.

        All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously?? Made even worse was the fact that, with the aid of search, he found that All Might, kami damn him, and his now ex-wife were constantly spending time together. He had half a mind to head to the apartment complex that he owned and paid for and reclaim what was his.

        “Sensei?” A familiar, raspy voice spoke up behind him and he felt the onset of a stress induced headache. The brat was meant to be his successor and potential replacement body. Unfortunately, those damn heroes had broken into the hospital before he could be fully developed, and All for One had to fish the young man out of a decayed crater the size of several city blocks before he could be thrown in Tartarus in a cell next to him. He wanted eventual retirement, and has had his plans foiled at every turn.

        “Yes Shigaraki?” he replied, standing up from his chair.

        “What happened? I underwent the operation one minute and the next thing I knew-”

        “Ah, that. You were awakened several months before you were meant to. That’s why I called this doctor here to-” He glanced at the red stain, realizing that the man in question had been eviscerated in his divorce-papers induced rage, “-No matter, I’ll do it myself, come.”

        All for One led Shigaraki down a series of winding hallways and stairs into a room filled with large test tubes and the few Noumu that remained after the raid on Dr. Garaki’s hospital. He stood before one that was open, not yet filled with the preservation fluid that left the Noumu in suspended animation. “Everything should be calibrated properly, if you’ll just step inside, the process will resume.”

        Shigaraki scowled, “I’m not doing this for you,” he clarified, scratching the back of his neck, “This dream is my own, this is just the means to an end.”

        If All for One had eyes, he would have rolled them with disdain, instead he said, “Sure, just step into the machine Tomura, or would you like to remain in your half-finished state?”  

        The young man let out a huff and begrudgingly complied. All for One injected him with enough anaesthetic to subdue a horse and closed the convex glass door. He fiddled with the controls for a moment - he hated being, for all intents and purposes, blind - and soon the tube was filling with preservation fluid as Shigaraki’s upgrades resumed. It was only then, in the greenish glow of the underground laboratory, that All for One realized with some dread that he had months of unfilled time on his hands.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One’s first course of action was to break into the bedroom of a young girl on the UA campus. He had, through his various underground contacts, heard of the Overhaul incident. How a man so incompetent had managed to go so far in his plans baffled him. Truly, the state of the hero industry has fallen since his prime. It was not the man’s fanaticism nor his sadism that fascinated him, but rather the child he’d had in his possession that was now under UA’s care. Her quirk, Rewind, was rather interesting with infinite and overpowered applications. He’d be tempted to take it for himself permanently had she not emotionally latched herself to a certain, green haired teen that proved time and time again to be a thorn in his side. It was simple enough to slip through UA’s security in the dead of night, to disable all nearby cameras with a mere flick of his hand. It was a wonder what a technopathy quirk could accomplish. 

        She was asleep, small face peaceful. He could feel contentment radiating from her. Likely having a good dream, he mused. Gently, All for One placed one of his large hands on her forehead. He borrowed her quirk, and felt his body rewind several years, before his fateful battle with All Might. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crept across his face as he opened his eyes for the first time in nearly a decade. Quickly, he returned Rewind to her and used a warp quirk (the same one he used in Kamino) to leave the premises. There was no need to alert the heroes to his restored state. Yet.

        At least he’d be able to show up to his divorce hearing in person, though it would take every ounce of willpower he had to not level the courthouse.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One was lounging on his couch in his makeshift home and using his phone in an attempt to understand The Youth (which to him, was anyone who wasn’t in a nursing home). On a whim, he installed Tinder, it had been decades since he really got into the dating world. His lover has been villainy, generally being an asshole, and terrorizing aspiring heroes. Having to wait for his plans to unfold was making him restless. Anyways, he was planning to get into politics now that he had his face back, as a way to enact social change without having to deal with a slew of moronic underlings. It didn’t hurt to build the foundations for his retirement, and having at least some people in his life could make him more relatable to the public and help his long term goals. He was planning to use his ex-wife and estranged son for this, but the divorce threw that plan out the window. People don’t tend to trust those who spring into existence seemingly from nowhere. (To be honest, he was just lonely, not that he’d admit it to anyone, especially not himself.)

        Where was he? Ah yes, Tinder. As it stood right now, he was swiping through the incredibly vain and shallow app, no one had truly caught his eye. No one that is, until his gaze (and didn’t that feel good to say?) landed on a disheveled man with long dark hair, stubble, and dark undereye circles that stood out against his pale skin. Aizawa Shota, 31. Eraserhead. He was tempted to swipe left on impulse when he paused. Getting close to heroes could be convenient to his political goals. There was no better or more ironic way to take out the hero commission than from within after all, plus it would give him information his underground contacts lacked. Yes, this would do nicely. (And if he found the man’s sleep deprivation and dry sense of humor charming as they spoke through text that night, well, that was just a side benefit.)

        They had decided to meet at a nearby cat café that evening, and All for One showed up in his best suit. It was a dark, wine red and chosen to match his eyes. Belatedly he realized he was overdressed when Aizawa showed up in a simple t-shirt and dark jeans. Whoops.

        He extended his hand for the other to shake, “Hisashi Kamiya, a pleasure to meet you.” It was absolutely not a pleasure to meet the erasure hero, but Aizawa didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t help but quirk his lips at his own last name. He had chosen it after the divorce, Shigaraki most certainly wasn’t going to fly, especially since his protégé had gained some degree of infamy.

        Aizawa nodded, eyes narrowing, as he shook his head, “Aizawa Shota.”

        The cat café was a small, square building lined with blue wooden panels. The windows glowed with a warm orange light, and the smell of java floated through the air. The interior was just as quaint, Hisashi noted as he opened the door for the other, among the table and chairs were various cat towers and potted plants. Despite its humble appearance, the café was rather busy this evening, stuffed to the brim with overworked college students and romantic hopefuls. They ordered their drinks (Aizawa ordered a black coffee and Hisashi ordered an espresso with extra foam) and made their way to a small round table in the back corner. 

        “I just want you to know that I’m married and don’t want to pursue any sort of relationship,” Aizawa began, petting a small orange tabby that somehow already made its way onto his lap.

        Hisashi balked at that, but quickly composed himself, “So why are you on Tinder? I assume you don’t take random strangers on dates for the joy of it.”

        “I’m here because my students are villain catnip, and I want to make sure they don’t get maimed while they're out and about. Especially that one,” Aizawa gestured to a table across the room from them, “Problem child seems to attract the League of Villains everywhere he goes.”

        Hisashi followed Aizawa’s gaze to the table in question and felt himself pale when he saw a familiar mop of curly green hair, his son. He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his estranged kid was sitting only fifty feet away. “I can understand that, but why a cat café?” he asked.

        Aizawa shrugged, “They’re on a date, plus I like cats.”

        He had to do a double take, Izuku was with a boy that had dual toned hair. A date? Seriously? He hardly approved of his son doing such a thing at his young age. Part of him wanted to walk over and drag the teen from his table and out of the café. Instead of making his internal screams external, he smiled saccharinely, “It’s rather thoughtful of you to take time out of your busy schedule for your students, I’m sure it must be hard to juggle hero work and teaching.” And rather creepy. Who pestered and surveilled teenagers in their free time? Other than Hisashi of course, but he was the exception.

        Before Aizawa could give him a response, their drinks were set in front of them. The foam on Hisashi’s espresso had been poured in the shape of a smiling cat. He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to launch it at his date and run. Instead, he took a sip, grimacing slightly. Too much sweetener. They sat in an awkward silence, Aizawa didn’t seem like one to make conversation. Somehow the man had attracted more cats to his side.

        “So you said you were married?” Hisashi asked, probing for information.

        “Mhm, my husband’s name is Hizashi. He’s kind, if a bit much sometimes.” That was an understatement, Present Mic was one of the most obnoxious heroes in the public eye, right after All Might in Hisashi’s books. More awkward silence, and then:

        “So Hisashi, what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

        He blinked, “Oh, I’m a quirk analyst,” a lie, though quirk analysis was a pivotal part of his job, it had to be with his quirk, “I’ve just always found them interesting. It’s like how inventors feel about electronics, I just can’t help but want to pull them apart and see how they work.” Hisashi’s grin turned almost predatory at that, and Aizawa tensed. “The first quirk I ever analyzed was a neon quirk, the holder’s sweat glowed in the dark, they were like a walking, talking glow stick.”

        Hisashi rambled about quirks for a while (this was the first he’d spoken so much in a long time and the words seemed to gush out of him, like he had to pay some sort of deficit), and Aizawa eventually cut him off, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, “You know, you remind me of one of my students, he’s just as obsessed with quirks as you are.”

        He visibly perked up at that, “Really? It’s rare to find someone who shares my interest, most find it creepy.”

        The underground hero nodded, then glanced at the clock, “I should probably get going, my students have already left and I’m expected at the police precinct soon.”

        Hisashi nodded, reaching to take a sip of his espresso but finding it already drained, “This was fun, even if it didn’t go anywhere,” perhaps this night could be salvaged and still give him some sort of in, “Would you like to catch a drink again some time?”

        “No.”

-@~*^*~@-

        His next date was considerably more disastrous than the first. He had matched with a young woman named Iwata Setsuko. His date in question had admittedly plain features, was a single mother with three children, and looked chronically stressed. She had taken time off from her crammed schedule to have dinner with him at a small Italian restaurant. The restaurant was small, quiet, and made to resemble a courtyard in an Italian villa. At the moment, she sat across from him in the cramped restaurant, honey eyes nervously peering at him from a veil of straight mousy brown hair. Iwata worked as a nurse practitioner in a nearby hospital, and seemed impressed by his extensive medical knowledge. She presumed him to be a doctor of some sort, and while inaccurate he could become one easily with a few forged documents if this proved fruitful.

        Throughout the meal, she hardly spoke, leaving him to fill the silence with spun tales and falsehoods. He was telling her a particularly interesting anecdote about South Korea when she abruptly cut him off, “You’ve been lying to me all night.” Fuck.

        Hisashi tried to laugh it off, “Now what reason would I have to lie to you?”

        “My quirk allows me to read the vital signs of anyone close to me, I don’t know why you’d lie but I can tell you’re full of it.”

        His eyes widened, “That’s a rather interesting quirk you have, it’s certainly perfect for your field-”

        “Oh shove it, I know you’re deflecting,” She dismissed, a fire lit in her eyes that was previously absent.

        He felt something flutter in his chest, he liked a woman with spark, it’s why he’d married Inko after all, and he couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities and applications her quirk had, and how helpful it could be for his goals. So caught up in his fantasies of world domination, was he, that he ignored whatever was coming out of her mouth. It probably was as helpful as white noise, as most mundane people’s words were, “You’re one of the only ones whose ever seen right through me,” he said with a widening grin.

        “What?” She replied, confused.

        “You know, with you at my side, we could have everything you can dream of! Think of the possibilities as the world crumbles at our feet-!”

        He was cut off by Iwata, who was shoving breadsticks into her purse, “Look, it’s been fun but I have to go, my kids are waiting for me at home.”

        “Think about my offer, you have my number!” he shouted to her as she rushed out the door, he glanced down at her plate, “She didn’t even finish her meal either.”

        Iwata never got back to him, and All for One, dark lord of the criminal underground, was ghosted.

-@~*^*~@-

        After another series of failed dates, Hisashi was slumped over a bar as Kurogiri, the noumu he had broken out of Tartarus for this sole purpose, awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “Uh there, there?” he said.

        Clearly, this online dating thing was not working, “I don’t even know why I try!” All for One proclaimed dejectedly, “Clearly the public cannot handle their awe of me.”

        If Kurogiri had a face beyond a pair of glowing yellow eyes, he would have winced, “Right, well, sir, if it’s my place to give you advice I’d like to do so.”

        Hisashi gestured vaguely with his hands, indicating that the sentient black mist should continue.

        “Why don’t you go back to what you had before, you were married were you not?” Kurogiri suggested, “Surely it can’t be that hard.”

        The supervillain lifted his head from the table, looking as if Kurogiri had just handed him the world, “You know what, you’re right, why don’t I re-enter their lives? They’re mine after all.” All for One stood up, a little drunk, “Kurogiri, if you had a mouth, I could kiss you.”

        “Please don’t, sir.”

        A few hours later, at some ungodly time in the night, Hisashi was standing outside of the Midoriya apartment, boom box perched on his shoulder, blasting romance music like he was in a shitty 90s romcom. He was oblivious to the lights that began to turn on in windows up and down the street. Using a quirk to artificially project his voice, he shouted, “Inko baby, take me back, I’ll be better I promise!”

        Soon he saw an uncharacteristically glaring, plump face in the window. Inko popped it open, slipper in hand, “Hisashi, I swear to god, if you don’t leave right now I’m calling the police, do you know what time it is?!”

        “Time doesn’t matter in the face of love,” he replied, “Inko I-” Hisashi was cut off as a slipper hit him square in the face.

A/N:  I hope this at least got you all to laugh, feel free to leave a comment! Happy holidays everyone, I should have the next chapter of Genesis posted on Monday.

AO3

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

pls scream about Leo a lil bit cause my love for that man is neverending and i live for you guys' blog,,, and ur comte love fuels me??? head empty except for those two pureblood clowns

HNGNGNG I hope that both you and everyone that reads my shenanigans knows how utterly understood I feel when I see anyone stan Comte, if not both of those idiot purebloods bc good lord...I live for two tired fossil men that just want DOMESTIC BLISS. Literally they have no brain cells beyond respect women and we love that for us, it’s spectacular!!

Under a cut bc I went off and is long:

That being said I’d be happy to yell abt Leo!! Where do I even begin, this man was the reason I got into Ikevamp in the first place, and I’ve read just about every single one of his events at this point. He just makes me so TENDER!!!!!! For whatever reason the first thing that came to mind was this one time he lies about being jealous and MC is lolol u a fool if you think I can’t tell when you lie to me. And he’s so fuckiNG SHOOK?????? It’s even funnier because she’s internally like [I’m not 100% sure but for a second there he almost looked mad...time to test this theory even if it’s just A GAME T H E O R Y] And he’s so fucking pikachu meme that shit sends me. I can’t handle the fact that he’s so used to people just assuming he’s fine, that he can handle himself. That he’s lived for so long without really anyone noticing at all. (Comte absolutely notices and will lightly roast him, but doesn’t really push him about it or wants to overstep). And so when MC just actively pays attention and is so gentle with him he’s just floored???

God I’m crying now, but I will just never forget the funeral scene in his fucking rt. This asshole, this absolute moron, straight up tries to come at us with “yOu GeT uSeD tO iT aFtEr HaLf A mIlLeNiUm, i’M nOt SaD”. Like are you serious. Come here and let me hold you before I throttle you. Absolute clown. He’s just always trying so hard to get by on his own and it breaks my heart. How long...how long has he lived just getting by, nursing his own wounds and dragging himself up all by himself. HE LEFT HOME AT LIKE 14 (whatever the fuCK SOME TOO YOUNG AGE) AND RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE HANDS OF PEOPLE THAT HATED HIM FOR HIS TALENT. HE REMEMBERS HIS MENTORS DESTROYING HIS UTENSILS WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE PARENTS THAT WHOLEHEARTEDLY REJECTED ANY EXPRESSION OF LOVE OR COMPASSION FOR HUMANITY THAT HE CHERISHED SO DEEPLY. I DON’T NEED SLEEP I NEED TO HUG HIM IMMEDIATELY FUCKING HELL.

Like.........there’s just........I don’t know how to explain it, but I once saw it explained so well in a post. It was basically talking about Castlevania, and how in that show Dracula sees humanity’s folly and develops so much hatred he just goes straight to murder rage. And while in some ways I understand that, I understand even more deeply Trevor’s response to humanity’s fear and violence. He says that he knows they’re short-sighted, that maybe we all just don’t deserve saving...but that he’s going to do it anyway. Leonardo just so much gives me that energy of knowing there’s so much pain in the world, but all we can do is keep walking--keep trying, even if we have to claw our way forward. Because if you only see the awfulness in front of you, you forget the way that strangers make silly faces at babies to make them laugh on the train, how a friend will put everything down to race over to someone and comfort them with some ice cream--do anything they can to distract them from the hurt. How the sight of a child crying will prompt careful cooing from a stranger as to their bravery, an offering of cool water, the gentle placement of a bandaid. How a pair of teenagers will spot a lost child in milliseconds and help them seek out their parents protectively. There is so much wretchedness, but also so much beauty in it all, and the older I get the more I see myself wanting to believe in the latter. I want to be hopeful, and easily impressed, and full of love. To be bitter and jaded accomplishes nothing, and only becomes a worsening self-fulfilling prophecy. The more you seek negativity, the more you will find it; and worse, create it.

I also scream a little bit bc like. I’ve gone on and on about how Comte is very obviously in love with MC all the time, and sure that may be true. But...I really don’t think Leo is exempt from that either if I’m honest lmfao. Only because what does Leonardo do when it isn’t his route? He almost never shows up. Once in a while he might appear for a split second in a scene, but he almost never converses with MC beyond those short moments. While Comte is the one to pine openly, I’d wager Leo is the opposite. He pines in absolute silence, because he knows that if he gets any closer--he’s going to fall. He’s going to enjoy it too much, going to keep seeking out more before he can stop himself. And losing another person he loves...he just can’t do it anymore. In his first meeting story he talks about seeing MC’s eyes and feeling like he’d known them all his life, and even in his MS he speaks to just being completely fascinated by and enamored of her. She doesn’t hesitate, always does her best, meets people head-on and without much hesitation. After a lifetime of people that are probably just immediately interested in him for his talents, or always seeking out his company for the novelty, this is someone that doesn’t give a single fuck if he’s Leonardo da Vinci. Sure she’s aware, and sure she’s impressed to some extent, but her respect--her attraction and admiration--is something that has to be earned. 

There’s something so refreshing about how their love was written. Sure it’s the whole fake marriage to a real relationship, but it’s also a kind of subtle enemies to lovers pulled off masterfully. MC is 100% minding her own business, just wants to do what she must in order to get home, tries to focus on her work to keep from thinking about how much she misses her old life. She doesn’t rely on anyone, doesn’t talk about how hard it is or how scary it is or how confusing. And even Leonardo forgets in his curiosity, is just chillin and also just trying to do the bare minimum to keep from getting too attached--figures he can admire her from a distance. And then he sees her staring at the hourglass. And suddenly, he can’t just watch her do that herself. Just wait for the hard times to pass, just sit with her own loneliness--that hollowing silence. There’s something so moving about it because he reaches out precisely because he knows that feeling to his fucking marrow, and literally just cannot watch somebody else do that to themselves. Sure he’s been dealing with it for three hundred years, BUT THIS GOOD BABIE CHILD DOES NOT DESERVE THIS. SHE WORKS HARD AND DESERVES NICE THINGS!!!!!!!! And so he drives her crazy as he races ahead of her, intercepting any attempt for her to preserve that silence and hide. She doesn’t see any pattern to it, and that’s just how he likes it--he doesn’t want her to worry about the how or why. 

Like I fully remembering playing in Japanese and being like oh my fucking god this is hilarious, this man is just a wild fucker and I love this. I was enjoying myself, mostly laughing and shaking my head. But then it just gets so, so serious. I was having so much fun that I, like a fool, forgot the anime effect. If you’re having fun, it’s going to come crashing down without mercy soon enough. And it does. He helps a little girl without any hope play her violin again, and maybe I’m just too English major but I was fucking FLOORED when I realized I didn’t see that that was straight foreshadowing. That little girl without hope? That was MC (and by extension depending on how you play, us). Though the metaphor isn’t quite so easily mapped without a physical space, the connection is clear when you think about it. With his careful social awareness, he makes a place for MC to exist in the mansion so naturally--as though she was meant to be there from the start, crafts a positive impression of her presence with each of the residents. And he does it with zero expectation of anything in return; he’s just happy to see her not stressing herself out anymore or trying to do everything alone. MC doesn’t fall in love with him despite their differences, she falls in love with him because they are the same in a singular and all-encompassing way that matters; they both care about other people so deeply, to the point where they will forego any personal needs in order to make that person’s life easier. Whether it be muting their own hardship, or working to involve another person in a new space (or opening up to the point of self-destruction to keep a person from feeling alone), they go above and beyond what anybody asks of them--perhaps strong to the point of their own detriment, in some cases. 

It’s why I always laugh when he says to Sebastian “That cara mia, she has a good heart.” Of course she does, Leonardo; it certainly takes one to know one. 

And because I literally have no brain cells beyond being in fucking love with Leonardo THE LAKE SCENE IS AN AFFRONT TO MY DIGNITY AND SELF-CONTROL. HOW DARE YOU, SIGNORE. HOW DARE YOU ASK ME TO SIT THERE AND WATCH YOU OPEN YOUR HEART TO ME AND NOT BAWL MY EYES OUT AND TRY TO KISS YOU ALL AT THE SAME TIME. SIGNORE “hAhA yOu’Re So SmAlL yOu LoOk LiKe YoU’rE DrOwNiNg In My CoAt.” I WOULD DROWN AND DIE HAPPY--BITCH I TELL YOU THAT.

Like. I can’t think of another route I’ve ever done where I spent a good amount of time like “lmfao this guy is so wild im gonna punch him” to just be in a whirlpool of my own tears, regretting my entire fucking LIFE days later. Like Leonardo’s cultural impact???? Fucking immeasurable, I wish every white man disaster I ever met had a hidden heart of gold in all of his boyish dumbassery, an ICONIC himbo of our time. 

Also because I remembered it before posting and I am Dying^TM. The event where MC was a pureblood and he was human. That entire fucking event. I literally can’t think about it without screaming and crying. Her just so flustered at his reaction to her like “oh look, free real estate” as he plops her in his lap, absolutely no fear, treating her like a princess because of her noble title despite NO NECESSITY BEYOND PLAYFULNESS BUT ALSO STILL MEANING IT IN AN EARNEST WAY, being charming to no END just to see her laugh or look away shyly. 

WHEN HE SAID. WHEN HE SAID “...Can’t leave you alone, or you might go off someplace I can’t follow.” I. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU STRIPPED DEVOTION DOWN TO ITS BARE ESSENTIALS!!!!!! GAH HOW MC HERSELF SAYS “I would tell him the truth but...he’s much too generous for a human. I know he would offer his life without a moment’s hesitation.” How Leo describes the aftermath of her biting him: “Lucky for you, I’m a true gentleman, Unlike my principessa, who took me like a storm” HELLO??????? H E L  L O ???????????????????????? ARE WE JUST GOING TO SLEEP ON THE FACT THAT HE LOST HIS ENTIRE SOUL WHEN SHE BIT HIM???? I--

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

(Also as much as I love him the cigarillos have got to go at some point, boy do you have any idea the shit secondhand smoke does good lordt)

[harrieatthemet]

Go Home

in which Harry is jet lagged and you’re completely humiliated.

To be fair, he said he didn’t wanna go. 

A long week of flights, promotional talk shows and weathering jet lag amongst a brewing head cold was enough to coax him into a days worth of absolutely nothing. 

“I don’t wanna go.” 

A pout similar to that of an infant has settled well onto the lower half of his face, making itself comfortable as the second straight hour of moping and whining creeps up. 

Your bargaining and pleading has yet to sway him. In fact, you’re beginning to think it’s only encouraged his bratty behavior as he’s seconds away from literally crossing his arms. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” and it’s not the first time you’ve stressed that.

Not that he cares much. Maybe he is being irrational, and yes, even a little selfish too. 

But he’s just so exhausted. Did he mention he’s exhausted? Surely he brought up the jet lag, and how alluring the sound of his own bed was. Music to his ears, almost. And it was just out of reach. Instead of succumbing to the comfort of a memory foam mattress he was succumbing to you, instead. 

“M’bloody tired,” he’s grumbling now, “bloody fucking tired ‘n I ‘ave t’sit ‘n eat with people I don’t even know” 

If it were any other time, if you were unaware of the chaos that has been brought upon him at the hands of his career, you’d have snapped. If it weren’t for the fact you had to play nice and bite your tongue just to get him out of the fucking house, by now, a screaming match would have been well underway. 

Instead you let him mutter beneath his breath, stuffing his foot into a shoe only to grumble about stubbing his toe on the pointy end of his boot. 

“This is for work,” you’re keen to remind your boyfriend, who’s got his arms folded like a child, in the back of the uber, “so please be nice! Please, please, please..” 

“Y’mentioned tha’” a roll of his eyes follows before he readjusts his seating position, “m’not a kid, don’t need t’remind ‘n beg me.” 

Ironic as it may be, considering he’s certainly acting like he’s a child, you let him sulk for the remainder of the drive. Your wise enough to pick your battles and right now couldn’t seem like a worse time to push the wrong button. 

And you were, frankly, a fucking moron to think his 15 minute sulk in the back of an uber XL was enough to get rid of the black cloud over his head. Furthest from it, in fact, as the puss on his face is alive and well while he trails behind you into the dining area. 

“S’it gonna be long?” his voice, at this point, is like nails on a chalkboard to you. 

“It’ll be however long it needs to be,” you hiss, “it’s for work.” 

He thinks he’s minutes from crying, actually. How long does that mean? An hour? two? He thinks if it’s any longer than that he’ll unravel for sure, because right now he’s just barely holding it together. 

She’s 15 minutes late. Harry knows because he’s been keeping track and minutes are starting to feel like hours. 

“Stop tapping your foot,” you reprimand, hand settling on his knee to steady his leg, “the whole table is shaking and you’re making me twitch.” 

“Know what else is twitching,” he exhales, “m’fucking eye. ‘M starting t’fall asleep sitting upright.”

There’s no relief that comes when you work friend shows up. The timer in his head has officially started and he can feel himself counting the minutes until you ask for the check. 

“It’s nice t’meet you Harry.” 

He doesn’t catch your work associate’s name. Which makes sense, being that he wasn’t listening to begin with. She’s friendly enough and, thankfully, isn’t interested too much in striking up any taxing conversations with him. 

Which seemingly only makes this more painful for him, as he sits here and nurses a glass of wine that he really could’ve done without. It’s just a dry glass of red, borderline tasteless and almost as bleak as the conversation taking place in front of him. 

And, to be polite, he does chime in once or twice. To no avail, of course, because whatever the topic of discussion seems to be it isn’t leaving enough room for him to participate. 

“Poor guy,” the woman across the table teases, “(Y/N) you dragged him all the way here and he looks like he’s ready to fall asleep with his head in his dinner.” 

Thank God, he thinks, that finally someone aside from himself can tell he's spent beyond belief. What gave it away? The fact his eyelids were faltering because they feel like cinderblocks? The bags under his eyes? The fact that he’s absolutely bored, quite possibly the most bored he’s ever been. 

“M’about ready to.” he chuckles mildly, though he means it seriously. 

“Keeps busy,” you joke, “but he wanted to join us.” 

There’s a small part of him that would give anything to chew you out for that. Because what he wanted was to retire in the privacy of his own home, in thermal jammies and warmth from an extra blanket atop the comforter. Thats what he wanted; a day to lay around and do literally nothing. 

“Wanted is a bit of a reach, love, yeah?” the rim of his wine glass meets his bottom lip before he swiftly polishes the rest off. 

You’re coworker is oblivious to the can of worms she’s just opened right here at the dinner table, but you’re not. It’s obvious he’s reached that point of exhaustion, surpassing grumpy, and he's just become completely callous. 

And the tension beginning to elbow it’s way between the two of you is becoming more apparent to your guest across the table, who is now eyeing you and your stand-offish boyfriend beside you. 

“We can get into logistics after dessert.” your joke practically flops, though your coworker decides to throw you a pity laugh. 

“Wanted t’be here,” he snickers lowly, “after a 6 hour red eye ‘n a week of travel? Bloody out of y’mind.” 

It’s almost like he’s forgotten you were a party of three, and that there really was someone sitting across from you at the table. He’s clearly settled into a mood, unwilling and uninterested in trying to suppress it for the sake of your work relationship. He doesn’t care that your face has turned a wild shade of red, or that you’re ready to cover your face with the dinner napkin in your lap. 

“Can we discuss this at home?” Your voice is barely breaking a whisper, and it’s your last attempt to keep some humility. 

“Sure,” he insists, and you’re briefly relieved he’s so willing to drop this, “if I make it home, ‘course. Might drop right here, actually.” 

“So then why don’t you go.” you hiss, and now it’s your coworker who is beat red, “why don’t you just leave, than.” 

There’s a slight pause at the table, and as embarrassing as this was already you’re silently thanking God there wasn’t a bigger audience around to watch the fiasco unfold before the waiter even brought out the dessert menu. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already starting to feel that small twinge of guilt in the back of his throat. The look on your face, alone, was enough to make him feel shitty. Red cheeks, eyes defeated. All he had to do was just sit here. 

“S’alright, m’only joking I can-”

“Just,” you breathe, your coworker shifting uncomfortably, “go home, Harry. Seriously, please just leave.” 

[randombtsprincessa]

Behind the Stick

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 7k

Genre: Smut

Summary: Your bartender for the night and you take an interest in one another.

Warning: Drinking, Bartender! Yoongi, Wings Era Yoongi, Dom! Yoongi, flirting, kissing, nipple play, groping, fingering, oral (both receiving), deep throating, protected sex, public sex, something very close to subspace, yeah, someone knows you had sex. 

You crossed your legs, the fabric of your sinfully tight dress stretching across the knees at the movement.

The dress was armor, worn to seamlessly blend through the type of ambience the bar you’d visited had going on. It was fiery red, not a color you wore a lot, but it matched well with the vermillion of the décor. The dress hid you amongst the frequenters of this particular establishment, chatting and very much unaware that you were not here to drink yourself dizzy and go home to sleep.

You were working.

And so, you needed to be left alone so you could do it. Dressed in your working attire of practical jackets and shoes, you doubted you’d get what you wanted. So, you’d shirked off your normal blouses, pulled off trousers and loafers and donned on that dress and the heels.

The heels…

You swore to god, the heels were a work of the Devil’s hands. Sinewy yet sleek, they latched onto the palm of your feet, held up by shimmering ribbons that had taken you the better part of the evening to figure out.

They added a stature that made you taller than you were, straighter in your slouch and you felt like a goddess, sitting at a corner of the bar top, idling over a simple gimlet.

You let out an exhale, taking a sip when a tiny, imperceptible change zipped through the business side of the counter. The man who’d been wiping the glasses exchanged a look with the one who checked the bottles and headed to the other far side.

You watched, interested, the process of the Shift; when one batch of workers went home and the second batch took over. It was like clockwork, each piece working near flawlessly – once routine had been perfected, of course.

You glanced down; eyeing the lime garnish and chewing into it, lifting your eyes back up to watch the bartenders. Now, there were additions. Two other men had joined the ones who had been present when you’d walked in.

One of them was laughing, a bubbly laughter barely echoing through to you but the other, slighter man stood some space away, his back to you as he listened intently to what was being discussed.

You felt rather see the solidification of a decision. It seemed to come from the man whose face you couldn’t see. Nodding and gesticulating with his hand, he sent the first two men off on their way. The man who’d been laughing had sobered by now, nodding as the man set out what seemed liked instructions, nodding while the man pointed to different directions. When he was done, the taller man went to the main area when the man you’d been eyeing finally turned, entering the bar.

You kept chewing on the lime wedge, absent mindedly keeping your eyes on the man. He rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt and turned to check the bottles before picking a few up, taking whiffs from them. Placing the bottles back, he checked under the counters, too thoroughly to miss anything and nodded to himself.

Raising his head, his elfin features settled into a professional mask; blank and a little off from approachable. Shrugging off your interest, your eyes soon drifted back to the subject you needed to study for your piece: What People were like when Inhibitions weren’t a problem.

Idol Magazine was on its way to becoming a people’s choice magazine and part of that problem came from the fact that people were actually reading what was in it. It wasn’t just a magazine that shopaholics picked up on the way to the checkout counter or people brushed by for the quick gossip. Each month, a reader survey the office itself conducted showed just what the people loved and or wanted from your magazine.

No, it was a people’s magazine and writers in your magazine worked hard to cater to a variety of tastes.

Your particular area was an in-depth representation of the people who surrounded your readers. Armed with a Psychology and English degree, you’d stepped through the building of your workplace, eager to start and you’d worked diligently.

You loved your job, absolutely.

The thing with writing was that you couldn’t just give your readers whatever general idea a layman would have. No, you had to watch, examine, understand and give examples. If you did not, some moron quoting Aristotle was bound to come over, barging for you to be taken down.

No, you wrote a column worthy of a college thesis and you gave it your all.

Hence, why it was necessary for you to put down your intrigue for the new bartender and turn to your material subjects. You owed your loyal readers that, after all.

You spent the next few minutes deep in your study, taking notes down in your phone on the pretext of texting.

You’d just focused on a particular couple. The man was red faced, probably trying hard to control his liquor while the woman he was with looked torn between amusement and annoyance. You’d have wondered if you should maybe get someone to interrupt but it didn’t look like a first date; the girl kept patting his hand, speaking in a familiar soft voice to soothe the nearly gagging man.

You put down a few more notes.

“Lady; what’ll it be?”

Starting at the sudden question along with the shadow that fell over you, your fingers fumbled and sent the phone clattering on to the melamine counter. You looked up like a frightened rabbit.

It was the bartender, bearing down on you with raised eyebrows at your reaction to him.

“What?” You asked, gaining some composure back.

“I was going to take your order.” The man said. His lips twitched, eyes flickering between your own before flitting down to your phone. “Also, I’m going to have to ask if you’re doing anything illegal, just in case your reaction had something to do with it.”

You snorted at the passable joke. Never mind the fact that it was actually wrong of you to be observing his clientele like this but well…you needed something to write about.

You weren’t breaking any laws, of course. Ok, maybe some code ethics but you never took any oaths.

“I’ll take another gimlet, and no, I’m not; I just got way too much into my phone. It’s bad habit.” You sidetracked him easily and he was probably more interested in working anyway.

He nodded at you, going to the center to mix the drink while you finished the note, shutting down the app. You had enough for a five hundred to thousand word column.

With nothing better to do anymore, you indulged in your earlier fascination with the bartender, who had currently moved on to making three drinks at once.

You were right about him not seeming like the usual bartender. The level of precision with which he poured, stirred, garnished the three different glasses in front of him with no pause, no hesitation spoke volumes as to his experience.

What was it about bartenders anyway? They worked with alcohol all day, almost every day, were more than likely to be privy to the shadiness of any town but there was just something so…alluring about them. The knowledge, the street smarts and unexpected wisdom was almost never shown. Of course, the outside was just as charming to the species.

Tattoos, piercings, too tight shirts showcasing forearms and chest…you couldn’t go wrong with that packaging.

Your bartender didn’t have any of that.

His pale skin was unmarked, smooth like porcelain and his white shirt didn’t emphasize his physique. You also couldn’t see any piercings on him. The unbidden thought of seeing all of him just so you could see if he had any ink or metal hidden away from public view made you blush, looking away.

No, you couldn’t harbor feelings like that for a complete stranger. He was working and so were you, albeit that you were done. He still had a whole shift ahead of him. You doubted he would be very much interested in being distracted by you when he was trying to pay his bills.

You certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

He was good looking though…

With groomed black hair, a button nose and pouty, perfect small lips, he would’ve passed off for a life size doll. Yet the expression of focus, eyes sharp and lips pursed as he worked fast and efficient…

You couldn’t help imagining that look as he worked just as efficiently on you. You wondered if he would wear the same expression when he pounded into you…

You slapped a hand to your forehead, trying to force out the image of the young bartender sliding himself in you. You were getting drunk, it had to be it. Even if you had been nursing the gimlet as slowly as you could, it had to be the alcohol.

And you had just ordered another one…

You glanced at the bartender again, watching him serve up the drink and grabbing yours.

Oh no…here he comes…

You managed to school your features in a mask of polite disinterest just as the man stopped in front of you, glass in hand.

“A gimlet, ma’am; would you like something else?” He asked, equally polite.

You quickly shook your head, taking the drink from him and taking a huge gulp. He immediately raised his hand.

“Whoa, you don’t have to take it down in one go.” He said.

He was right, the liquid throttled on its way down and you nearly spat it back out again. “I’m sorry, I know,” You coughed out.

He placed his hands down flat on the counter top, leaning his weight on them before he did a quick scan of the room, returning to you.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You blinked up at him. Your name…? Why did he want your name? Your name wasn’t anything important…

“What’s yours?” You countered.

Something shifted in his gaze. “Well, that tells me you’re not a regular.” He snickered.

You took another gulp from your drink, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing, nothing; just saying that if you were a regular we’d probably be very familiar by now.” He said.

The edges of his mouth hitched up into a smirk, as if he was amused by a private joke, his eyes – pitch black, reflecting the star like lights of the bar.  

“That’s very cryptic of you. Are you trying to hint that you’re a star employee and I should tip you more?” The tart in your voice could’ve put the lime garnish to shame but it only made your attractive bartender grin broadly.

“Nice, let me guess; you’re a speaker? No, most of those people use that prompter shit, reading out other people’s words. So, definitely not political,” He mused, tilting his head.

You laughed. “That’s very…liberal of you.” You teased.

“I am a leftist at heart. So, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” He continued probing.

You sighed, resigned to giving in. “Yes, I’m a magazine columnist for Idol. My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled. “Columnist Y/N…it’s got a ring to it. I’m Min Yoongi, I’m,” he paused, “just a lowly bar worker.”

You gave him a knowing smile, sipping at your drink. “You don’t seem like one.” You murmured.

Yoongi’s eyes popped open, “Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, swirling the little toothpick in your drink. “I don’t know, you don’t seem too…lowly, if you know what I mean.”

He leaned forward, elbows angled towards you. “I don’t indeed. Do explain,”

You continued to stare down, trying to get your thoughts into order, as per what you’d seen of him for the evening.

“You just…you’re dominating, you feel powerful and you have this aura. When you were taking your shift, I saw how you gave out instructions and they got followed. You mixed three drink and I didn’t see one mistake – you didn’t even slow down, and there were no complaints. This gimlet is much better than the one the other bartender made – don’t tell him I said that. You’re just…more. Which either makes me think you’re way more experienced behind a bar; or you know, that you’re a wine god or something,”

Yoongi listened to your barely audible rant with an intrigued look on his face. He placed his face on his palm eyeing you.

“So, you think I’m too qualified to be a bartender, is that it?”

“Not really no; you could run this place for all I know…but then again, appearances are deceptive.”

“Yes they are,” He said suddenly and you eyed him, surprised at his proclamation.

“Uh, listen…this is going to sound really unprofessional but the place is winding down and I’m going to close in half an hour or so. If you want, you can sit at the back and we can…chat for a bit. I’ll let you out the back.” He offered.

You froze, considering what he was saying. There was no way he was actually offering just a ‘chat’. He had plans and you didn’t know if you were equipped to handle whatever he was going to dish out.

But then again, you did want to see if he had any tattoos or piercings…

A slow Cheshire grin spread across your lips. Yoongi’s eyes dropped down to your lips and sure enough, his own split, revealing a swipe of his tongue as he lapped at his drying bottom lip.

“Deal,” You whispered, only for him to hear.

Yoongi had been right. As the minutes passed, even the most inebriated of the patrons started to take their leave. They respectfully parted ways with their tables, the glasses and some even cheerfully greeted the second bartender, who’d already begun to clear the tables. You watched, now seated comfortably within the plush leather booth at the far back, as they stumbled on out. The booth was meant for the VIPs, you were told but since it was closing time, Yoongi didn’t think anyone would mind.

Now empty, the bar had a different atmosphere.

It was silent for now, aside from the small clinking of glass as the man who had been walking around the bar checked the bottles and cleaned and put away the glasses.

A light song rung out in the background, Yoongi walked back down from wherever it was that he had vanished to. At his appearance, the other man quietly slipped towards the back, letting Yoongi man the bar enough to make himself a drink. You watched him carry it to where you were sitting.

For now you were feeling sober enough to know what was going to happen sooner or later, and you were not one bit jittery about it. In any case, you could feel the tell tale pin pricks of excitement coat your arms and the back of your neck.

Yoongi sat down right next to you, setting a respectable distance between you while you watched him with hooded eyes.

You watched as Yoongi took a swig – the whiskey slipping past his pouty lips, coating them in a shiny glisten as he rushed his tongue out just after. His Adams apple bobbed, drawing your gaze to the slender, smooth column of his throat.

“So,” he spoke, your eyes flitting back to meet him as he turned, angling his body towards yours. “What does a job for a magazine columnist entail? I suppose it’s something to do with what you were doing with your phone before?” He asked.

You chortled at his inquisitiveness. “Yes, I was people watching. I can’t just give my readers some general idea about life. I’d be fired for treating our magazine for anything less than the first rate art that it is.”

Yoongi smirked. “You don’t think it is?” He asked.

You stopped, looking down at your glass, nearly empty now. “I think it’s wonderful. We’re open. We’re diverse. There’s a severe lack of good civic opinion out there and we offer that. I love my job. I love what I have to do to write my pieces.”

Yoongi was staring at you, deep thoughts lurking behind his too black eyes. “You’re making me want to get a subscription.” He teased and you laughed, finishing the drink and placing your now empty glass on the black table top. “What about you, what is your life like?” You returned his question.

Yoongi hummed, pensive as he continued to gaze at you. However, he didn’t look at you, as if he was far away in thought even while keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t know what to say, I think. I get up in the morning; do what stuff that needs to be done, some leftover paperwork then come to work. I stay here till closing time then go back home. That’s pretty much it.”

“You make it sound so mundane.”

“It is but…it’s what I like. I love my job, like you. It’s a good routine.”

You nodded, looking around the bar again. “How long have you worked here?”

That took him a pause to answer, thinking his answer. “I’ve been here since it was opened.” He said.

Your eyes widened. “How long has that been?”

His lips twitched, hiding the growing smile behind the rim of his glass. “A good while, maybe five to six years; I’ve watched it grow.” He admitted.

“Wow,” you said awed. “That’s always a good thing to see, watching things grow.”

“It is; I had to start work pretty early in life. I didn’t get much of a college education or anything but well, you can still make something of yourself and this establishment is the peak of my existence.” He cast a small, fond smile around.

You smiled too, only at him. It was obvious, watching him and he adored this bar. The gleam of true appreciation made your belly flop.

“I admire you, Yoongi. There are always people who think that you can’t be anything without a degree and then there are people who achieve things in their life without it. It’s horrible how they are looked down upon. Between you and me, I think it’s the people who make something of their own lives without anyone’s help who are the best.”

You stopped, noticing Yoongi shift, leaning forward to put his glass down as well. He let his arm rest on the back of the booth, essentially caging you in.

“You’re probably the most intriguing person to walk through this bar, Y/N.” He placed a delectable point upon your name. It made you want to curl up.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered over you, taking in the sin of a dress that you had on, trailing down to your legs to rest on the heels.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay.” He murmured.

You took a quick breath. Heat was already settling in your stomach, roiling when you managed to say, “Go ahead.”

Yoongi didn’t waste much time. Leaning all the way in, he left barely a breath’s distance away, letting his hot mouth hover just over yours, enticing you with the possibilities of everything he could do with it.

You let him complete the action, barely breathing yourself as he engulfed your mouth in his. The acrid taste of the alcohol rested on both of you, intermingling on your taste buds as you slipped him your tongue. It was a bold move but you thrilled when he reacted eagerly to it. Cupping one cheek in his hand, he moved over completely, all traces of space gone between you two.

He sucked in your tongue in his mouth, delicately embracing it with his own, engaging in a daring dance. You let your hands wind around his neck, inching towards the soft mass of hair at the base of his head. Yoongi parted from you for air, hair falling into his face, shading his eyes. His cheeks burned red and you could feel him radiating heat.

You shifted, maneuvering in the small space. Hiking a leg over his waist, you towered over him momentarily. Yoongi’s eyes were still half covered with his hair and you had no intention of brushing them out. He looked so sexy; you could already feel the seep of arousal from your core.

And the way he bit his lips while staring up at you, swollen lips open, you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow…

Yoongi placed his palms flat on your legs, letting them slide up. The fabric of your skirt hitched with his touch while your skin seared everywhere that he exposed. Reaching up till he was barely brushing the hem of your panties, he paused, letting you sit down exactly on to where he had been hardening.

You let out a soft whimper, Yoongi’s grip making sure you grinded on him, relieving pressure for him. He remained stoic – content to watch you fragment from his ministrations.

“I don’t know what you were expecting out of wearing this dress tonight, Y/N, but I can hope I can do it justice.” He growled finally.

You shook your head, rising back on to your knees again. “I didn’t expect anything. A girl just likes to look good once in a while,” You pointed out.

“And the shoes…?”

“Makes me feel like a goddess,” You muttered, distracted with the way he was blowing cool air onto your scorched skin.

“You do feel like one.” Yoongi agreed and you close your eyes, feeling him press a smirk to your skin. Laving a tongue across your collarbone, he reached the strap of your dress.

Yoongi allowed you to sit down once again, giving him further access as he dipped into the cleavage the dress generously offered you. Soft nibbles accompanied his fingers fiddling with the strap, tugging it off and down from your skin. He removed his mouth, watching you as you slid the other one off as well.

The dress was zipped at the back and you felt his hands trail over the fabric, squeezing the back of your neck lazily, grinning when you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nodding to himself when you gave an appreciative hum.

He squeezed again, harder, letting you feel his nails rake the soft skin there barely before the other joined in the back, tugging at the zip tab.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering that you were doing this in public – at a bar, no less. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

As hot as Yoongi was and as much as you were enjoying the feel of him against you, you didn’t want to be an unwitting subject to being caught having sex in his workplace. It would mean Yoongi being fired from his job that he loved so much.

Yoongi had already stopped, looking up at you in question. Your concern made him smile, genuinely, pressing softer, tender kisses to your jaw line.

“Yes, baby,” The endearment made you shiver in his hold. He angled your neck for his teeth next, grazing at the pulse point. “We’re alone. I sent Hoseok off to home.”

“You’re sure no bouncers or anything is going to come by?” You asked.

“The guard might come, but trust me; we’re not getting in any trouble.” He assured you, pulling away from you to look at you seriously.

You looked at him curiously. “Unless, you want to be…we can do something about that.” He suggested.

You laughed, his hands gripping onto your hips to buck you against him, trying to get the mood back. He returned to the zipper, pulling it all the way down to the small of your back, where his hand stayed – warm and calming.

You let your arms rest loosely, the front of the dress pooling around your chest, held up by nothing as it fell, baring you to Yoongi’s ravenous eyes.

“Fuck, they’re perfect.” He said, on the very edge of a growl as his hands shot out to grab onto the soft flesh. The sudden press made you keen, arching your back into his hands.

Yoongi’s touch was relentless, kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, tracing the sensitive underside before he was taking them in his mouth. His teeth – you noticed, he liked using them – were the first to meet the tender skin. His palms groped at your wildly while he suckled.

Your head fell back, hips rolling against his. Your underwear had become uncomfortable. The fabric was skimpy at best, and the flow of your juices had absolutely destroyed them. You were almost sure Yoongi could feel your wetness soaking through by now.

Yoongi released your nipple from his mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, mouth open as he pulled you into a messy kiss, wet and teeth clashing. You allowed him to delve fully into your mouth, reaching wildly for his hand. He gave it to you, still engrossed in kissing you, not pushing away until he felt you place it along the exposed skin of your thighs. He looked down, then back up at you; understanding the silent plea reflected in your blown out eyes.

“Ah, you want me to touch you, baby?”

You nodded haplessly, whimpering when Yoongi trailed his hand up, resting it right against your soaked panties, cupping you gently.

“You’ve ruined your panties.” He murmured, pushing the dress away to look at the tiny thing. “And such pretty ones too, I almost feel bad.” He gave you a wicked grin before he was dipping his hand in them, the material stretching around his wrist.

A long, finger entered you so abruptly, a long whine escaped you with no barriers. You had to grip on to Yoongi’s shoulders for support, unable to keep from buckling when he curled the digit.

“Such a wet, dirty girl; you lose it on only one finger?” Yoongi teased your entrance with another finger, his thumb barely grazing against the pulsating bud of nerves that cried for attention.

“Yoongi, please…I’m going to explode.” You were about near to screaming for him to help you but he shook his head.

“Not just yet,” He pulled away, leaving you gasping from the emptiness before lifting you onto the table. He let you sit, moving the glasses from before onto the next table before returning to sit in front of you again, eyes fixed to your core.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, panting as he raised the dress up as far as it would go, bunching around your waist and then pulled you to his mouth.

The loud moan that followed when Yoongi’s lip encircled and sucked onto your clit was so obscene, it would’ve caused a nun to curl her toes. Your previous fascination as to what Yoongi’s mouth could do was well rewarded while he lapped and laved around your pussy as if he was drinking directly from a fountain.

Two fingers stroked into your walls, in tandem to the slurping cause by his tongue, lapping away the traces of your arousal as fast as it came. Your hands moved, cupping your own breasts, playing with yourself when you saw his eyes fixed on your face. You smirked at him, unable to help yourself when you let your hand trail down to his head, fingers twining with his hair.

Your nails raked along his scalp, scratching lightly. That caused Yoongi’s eyes to close; tongue pressing into your entrance as he let out the filthiest moan you’d head, muffled by your wetness. You dropped to the table, both hands clutching Yoongi’s hair, keeping his mouth against you, riding out your high. It came in waves, rising and then crashing against you, drowning you in ecstasy. You ended in pants, eyes blinking away spots.

Hands ran up your legs, rubbing away tightened muscles and sore spots.

Yoongi got to his feet, leaning over you. Hands splayed on the either side of your waist he eyed you ferociously. His hair was stragglier; no doubt the result of your tugging and stuck up. But you could see his face now, especially his eyes, which were almost fully blown out.

“You,” he said lowly, color flaming high in his cheeks and voice barely controlled, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever come across.” He placed a hand on your sensitive flesh, a finger parting the lips as he studied you, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You’ve made a mess, baby. Gushed out your sweet juices all across my table,” He commented, swiping the finger straight into his mouth. He groaned, eyes narrowing but staying steady on your face. You watched, entranced, each shift in his face before he was popping the finger out.

“You taste so good, Y/N. I’m going to have your taste on my tongue all night.” He told you.

You didn’t know if it was the high of the orgasm or just the basic Yoongi effect but you reached for him, sliding forward till he was standing between your parted legs.

Yoongi let you fumble with his pants, pulling his belt free from the loops, letting it fall free as you unzipped him. While sitting on him you had fairly anticipated his size but by god you were so curious, you had to see him naked.

And you told him as such…

“Take my clothes off?” He asked, snickering at you.

“Yes, come on, I want to see you naked.” You ordered firmly, already shoving his pants down to his ankles.

Yoongi obliged.

Taking a single step back, he gave you a final heated look before he was hooking his fingers under the hem line of his shirt, lifting it. He was teasing you, you knew, by the slowness and the distinct air of stripping in the air. He let the fabric caress each inch of his torso. His stomach, tightening from the flex, the chest, much broader than you had guessed.

His shoulders and arms weren’t muscled, showing the lack of strenuous exercise but while there were no muscles, there wasn’t flab either. Yoongi was a fit fucking god and you drooled.

Of course, there were no tattoos or piercings, anywhere…you even looked at his back as he turned to discard away his shirt and the rest of his clothes – underwear included.

Yoongi stood before you, gloriously naked and godly. He turned to look at you with full knowledge of your ogling and he reveled in it. Lips pulled into a smirk, eyes on the narrow side to make his pretty face look like it could cut steel.

Under the pretty packaging, Min Yoongi was a lethal man.

And you had never wanted a man so damn much in your whole life…

You grasped onto his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that made him stumble from its force. His hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

A chill from the night air had seeped into the empty bar, making the heat radiating off your bodies and from your exertions all the more tantalizing. He panted against you, hot puffs of air landing on your own lips when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let me suck you off.” You said.

Yoongi grinned, nodding his acceptance before gently helping you off the table to stand in front of you. He wrapped a hand in your hair, a murmured ‘my turn’ making you tremble in his hold as you kissed down his body. You suckled near his navel, letting your mark bloom lavender against his pale skin.

He held your hand to help you kneel, the hardwood flooring under your knees sharpening your focus on the magnificent manhood in front of you.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now in your hair, wrapping and pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Go on then, baby,” he encouraged.

You sighed, gripping onto his hips to nuzzle along his length. He smelled like citrus, maybe from the drinks he’d handled and garnished or his body wash but it was mouth watering. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking gently, getting used to the feel of his thick weight on your tongue.

Gradually, you moved further, widening your mouth and taking in more of his velvet hardness. You rubbed his skin, one hand stroking along the rest of his length. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before going all the way, holding yourself as you felt him breach your gag reflex.

Above you Yoongi cursed, a string of incoherent words following when you repeated the motion, finding joy when Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you where you had stopped.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that? I might not let you go.” He warned, drawing your attention to look up at him.

Yoongi in this angle was heavenly. His hair was back to falling in his eyes but he was consciously blinking or shaking the strands away now, trying to look at you sucking him off. Color had drained from his face, probably aiding his erection but his lips were raw from being bitten and chewed upon. His chest heaved stomach tense and you had never felt more powerful kneeling in front of a man.

You could very possibly end him at this very moment and he would more than likely be happy about it.

So you stayed there, kneeling in front of him, watching him crumble with the suction you created around his hot length. You sent him a wink when you caught his eye and just as you had anticipated – he broke.

“Up, up, get on the table,” Yoongi had finally reached the point of growling. The hair he held, he used as reins to tug you up roughly and yet you relished in it, feeling him turn you around and push you to bend over the black table.

“You little minx, you enjoyed watching me nearly blow my brains down your throat.” He accused in a grunt and you could only laugh.

Your giggles continued in his search for a condom, rifling through his pockets till he found one; the sound of the packet ripping making your anticipation rise.

Interrupted with moans when he grabbed and squeezed with abandon; all the parts of you that he could reach – your tits, your hips, and the curve of your ass. He took full advantage, shoving the dress down till it was only circling your waistline.

“We’re keeping the shoes on.” He grunted in your ear.

He leaned back down, hand travelling down the outside of your thigh, pressing kisses down your spine, one at the edge of your rear, the inside of your thighs and one at the curve of your ankle. You groaned when you felt him part your folds again, his tongue running over the cooling flesh, igniting flames again.

He gripped onto your leg, admiring the trails of ribbons that held it up before pulling it up along with him as he stood.

He kept a tight hold on you, watching you teetering on the single shoe. He pushed your knee to brace on the table, still keeping his hands on you, balancing you before pressing up right against you.

His body stabilized yours, your hands using the table to anchor yourself against it. It was hard to stand on the single heel but Yoongi was soon pulling you back on to him, holding up most of your weight.

“So fucking hot,” He mumbled against the back of your neck just as you felt him push the head of his cock into your entrance.

The stretch of his cock burned so good, you didn’t even try to hide or curb the moan that fell from your lips. Back arching, your fingers clawed into the wood of the table and it was only just the first thrust.

Yoongi reared back, thrusting shallow, the angle making him rub tightly against your walls. His hands gripped on to the cheeks of your butt, holding you open so he could slide inside of you easily.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asked and even with your eyes closed, you could tell the edge he was tight lining on.

He sounded strained, almost at the brink of control.

“Yes, but you can go rougher.” You prodded, eager to feel him more.

“I can, indeed.”

In a split second, Yoongi was no longer considerate. An arm wrapped around your torso, palm at the base of your throat and fingers around your neck. His other hand snaked to the front, resting at your mound.

He still held up your weight but his pace went from shallow to deep, fast – brutal. Skin slapped against skin, his fingers strummed your clit mercilessly, playing a tune to match his rough rhythm.

You cried out, his name falling from you incessantly; as if a prayer, a call for retribution…you couldn’t tell. Very gently, you felt pressure increase near your windpipe.

You might have frozen, might have asked him what he was doing, but the uncontrollable coil in your core, his length battering into your cove and the harsh pressure on your nerves made you delirious with pleasure.

The lack of air made your eyes haze over and then, unbidden, floating in some sense of hypnotic plane. Only pleasure and the giver of it existed as you turned literal putty into his hands.

Then came, unbidden, Yoongi’s voice, a command: “Come for me, Y/N.”

You obeyed.

You couldn’t even scream. You couldn’t make any sound. You only came for Yoongi.

Body quivering and writhing in his hold, you arced against him, his head burying into your neck as he grunted, his own orgasm following as you clamped down on him. Impossibly tight and unable to stop himself further, Yoongi emptied himself into the rubber, sighing against your skin as if you were his only salvation.

You lay spread out on Yoongi’s table for how long, you had no idea. When you came down, Yoongi’s weight was still on you, warm and bracing. He was massaging your back, blowing warm air near your ear. You hummed, letting him know of your consciousness.

Yoongi craned his head, watching you blink twice to gain some semblance of composure. You could feel droplets collecting at the corners of your eyes and Yoongi quickly swiped them away with his thumb.

“Y/N, baby, how do you feel?” He asked voice calm and close to you.

You asked yourself the same question and smiled to yourself. “Fantastic, just fantastic…did I pass out?” You hedged.

Yoongi chuckled. “No, floated off a little…maybe a little like subspace but you were very much here. You were beautiful and brilliant.” He kissed your cheek.

You let him nuzzle into your skin, indulging in the aftercare.

Yoongi soon migrated to the seats, pulling you upright so he could pull the dress down your legs and up your chest properly. He leaned you against him, zipping you up before he got dressed himself.

You sat on the leather, watching him buckle his belt when the sound of approaching footsteps and keys made you both freeze.

The guard was here and you had just obviously had sex with Yoongi. There was no denying it. The scent of sex was palpable, the table was questionably messed up and both of you looked…well, fucked.

It took Yoongi only a second to recover and you prayed that his assurance for his job security was legitimate before the man walked in. Dressed in a grey uniform, he stopped, stuttering in his steps when he caught sight of Yoongi at one of the tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then –

“Boss,” the man said, surprised. “What are you still doing here?” He asked.

You flinched at the question before realizing something. Huh…boss…?

Yoongi carded a hand calmly through his hair, looking unconcerned. “I was just checking the stocks, Jungkook. It took me a long while so my…um, girlfriend came over to pick me up. I’ll be leaving now. Make sure to lock up behind us.”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, taking a look around before shrugging, apparently deciding it was none of his business. “I always do sir; have a nice night sir, ma’am.” He bowed politely and Yoongi grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the seat and quickly ushering you out of the back staff exit.

Yoongi and you emerged out into the parking lot, walking quietly till you had reached your car.

“You’re…the boss? You own this bar?” You broke the silence first, turning to Yoongi.

He nodded, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I was going to tell you though, but Jungkook interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? You were making all those cryptic remarks.” You said, wrapping your arms around you. Why did you have to forget brining a jacket?

Yoongi moved closer to you, his closeness providing you some extra warmth. “I, well, you see, people behave differently to what you appear to be. I was short a tender today. It’s a lady, and her sister gave birth. She needed the day off and I worked her shift. You just…you caught my eye and you said all those things you don’t expect people to say. I just wanted to see if you would feel the same attraction to a bartender that most people feel for the Bar owner.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No, not really, its fine, I understand. What about inside, about the girlfriend, why would you say that?”

Yoongi snorted. “Well, I’m hardly going to say you’re a customer, am I? He’s a good cop, Y/N; he knew we just had sex in there. I’ll bet you anything he spends the night out or inside the staff room tonight.”

“Right, I hope he won’t be expecting to see me around on the regular then.” You turned to unlock your car.

“I was hoping you’d become one.” Yoongi said.

You smiled slyly. “For you or your bar…?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’d be a double offer. Be mine and the bar’s going to be a regular anyway. Be a regular here and you’re bound to run into me.” He returned my smile.

You pretended to think about it. “Well, then, I’d say that first option sounds better.” You dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, with Yoongi leaning in through the window.

“It’s a date.” He winked.

This work is a gift for the precious @yoonmochiiii​ !! Happy Holidays, lovely. 

It was an amazing experience, being your (not so secret) Santa and getting to know you! I hope you enjoyed yourself and that you like your present! I hope we can be friends in the future as well and stay in touch!

Have a beautiful Christmas, and have a glorious, safe and bountiful New Year sweets! 

[wolfpawn]

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 49

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary -  Loki has to contend with something he could not have foreseen with regards to his coronation but some light teasing from his brothers causes him to have to think of something more, leading him to wonder a very important question. What is love?

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Tags - @peppermint-j​ @damalseer​ @perpetual-fangirl​ @tinchentitri​ @inspired-snowflace​ @raphaelaisabella​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @caffiend-queen​ @devilbat​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @skulliebythesea​ @majoringinlife​ @salempoe​ @lotus-eyedindiangoddess​ @rookienumber98​ @ivytoh​ @agarwaeneth​ @rosierossette​  @arch-venus25​ @nessamaurice​ @winterisakiller

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NOTES -  I literally have this written with over a week and just as a tab on my computer but I suffer from ITS, Idiotic Thoughts Syndrome which makes me really mentally weird and my mind tells me no one likes my stuff, I just had a few people message me over the last day about this telling me they love it which forced me to feel like I am letting them down if I don't post it which, by the way, is sometimes the best way to motivate my shitty ass, so yeah, it needs saying, if you like this, please let me know, it actually gets me to upload new chapters. I have some written, so...yeah.

The realms were informed of the upcoming coronation of the middle son of the Jotnar king. Some were startled, the idea of a second son as a successor was not something they had ever heard of in their realms. More than one prince looked at his younger brother fearfully, wondering if their younger kin wished to usurp their claim. Some assumed it was nothing more than the fact that the second son was tied with the daughter of the great Odin Allfather. It was leading to some interest and intrigue which in turn resulted in a startling number of beings accepting invitations to the realm for the event. Arden, Loki and Laufey stood startled as messenger after messenger arrived in the realm with acceptances to the event. 

“We cannot deal with this many, can we?” Helbindi looked at the sheer number of names in front of them as Loki revealed the list to his brothers. “The palace is not nearly big enough.”

“And we cannot grow it in the time required to do so.” Loki agreed. “But to tell them that the invitation must be rescinded, that is something that cannot happen either. We are between two fires and we are about to get burned.” 

His brothers did not know what to say, neither could think of something to assist. “What does your mate think?”

“I have not seen her to discuss it with her. All I see every so often is half concerned Jotnar looking at me in a manner to suggest they came in contact with her and are uncertain of what to say or do.” 

“Why do you allow her to be so?” Býleistr asked. “Surely you should tell her to cease such attitudes.” “Leist, I am not sure how you are with your mates, how you wish to carry your relationships with them is not my concern, I will say, however, that Ella is not one to be told what to do in the manner you speak and I can assure you, I would never wish for her to be another way.” Loki insisted. “She is her own being and her manner in dealing with those who think little of her is by far some of her best qualities.” 

“I think you to love her.” Loki looked at Býleistr, startled by both his statement and his facial expression at the mere thought of it. “Do you?” “Why do you look so repulsed at the idea of such?” Helbindi asked their older brother. “I mean, yes, she’s different, but she’s not hideous, far from it.” “She’s so...pale and her hair...you said before she has hair on other parts of her also.” Býleistr shuddered slightly at the thought of such. “To me, that sounds vile.”

Loki felt guilty when he recalled that Ella had been aware of his less than gentlemanly manner of speaking about her just after their first night together. “This is my mate you are speaking of.” He had not intended to growl his words so viciously at his brother but Býleistr’s words of disgust added to his old guilt made him angry. “Don’t you dare speak of her in such a manner.” Loki did not even know how he came to be holding Býleistr against the wall, his balled fist against his chest. 

Býleistr’s eyes grew wide with shock. He had not expected Loki to react in such a manner. “I…” “Loki, you know Býleistr has two functioning brain cells. Don’t beat up your brother as we prepare to deal with inter-realm guests, it doesn’t look good if the oldest looks half beaten to ice-chips.” Helbindi turned to Býleistr. “And you, you moron. The next time you dare insult one of our mates, remember that we will both round on you, then have Greta tell Alma what you said, or do you forget our father teaching us to learn the effects of our words? Idiot. I would love to hear her throw you out of your own rooms. Ella may not be something you find attractive, that does not give you the right to insult her.” 

“Fine, I’m sorry. I am sorry I offended you and your mate.” Loki stepped back when Býleistr apologised. “At least you know I am not interested in her?” He tried to joke to cease Loki looking at him so angrily. 

“Don’t, that’s not even funny.” Helbindi stepped in. 

“Why do you care so much about her?” Býleistr looked at his youngest brother. “You practically adore her.” “I do. She is great. She’s funny, witty, cutting and caring.” Helbindi listed some of his favourites of Ella’s traits. “She speaks to Greta to assist her in any of her woes. She is a genuine friend to her and always answers any questions she has. She is good to her. Anyone who is caring to my mate and makes my brother into a soppy mess is dear to me.” “I am not a ‘soppy mess’.” Loki became indignant. 

“I see you looking at her when she is near you, especially her stomach, you are a soppy mess,” Helbindi teased. Loki’s brow furrowed, having never thought he would do such a thing. “You don’t even realise you are doing it,” He laughed. “Well, that proves it is love then.” 

Loki said nothing in return. 

* It was late when Loki returned to their rooms that night. He had been trying to organise the situation at hand with Arden, though even with great consideration, they could not come up with something. He walked into the bedroom, unsurprised to see it in darkness. He had felt the green glow of Ella’s seidr on entering the room telling him that she had known he had returned for the night. 

When he came into the bedroom, he looked over at the bed and a brow raised at seeing that Ella had taken his side of it, rolling herself into his part of the pelts too. When he came over to it, he pondered how to get her to her own side before getting into his side on the minute sliver available and gently nudged her over. What she did next startled him slightly. She moved enough to give him room before leaning on his shoulder, all entirely in her sleep. He recalled the day he woke to the sensation of being on hers, how it had comforted him, seeing her now do the same with him, the little frown on her face going to utter calm as she inhaled his scent deeply. Loki thought over Helbindi and Byleist’s words of him and his feeling for his mate that day. He looked down to her swollen stomach before looking at her face again and found himself smiling. 

It had been a peculiar time, being forced to take the Aesir princess as his mate, the manner in which their time as mates began, her fighting for her life before she fought to save their situation as mates. She had mentioned the chance of her being forced to take another as her mate, how she had worried what could come, looking at her now in the bed beside him, resting, their child growing strong within her, he felt a horrible pang in his gut at the thought of another being the one to put their child in her. He thought of the guard from Asgard, the one she had cared deeply for, before him, any other being the sire of a child with her bothered him more than he could imagine. It was a peculiar feeling. Before he had put it down to being with regards lineage, now he was forced to acknowledge that it was Ella herself he cared for. He did not wish to ever consider her with another. He knew this was a side-effect of having one mate, a closer bond but he had rubbished it before due to his lack of love for Ella but now, knowing that it was just them, that in a short time, they would be tending to a small infant. That caused him to pause. In Jotunheim, a mother nursed and tended to her own child. In Asgard, it was well known that royal children were raised by a team of staff and not their mother. He looked at Ella and wondered if she would adhere to the Aesir tradition or the Jotnar one. He worried that she would refuse to raise their child in the manner that he felt was best. Jotnar young were born in their parent’s bed, the father being the only other being present and neither parent leaving for a few days after the birth, they merely lay together, the father tending to his mate’s needs while the mother tended to the infant and allowing them to bond as a family. The idea of their child being raised so sterilely as Ella had been worried him. He read of Aesir methods and knew that Ella loved her parents and indeed, it was clear that the Allfather truly did care for his daughter, even if he had forced her to have a life that Loki was certain was not how she would have chosen for herself if she had been allowed decide herself. He fretted the idea of their child being born, her not wishing for him to be in their room for it and as soon as he was parted from her, her sending their son to be looked after by another. Such an idea put fear into him. 

He would need to discuss the matter with her at length. He hoped she would think as he did but he knew he could never force her but he hoped she would see it as he did. 

Loki had been in his own mind, worrying about everything and sending himself into worry before he was supposed to sleep which would lead to a restless night when he felt a slight nudge against him. He looked down to see Ella’s stomach against him, her head comfortably on his shoulder. Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he got more comfortable and placed his hand on her stomach, protecting his child. 

“Loki?” Ella’s voice was heavy with sleep. 

“Yes?” “You’re thinking too loudly, go to sleep. It’s late.” Loki chuckled. “I might just do that.” 

Ella nodded slightly, unable to stay awake any longer, she dozed off again, making herself more comfortable as she did so. 

With her asleep beside him and the sense of calm of having his little family safe and in their room filling him with the serenity needed to fall asleep, Loki began to drift. As he did so, however, the thought came to his mind again, he refused to admit it aloud but in his heart he knew, he cared more for Ella than he had any female before. He did not know if it could be accused of being love, but she made him feel he could be more than he thought himself capable of being. She made him feel like a better being and being around her was something he loved. He wanted to speak with her, even when he did not wish to be around anyone else. She made him feel as though he was complete. She gave him a grounding, she gave him counsel and a family of his own. He just did not know if that equated to love. He thought he knew love before but it did not feel like this. 

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 4: Musical

A/N: This is, unusually, a Natori & Cat King ficlet, exploring the chaos of double retirement, inspired (and referencing) the song: “If I Were A Jolly Blacksmith” from the musical TV show: Galavant. (Hence posting it on Musical day) I’ve really enjoyed this, so maybe I’ll write more on the retired concept. Who knows?

Also, a big shout out to @linchxpin for very kindly allowing me to play with their headcanons for Natori’s past! 

x

Natori took to retirement like a landlocked duck took to the sea. That is to say, once he figured he wasn’t in any major danger of drowning, he wondered why he hadn’t retired years ago. 

Of course, the core reason was the cat who had retired alongside him. 

Regardless, the switch from working cat to retiree was aided by two factors. The first was simply that he was tired. If the Cat Kingdom had possessed a functioning economy, the thought: “I don’t get paid enough for this” would have passed through his head multiple times a day. Since it hadn’t, his brain had substituted the thought for a swan-like state - graceful and smooth on the surface, and incoherent confused babbling beneath. 

And the second reason was that not much had fundamentally changed. He still had an irresponsible, power-crazed old cat to kittensit, only now when the irresponsible, power-crazed old cat decreed that Tuesdays would now be known as Second Mondays, Natori could pat the ex-king’s paw and go, “Maybe not, Sire,” instead of having to change all the palace calendars and politely ask the servants to play along for the next month. 

(Early into his tenure as a royal advisor, he had taken to bribing the servants into backing up the ruse. Later in his career, he had realised that the King’s attention span didn’t stretch far enough for him to realise that Tuesdays still existed outside the palace.) 

But while Natori was like a duck in the ocean of retirement, the ex-king was more akin to a stone. 

Natori wasn’t sure what had possessed him to agree to the ex-king crashing in on his retirement plans, except that old habits die hard and he had felt that Lune would benefit from his father being out of meddling range, but agree he had. 

Anyway, Natori had managed for... too many years to count. He could manage a little longer. At least until the ex-king found some direction. 

And so the two palace cats had found themselves in Natori’s kittenhood home, out in the edges of the Cat Kingdom and squarely in the mouse belt. (That stretch of scrub land dominated by villages which had risen out of mouse husbandry, and whose yearly highlight was the annual scarecrow contest.) 

In such a village, there wasn’t much use for an ex-king, not unless he could harvest catnip, or sheer a rabbit, or wrangle a mouse, and the ex-king definitely wasn’t one of such persuasion. 

(He had watched, with some horrified fascination, as a butcher skinned one such mouse in the shop window, and had briefly sworn himself to vegetarianism until Natori had politely reminded him that cats were obligate carnivores, and then repeated the explanation with smaller words.) 

As such, lately the ex-king had turned to contemplation - a markedly foreign concept to the cat for whom “reconsideration” was a survey of side courses. Natori had even found him once in the library. A scary enough situation even before one considered that the ex-king hadn’t known where the palace library was located in all his years living there. 

He had asked Natori’s advice on words such as “self actualisation” and “inner peace,” at which point Natori had confiscated the book and distracted him with the golf club their neighbour had made for him. 

It wasn’t that Natori was against cats reaching self actualisation or inner peace. In theory, it sounded all very nice and relaxing. But after a lifetime trying to gently steer his monarch away from stupid ideas and sometimes even succeeding, Natori had learnt to trust his gut. And he knew that the ex-king would take such ideas and run completely in the wrong direction with them and probably start a few fires in the process - not all figurative ones, either.  

And the point of all this was that when “Young Gizmo Junior” came running over bellowing “Mr Natori! Mr Natori!” Natori knew exactly who was at the centre of whatever chaos he was about to be dragged into. 

Young Gizmo Junior, a runt of a tabby who had yet to grow into his paws, fumbled up to the cottage’s porch with the kind of frenzied energy that comes from being torn away from interesting happenings. “Come quick, Mr Natori,” the kitten gasped. “It’s your friend!”

Natori lowered the cross-stitch he had finally been making progress on, and felt his heart dip along with it. “Oh no. What has he done now? Is it the mice? The rabbits? Please tell me he hasn’t fallen into the salmon river again--”

“No, Mr Natori, it’s worse. He’s singing!” 

Natori blinked. "But he doesn’t sing,” Natori said. “At least,” he amended, “not while sober.” 

‘Please don’t let it be catnip wine again, please don’t let it be catnip wine again, please don’t let it be catnip wine again,’ his mind chanted, ever hopeful that he had developed magic wishing powers since the last time he had fervently wished for a saner life. (Last Second Monday.) 

x

It was not catnip wine. 

It was somehow worse. 

Natori slowly leaned over to Young Gizmo Junior and whispered, “And how long has he been at this?”

“He was on the...” Young Gizmo Junior counted on his claws and scrunched up his face when he surpassed his last easily countable claw, “eleventeenth verse when Grandpa told me to fetch you.” 

Natori raised both eyebrows and nearly unsettled his spectacles in the process. “This is bad.”

“What’s he doing?” Young Gizmo Junior asked. 

“I’ve heard of this before. He’s on the third stage of Searching For Himself.” 

“Why does he need to search for himself? He’s right there.”

“You know that and I know that,” Natori said, “but cats who go searching for themselves don’t. The first stage is talking to oneself, the second is staring into the nearest water source--” 

“Grandpa said he was staring at the well funny--”

“--and the third is bursting into song,” Natori continued. He couldn’t remember the next step, but that was mostly because the ex-king had begun another verse, and Natori’s mind had tapped out. 

“If I were a jolly blacksmith,

What a happy cat I’d be,” the ex-king crooned, rounding towards Old McGregor’s workshop.

“I would do all kinds of blacksmith stuff in my blacksmithery...

“I’d hit the thing... with the other thing. 

“Till I made a different thing!

“If I were a jolly blacksmith...” 

The ex-king trailed off, and if Natori hadn’t been assured that this was the eleventeenth verse, he might well have believed that that would be the end of it. But the ex-king didn’t know the meaning of defeat - mostly because the Cat Kingdom didn’t have dictionaries - and so, after a little bit of muttering (that Natori caught the tail end of “No, I’m not feeling it. Besides, I’d get filthy. There must be something better”) he perked up and made a beeline for Maggie’s meat pie stand. 

“If I were a friendly farmer, 

“Wouldn’t that be oh so sweet? 

“I’d be planting greens and lots of beans,

“And other things to eat.

“Then I’d plant some eggs, and a couple mice,

“Then a yummy salmon cake!” 

The ex-king paused, vaguely aware somewhere in the recesses of his kittenhood education that it didn’t quite work that way. 

(”No,” he muttered, “that’s not right,” and Natori briefly thought there was hope yet. Then the ex-king continued with, “Any moron can plant a cake,” and the farmer upbringing in Natori cringed.)

Natori leaned over to Young Gizmo Junior. “Why can I hear a pipe playing?”

“That’s Uncle Saburo,” the kitten replied cheerfully. “He’s really good!”

“He’s also encouraging someone who needs no encouragement. Trust me.”

“I want to be special,” the ex-king continued, undeterred from the whispered conversations. “Needed. Liked. I’ve got it!” he cried, and made a dash for Rosie’s valerian wine shop front. 

(Part of Natori knew he should stop this. The other part really wanted to see how this worked out. Historically, the latter was a bad idea, but Natori put it down to shock.)

“If I were a merry brewer,

“That would be a grand career,

“I would pick the grapes and peel the grapes

“And stomp them into catnip beer-- dammit!”

The ex-king slumped down onto a convenient crate, which Rosie suddenly decided she didn’t need right now. “I don’t know how to do anything but be a king,” he lamented. “And no one wants me to be a king.” 

“Mr Natori,” Young Gizmo Junior piped up, “shouldn’t you go help your friend?”

“Not yet,” Natori said. “Let him finish first.”

“Why?”

“Because one does not interrupt a cat when he’s singing an existential crisis song,” Natori replied firmly. 

“If I’m just a jolly... nothing,

“What am I supposed to do?

“I don’t have a skill, no niche to fill,

“No one to come home to.”

Natori had a sink full of dirty dishes that argued otherwise.

“Don’t know where to go,

“Don’t know how to fit,

“Don’t know who to even be.

“If I were a jolly tailor... juggler... barber... wet nurse... cesspool worker...”

The ex-king sighed and shook his head. “What difference does it make? I would still be me...”

Natori waited a moment longer. When the last echoes of Uncle Saburo’s pipe playing had died away, he sighed and approached the aged cat. “Sire?”

“Go away Natori,” the ex-king grumbled. “I’m brooding.”

Natori didn’t go away. He waited a moment longer, just until the other cat’s ears began to twitch. He could read his old monarch’s tempers better than he could read his father’s book on Mouse Husbandry. 

“Brooding’s rather boring, isn’t it, sire?”

The ex-king scowled. “Yeah.”

“Do you want go down to the Mouse’s Tale pub and see if we can convince Chaucer to let you try darts again? Maybe you’ll even hit the wall this time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Stage four of Searching For Yourself, Natori decided, was getting yourself uproariously drunk. 

If the rest of the evening was anything to go by, the ex-king agreed. 

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 18

Now one would assume, as I let the devil into my office, that I would be on edge. Terrified that he’d make a move, that he’d do to me what he’d done to Becca Butcher. I wasn’t. Not even a tiny drop. I was perturbed. I was irritated. I was worried that Billy would show up and all hell would break loose, but never once did I fear that the science experiment gone horribly awry would harm me. Why? You’ll see.

I took my chair, the same one that Billy had made sure I had, pushing his slightly away so I had more room if necessary. I gestured to one of the far less comfortable visitor chairs, and contemplated for a moment having Joseph return the chair of pain that he’d seemed so happy to take for his own. Tossing his cape gallantly behind him as I fought against rolling my eyes at the fucking drama of it all, he sat as though the ugly utilitarian chair was a throne and I felt bile rise in my throat. How could anyone stand him?

“Well?” I sat back, waiting. “I’m a busy woman, so have your say and get out.”

One perfectly arched eyebrow raised, clearly not expecting me to be less than welcoming. Oh I do love when someone thinks they have the upper hand. “I’m sure you are VERY busy with Billy Butcher, Dr. Taylor.” Ah, he was going to go for blackmail, this should be interesting. “After all the ‘work’ you two get into in this very office, that chair really stands up to some hard exercise, doesn’t it?” So he’d been spying for awhile. Since he had super hearing and the ability to be an uber peeping Tom, I wasn’t all that shocked that he’d focus on this office. I stayed silent, passive, bored. “Surely, Dr. Taylor, you wouldn’t want your SUPERIORS to know that you’re dipping in the office pool?”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it, honestly, the look on his face was so fucking sure and confident that I’d bend. Poor thing. “You think that my superiors who told me to ‘do what was necessary’ to keep Billy Butcher from waging a full scale war on you and your kind would give a flying rat’s ass HOW I keep him calm?” I was bullshitting, but he didn’t know that, I hoped. “Besides, Homelander, between you and me, if you show mine, I’ll show yours.” I’d managed, while he was tossing out his innuendos to pull up some video and a few files that I’d requested from higher up, knowing that there had to be SOMETHING to make sure this moron stayed in his lane, and boy was I right. Turning my laptop so he could see it, I smiled as his eyes took in the video. “Should I zoom in? I mean, you can’t REALLY get the full effect of your nursing if I keep it full room.” It was a video, that Stillwell had taken, of the illustrious hero in front of me suckling like a babe at her ample bosom. “Shall I open the file for you? You seem so SUPEd up about being a dad, I’d imagine you’d be just as happy to know how Teddy Stillwell was conceived, because I’m fairly certain you weren’t in the room, or at least not ALL of you.” I glanced down at his crotch and made a face.

“How?” He hissed, and I could see him contemplating torching my laptop. “Where did you-”

“Now now,” I shook my head and stood up to walk toward the door. “Just know that I have it, and I’m more than willing to release it, and a lot of other INTERESTING videos that've come across my desk. How would your NUMBERS fair if a sex tape of you and the disgraced Nazi whore Stormfront hit the airwaves?” He was fuming and I was standing at the door. “Now, Homelander, I think we’re through here, don’t you?” He stood and I knew he was thinking if I was dead he could make it look like an accident, I mean I just trumped him pretty fucking hard. “If anything happens to me?” He was so close I could FEEL his breath fanning the top of my head. “Everything is dumped to the public, EVERYTHING. And trust me when I say, if I’m not here to make sure that Billy doesn’t come for you, you’re as good as dead.” He snorted, copying me when I wasn’t impressed by his threat. “Do you have any idea how much ‘research’ went into killing Translucent?” He was glaring down at me. “The FUN they had when trying to find a way to end him, well, I can only imagine how much enjoyment Billy would have finding a way to make you a gooey pile of blood and gore, can’t you?” And with that final shot, I opened my door and loudly told him how wonderful it had been to have a moment to speak together. I knew the office had ears, and eyes, and I played my part as well as any CIA officer would. I even managed to NOT slam the door behind him, hopefully trapping his fucking stupid cape in the door and making him stumble, but damn if it wasn’t tempting.

 By the time Billy arrived, most of the chatter about my morning visitor had died down. Most, not all, which is why he seemed to fill the damn room once he was granted entry.

“Doc,” his nostrils were flared and I couldn’t imagine what he thought I should have fucking done. “That-” He stopped, trying to get himself under some form of control, but it seemed hard work.

“Billy,” I touched his hand and he didn’t flinch or pull away, so I counted it as a win. “Look at me.” He had his eyes focused on a wall, but he sighed and complied when I asked. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Now let’s sit and I’ll tell you all about the asshole’s visit and what I told him.” I took a breath. “It’s time you get read in on some things that I was sent.”

 It didn’t take long, since Homelander’s visit was brief, but Billy watched the videos, all of them and then read carefully through the files. That took longer, but it gave me time to watch him come down from his knee jerk reaction of ‘let me go fucking kill that wanker’.

“Wait,” his eyes met mine, “So not only was Stillwell giving Homelander his mummy fix, but the kid is-” I nodded. “‘Splains how the shitlet got so far away from the explosion without a hair out of place.” Another nod, since I’d had my suspicions when I heard about Teddy’s survival, I delved deep. Vought sucked at keeping track of supes, but not their sperm. “Knew about him and Stormfront, but the video,” he cringed and I mirrored it. “The plan is to keep this over his head?”

“For now,” I sighed. “More shit keeps coming to light, and almost all of it comes back to him and shady as fuck stuff.” Sitting back, I smiled when Billy took my hand and linked our fingers. “I wish I had access to this-” I stopped. If I’d had it before Becca died, then his hand and fingers would be hers. Hell, I wasn’t sure they weren’t still hers. Fuck. “Anyway,” I pulled my hand free and moved the laptop back in front of me. “We’re finished the files, and the boys are off doing recon and-”

“Ronnie?” I bit my lip and waited, bringing up the next goal on the laptop. “Why did you just-” and then I heard him sigh, and could almost see the gears click into place. “Veronica.”

“Homelander visiting gave me an idea for what we do next,” I said, changing the subject, needing to before my heart left my body and jumped out the window. “We need to make contact with the known and available-” and then he turned my face to his and brushed my lips with his own and I breathed in the scent of him. Calming slightly, but still unsure. “Interrupting me?” For once, I wasn’t opening my eyes to find his, I couldn’t, not yet. “We won’t get-” and then his mouth was hot on mine, forcing a noise that I only made when I was completely undone by him from my throat, which set off his own moan.

He pulled away, only far enough so our eyes could meet if I opened mine and so we could breathe. “Open your eyes, Ronnie,” I swallowed hard, fighting against the pull of his voice and the urge to see his eyes locked on mine. “Please?” That did it, like ‘open sesame’ my eyes opened and there he was. “She’s not here,” I felt my chest lock up. “She wasn’t here for a long time before that, Ronnie, and I never fucking moved on. Not one fucking step.” I knew this, I wrote the report on him and even the shit I found that didn’t matter stayed with me. “What coulda been doesn’t matter, don’t you see?” Did I? Not really. “It hurts, I won’t lie to you, it does.” Another gulp from me, but I didn’t pull away, not when his eyes held me hostage. “And I’m not sure I’ll ever NOT love her.” Great, that’s fucking fabu- “Doesn’t mean I can’t love you too, right?” Wait, what?

I blinked. And then I blinked some more. Did he just? “You what me?” I asked, blinking a little more for good measure, wondering idly if maybe I HAD died at Homelander’s hands...eyes, whatever.

“I love you, Veronica.” He was smirking, even if I didn’t check his lips. I fucking knew it from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “What?”

I was still blinking. Shit. “You love me?” Wrap your head around that, Doc, I thought. “YOU love ME?” Maybe new emphasis on different words would help? Nope. I blinked some more.

“Think I broke you.” Now I knew the fucker was smirking. “Yes, Doctor Veronica Taylor CIA officer extraordinaire, I fucking love you.”

That actually made more sense, the way he put it there. “Right.” I bit my lip as he started down at me. “What?” I asked, feeling far more playful now that I was fairly certain I wasn’t dead.

“I just told you I love you,” his eyebrow shot up and I nearly laughed, almost. “And all you have to say is ‘right’?”

“William Butcher, are you jockeying for me to reciprocate your declaration of love?” He gave a bit of a nod. “Jesus, you’re so fucking needy.” It was his turn to blink, and I had to admit, it was a fun experience, but I didn’t want to torture him. Not for long anyway. “I do love you,” I said it with an exasperated eye roll. “I didn’t know it was going to take Homelander blackmailing me for you to tell me though.” And that did it, he chuckled and I joined him, before kissing his lips gently. “I do, you know?”

“I do now,” he offered wryly.

[exitrowiron]

What gets measured gets managed (unfortunately)

and the more something is measured, the more it is managed

It took me 3 hours to write a cogent explanation of how I feel about the pandemic situation. I feel better having organized my thoughts and hope you find it helpful.

The horror of a pandemic is that there are no good options.  There are no easy solutions, just shitty choices and shittier consequences.  The way we’re navigating those choices is curiously influenced by our measurements and our instinctual, primitive decision making.

Let’s start with the measurements.  I live in Minnesota where the rate of infection and death has been relatively modest.  How modest?  The Star Tribune reports the statistics each day on the front page in large print: as of April 17, 2020 there were 2,071 confirmed infections and 111 deaths.  The national statistics are more sobering: 705,112 confirmed infections and 58,346 deaths.  I’m not one who accuses the media of being aligned with the liberal elite or any of that other horseshit, but I do think the media has failed in one critical way - the media has failed to provide CONTEXT when reporting these figures.

Our primitive brains are bad at big numbers.  Our brains are evolved for the kind of numbers you see on the savanna; the kind of numbers you would see in your tribe.  More than you can count on your fingers, but not much more than that.  Numbers bigger than that are alarming; they are inherently difficult for our emotional, fear driven, immediate-danger-avoiding brains to grasp.  It’s difficult to make good pandemic response decisions because the numbers are too big for effective gut decisions.  The best way to help our under-powered caveman brains is by adding context.  Context, context, context.  

Here is the context: in 2017 in Minnesota 44,361 people died (121.5 per day).  Nationally in 2018, 2,839,205 died (7,778 per day). Think about that for a moment... nearly 8,000 people die every day; can you imagine if the newspaper headlines every day kept a running tally? These are large numbers but they aren’t in the headlines every day because we’ve become accustomed to them.  Our brains don’t associate those large numbers with an immediate threat and they’ve become white noise.  My point is, large numbers are scary.  Large numbers without context are even scarier.

Our collective response to the virus is driven by more than just the large numbers however.  We’re also disarmed by the novelty of the threat.  Ironically, the virus is often referred to in exactly this way; the novel Covid-19 Corona virus.  Indeed, our brains react strongly to all novel threats.  From an evolutionary perspective it’s very helpful to react strongly to new threats.  From a public policy perspective, however, it’s not as productive.  In 2018 59,120 people died from influenza or pneumonia.  The deaths were concentrated among the elderly (but not exclusively) and yet 54% of the US didn’t get a flu shot in the 2018-19 flu season. You’ll hear a variety of excuses for not getting a flu shot, but with the exception of those who are immune compromised, all the excuses are BS.  The real reason is the regular flu is no longer a novel threat.  There is a different flavor of flu each year and everyone other than Trump (and perhaps the governor of Georgia) knows it kills a lot of people.  But it’s not a new threat and it hasn’t killed us yet (obviously) so most of us (not me) ignore the opportunity to get vaccinated.  Again, this is an evolutionary relic, hardwired into the physiology of our brain, influencing our behavior.  We are highly attuned to new, acute threats and very good (too good) at ignoring chronic threats.  Examples of ignoring chronic threats abound - type II diabetes, climate change, and the runaway concentration of wealth in modern economies are just a few examples. My point is that even when we put the numbers in context, humans always react disproportionately to a novel threat.

This brings us to the issue of measurements.  The axiom, “What gets measured gets managed” (wrongly attributed to Peter Drucker) is most definitely true.  The Dow Jones Industrial Average is reported with such accuracy, precision and frequency that it is often mistaken as THE measure of the health of the economy (an error which Trump encouraged until very recently).  Numbers are influential when reported that way and any number which is widely reported and frequently updated most definitely gets managed.  This is true even if managing the number in question has deleterious unintended consequences.  Again, this is true of the stock market.  The DJIA is NOT an effective comprehensive measurement of the health of the US economy, yet it is widely revered as such and it’s performance is stimulated and protected in ways which are often harmful to actual health of the overall economy. My point is that when it comes to public policy, the numbers we can easily measure and report each day and therefore manage the shit out of are almost always the wrong numbers and trying to optimize these numbers can have very harmful unintended consequences.  The important things to measure are always harder to measure; they change slowly over time and are very difficult to influence (again think of your weight, the environment and the distribution of wealth).

We’re also influenced by who we see and hear.  Today we hear from health experts (doctors, nurses, Dr. Fauci and the CDC, etc.).  These are all people who have dedicated their career to extending the lives of others at any cost.  You can’t expect the CDC to balance their recommendations to save as many lives today as possible with the longer term societal consequences.  That’s not the team they play for.  It would be like asking a tax accountant to consider the benefits of tax simplification.  If you really want to have a balanced discussion on this issue you need to have a few historians and economists sharing the microphone with Dr. Fauci and unfortunately no one ever wants to hear from a historian or economist.  

This is where we are today.  A novel threat has so focused our attention on managing and minimizing the large, frequently reported out of context numbers of illnesses and deaths that we’ve incorrectly assumed that our responses won’t cause an equal or greater amount of longer term misery, illness and death.  Our instinctual reaction is reinforced by only asking for the advice of those whose life mission is minimizing short term illness and death.  It is naive to think that shutting down the economy for weeks or months won’t have equal or more serious health and morbidity consequences.  But it is true that those consequences won’t be measurable, certainly not in daily newspaper headlines.

I’ve seen the memes accusing politicians and the rich of deciding the economy and their fortunes are worth the death of 2-3% of the population.  My argument is not about protecting the economy for the sake of the economy or the rich.  My argument is that there are no good options and we can’t pretend that lowering the Corona virus deaths at all costs now won’t have worse long term misery, illness and morbidity consequences over the long term.  (If you don’t think trashing an economy and creating runaway inflation doesn’t have health and morbidity consequences just spend a few minutes reading about Venezuela.) Our current flatten-the-curve-at-all-costs strategy primarily benefits the old (the most at risk of the virus) while endangering the health and wellness of the young over the long term.  I definitely don’t fall in the young camp so I’m not saying this in my own self-interest.  I’m not a historian either but I can’t recall a successful society making a similar choice. 

I absolutely loathe the idea of being associated with the kind of people who are currently shouting about the cure being worse than illness.  But if I really examine what’s driving my emotional response to this situation (which I’ve tried to explain above), I can’t help but agree. (Though you won’t find me blocking the entrance to a hospital like the militia morons on Michigan.) If you’re a politician who is actually trying to lead, you’re really screwed right now, because there are no good options.  Either way you will be legitimately criticized for the consequences of your decision and only one of those choices has consequences which can easily be measured in the next election cycle.  

What’s going to happen next is what has to happen.  Some time soon the Fed is going to run out of bullets.  States and municipalities are constitutionally prohibited from running deficits and can’t afford >25% unemployment compensation claims AND falling tax revenues for very long. In a complete vacuum of federal leadership (even within constitutional limits), states will cobble together policies allowing most businesses to reopen and most people will go back to work, albeit with masks and as much social distancing as possible. We will hope that the last few weeks has increased our ICU and ventilator capacity and advanced our treatment protocols enough to avoid a rebound in fatalities.  This is the unavoidable reality. 

My closing thought is that the process of discovering the unavoidable necessity of reopening the economy is sadly, a bit like finding out that Santa isn’t real.  Most kids figure it out on their own and can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that their parents didn’t just sit them down and tell them the truth.  I remember feeling embarrassed and naive.  I kind of feel like that now.  The Trump administration should have done a better job preparing for a pandemic, starting by not firing the team put in place by Obama.  But it’s too late for that.  Now we’re just left with shitty choices with shittier consequences.  Let’s at least have an adult conversation and stop hoping that Santa is going to make it all go away with warm weather, or hydroxychloroquine, the wall, international travel restrictions or whatever other snake oil Trump is selling.

[silentprincess100]

I wrote a Takaritsu fan-fic or something

I know this isn’t really the place to post it. IDK lol.

FINALLY after loitering about the fandom for long-enough.

Summary:

Ritsu wakes up the morning after he confesses to Takano and reflects on the nature of their relationship and what drew him to Takano both then and now.

Inspired by the line: “There is something that can’t be said to completely belong to then but also can’t be said to completely belong to now that is blossoming inside my chest” from Onodera ritsu no baai chapter 27. I might have translated it wrong, but I like the idea of it.

Onodera Ritsu was staring at the inside of his eyelids.

He could see the orange glow of the morning sunlight waiting on the other side. But he didn’t want to wake up yet.

Especially after what he had done last night.

He had done it. He had really done it. He had confessed to Takano-San.

He groaned aloud and flopped over on e bed, pulling his pillow over the back of this head.

He had known for a lot time that this was what he had to do, that this was what he was going to do. Of course it was Takano-San. Deep down, he had known it had always been Takano-San, had known it was always going to be Takano-San.

But the confession had had to come on his own terms. He wasn’t some naïve, giddy teenager anymore, but an adult with his own circumstances, riddled with the scars and defenses ones inevitably gets from being alive for 27 years (ok, twenty-six and some). He was old enough, mature enough to realize that not hating someone is not the same thing as loving them (ahem, Takano San), and that lust was also not the same thing as love (also looking at you, Takano-San). Love was something more complex altogether; it was messy and complicated and it took time and trust, and it couldn’t be just forced by simply saying I love you. After all, the two of them had had a really nasty breakup which ended up hurting both of them deeply. No one in their right mind could expect them bounce back from something like that as if nothing had happened.

For better or for worse then, their breakup and the aftermath had become a part of what shaped him. And if Takano-San couldn’t accept him for who he was now, then this was never going to work.

He hadn’t fallen in love with Takano-San simply because he had loved him then. What kind of a moron jumps to falls in love again with someone who broke their heart, someone they had spent 10 years trying to forget? He wasn’t born yesterday. What he liked about Takano-San, what he admired about Takano-San, was his ability to so valiantly hide his vulnerability behind his rough exterior, his utter calmness and self-possessed assurance in the face of chaos (whether it be the end of the cycle or hard-ball negotiating at the board room table with Yokozawa and the others), and his easy confidence in his own abilities.

But, of course, his competence warranted such confidence - and watching him do every day what he was good at was ... sexy, although Ritsu was loathe to admit that to the mega-ace super-talented ultra-editor - anymore than he already had, of course. In other words, Takano-San could do exactly what Ritsu so longed to do - be effortlessly put-together, smooth, cool, and confident. And unlike Ritsu who felt crippled by his anxieties about his family, about (possibly) inheriting Onodera Shuppan, about keeping up with work every day, Takano was able to just be in and enjoy the moment. Whereas Takano was the duck, smoothly gliding across the water, Ritsu was the feet, desperately flailing awkwardly around, so obvious and frank in its struggle to stay above the water. How appropriate also that Ritsu would be the feet of this relationship. He let out another long-suffering groan.

He had to admit, part of what he liked about Takano-San was how much Takano-San liked him, despite how much of a mess he was. Heck, he believes and likes me so much more than I like myself, Ritsu thought to himself with a dry laugh. But in all seriousness, it felt good to have someone believe in you even when- no, especially when - you didn’t believe in yourself.

And he loved the dedication Takano brought to his work. Behind his mask of confidence a Takano’s-san also worked his butt off. The feeling that everything had to be just perfect was something that Ritsu could 100% relate to, even if he wasn’t nearly as close as Takano-San to achieving it.

And yet, he had to admit that there was a undeniable part of their past in their relationship. For instance, his love of books. And the way they could talk about their favorite authors for hours. That passion for reading everything under the sun, as well as that thoughtful, withdrawn nature was what had drawn Ritsu to him initially. He still found that attractive as hell.

And something like a childlike idolization still lingered in his feelings for Takano-san. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise, it was true that he was, after all this time, still chasing after Takano-san, stubbornly clinging to a childhood crush. Takano-san had also been his first, after all (in so many ways.)

Like he had said before their relationship, his interest in Takano-San was something that could not be said to completely belong to now. Yet it also could not be said to completely belong to then either.

So while he hadn’t fallen in love with Takano-San simply because of what had happened in the past, he also couldn’t say it it wasn’t also because of what had happened in the past that they were where they are now. Or it wasn’t not because of what had happened that he felt so strongly about him. Or it wasn’t not not...?

Ughh it was complicated.

With another groan, he flipped over and finally opened his eyes, letting the sunlight flood in. He rubbed at them a couple times as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Takano-san’s room had the same layout as his own, only it was 1000 percent neater. He hadn’t expected Takano-San to be so particular about where he kept his stuff, to be so bare-bones, monastic aesthetic. But in a way it suited him. To allow himself the control he likes over everything and everyone else in his life. Not that he’d ever admit Takano-San had any control over him or his life - though it had been embarrassingly clear to him for a long time now that of course he did. Looking around at Takano-San’s few possessions, he felt an unprecedented calm settle over him.

He wouldn’t mind waking up here every day. No, he wouldn’t mind at all. But he didn’t want to disclose that to Takano-San just yet. Love was one thing, but moving in together was - whoaaa way too fast. Maybe, he mused, they would keep both of their apartments and just like alternate or something like that. Yeah, that’s it. Alternating. As much as he loved Takano (wow, it really was a load off not to have to have an internal battle royale with himself every time he thought about Takano - which was a lot) he hated change.

He sat up, rolled out of bed and toed on some pants that were lying around after their - ahem - activities of the previous night. Takano had laid out a shirt for him since his other one was in the wash (for reasons that made him blush furiously).

He slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up - he would be damned if Takano-San tried to kiss him again when he had morning breath (honestly this had happened more times than he wanted to admit) - and got ready to face the music. But just as he was about to step into the living room, his courage faltered.

How was he expected to face this man he now loved? It wasn’t like one teary confession and he would become a lovey dovey person destined to live happily ever after. He still had his pride - damnit! What did Takano-San expect after all- for him to fall all over him fawning and subservient and lovey-dovey? Please!

But. that still left the question of how to act now. Should he be extra short with him? Show him his place and not let him get too smug in his newfound knowledge that, yes, Onodera did love him back?

He didn’t get a chance to answer that question.

“You know I can see you standing there. What are you doing?” He heard the rumble of Takano-san’s just woken up voice. He furiously blushed.

“I know that,” Ritsu snapped back, but without much vitriol. “I am just.. thinking about my day that’s all.”

But when Ritsu walked in, and saw Takano sitting on the bookshelf nursing a cup of coffee, he wasn’t as lecture-y or condescending as he usually is. Rather he had such an adoring, amused look on his face that stopped Ritsu in his tracks for a moment.

“And what do you plan to do?” Takano blew softly on his coffee, never letting his eyes leave Ritsu.

“I’m ... I’m not sure yet.” Ritsu walked awkwardly and mechanically into the kitchen. He picked up a mug like a robot and jerkily poured some of the coffee left in the pot.

“You know you’re acting super weird, right now, right?”

“Well, sorry if my presence bothers you so much,” Ritsu bristled.

“On the contrary...” Unknowingly to him, Takano had slipped off his perch and sidled up against him. “I made you breakfast.” His voice was low and warm.

“Thanks...” Ritsu said awkwardly, glancing sidelong purposefully refusing Takano’s love-filled gaze. But Takano reached over and grazed his fingers along his cheek and gently turned his chin towards him.

“Um!” Ritsu jumped back instinctively.

Takano wavered for a split second - anyone who didn’t know him as well as Ritsu wouldn’t have even noticed - but then stepped in to close the distance between them and dipped his lips to meet Ritsu’s. Ritsu tensed a moment before giving into the affection.

Takano brought his hands up to cup Ritsu’s face as he deepened the kiss. His fingers stroked along Ritsu’s cheek lovingly, and Ritsu felt weird, as it always was when Takano was overly loving and gentle. Ritsu couldn’t help but pull away for a second.

“Ah- Takano-san...” He faltered.

He suddenly remembered their discussion of names last night. They were both close and Ritsu had had his legs locked around Takano’s waist, letting loose cries of “Takano-San” and “ah!!” Takano had silenced him with a kiss and then whispered low and deep in his ear - “No Takano-San, Masamune.” And Ritsu had been so gone as to whimper “Masamune” over and over like a prayer.

Thinking of this memory, Ritsu blushed furiously and felt very, very warm. He put up a hand to stave off Takano’s morning advances.

“Don’t you think we should — er...” he hesitated. 

“What do you want, Ritsu?” Takano-San tucked a stray hair behind his ears.

He didn’t really feel like he wanted to call him Masamune though. For him, the name Takano-San symbolized his newfound relationship with this man - something that was different than the one he had had with Saga-sempai. Plus, calling him Masamune would remind him of being jealous of Yokozawa in the early days of their dalliances.

But Takano-San didn’t bring up the name thing like Ritsu thought he would, rather ruffled his hair and said, “C’mon, let’s go eat.”

Ritsu managed a mild glare at the patronizing behavior, reaching up to fix his hair immediately.

Takano-San was already in the kitchen finalizing their dishes. Ritsu watched him from afar, watched his lean but muscular arms reach to put out the plates, his slightly missed raven hair, his strong hands. Takano-San really was the most beautiful man he had ever met. Ritsu wouldn’t have minded just sitting here watching all day.

The two of them - they worked. Ritsu’s frantic, blustering energy with Takano’s cool confidence. In different ways, both of them wore their hearts on their sleeves. And they already knew so much about each other’s pasts and quirks. Ritsu could imagine doing this, waking up to breakfast from Takano every day for the rest of his life. He would never tell Takano-san that, but he could allow himself the fantasy.

Maybe it was complex. And yet at the same time maybe it was incredibly simple. The two of them, as they were now, were an imperfectly perfect product of both their past and their more recent experiences. A mosaic of old and new, for better or for worse.

Maybe it was precisely that, Ritsu thought, smiling softly, which made all the difference.