#the third one barely had a design and then the last one was from scratch

[ibblescribbles]

redesigned some old oc’s… I luv them

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Kung Fu Panda 4 Review

Ok, I saw the movie yesterday and I have some thoughts. I think the film is good, but no where near the level of the first two. It's more like the third tonally. But tbf, nothing can top the second film in my opinion. KFP 2 really stepped up in its depth both in terms of its villain and message. The fourth film is very much the opposite. It's also very predictable and you can easily figure out what was gonna happen pretty early on.

What I liked: the animation is still gorgeous. Seriously, there were some very visually pleasing shots. The character models all looked great and I thought it was cool how the villain still has scales when she transforms. The music is also really nice and fun to listen to. The voice acting was also good and I thought Awkafina did a good job (major step up from Scuttle).

Po's dads were also really fun when on screen. It's nice to see them bond over Po and they do work well off of each other. They were the best part of the film, animation aside. The villain is also pretty cool with her abilities. We will talk about her more in a bit. And I did like Zhen and I'm looking forward to see what they do with her in the future. She's energetic and I did like her design.

What I didn't like: too. much. comedy. Ok look, I know this is an animated film for kids, but what made the first three films (particularly the second one) so good is that the balanced the jokes with depth. This film does have some messages, but it's intercut with so many jokes during dialogue that it takes away from it. They really needed to let this film breathe and have more serious moments to just talk and let things sink in. The villain brought back the old villains and stole their abilities (this was in trailer so not really spoiler). Why don't they do more with that? There is so much untapped potential here.

And that's my other big issue with the film: so much potential. Some of the ideas in this film are really, really good, but they only scratch the surface with it. I wanted to know more about the villain. I wanted to see our fave villains interact more. I wanted to see the villain use her powers more. But we don't get that; we only get the bare minimum. In simpler terms, there's no big "wow!" moment that the other films had.

Spoilers below (tread carefully)

Why did they bring the villains back if they were going to do almost nothing with them? The climax of the film was the Chameleon stealing the villains' abilities and fighting Po but we pretty much saw that in the trailer. Tai Lung gets to do some stuff, but I wanted more. Half of his lines were jokes anyway and I didn't vibe with it. Why did they bring him back if he was just gonna comment on things? I don't remember our favorite snow leopard being this comical. He did quip, but there was still a hardened edge to him. Idk. Maybe he got therapy in the spirit realm. Shen and Kai get crumbs, but again, they could've done so much more. And wasn't Kai destroyed completely?

With Shen and Tai Lung, I would've wanted to see more. I'm glad Tai Lung did finally come to respect Po and it does make sense. But Shen? The last time we saw him he rejected Po's help. Unless he too got the same spirit realm therapy Tai Lung did, him bowing to Po does feel very OOC. Nitpicking further, why was Shen brought back anyway? The Chameleon presumably doesn't know who Po is and Shen isn't a kung fu master. With the exception of the fanservice route, this choice only makes sense if the Chameleon was aware of Shen's actions in Gongmen and thought his level of evil would fit her vibe.

Nitpicking aside, there was so much opportunity for Po to confront his villains again and have a deep, serious moment with them. Whether either side likes it or not, they're reunited for a short amount of time. Why not capitalize on this great opportunity?

Speaking of the villain, so much untapped potential. Her design is great, her abilities are really cool, and Viola Davis does a good job voicing her. So why doesn't she get to do more? Imagine a really cool fight sequence where Po confronts her, but she shifts so much that it begins to mess with his head. Or she transforms into the older villains and Po is caught off guard? Instead, we get half the climax spoiled for us in the trailer. What was really cool about the other three was that we got multiple fight scenes with them to showcase their abilities. Thus, the final battle dialed it up to an 11 and we got a truly epic finale. Here, it feels like there should've been more, but there wasn't. Even her backstory feels lacking. It's there... but only surface level. Even Shen, arguably the cruelest of them all, had nuance and depth.

Also, why couldn't we get more of the Furious Five outside of a glorified cameo? Tigress and Po friendship is truly amazing.

As much as the jokes miss, there are some good bits. Shifu trying to deal with Po's shenanigans always crack me up. I also like the bit where Po tries to meditate and his thoughts get in the way. Because hey guess what, that's what my head is like and it's really freaking hard to quiet it down. So, there's that. I just wish the writers didn't feel like they had to insert jokes in almost every line of dialogue, you know? Li and Ping dad adventures are great except half the lines are jokes about how worried they are for Po or how not tough they are. Why not have a deeper conversation? I think it would make everything feel more natural.

I also wish Po himself was a tad more mature. I'm not expecting Shifu or Tigress levels of seriousness, but I felt that he kinda was a bit too childish. Po is one of those characters who loves to have fun, but knows when he has to be serious. However, he also likes to lighten things up with comedy. In this movie, it felt like he only really leaned into the comedy side of things. He had his moments, but I'll be honest, I really missed the "the only thing that matters is what you choose to be now" levels of dialogue. The proverb joke got old real fast, ok?

Grace Randolph from Beyond the Trailer described this movie as episodic and I can see it. The story bits are very segmented between the villain, heroes, and Po's dads. The flow and pacing of this film really needed to be upgraded.

Ok, that's all I got for now. I'm sure I'll think of something else to say (aside from encouraging everyone to rewatch KFP 2 because I'll never get enough of that film).

[bearpillowmonster]

Iron Man: Armored Adventures

I'll be honest, I'm not the biggest fan of Iron Man. In comparison to a lot of the other trilogies, it's a little weak. And before the MCU, he was just a character to me, part of the Avengers. But as time has gone on and we've gotten more of him, it worked its way back around in my head.

You see, I was more into Hulk when the Incredible Hulk released but that was a disappointment. Iron Man wasn't at the top of my list but it had cool trailers and it had cool toys. It was my dad that got me into it. For those who don't know, my parents divorced early on in my life and it was a little before this time that I decided to move away from his life and just live my own. But one of the last things I remember getting from him was a burned DVD with Iron Man and a letter. Only reason I watched it. It was bare disc so of course it was scratched up, I played it on one of those portable DVD players but I had such a hard time getting it to work, having to fast forward, take it out, clean the disc and all just to get past certain parts. I sort of associated that character with him because of that.

I kept up with the MCU, even the Iron Man sequels and I got another toy after Avengers. I learned a little more but I wasn't quite there yet. It was Civil War where I actually started to get a grip on him because his story was a little better now that there were other elements involved and from then on, my opinion only grew with each subsequent entry. I still don't care too much for the comic counterpart now but I've gone back and read some of the old ones and I start to understand his character a little more now that I've had the experience behind the maturity such as Demon in a Bottle. And what's funny is that around this time, I started healing my vision of my dad in my head and now I'm not so much against him and I understand him a little more as well.

This is sort of the relationship between Tony and his father, making me even relate to that pretentious a-hole. Huh.

This series came out around the release of the original and it makes sense, it's kind of like how Speed Racer The Next Generation was to that movie, it's not connected but it's within that sort of same interest and it appeals to a younger audience since it ages down the characters.

It's in the same vein as MTV's Spider-Man and that was decent, all in all this just has better animation because, well, it came out 6 years later and it's actually a French animation studio. And not only that but it also ran longer so we get more to judge it based on for better or worse (It's better!). It never seems to grow stale with its concept, asking bold questions.

Let me give you an episode rundown. Tony has to break into Stark Labs (because his dad is dead and he's too young to own it) but his suit shuts down so he has to play covert to find a way to get him and his heavy suit out of there without being caught. A great concept.

And while he's in his standard suit for most of it, he's always creating more inventions to keep it interesting as well as other suits and designs. My one complaint isn't really a complaint at all. With the movies, they tried to be grounded to a point but the show contrasts that and was surprisingly free on what exactly they could include, maybe because it wasn't included in the MCU and Marvel was in the gutter at the time but we have a lot of fantastical stuff with the main plot revolving around the Mandarin and getting the…five rings? That his dad started to discover before his demise.

It makes you lenient on them not doing that storyline in the movies until after the Infinity Saga because it would've been too close to the Infinity Stones but it still sparks the interest to wonder what a Favreau trilogy would've accomplished had he been given free rein. (I've actually researched that original plan, the Mandarin was going to be the third one but I guess the bigger Cinematic Universe got in the way)

We see a young Rhodey, a young Pepper and perhaps a few special appearances here and there. I, for one, can probably speak for a lot of people when I say that I wasn't the biggest Pepper fan in the movies either. I was fine with them ending up together just because they had been together through so much and for so long but this version of her is actually really characterized, perhaps even more so than anybody else. It made me enthusiastic about the franchise again, even so much as writing my own fanfiction...OK, maybe not "write" it in whole but have it idealized in my head, Ok?! Let's see what S2 has in mind...

[apsocial]

The Great 3D Printing Disaster of 2024

It all started with a YouTube video.

"How to 3D Print Your Own Custom Action Figures!" the title blared. And, just like that, Tom's inner geek was triggered. Sure, he'd never even touched a 3D printer, but how hard could it be? The guy in the video made it look easy. You click a few buttons, feed some plastic into a magic box, and out pops a tiny version of Iron Man—or in Tom’s case, a custom superhero named "Plasticator."

Tom rushed to order a 3D printer, filled with the kind of naive excitement one might have after watching a cooking show and deciding to make a soufflé from scratch. By the time the printer arrived, he was practically vibrating with excitement. It looked like a tiny robot—one that promised endless possibilities... if only he could figure out how to use it.

The first hurdle was assembling the thing. The manual might as well have been written in Elvish for all the sense it made. But, after three hours, two YouTube tutorials, and a desperate call to his friend Steve (who actually knew how to use power tools), the printer was ready.

Step two: software. The same guy from the video made designing your own 3D models look like finger-painting. Tom, however, stared at the design software in horror. He tried to create a simple cube, but the shape morphed into what looked suspiciously like a loaf of bread with legs. This, he thought, could still work—maybe Plasticator could have some cool bread-themed powers.

After fumbling with the design for hours, Tom hit "Print" and watched in awe as the printer whirred to life. Thin strands of plastic began layering on top of each other like some high-tech spider weaving its web. It was working! His very first 3D print!

But then things took a turn.

As Tom watched, the printer seemed to gain a life of its own. The base of Plasticator came out fine—two solid, square boots. But as the printer reached the torso, the figure started... melting? The chest sagged like Plasticator had skipped arm day at the gym. By the time the printer reached the head, Tom's superhero looked less like a fierce warrior and more like a blobfish cosplaying as a candle.

Panic set in. He tried to pause the print, but it was too late. The printer was in charge now, like a rogue Terminator, determined to finish its work. Tom could only watch in horror as a second Plasticator appeared next to the first. Then a third. Each one more deformed than the last.

By the time Steve arrived (summoned by a frantic text), Tom’s room was a war zone of misfit action figures. There was the original Plasticator, sagging in the middle like he’d had a few too many tacos. Then a second version that somehow had three arms. And finally, the pièce de résistance: Plasticator #3, who had a head the size of a watermelon on a body that could barely support a toothpick.

“What… what happened?” Steve asked, surveying the chaos.

“I don’t know,” Tom said, running his hands through his hair in despair. “I just wanted a superhero!”

Steve chuckled, picking up the watermelon-headed Plasticator. “Well, congrats. You’ve created the world’s first mutant superhero army. Maybe they can be the villains in your next print.”

Tom sighed. “I don’t know what went wrong.”

Steve gave him a pat on the back. “Hey, on the bright side, you did technically 3D print something.”

Tom looked around at his army of misfit heroes, sighed, and laughed. “I guess that’s true. Maybe I’ll call them ‘The Deflatables.’”

And so, while Tom’s dream of creating the ultimate superhero had melted away (literally), he learned an important lesson: 3D printing is not for the faint of heart. But at least he now had a unique collection of action figures—perfect for a niche market of people who enjoy blobs, extra limbs, and heads that defy all laws of physics.

With a grin, Tom turned to Steve. "Want to help me 3D print their arch-nemesis? I’m thinking… ‘Overmelter.’”

And just like that, the Great 3D Printing Disaster of 2024 became the birth of a truly ridiculous, but deeply loved, action figure franchise.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Wednesday, 24 May 2023:

She Who Dwells Sinéad O’Connor (Vanguard) (released in 2003)

This past Friday, 19 May, Smiths bassist Andy Rourke passed away.  So why isn’t this a Smiths album?  Well, I’m not the biggest Smiths fan in the world.  Sure I have The Queen Is Dead (and I used to have everything else before I traded it all away) on vinyl and any number of compilations on CD, but I remembered that Andy Rourke played bass on three tracks on one of my all time favorite albums, Sinéad O’Connor’s I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got.  I love that album so much that it came in at Number One on my Top 125 Favorite Albums of the 1990s.  (I even wrote three versions of this list and each time, Sinéad landed at Number One.)  Rourke plays on The Emperor’s New Clothes, Jump In The River and You Cause As Much Sorrow. 

I ended up watching a video to The Emperor’s New Clothes the next evening after Rourke passed away and once again I was besotted by the song and subsequently other songs off the album.  I ended up listening to something like eight different live versions from Sinéad’s killer The Last Day of Our Acquaintance, a song which never fails to give me chills.  (I even found a version performed live by Michael Stipe!)  This led me to her discography and suddenly I began fretting all the holes I have in her catalog. 

Sinéad was an artist I bought from the get-go with The Lion and The Cobra (thanks to Musician magazine) and I bought her in real time all through the 1990s.  I gave up on her work after 1994′s Universal Mother and then I foolishly traded away 1992′s Am I Not Your Girl, 1991′s My Special Child EP and Universal Mother and never bought her work again. 

Cut to 2010, I’m in Davenport, Iowa.  Mrs Echo is at a convention for card design (this is 2010 BC, mind you) and I’m wandering the city in search of a record store.  I stumble upon Zzz Records and go inside and find a 2005 release from Sinéad, Throw Down Your Arms which is a reggae covers album she made with Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare.  I was seriously into reggae at the time (and not Bob Marley, mind you, I was into Culture, Joe Gibbs and The Professionals, The Congos, The Abyssinians, Burning Spear and my namesake, Lee “Scratch” Perry among others) and I thought surely this must be a sign to listen to Sinéad again.  After that, I bought everything else she released in real time (I bought 2007′s Theology shortly after buying Lay Down Your Arms) and fell back in love with her voice. 

It took Andy Rourke to get me to pay attention to the five Sinéad albums I either had or never bought and barely paid attention to.  I always believed that She Who Dwells was a lengthy two disc live album but it is more than that.  Disc 1 is all studio tracks, which I did not know until today.  Five of those tracks have never been released, the others will have to be researched to understand where they originate from (the credits are sorely lacking in the booklet).  Disc 2 is the live album.  I feel better about this album already! 

Above you see that I bought this still sealed.  There was a price tag on the hype sticker that I had to peel off.  It came from CDepot and sold for $15.99.  I bought it for ten bucks which is substantial savings from what the vampiric Zuber is asking for a sealed copy on eBay: $88!  (And trust me, it won’t even be in stock, the vultures will have to find it and take four to eight weeks before they do.)  The second photo shows you what this looks like opened up.  The third photo reveals the second disc which is in one of those swing inlay trays.  The fourth photo above is of the back of the CD.  The fifth photo shows us the title strip which record companies in the US invented out of fear people would steal the CD inside the jewel case.  Remember, in the UK, CDs were never sealed.  Good old American capitalism. 

Back in the old days, when this album came out, the internet was so new, that companies were still using antiquated feedback systems such as postcards via the US Postal Serivce!  Below you can see the front of the postcard included inside this CD, followed by the back of the postcard.

Here is a close up of the hype sticker.  I’m not sure it is necessary, but I took the photo and cleaned the hype sticker up so nice and neat, I want to show it off. 

Here is a shot of the cover without that hype sticker.

Although I’m not certain it is even needed, I close this entry with shots of both the compact discs.

You can certainly count on more Sinéad O’Connor clogging up this tumblr! 

[sutekh94]

Vlog - The Lost World of the Proxima Realms

So… I broke 1,000 subscribers recently. Why not celebrate the occasion with a vlog about a time when this channel was inactive?

If all goes well, you should see a Q&A submissions post somewhere by this time next week. I haven't quite figured out how I want to handle it, be it a video post or something over on my Twitter or Patreon.

Some corrections and omissions: It's pretty obvious that I didn't cover absolutely everything related to The Proxima Realms/Nashronth here. By my count, there were at least 59 published written works related to The Proxima Realms between December 2017 and March 2021, not counting revisions and re-releases, and goodness knows how many stories and story ideas I had that wound up going unpublished. I completely forgot some of those stories existed, like a series called "The Yva-Kaiphronth Chronicles". Pretty sure that was the last TPR-related story series I ever published, in early 2021. Like I mentioned in the video, these stories are currently unavailable, but if there's enough interest, I might compile all of them, plus some unpublished material and ideas, as one massive download. Who knows? I might do that regardless.

I barely scratched the surface regarding the many, MANY main characters I made for TPR's various stories. Maybe that's a good thing, since most of them wound up being really samey in practice. Talking purely about their personalities here. Like, I can tell you what they were supposed to be, but only a few actually broke through the barrier of mediocrity and into the rarefied air of uniqueness. What set them apart was mainly their designs. For instance, the character Remivaqa (or Remi) has GIANT BAT WINGS growing out of her back that she can disappear whenever necessary, and yet, she's about as bland as a mattress. That Roger Alcorn kid I mentioned? Just as bland, and he was arguably THE main character throughout most of TPR's/Nashronth's existence. Aliya? She was one of those few who did stand out from the rest, with her cold, calm, collected, and intelligent nature. And she had some decent plots surrounding her, like her search for her missing grandma and her rivalry with this hotheaded elf guy named Olandri. I wish I'd made those early TPR stories more about her than Roger.

It turns out that I wasn't completely finished with The Proxima Realms by early 2021. Halfway through 2022, I wrote down some ideas for TPR-related stories, but they were just ideas. Those ideas were the very last TPR-related things I ever made, though to this day, I still A. wonder what could've been had I kept pushing forward with TPR, and B. have random TPR-related story ideas pop into my head from time to time.

Drawing Aliya for the thumbnail after a couple years of not making any art related to TPR was so surreal. It kinda shows how much I've improved since 2017. Now I'm wondering how some other TPR characters would look if I were to draw them today. I picked Tamaya to be with her because of all my current OCs, she's the one closest in personality to Aliya. Oh, and both of them have girlfriends.

Like I've said about a trillion times by now, there's much more TPR-related material I could cover down here in the description, but since I only have a limited amount of space to work with, I can't mention random anecdotes about TPR's development, talk even more about the MOTH PEOPLE, explain how Roger's grandma is actually a MOTH PERSON, and discuss a race of beings who look like the Lastree custom/mod race for Starbound. What I will say is that I really shouldn't record unscripted rambles when it's almost 1 in the morning, lol. Seriously though, if I sound kinda tired and disjointed at parts in this vlog, that's why. The last third or so was recorded the following morning, after I got maybe five hours of sleep at most.

[convexicalcrow]

Scarland is different at night. You mostly don't notice how dark it is during the day, because the sun and all the lights shining all around you conceal all but the faintest of shadows. But at night, the shadows lengthen in strange ways, and Main Street feels like it's gone back in time. Or perhaps, emerged from a different place.

You should never go out at night in Scarland. It's not just the mobs. It isn't Alan, or the Evoker downstairs. It's something else, something... darker. A presence that seeps into the walls and the deepslate roads that makes you feel like you're being watched. Followed.

Perhaps, in another story, I'd say it was the hotel, that my room was cursed, or that I stumbled into a room that did not - should not - exist. But it's more than that. The hotel, of course, is perfectly fine and servicable. The apartments are colourful and clean and well-designed and the staff always happy to help.

And yet. I remember lying in bed one night, two days after I'd arrived, and I heard something scratching on a windowsill. It was fairly quiet, since the windows were all far from the bedroom in the front of the apartment, and so perhaps I dismissed it as simply some sound from the park that I didn't yet know the cause of and went back to sleep.

The next night, I got talking to another guest at supper in the restaurant downstairs. I mistook him for a cast member at first, given how colourful his clothes were, but no, he said, he was just a guest. He'd just come from very far away to stay here and was enjoying his stay immensely. I had, too. The park was everything I'd heard it could be, and so much more. I'd barely seen even a third of the park and couldn't wait to explore more tomorrow.

We got talking about the park, and what we'd seen, and somehow, through the most casual of manners, I asked him how he found his room. I was mostly interested in seeing whether he also agreed that the rooms were very well appointed and comfortable, and he said it was fine, but I heard him hesitate.

Is something wrong?, I asked, and he said, well, it's not really wrong, not really, but-, and this was the point where he lowered his voice a little and drew in close, I swear to you something goes out at night in that place. I've heard footsteps down Main Street, footsteps and no one in sight.

Now that seemed... odd. But perfectly explainable. The park's owner had mentioned when he'd welcomed me to the park that staying in the hotel would mean I got to hear some of the backstage things, and to dismiss any strange sounds or voices we might hear at night. The cast members prepare for the next day's shows, sometimes props need moving into place, or rehearsals happen at night when the park is empty. Nothing to worry about, he'd said brightly.

I told all this to my new friend and he said he'd heard the same thing, but something about the footsteps had seemed unusual. Like they were bones scraping along the cobbles.

I was dismissive, and he could hardly come up with another explanation either, and our conversation moved on to other things.

A couple of nights later, I had been out after the park's closing, picking up some new souvenirs to take home. I had not seen my colourful friend all day and assumed he must have gone home for his room was now inhabited by someone else who I never saw, only heard rummaging around and ordering room service a lot.

I must have lost track of time as I wandered around the gardens because I found myself out on the streets at night, and that's when I really noticed just how strangely dark it was. The shadows were... odd. Darker than you think they should be, as if that makes sense. A thin fog rolled through the streets, but it didn't last and the wind soon blew it away.

I dawdled. I was entranced by the change in atmosphere, and how night could change what was a cheery, happy place into one that seemed so dark and foreboding. The building facades on Main Street all seemed more crooked and bent out of shape. Small spots of lights danced around between the windows. Seeing one of the park security guards approaching me in my reverie, I offered my apologies and scurried back to the hotel, getting the sense that I shouldn't be out here.

As I turned the corner to return to the hotel, an arrow whizzed past the back of my head. I turned, expecting to see a skeleton. But there were no mobs around; the full moon that night illuminated the park very clearly. What I saw instead was a man, dressed in some kind of vigilante outfit, standing down at the other end of the street. There was some kind of symbol on the man's chest, but I did not recognise it. He carried a bow, which I could see silhouetted against the background, and his eyes glowed a soft light blue, as if he were possessed.

The thing I remember most about that moment is how dense the air felt, like there was a heavy, malevolent presence in the park that night. The wind seemed to be whispering, but if it was saying anything, I could hear nothing of any coherence.

I had looked at him for mere seconds when he nocked another arrow and seemed to point it straight at me. I took the hint and didn't stay, but I had looked long enough to realise the man bore a strange resemblance to the park owner. Was he practicing for some new show? Trialing out some new character? As far as I was aware, he did not involve himself in the performances. But perhaps he simply took park security very seriously.

I returned to my room, packed away my purchases, and headed to bed, thinking nothing more of the strange figure I'd seen.

A single feather was on the floor in my room when I woke. Not the fletching from an arrow, just a normal ordinary feather. There were no signs that any kind of bird had been in the room, and so concluded that it must have been placed there. The strange thing is, it was a yellow feather, and I had never seen any yellow-plumed birds in my time here. It must have been dyed, or come from elsewhere.

Either way, I picked it up and set it on the windowsill. I'm not the sort of person to collect feathers anyway, so simply left it for the staff to find. It was my last day anyway, and I would be heading home.

On my way back to the train station, I noticed the Evoker seemed to have its back turned away from the street. I approached the creature cautiously, having never dared stray too close in case the Vex were summoned. As I got closer, I noticed it had an arrow stuck in its shoulder, and it seemed to be... shivering. Nervous? It was unclear.

"Oh, don't worry about him, there were some skeletons around last night that needed fighting off, but he'll be okay. He's had his potions, now we're waiting for the arrow to leave," came a voice from behind me.

I turned to see the park owner smiling brightly as usual as he came up to me. Oh, that's good to know, I said, and the wound did look like it was slowly healing as the Evoker sunk deeper into the corner, acting as if the light was too bright.

We chatted as he walked me to the train. I was not expecting such personal service from him, but he seemed genuinely interested in how my stay had been. I'm not sure now why I even mentioned it, but I told him about one of the rehearsals I'd seen, with some kind of vigilante character with glowing eyes. I said he seemed like a really interesting character and couldn't wait to come back to Scarland to see how that show would develop, as I had convinced myself that is what I had seen.

He laughed, but it was a laugh with a deeper note to it, one I couldn't read. You gotta be careful around Scarland at night, he said, with the voice of someone about to tell you a ghost story. You never know what's out there waiting to kill you.

And then he was back to his usual self, joking with me as he escorted me up to the platform and helped me back my bags onto the train. Other passengers were also boarding, and once he was done with me, he went to greet everyone else and see them off personally. It was definitely strange behaviour, but nothing I could really point to as weird. After all, how can I fault a man who takes such good care of his guests?

I remember gazing out the window as he waved us off, and I noticed something small on his lapel, something that looked just like the symbol on that man I'd seen. But a moment later, it had gone, and he was waving us off as the train pulled out, taking me back home again.

I never knew what to make of any of this. It all seems... perfectly ordinary, if a bit strange. All easily explanable and clearly nothing to worry about. But I'm not sure I'll ever go back. You see, I found that yellow feather tucked into a book I'd purchased, one that had been already packed into my bags and not easily accessible. It felt like a warning, one I am going to heed. Do not be out in Scarland at night. There's something dark underneath that bright facade, something that does not want you there.

[memeadonna]

Anything for You, Baby

Hello everyone! This is a short little thirst story I wrote for @sendhelpimstupid featuring Sugar Baby Kirishima. The stunning art can be found here. Please visit her page and show her some love! 

This story is 18+. Minors DNI 

Warnings: Sugar Baby/Sugar Mommy Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Cross-Dressing, Sub Kirishima, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mild Choking, Scratching and Biting Mentioned, Vaginal Intercourse, I wrote this in like 3 hours sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes

Word Count: 2,562

Of all the things you were thankful for in life, people were always surprised when you mentioned Kirishima's expensive taste. Your entire relationship had started because he hadn't noticed how much money he'd been spending until one day he was overdrawn. He hadn't added up the totals of his expenses in his head, hadn't realized every time he swiped his card that money left his account. He liked the finer things in life, and how was he supposed to know that his bank account was meant to last him all of his first semester? His parents had told him "figure it out", so he couldn't even ask them for help. 

Being at a hero school was tough already – he could barely even enjoy the city nightlife since he was stuck at the dorms between classes doing homework. He didn't even have enough time to get a job outside of school hours. Maybe he wasn't cut out for university, let alone at a prestigious hero school. 

You had noticed Kirishima's state of panic, and when he confessed to everyone in the dorm that he was out of money, people (Bakugou and his other friends) had made fun of him. Uraraka and Iida had stepped in immediately, chastising them for mocking him. He tried to play it off as no big deal, that he'd figure it out, and the conversation shifted elsewhere. 

You'd been born into a wealthy family like Iida and Momo, and on top of that you'd had your own job throughout high school, so you'd saved up lots of money already.  "I could hire you," you told him after everyone had left for the night. "Pay you to do things for me." 

"I don't need your charity," he'd snapped back. "Did Bakugou put you up to this?" 

"I just thought I'd offer to help you since we're friends," you answered calmly, before getting up and heading to your dorm. That night you'd sat up late regretting ever asking him if he needed help. 

Early the next morning he was at your door. "What kind of things?" was the first thing he asked, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked up at him blearily. You made him repeat himself twice because the words didn't stick in your brain this early. 

"Clean my room, do my laundry," you'd finally told him, offering what you hoped was a kind smile. "Other things when I want them." The blush he gave you at those words more than made up for his harshness last night. 

You'd started slowly, of course. You gave him rewards for handing in assignments on time, taken him out to dinner when he got good grades, and little treats for random things. "Do I always need a reason, baby?" you'd asked him one night as he examined the concert tickets, you'd just given him. You'd been delighted to accept the ticket he gave back to you and had secretly smiled to yourself as Denki had whined and complained that Kirishima had promised to take him! But that was back when Kirishima was spending his money on everything. Now he was just spending it on himself. 

One day, half-joking, you'd gifted him a French Maid outfit to clean your room in. It was just a little too tight for him (he couldn't even do the zipper up!), but it was the creamy white stockings and cute little heels you were interested in. He tried his hardest to clean your room, but after the third time he rolled his ankle, he ended up with you in his lap, and let's just say that your relationship changed from there. 

You'd pushed him back into your bed and felt him up beneath the skirts and ruffles. You left a smattering of dark hickies over his neck and collarbones, moving down his body with clear intent. He was beet red, sitting up and panting as he watched you with wide eyes. Your hands slipped below his skirts and trailed up his legs, and you watched him squirm. "Aw," you teased, revelling in your victory. "What's wrong, does the baby like getting dressed up all cute and ravaged?" 

He stammered with a reply for a moment, but you dipped under his skirt and the breathy gasp he let out as you began to kiss up his thighs was more than worth it. A part of you wanted to pull back out and apply lipstick so you could leave more evidence of your kisses, but there was no way in hell you were going to back down now. You settled for more hickies and a few bites, and by the time you reached your prize, he was hard and throbbing. 

You were the only person with a dorm on your floor (luck of the draw), so you didn't dare tell him he should quiet down his moaning, especially not as you slid the lacy panties reverently down his thighs. 

It was clearly his first time, and he was squirming in your grip as you gave him a teasing lick. A part of you wanted to pull back and tease him some more, but this was too good to pass up. He threw an arm over his eyes and slipped his other hand into your hair. He arched his back as you raked your nails down his thighs, and let out the sweetest noise you'd ever heard, blowing his load directly in your face before you could even get him into your mouth. After you'd finished laughing and wiped his spunk off of your face, you'd given him the sweetest kiss on the cheek. He'd gone beet red as you laughed, and hadn't said no when you promised him a shopping spree because he was just so good for you. 

The sales lady at the lingered store had been surprisingly accommodating when you'd asked her if they carried up to a 3X. 

He'd been your sugar baby for all of first year, even after he got his own allowance from his parents. He'd been your boyfriend the rest of your university career (of course, you still liked to treat your spoiled baby), and a few years out of school he'd asked you to marry him, with that same sweet expression he always had when he told you he loved you. 

The world saw Red Riot as a strong, manly hero that took shit from nobody. They also saw him as hopelessly in love with you (or with Dynamight, depending on which magazine you read). He was a real Man's Man, always on the covers of fitness magazines or advertising sports drinks and protein powders. He advocated for always being chivalrous and brave, but that Manly Men also took the time to be vulnerable and compassionate. 

One thing that hadn't changed since your days in university was the fact that your Eijirou loved to be spoiled. Shopping sprees, private chefs, weekends away… his eyes always lit up no matter what you surprised him with. You were both similarly ranked in the charts, and both made a lot of money, but he secretly adored the fact that you had a bank account you filled up every month just for him. He'd buy whatever he wanted with it, whether it was designer clothes or handbags (for either of you), or any number of things (he particularly liked buying new gym equipment that the two of you most certainly didn't need). 

Today had been a hard day. You'd been overusing your quirk and your muscles were sore, not to mention you'd been working with one Lord Explosion Murder God which meant that you'd been ordered around all day.

When you got home, a note from your husband was laying on the counter. Eijirou would be home a little late, and you could order whatever for dinner. Grumbling to yourself, you refused to take yet another order from yet another person and reheated leftovers in the fridge. Take that, loving husband! 

You ate standing at the counter in your uniform, and after you'd put the dishes away you marched up to your bedroom, already peeling your costume off. You left it on the bathroom floor as you hopped into the shower, and just let the hot water scald your aching muscles. You used Eijirou's body wash because you missed his smell, and changed into your pyjamas while you combed your hair. 

You crawled under the covers and scrolled on your phone for a while, wishing your husband would just hurry up and come home already. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms, hear him tell you all about how he would protect you from the bad things in the world. 

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs woke you from a restless sleep, and you sat up in bed. How long were you asleep? Was that your Eiji? 

The door opened, and what greeted you took your breath away. Your husband stood in the doorway with a sheer robe, trimmed with red faux fur. It was tied with a ribbon around his waist and accentuated his hips beautifully. He was wearing red lacy thigh highs and nothing else beneath the robe. He completed the look with a set of Louis Vuitton stilettos, which you noticed in passing due to the stunning everything else the Adonis before you was showing off. 

"Hey," he purred. "Heard you had a rough day." He smirked at you as your eyes trailed up and down his body. "Can I make it better?" he took a few steps into the room, undoing the ribbon around his waist teasingly slowly. He opened the robe, letting it fall off his shoulders and rest at his elbows. He had filled out a lot since university, and he was a healthy 7'6 and twice as wide as you. He could lift you with one arm and toss you like a football if he wanted, but as he dropped his robe to the floor and elegantly clicked his way across the room towards you, he had no intention of tossing you around tonight. That thought made sparks dance around your core, and you felt your panties starting to soak. 

You sat up on your knees for a better look at him. He ran his hands over his body, shamelessly showing off for you. His dick stood proud and tall and was already leaking for you. You smiled at him as you slipped into your role. "Did you buy that to look pretty for me?" you asked ever so sweetly. "Sounds like you want a reward." 

He walked right up to the side of the bed with a breathy "Yes,". You leaned up for a kiss and enjoyed the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he took his time with you. 

His hands gently explored your curves, squeezing the plush of your thighs and the soft skin beneath your breasts, and as you pulled back to lick your lips at him, "Anything for you, Baby," felt like the most natural thing to say. 

He crawled into bed, careful not to kick you with his knife-shoes, and placed his wrists at the headboard. You attached the restraints with all the care in the world, and ran your hands over your baby's chest, admiring all of the scars that years of hero work had marked him with. "You're beautiful," you told him, leaning down for another kiss. 

You painted his chest with kisses and hickies, not caring if they'd be visible the next day. Let people stare. Let people know who your man belonged to. 

"I love these too," you ran your hand over his new stockings. "You know lace is my favourite." 

"Always the best for mommy," he purred back, pleased with himself as you explored his body. It had become familiar to you; you knew everywhere he was sensitive. You knew how to get him going, how to slow him down, and how to drive him wild. You shrugged off your own pyjamas and he let out a noise of approval, eyes taking in your curves. "You're stunning." He offered, looking absolutely awestruck. If his hands were free, they'd be all over you, but now was not his turn for control. 

You slid off your panties and tossed them off the bed, eyeing his body up with increasing lust, before suddenly straddling him and sinking down onto him with a small noise of discomfort. He let out a sharp noise of concern and pleasure, gasping. "You've gotta prep yourself!" He hissed, half-drunk on the tight squeeze. 

"Shut up," you answered, and picked up a brutal pace. He let out a strangled noise and arched up into your touch, gasping and whining and looking up at you with eyes clouded by lust as he gave harsh thrusts up into your welcoming body. His hands hardened and unhardened within their restraints, along with a line along his forehead. You wrapped your hands around his throat, and he tilted his head back to bare it to you. His moans crescendoed as you began to put pressure on him, canting your hips faster and faster. 

He was drunk off the lust singing in his veins and bent one of his knees to give you better leverage. You freed one of his hands from its restraint and it immediately flew to your hip to help you ride. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and his breath came in desperate gasps. "Gonna cum!" he whined, blinking desperately up at you. "Please mommy! Please let me fucking cum I want to cum so bad!" he babbled, blinking his pretty crimson eyes up at you. 

You gently caressed his face and smiled down at him. You leaned in closer, giving him a deep kiss. "So do it," you growled. "Knock me up." 

His hips faltered and the absolute roar he let out at your challenge sent a pleased shiver through you. He ripped the other restraint right off of the bedframe (along with a chunk of the frame itself) and flipped you onto your back, all without pulling out of you. He kissed you ravenously, his hands squeezing every inch of you. He grabbed one of your tits in one hand as he reached his other down to play with your clit. He threw you over the edge, and as you came around him, his thrusts changed. They were sharp and purposeful as he poured everything he had into your body. 

"Mine," he growled out, sinking his fangs into the tender meat of your shoulder. He didn't dare move as the two of you came down from your highs but rolled the two of you back over so he didn't crush you. You laughed a little and cuddled into his chest, enjoying the warmth of a womb full of his cum and the delicious stretch of him inside of you, not to mention the feeling of utter safety that having his arms around you brought. "I love you." He purred, giving your forehead a kiss.  

"I love you too," you answered back, smiling up at him with tenderness. 

"Did you really mean it?" he traced his hands over your back, massaging your tender shoulders. "You want to start a family?" 

"Mhm," you nodded tiredly, before looking back up at him once again, echoing your earlier promise: "Anything for you, Baby." 

Taglist: @malicealieness (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask requesting it)

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 4: Game On

Written by: The Maribat Pit  @jasonette-july-event  Prompt: Game On Rated: T (for sexual references, mostly references to things that happened in the comics.  You have been warned.) “I can’t just go spilling my protégé’s secrets. I can barely send her out into the mean streets on her own.” she said with a coy show of innocence that she wasn’t even trying to make believable.

 “I’m not asking for her identity, all that concerns me is why you decided to take her in.” Batman explained.

 “She was in trouble, I was in the neighbourhood and I gave her a helping hand,” she explained. “That special claw of hers comes in handy, and besides we all know how you feel about magic users Bruce.” She wasn’t wrong about that.  Batman could never trust Constantine further than he could throw him. He could only bring himself to turn to Zatanna when he really needed her help.  Shazam was an exception, seeing as the limits of his magic were clear and simple enough to understand.  That didn’t make him any less formidable, but it didn’t make him quite as unpredictable.  He was, at the end of the day, a detective who was trained to think rationally and logically in order to get to the bottom of a situation.  Magic was the ultimate wild card, and the sooner he figured out this girl’s abilities, the better.  “You’ll be pleased to know she’s not a completely hopeless case, she’s been helpful but she doesn’t get quite the same thrill out of thievery.” Catwoman remarked, “but it’s been lovely having her around, and I’m not about to just hand her over to you”.

 “Then what would you have me do?” he asked, “I’m concerned your rivals might be a little less forgiving.”

 “Is that so? You don’t think she’s strong enough to save herself?”  Catwoman smiled, it was nice to know that he cared, just a little. “Besides, she’s already had years of experience under her belt, maybe you’re just jealous you didn’t find her first.” She taunted playfully. Goodness knows he was in no position to talk when it came to taking people under his wing.  “Tell you what, how about we have a friendly little wager?” Bruce saw her eyes light up at the thought, but he was undeniably curious about what she had in mind.

 “What do you propose?” he asked.

 “A fun little game, your boys against my little foundling. If any of them can take her down, then you can welcome her into your family with open arms” she explained.

 “How do I know she won’t just kill them?” Batman asked, it wouldn’t be the first time Bruce had to try and steer someone away from any homicidal tendencies.

 “She’s a lot of things, but let’s just say killing wasn’t really an option for her back in the day.” she explained, “She’ll fall in line with your ‘no killing’ rule quite nicely. Think about it, your sons versus my little girl.”  Her claws skated across Batman’s shoulders as he pondered this.

 “Anything else?” Batman asked, he had to know exactly what they were walking into.

 “Your boys can bring a second to their little duels, but only one.  No need to have the Titans ganging up on her.” she explained.  She left out the part about her protégé having other tricks up her sleeve.  With the power she had, they would be lucky to get a single scratch on her.

 “So be it then.” Bruce said, it would be an opportunity to see how this girl measured up against the boys he had trained. At that moment Catwoman decided it was game on.

 Marinette had just come home from her classes at Gotham University, and she was looking forward to a quiet night working on some designs that were due a few weeks.   A text message from Catwoman brought her plans to a grinding halt:

 “Mari dear, made a little wager with Batman.  You beat his four sons in a fight, and you get to stay with me.  If you lose however, he gets to take you under his wing (in every sense of the word).  They’ll be on the lookout for Lady Noire in the next few days, but I never said anything about only using her to win.”

 Marinette was really starting to regret being saved by Catwoman. That night, she was outnumbered by some muggers who thought she would be an easy target.  She was trying to find an opening, to make a break for it, maybe find somewhere to hide and transform if she really must.  Suddenly she heard a voice grab their attention, “I’ve always loved big strong men who aren’t afraid to show it with someone half their size.” she purred.  While they were distracted, Marinette decided to call on Plagg for some help.   She always loved how the Lady Noire suit made her movements feel lighter, plus the night vision and Cataclysm were useful too. Unfortunately for her, it meant that Catwoman saw her in action and decided to take an interest in her from that day forth.  Sure, she was a cunning thief and there was little that Marinette could do to stop her. At the same time, Marinette was a young woman in a city that was the polar opposite of what she knew in Paris. She couldn’t deny that there was something comforting about having someone in this city looking out for her. Especially since her parents were in Paris, and Master Fu was no longer around to help her.  She took the Miraculous with her to Gotham City, but none of the other wielders came with her.  She was still their guardian after all, but she had to be more careful about using them.  She wasn’t about to single handedly take on superpowered crime lords with their armies of henchmen. She had to be a lot more careful with her powers since other people could get hurt.  Besides, they already had a small group of vigilantes keeping the city safe, they didn’t need her.

 Marinette reread the text message over and over again.  she was about to see what these vigilantes were made of, though it was just as accurate to say it was the other way around.  She opened the box, carefully choosing which ones she could use in a fight.  She usually used Lady Noire when she was with Catwoman, but by the sound of it she was counting on her to use all of her tricks to win.

 Damian never fully understood his father’s attachment to Catwoman, but this was a challenge he could not refuse.  They were told to keep an eye out for this “Lady Noire” character while they were out on patrol.  Oracle had agreed to referee this ordeal, Damian was absolutely certain he was going to be the one to bring her in.  They were allowed to bring a second, but Damian didn’t think it would be necessary. From what they were told she was a smaller Catwoman, though they were told to exercise caution because of her destructive abilities.  The last person Damian had expected to find was a girl in a red and black body suit, who looked nothing like the girl with long hair and green eyes that Batman had described.  Still, there was something odd about the girl and Damian moved in closer to investigate.

 Catwoman had given Marinette a vague rundown of who her opponents were.  There was Nightwing, the eldest of the four boys and a trained acrobat. The second eldest was the infamous Red Hood, Marinette had heard rumours about him and she had no way of knowing if the Kwamis could guard her against someone who uses firearms.  The third was Red Robin, Catwoman advised using clever strategy if she was going to get the upper hand on this one.  Finally, there was the current Robin, the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul, the youngest of the boys who was trained by assassins before Batman took him in.

 She took the Ladybug earrings with her, seeing as they were more versatile for the occasion.  In addition to the earrings, she wore the Longg’s choker around her neck.  Master Fu had often cautioned against using fusions, considering how draining they were on her body.  Her new mentor advised her to use every tool she could in her arsenal, because they certainly would.  On most nights she noticed a small, hooded figure passing through her neighbourhood from time to time. She decided to see which of these boys would be her first opponent.  

 While she was standing on that rooftop, she heard a few footsteps behind her.  It was raining but through the mist and the rain she could see a small, shadowy figure watching her closely.  It made sense, she was dressed in bright colours and standing on a rooftop in the pouring rain.  She practically had a sign on her head that said “come and get me”, which in some way was part of her plan.  The question was, whether or not her first opponent would take the bait.  “I know you’re there little one, so are you going to stay there or come over and say hello?” she asked, Marinette tried to sound cheerful but she ended up sounding silly instead.  She tried to hide the burning embarrassment she felt at how silly that sounded. The boy could probably sense it too, because she turned around and saw him narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

 He leapt from his perch and landed behind her with a thud and splatter of rain water.  He was no taller than Marinette and he wore a red and green outfit, with a black hooded cape and a green domino mask. The red and green outfit had a golden yellow “R” on his chest, and she also noticed a sword that was sheathed at his side.  Marinette had to suspect this boy was the youngest out of the boys, Robin.   The two of them stood in silence for a long moment, she figured that someone who was formerly trained by assassins would be a little more hostile.  Then again, he was probably expecting someone else entirely.  “Aren’t you a little young to be out patrolling by yourself, little one?” she asked, trying to make some kind of conversation with the boy. She wasn’t in any position to say anything about this, considering she had been protecting Paris since she was 13.

 “What’s it to you?” He scoffed, “we’re looking for someone named Lady Noire, and you clearly wanted to attract someone’s attention by standing on a rooftop in that costume”.

 “Robin, can you not be a brat for like, five minutes?” Red Robin groaned into his comm, but Damian didn’t listen.

 “You can either state your business or stop wasting my time” he snapped, as Marinette chuckled.

 “So, you’re planning on challenging Lady Noire.  Tell me, what do you really know about her?” she asked him.

 “Only that father and that woman have taken an interest in her, and I intend to prove to both of them that she is nothing special.” he growled, “so unless you know something about her, stay out of my way”.

 “You seem certain, for someone who has never once faced her” she said with a smile.

 “I was trained by the best, I will not lose to someone who is little more than a foundling.” he was reaching for his sword at that moment.  Red Robin and Nightwing rolled their eyes at that comment as they listened in. They knew they had all bested their youngest brother at some point or other, despite being “foundlings”.

 “It would have been easy too just to hide from you and your brothers, but I’m going to enjoy taking you down a peg.” She braced herself for her first fight of the challenge.   She really could have, but sadly she had very little patience for people who thought they were better than everyone else.

 “I won’t lose to you Lady Noire, or whoever you are”, he growled as he drew his sword and pointed it at her.

 “Tikki, Longg, unify!” she called out, and a flash of red and gold light stunned Robin for a moment. The red and black bodysuit now had gold accents and a symbol on her chest.  The symbol was a lighting bolt, a wave and a gust of wind all swirling together.

 “What did you do?!” Red Robin yelled into his comm, “I swear if she kills us all just because you couldn’t control yourself…”

 Robin looked up to see that she had a yo-yo in one hand and the other reached behind her to draw a sword.  

 “And by the way, it’s Dragon Bug to you”, she swung her yo-yo with one hand and Robin ducked to dodge it. After dodging it, he charged at Dragon Bug, katana in hand.  She blocked his attack with her sword before kicking him back with her foot.  Dragon Bug pulled back her yo-yo and charged at him with her sword, when he blocked her, he spun around and kicked her legs out from under her.  As Dragon Bug fell to the floor, she raised her sword and yelled “Water Dragon!”.  There was more than enough to create a barrier that pushed Robin back before he could strike again.  Robin was knocked back against the wall, and she took out her yo-yo to make an escape to the streets below.

 This Lady Noire, Dragon Bug, whoever she was, had insulted his honor.  To him, that just simply would not stand. His father said that he wanted her alive, but he could barely get a scratch on her.  He got up quickly and used his grappling hook to swing after her. She was waiting for him, with her hair blowing in the wind, and a smile that Damian wanted to wipe off her face. He charged at her once more, this time sliding on the floor at the last moment and hoping to take a swipe at her leg. Once again, she managed to turn and block his katana. The pair of them traded blow after blow after blow, but he could only land a few scratches on her.  Marinette could use Lightning Dragon and shock the boy, to bring this to a swift end.  However, with all the water that was around them, she might end up killing the boy instead. Before she could try anything else with that sword, he blocked it and sent it flying off to the side. Marinette watched as her sword flew out of her hands before clattering on the ground next to them.

 Marinette had to admit that this kid was good and that the fusion was starting to drain her a little. She had to act fast as she dodged another incoming strike. She leapt backwards to dodge it but the boy took out a grappling hook, he gave it a few good spins before flinging it forward and catching her foot.  He pulled the wire taut and sent her crashing to the ground, hard.  “You may have your tricks, Dragon Bug, but I have skill, I have training, and now I have defeated you.” he called out as he tugged at the wire, pulling her towards him.

 “That may be true, but there’s something you should know…” she groaned as she propped herself up on her elbows, he stopped for a moment as he waited for her to tell him exactly what that was. Marinette reached for her yo-yo, she needed to finish this and safe her strength, “…you’re not the only one who’s had training.” she told him. Dragon Bug quickly spun her yo-yo and swung it at Robin, this time wrapping the wire around him and pulling the string tight.  He tried to free himself using his katana, while Dragon Bug unwrapped the wire around her foot.  As she stood up she said, “another one of my ‘magic tricks’” as she ran to retrieve her own sword.  She sheathed the sword and looked back to find a hog-tied Robin, desperately trying to cut the cord and free himself.  She wanted to enjoy this moment for just a little longer, there was always something so satisfying in moments like these.  She took a moment to send a quick message to Catwoman:

 “Dragon Bug: 1, Robin: 0” before sending her a selfie, with Robin tied up in the background.

 She glanced back at Robin who was now just scowling at her.  “You fought valiantly little one, but sadly you are not my only opponent” she told him as she unwound the string around him. When she had her yo-yo back, she flung it towards a street lamp and swung forward, lifting her up off the ground. There was one thing Damian was certain of, there was no way his brothers were going to let him live this down. With a good tug of her yo-yo, freed Damian, spinning him around in the process.

 Meanwhile, Jason and Roy were on a road trip back to Gotham, the two of them had just taken care of a Drug Lord in Starling City.  Jason’s phone buzzed with some news from Dick, something about how they had all been embroiled in a bet to take down Selina’s new protégé.  If any of them win, she has to join the Bat family, and if they all lose then she keeps working with Selina.  He could not bring himself to care, it was 50/50 on whether or not this girl was tolerable or if she was going to annoy him like the rest. Roy glanced over at him before turning his attention back to the road, “you look like you’re desperately searching for a fuck to give” he commented.

 “Just some dumb bet Bruce made,” Jason shut off his phone before reclining back in his chair.

 “That’s not like Bruce, usually making dumb bets was something you guys did” Roy wracked his brain trying to imagine the stoic and serious Batman making a dumb bet.

 “Something about Catwoman and her little sidekick.” he drawled, “If Dick, Me, Replacement or Demon Spawn take her down, she becomes Batman’s little sidekick.  Like he doesn’t have enough of those running around”.

 “Ah, I’m guessing you don’t want to fight her when we make it back to Gotham City?” Roy asked, “wouldn’t it be hilarious if you taught her how to win against your brothers?”

 Jason gave a half-hearted chuckle, moments later his phone buzzed with more messages.  He was really looking forward to this little power nap, but he checked to make sure no one desperately needed his help.

 He sees the picture that she took with Damian tied up in the background.  Babs, Steph and Cass had watched the whole thing, with popcorn. While Tim had made that photo the new wallpaper on the Belfry’s computer.

 “Well, says here she literally wiped the floor with Demon Spawn, before swinging away on a yo-yo.” he said and they both laughed “now I’m just mad I won’t get to buy the girl a few drinks”.

 “I mean either way, I’m sure you’ll get your chance if you’re both in Gotham City.  I’m just sad that I’ll have to be your third wheel.” Roy said wistfully.

 “Roy, I had to listen to you and Kory in the next room,” Jason recalled, “you have no room to complain about third wheeling.”

 “Awh was little Jaybird jealous?” Roy joked.

 “Hey you’re the one who assumed that we banged in the first place,” he said “all I said was I was with her, and you decided to interpret that however you wanted”.

 “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because she ran off to Miami to work through some things, and we’re just over here thinking about the good old days,” Roy said.  The two of them continued to drive in silence and Jason leaned back, trying to get some sleep before facing whatever chaos was waiting to greet them in Gotham City.

  Tim has researched all he could on this mysterious Lady Noire, yet there are several reported sightings of different vigilantes all with the same height and build. Lady Noire, Ladybug, Dragon bug. Tim compiled all known sightings onto his corkboard to get a clear picture of who this person is.

The fight between Dragon Bug and Damian provided him with crucial information on how he could counter Dragon Bug. Tim then donned his Red Robin costume and began patrol of Gotham City. Gliding across he spotted an usual sight, a costumed person standing on a rooftop. It had to be the one Batman told him about, the person he was to fight because of the bet.

Tim landed on a nearby rooftop to reconfirm the target. "Same height and build, but this costume is different." Tim sighed, he had noticed that each costume had its own power and abilities, and made detailed notes on each. Codename: Polka-dot had the power to summon an unknown household object. Codename: Catwoman II used an indestructible staff and the power of disintegration, Codename: Drake used a sword and came with the power of hydrokinesis.

However, he had no intel regarding this new costume. He decided to press his luck and use stealth to take her down. He leaped off the roof and began gliding towards her with a kick.

To his surprise, his target shrank at the last second, he glided through and smashed into a skylight, landing inside an abandoned building.

Multimouse followed suit and jumped in through the broken skylight. Landing right at the centre of the room, she simply stood there arms akimbo looking at him. Red Robin threw a smoke bomb, grappling to the rafters. Multimouse did not pursue, no sense of panic she simply walked to a wooden crate and sat on it.

Red Robin, took the opportunity to launch himself off and glided towards Multimouse with a kick. He was shocked to see her suddenly turn around as if she knew he was there the entire time, with perfect timing she grabbed and judo flipped Red Robin through the wooden crate. Wiping her hands in a dramatic manner, Multimouse walked to the centre of the room and crossed her arms. Red Robin crushed a smoke bomb with his hand, obscuring the area and diving towards an underground vent.

He began to wonder how she was able to counter him so effectively. "The power of foresight? 360 degrees x-ray vision? No it can't be." Red Robin thought to himself. While crawling in the vents to a position behind Multimouse, he berated himself for pressing his luck without any information on Multimouse. He peeked his head out of the vent, Multimouse had not moved, she continued to stare at Red Robin's previous location. Taking another chance, Red Robin jumped out of the underground vent ready for a takedown.

Again as if she was a clairvoyant she countered him perfectly, spinning on the spot and delivering a crushing kick to Red Robin’s midsection. Sending him flying across the room, he took out his staff and slowly got up, using the staff as if it was a cane. He stood on shaky legs, in disbelief.

He then begins to notice something unusual hanging on the hem of his cape. His eyes widen as he takes a closer look. A miniature clone of Multimouse was hanging on, his eyes snapped up to the rafters and then the vents. There were several miniature clones all over the building, all about the size of a small insect.

Red Robin's jaw dropped as he had this epiphany. Seeing her cue, Multimouse shrank down and spawned a horde of miniature clones. Millions of clones rush towards Red Robin, he begins swinging his staff, stomping on any clones on the ground, flailing his arms like a madman. The horde bellows a collective “Surrender,” Red Robins defiantly continues to fight.

Soon the swarm begins to cover Red Robin all the way up to his neck, his body unable to move. The Multimouse arms pulls off the cowl and begins pulling all of Red Robin’s hair. Red Robin, facing the agony of Multimouse waxing his head. “Ok, ok I give up.” he cried. As he finished his plea, the swarm dissipated and reforms to the singular human sized Multimouse. Red Robin is then left kneeling and staring at the strands of his own hair left on the floor.

Multimouse, seizing the opportunity to obtain a trophy of her efforts, takes a selfie with a poor, disheveled Red Robin in the background.

  Marinette was really starting to feel the effects of using different Miraculous for two nights straight. Dragon Bug was draining enough, but she had to use Multimouse to take on Red Robin.  That left Nightwing and The Red Hood, and she was starting to wonder what was the point of this game.  She felt like she was just fighting to win, fighting so that the person who took care of her when she first arrived in Gotham could prove a point.  If she won, then she would stay under Catwoman’s protection, and the Miraculous would be protected with her.  Though she was lucky that the Miraculous themselves didn’t look valuable enough to pique her interest.  If she lost to one of them, she would be under Batman’s protection instead.  She would become a part of the group of vigilantes who operate in the city, and she didn’t know how she felt about that either. How would she feel about seemingly being the only magic user among them?  How would he feel about her being a magic user?  She hadn’t even met the guy, all she knew was that he took an interest in her dealings with Catwoman.  Maybe she would encounter the Red Hood and he would make the choice for her by putting her out of her misery.  She decided to settle this fight once and for all as Ladybug, maybe then someone would give her some answers.  

 She got a text message from Catwoman, telling her to meet her on a rooftop that had gargoyles glaring down at the streets below.  Maybe she had information on where her next fight would be, she didn’t say.  By the time she got there, she saw two people eating fast food next to the gargoyles.  The first was a redhead in red armor, and the second was…

 “Get your own brooding spot, this one’s taken!” He yelled. Marinette looked up to see the other guy had a red domino mask, and in addition to being dressed in Kevlar and leather, had a red bat symbol on his chest.

 Marinette spun her yo-yo, getting ready for a fight. The redhead continued eating, while his dark-haired companion gave her a swift once over.

 “So, you’re the girl who took down Robin and Red Robin?” he asked, as if struggling to believe it.  

 “And you are?” she asked, when he put on the red helmet that was in his hand, it suddenly became clear.

 “So, looking for me?” he asked, “Or are you on your way to fight the original boy wonder?”

 “Honestly, I’ll take my chances with you.” Marinette said as she launched her yo-yo at his companion and wrapped the cord around him.

 “Wait, wait, wait why me?” the redhead cried,  then she threw him and sent him crashing into the Red Hood.  The pair of them slammed into a nearby wall before she released the redhead.  She unwound the cord and was getting ready to strike again.

 Underneath the sprawled out pile of bodies, Red Hood grunted “Arsenal, get your ass off of my face or else…” Arsenal got up before he could finish his threat and they both stood up.

 “So who checked ‘Fights with Toys’ off their bingo card?” Arsenal joked.

 “Is that the best you can do?” Red Hood taunted. He came at her with a knife in hand, when she leapt in the air and wrapped her yo-yo cord around his arm.  She launched herself at him, landing an aerial kick on his helmet. Red Hood grabbed her by the foot and flipped her over, sending her crashing to the ground.

“If you came here to fight me that’s one thing, not many people get to say they took on someone with a yo-yo and lived, unless you’re Toyman.” he said, as he lifted her up off the ground.  “If you think this is what it takes to face Nightwing, then you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

 Ladybug took a few steps back after he helped her get to her feet, “so are you going to fight me instead?”

 “Pixie, take it from me, it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.  As fun as it’s been watching you kick my brother’s asses, they are nothing compared to Nightwing.” he explained as he took off his helmet and set it down next to him.

 “What do you know about Nightwing?” she asked, still understandably guarded about the situation.

 “Oh what don’t I know, he’s basically Batman’s heir.” he told her “I’m just one of the spares, and that’s on a good day when I managed to not die.”

 Dick had made it clear days ago that he wasn’t going to fight her, he already put his foot down at how silly this whole thing was.  Jason, however, decided to have a little fun. “Honestly, you might as well just walk right into the batcave and challenge Batman yourself.” he told her, “I mean you won’t die, that’s kinda his whole deal, but you’ll be eating through a straw for the rest of your life.”

Jason, enjoying the anxiety bubble in the young woman, and he decided to crank it up to eleven.

“Nightwing is equal if not better than Batman in every way, he once took up the mantle of Batman when he was injured. Not only that, he broke Bane’s back.  He lifted a 7ft tall 500lb big guy, snapped his spine over his knee as if it was nothing.”  Jason moves his arms, mimicking the motion of breaking something over his knee. Ladybug began to sweat even more, struggling to imagine the powerhouse of a man to even accomplish such a feat.

Jason’s grin widens, “not only that, he fought a giant mutated bat the size of a man. He wrestled Man-Bat, putting him in a full nelson and smashing its face into solid concrete” Ladybug cringes at the thought of feeling the full force of having your face slammed into concrete. Jason gets ready for the coup de grace. “In fact, when he was 10 years old, he watched his parents get murdered by mobster Tony Zucco in front of his own eyes. After being taken under Batman’s wing, he went out for revenge. He chased after Tony for hours and cornered him in Crime Alley.

Tony died that night when Nightwent went after him, the official cause was a heart attack.”

Jason stops talking to look around him, as if he was paranoid and there were eyes all around him. He walks up to Ladybug and whispers to her ear “but between you and me, it wasn’t.”

 He turns to Roy, “but if she’s gonna try and take him on after all that, then we might as well pull up some chairs and watch.” he said, giving Roy a knowing look.

 “Oh yeah, I mean he’s no match for a cute girl and her yo-yo.” Roy joked.

 “Come on, he’s probably waiting on top of the Iceberg Lounge, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting” he declared, Ladybug followed as the three of them made their way to the Iceberg Lounge. She felt her legs shaking, but it’s fine, she would at least live to tell the tale...right?

Nightwing stood on the roof of the Iceberg Lounge, carefully watching the whereabouts of the people going in and out of the area.  He heard footsteps and looked up to see three figures landing on the rooftop in front of him. He looked up to see Red Hood, Arsenal and a short girl who looked to be in her late teens, maybe early 20s.  He looked between them, then back at the girl who was spinning a red yo-yo with black polka dots.

Nightwing waved to them, figuring she would be the short girl mentioned in the bet between Batman and Catwoman. As he noticed the three, the short girl visibly frightened as he walked towards them.

 Nightwing sighed “what did you tell her?” he asked, he had better things to than get involved in Batman’s dumb little bet.  The outcome would have been someone joining the Bat family by force, even he had put his foot down by that point.  

 “I mean, nothing that wasn’t true.” Red Hood told him, “she might as well know who she’s dealing with.”

 “Right, and you probably told her you are just a soft teddy bear compared to me.” Nightwing remarked sarcastically, “was it to keep her from beating the stuffing out of you?”. At that point Ladybug was visibly confused, so Nightwing looked over at her “so how did you get dragged into this? Got sick of having to share a litter box?”

 Ladybug eyes Nightwing cautiously, thinking his joking mannerisms are an elaborate ruse to lower her guard. “What, don’t tell my Catwoman’s got your tongue?” Nightwing jokes with a large grin. Ladybug begins to slowly walk back, confused at how expectations did not match reality.

Nightwing points his thumb at Ladybug and talks to Red Hood, “Alright what did you tell her about me?” Red Hood raises his arms innocently “Like I said, nothing that wasn’t true.”

Nightwing raises his eyebrow at Red Hood and crosses his arms. “Alright I told her how you took down Bane and Man-Bat by yourself” Red Hood admits. “And?” Nightwing begins tapping his foot. “I may have, insinuated that you may or may not have had something to do with Tony Zucco's heart attack”

Nightwing facepalms, “well so much for first impressions, let's start over shall we?”

 Nightwing reaches his hand out to Ladybug, “Name’s Richard but everyone calls me Dick”

Marinette tentatively reaches out to shake his hand, “I know you aren’t enthusiastic about this bet, neither am I. I don’t want to knock your spots off, so how about I lie on the ground, you take a picture for Catwoman and you fly off into the sunset”

 “Where would I go?” she asked,

 “She could come with us.” Red Hood suggested, “nothing would annoy Batman more.”

 “Right, and next she’ll start asking me if I actually hypnotize people with my ass.” Nightwing said as he raised an eyebrow at him.  “Think Catwoman would let you take her?”

 “We already asked, someone has to look after this pipsqueak while she’s doing what she does best, alone”, Red Hood explained.

 Ladybug felt herself calming down a lot more at that moment.  She came to this city not really knowing anyone, feeling like there was no one else looking out for her.  Now, for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was going to be in good hands.

 Bonus 1:

Roy: So, should we call ourselves “Red Arse Bug” or “Lady Red Arse”?

Jason: Do you want me to throw you off this roof?

 Bonus 2:

Ladybug: So you all had to wear red, yellow and green?

Red Hood: Yup.

Ladybug: What was it like?

Red Hood: I did my time in the pixie boots, Pixie.  Doesn’t mean I like to talk about it.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

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

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room,  but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.  

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

[echo-of-sounds]

shy pt.4

-Fatgum x f!reader-

smut drabble with a shy/inexperienced reader that got longer than I expected and my god, I want this man so badly

You should have gone with the pink lace. A simple, wireless bra wasn’t the sexiest thing in the world, even if it had matching panties and little lace decorations. It also gave your breasts a more natural look. Hopefully, Taishiro would like the burgundy color. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to venture into the lingerie aisle. There were prettier colors and designs, but it was packed with people- people who could actually pull off dainty chemises and sexy bustiers. And the panties weren’t anything special.

But now that you stared in the mirror long enough, the underwear wasn’t even cute. You should just take it off. He wouldn’t like it and he’d be home any minute. You told him you’d stop by his place to drop off some leftovers. You should stick to that instead. 

Tai said your name. You whipped around, holding your chest. “Oh, you’re changing. Sorry.”

“Wait.” You gripped his sleeve to stop him from leaving. A blush showed when he turned. It flooded heat under your skin. Flutters tickled your stomach, shaking your hand and wavering your voice, “This was- is- I was thinking I- I wanted to… Do you like it?” You lowered your other arm, so he could see the set fully.

“I like the color. It’s like velvet. Can I?” He held up his hand to feel it. At your nod, the back of his finger traced the side of the cup, close to your nipple, which was easy to see under the thin material. “It’s really soft… and pretty.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he smiled wide. 

“You don’t- It’s not too… plain?”

“It’s beautiful. You look beautiful.”

Still holding his sleeve, you stood on your tippy-toes, inviting a kiss. His tongue lightly sipped your lips while his hands flowed up and down your sides. You squished to his stomach, sensing exactly how ready you were. “I think…” Correcting yourself, you sighed into him, “I am ready.”

He pulled away. Eyes lit up. The blush grew. “Let me take a shower, then I’ll give you all my attention, okay?”

You nodded, matching his smile, “Yeah.”

“Give me five minutes.” He pecked your forehead before hurrying to the bathroom. 

You waited on the bed, rubbing, crossing, and uncrossing your legs. The water turning off sent excitement down your spine. Rummaging through drawers jittered your thighs. The door opening made you jump up. 

Tai returned to the bedroom, a baby pink towel wrapped his waist. It did nothing to shroud his arousal. The cloth plumped around him. Dark blond hair peeked out from the top, ebbing into a barely noticeable light yellow shade. Purple stretch marks curved upwards past his belly button. 

The rousing sight made you realize you’ve never seen him naked. Or even without his shirt. “You are- You’re, um… you- you’re very handsome,” you whispered, looking at the wall painting.

He approached and kissed the top of your head, thanking you. Something was placed in your hand then you were lifted onto the bed. Large, rough hands glided up your waist. Lips lined the side of your face, pressing smiling kisses all over. “You gonna keep staring at the wall?”

“No.” You glanced down. A condom and lube were in your hand.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

Fingers gently tilted your chin for a proper kiss. Pink brightened his cheeks, reaching his ears. “Me too but I’m also excited.”

“Me too.” You reconnected it, feeling the items taken from you and tossed to the bed. Your hands blindly surveyed his body. His stomach moved in steady breaths. Soft marks waved under your fingertips. Scars cushioned your palm. All of him felt excellent. 

Fingers returned to your bra, fondling, pinching and squeezing and testing. A heavy moan left your mouth, directly into his. You hugged his neck and pressed snug to him. His tongue slunk over yours. Another moan came at the laden thickness. Your hips responded, humping piteously. Saliva shed. Sounds shared. Sparks shuddered.

The touch of his cold fingers slipping into your panties made you gasp. They gently slicked along you, venturing a roll or two on your clit. “You got this wet waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you whined among the many kisses. One finger eased in, searching. You grabbed his arm, quite breathless after the make out.

“I need to stretch you first, baby. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Where should I?”

“Hold on one sec.” His fingers left you. He licked them plenty, humming and smirking. They moved to your back and unhooked the bra. Straps slowly graced down your arms. He complimented your breasts, leaning in to suck a nipple.

It was nice but you just wanted him. “Tai, please…”

“Alright. Lay down. Just like when I ate you out.”

You did, legs spread plenty. He kneeled. Fingers followed the lace trimming, plucking and snapping it a few times. “This is so sexy.” They trailed the leg openings next, tickling your thighs, smoothing and pressing over you.

You reached for his fingers. He grinned, “You’re that excited?”

“Yes.”

He kissed your tummy and slid the underwear off. They landed beside your head. “Make sure you save those for another time. I want to play with them more later.”

Embarrassment fluttered up but your wants and needs overpowered it, letting you watch him take the first lick. Golden eyes stared back as he tongued deep. “You taste so good,” he groaned, letting his lips and tongue rumble against you. 

“Fingers… put your fingers in me.”

“You’ve gotten more vocal. I love it,” he praised and granted you what you wanted. One finger eased in, grooming. Another followed, skimming your front wall, curling for a reaction. 

You moaned and held his wrist, “A little more.” They extended and folded. A third finger was added. It was more than the last time. And the single addition made a huge difference. You whined, snagging the sheets. 

His hand ran over your stomach to relax you. “You’re doing great. I’m almost done, baby girl.” 

The fingers pressed up over and over. Wetness wallowed. Heat sucked your clit. The pressure spilled over. You clenched his hand, moaning, applauding, tensing your back, twisting your hips before all your muscles slumped.

“Damn, you really are excited,” he teased the swift orgasm.

“Stop,” you giggled. “But keep going.”

Copying your amusement, Tai dropped the towel, revealing his entire body. Dark blond hair clustered above his base. A couple of light stretch marks lined the outside of his thighs.

Your gawking was blocked when he worked the condom on and covered himself in lube. It glossed his palm and dripped to the bed. He stroked his fingers along you a few more times, pampering the lube deep, making sure you were wet enough. It sprouted a new itch. You sighed at his gaze and heed. You asked for something bigger, grander, powerful.

Deeming you prepared, he lined himself, poking you ever so slightly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me if it’s uncomfortable at any point.”

You nodded and braced your hands against his stomach, feeling the invisible hairs. His head nudged in. It was his thickest part and it certainly felt like it. The stretch was fairly unpleasant. Nails pricked his skin.

His hand returned to your tummy, rubbing his thumb. “I’m almost in, baby girl. Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just-” You gasped as his head popped in. “It’s just a little big.”

“You’re doing perfect.” He leaned down, kissing you. Groans and moans exchanged the farther he filled. Tongues and lips mindlessly explored. You scratched his sides at the overindulgence. Moans softened to whimpers.

“Are you okay?” he whispered between your fevered bodies. You confirmed with another long kiss, running your hands all over him. He was hot and thick and so, so heavy. You wriggled under him to get him to thrust. 

Saliva hung, connecting you when he straightened. It broke and dribbled to your breasts. Thumb moving to tenderly circle your clit, he commended, “You feel so warm, so tight.”

Fluster and flurry cut off your response. You could only pant and paw and hang on while he waited for your word. It eventually huffed out, “Keep… Start… please.”

“Of course.” He kissed your wrist and set it back on his stomach. He held your thighs as he slowly pulled out. The weight abandoned you, leaving you cold. But then he gently pushed in, bearing heat. He calmly repeated the action, sleeking in and out, gradually building his pace.

You moaned his name. It spurred a hard thrust. “Again.”

The clutch on your thighs tightened. The force tried to bump you up the bed, but his hold kept you to him.

“More.”

He came down for a kiss, talking messily with the saliva and breathlessness, “I really love hearing your voice. You’re such a good girl.”

Lust filled your next moan. His body, his care, his praise, his patience, his dick, all of it was just fucking perfect. “Please, Tai. I want you.”

He bottomed out. Thighs ground. You scratched his sides. His tongue swept into your mouth. “God, you taste so good, everywhere. You’re so good, baby.”

“Please, please… give me more,” you quietly begged.

He sat up. Your legs were straightened and laid on his stomach. Impassioned hands grabbed and lifted your ass, thrusting, rooting heavily. His head scuffed and stretched. His length tautened and bulged. You cried his name every sink, struggling to swallow your saliva with his body heaving against yours.

Legs and balls slapped louder the faster he went. He grunted, “Touch yourself.”

You didn’t have to. One rampant buck was plenty to send you over. Your head rolled back. Your mouth draped open. Air stuck in your throat as you silently, desperately humped with pleasured muscles and satisfied limbs.

Even when the bliss waned, Tai still held your waist, moving, handling, using you to find his end. His knee rose to the bed, lifting you more. He groaned and rumbled and dropped one last time. The weight shook a deep ache.

You rubbed his sides where you clawed and kissed his shoulder. His breath hushed. Lips smooched your cheek. You sighed as he pulled out and gulped as he lifted you onto his stomach, sticky and sore. 

Kisses flushed the top of your head. Hands knead your neck and back. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you smiled, nuzzling into his chest. “You?”

He chuckled, “I’m great too.”

“Was it okay?”

“It was so much better, baby.” He kissed you. “So much better.”

[ihearthes]

Golden Rod

(inspired by Golden MV)

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (2nd person) Rating: Smut (18+ only) Word Count: 2829

“Thanks for the ride, Ryan!” you call, waving at Lambert’s assistant as he drives away to the garages on the Vesta. “Ciao!” 

Excited to show Harry your new lingerie, you enter the villa where the team has been staying. “Is he done for the day, Ben?” The words are muffled behind the cloth mask you’ve insisted is essential despite the drop in Italy’s coronavirus cases. 

The Fulwell 73 producer points upstairs without a word before bending over the video footage he’s scouring with the director. The opulent surroundings have been modernized, and you grin while mounting the stairs to the top floor where the master suite consumes the entire space. From the expansive open windows, you view the Tyrrhenian Sea, causing you to literally pinch yourself. How had life blessed you in such a way? Giddy, you continue up the stone steps.

Kicking off your sandals, you curl your toes into the cool, smooth tile. Fuck. This had been the perfect day. Swimming in the infinity pool during the morning with endless fresh fruits at your fingertips whenever you stepped out of the water to feel the warm sun on your skin. A socially distanced lunch of Insalata Di Mare Campanese (Seafood Salad) with Molly in a local restaurant. A trip to the stores with the adorable stylist Ryan -- where he’d introduced you to a new designer of gloriously sexy lingerie! 

You’d bought four pieces. 

Harry was going to love all of them, and you couldn’t wait to showcase them in your own private fashion show on the secure top floor of the Italian villa. 

Stopping in the marbled bathroom, you draw in a deep breath at the chill on your heated feet. Quickly, you wash your hands, singing “Happy Birthday” twice like you’d been taught to ensure 20 seconds has elapsed. No way were you going to be responsible for inadvertently passing along the virus to your boyfriend during the Golden music video shoot. He’d end up missing out on filming the music video and the upcoming Don’t Worry Darling if he tested positive. Carefully removing your mask, you toss it into the laundry hamper before washing your hands a second time. 

Tiptoeing out of the bath, you wonder where the man of the hour might be. Napping? Nope. Not in the bed. On the loggia, you spy Harry settled in a chair, staring into space. 

“Can’t blame you, Styles. That’s one hell of a view.” Gazing over the colorful boats moored in the sea near the coast, your eyes feast on the sky with its tints of reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges as the sun begins to sink into the water. Honestly, you expect to hear a sizzle as the bright ball of gases descends into the blue serenity of the sea. 

“Indeed.” His quiet voice doesn’t sound normal for Harry, and you approach slowly, like one might a wounded deer. Wouldn’t want to frighten him away. 

“Harry!” The gasp leaves your throat, and you press your hand to your mouth to capture the sound too late as it has already escaped. “What the hell happened to your knee?”

He shrugs, finally glancing in your direction. “Skinned it. Hi, love. Did you have a good day?”

“I had a beautiful day, but what the fuck did you do to your knee?” Crouching down, you examine the spot where blood is flowing. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but enough that you want to clean it. “My poor baby,” you coo, “Let me clean that for you.”

Rising, you glide to the bathroom again. 

“Bring some ice too, love,” he requests, tacking on a “please” at the last minute. 

Stopping in the suite’s tiny kitchen, you search the small freezer for ice as requested. Ransacking the cabinets in the bathroom, you manage to locate cotton balls, an antiseptic, and a bandage. Returning to Harry, you kneel at his feet. “This might sting a bit.” Cautiously, you cover the cotton ball with the antiseptic and press it to his wound. 

He winces, but the only sound he releases is a mild hiss. 

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not a big deal, love.”

As the blood vanishes with its absorption into the cotton ball, you agree with him. The wound is relatively minor. Should form a scab in the next day or so. Carefully, you remove the adhesive from the bandage and press it over the small scratch. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” you tease, “you’ll heal soon enough.”

“Gonna run that one into the ground, aren’t you?” he jokes. 

“Might as well,” your shrug, grinning. “Don’t worry, H. You’re so golden.” His smile gives away his mirth at the pun. “Soon enough, you’ll be done filming, and moving on to something else. And I’ll give you hell about whatever the next thing is too.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he confesses with intense eye contact, and your insides start to flutter. 

As an afterthought, you hold up a bag of frozen peas. “No ice, H. I’m so American that I forgot Europeans don’t do much ice. Will this do?”

“Sure.” Grabbing the bag of peas, he smirks before placing it on his crotch. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Your dick needs ice?”

His eyes rake over you. “Kind of went running without an athletic supporter today.” 

Planting your hands on your hips, you glare at him. “Why would you damage the goods like that?”

Raising his shoulders, he grins, “The fans will love it.”

Your lower lip juts out as you pout at him. “Does that mean it’s off limits to me?”

“It’s sore, love. Not broken.” Harry emphasizes, but that doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“But I’ve got lingerie,” you state clearly. 

He sits up quickly, shifting the bag of frozen peas on his crotch. “You do?”

“Yep.” You allow the ‘P’ to pop. “Ryan introduced me to a new designer. I bought four sets.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“Not with your dick wounded,” you remind him with a tiny hitch in your breathy voice. 

“Fuck,” he repeats. 

“Should I model the first one or wait until tomorrow?” You’re definitely pushing the envelope here, yet how dare he give fans priority to his most precious bits?!

Eyes darkening, he sweeps his gaze over your light trousers and loose shirt. “Ummmm...now please.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t want you to hurt your dick more.”

The exasperated roll of his eyes makes you smile. “I wanna see, love.” 

Examining him, you come to the conclusion that he’s an adult and knows what he wants. With a nod, you grasp the handle of the bag from the designer. “Be right back!” Hurrying to the bedroom, you set the bag down before rummaging in it for the most sedate look: a white lacy baby doll bit that hits mid-thigh and comes with a long peignoir. Putting on frilly high heeled slipper with it, you strut in front of him with the robe tightly covering your body, watching as his eyes darken. 

“Like this one?”

“Shit, love. It’s…” 

When you part the edges to reveal the concoction underneath, Harry has to catch his breath, shifting in the seat as he adjusts the frozen peas. 

“Hot?” you taunt.

“Mhm. Come here, and check my temperature.” His voice is throaty, and you recognize the signs quite easily. 

“Nope. Three more to go before I get within touching distance, H. Sorry.”

“Dammit,” He mockingly shakes his head. “You know I could easily see all of them on separate nights. Let’s just start with this one.”

Purposely, you push your lip out in a pout. “But then the other lingerie would get jealous, and Ryan went to a lot of effort to get me a private viewing. After all, this stuff isn’t available to the general public.”

“No?” He sighs, and you catch the hitch in his comment. “Bring on the second one then.”

Confidently, you swagger from the room. With shaky hands, you withdraw the bright red lace camisole and boy short. Is this the appropriate one to wear next? The red might just push him over the edge. Best to stay out of his reach then. Smirking, you pull the outfit on and waltz onto the balcony with a twirl, your hair on pointe as its curls bounced with you. 

“Holy fuck. That’s the second one?” His strangled cry makes you laugh in joy. 

“How’s that cock feeling now?” you gesture in the direction of his crotch. 

“The peas have melted I believe.”

“Mhm. Maybe you should go get something else from the freezer then.”

“Nah. I’d rather you come get this bag for me. I might be too injured to walk inside.”

“Oh, you’re so funny. I know this game. I get close to you, and the other two lingerie outfits never see the light of day. Nope. You want more frozen food for your genitals, you can get it yourself.” Laughing, you smack your rounded ass as you amble into the bedroom again. 

“Fuck!” Harry yells behind you. 

The dialogue combined with the strutting has your pussy feeling damp as the waves of arousal rush over you. Sure you’d fucked last night, but today was a new day, and you wanted to feel that dick inside you -- regardless of the damage he did by jogging in the city for the video. 

The third one is pink -- and you’re well aware from experience how much Harry loves pink. The baby doll dress is silk and lands just at the top of your thighs with a black lace bodice that laces in the middle. Kind of laces anyway. Plenty of boob still visible. Or barely hidden. Whichever you prefer.

“Oh my god. You’re killing me!” Harry whines as you parade just out of his reach. When he starts to rise, you shake a finger at him. 

“No, no, H. You need to recuperate from running today. Better stay seated.”

He chokes as you twist around to show him all sides, including the g-string with its bare backside. 

“You’re evil!” he calls as you dance back into the bedroom. 

This is the final one, and you prepare carefully. It takes extra time to put on, and you smile as you observe your image in the room’s mirror. Deftly, you slip a couple of condoms in the bodice of the bralette. 

You find a playlist of romantic Italian music and set it to play on the Bluetooth speaker in the bedroom, ensuring the volume is high enough to be heard on the loggia. 

Harry gasps the moment he sees you. “You’re not wearing anything under that!”

Playfully you glance down at the last lingerie set. “Oh, damn. I guess when I put the garter skirt and stockings on, I must have forgotten the panties. Forgive me?”

His head bobs up and down as he gulps. 

“Now,” you murmur, approaching him. Grasping a pillow from a nearby chair, you plop it on the floor in front of him, settling on your knees there. “I think the best thing is if I take a look at this dick to make sure you didn’t do too much damage.”

Removing the no-longer-frozen peas, you toss the bag to the side. No one will be eating those. Ever. Silently, Harry waits while you carefully peel down the top of his elasticized shorts and remove his cock. You have to catch your breath every time you get to glimpse it, and today is no exception. 

Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips as you hold his rigid length in your hand, your eyes flickering up to his where he’s staring intently at you. Maintaining eye contact, you run your tongue over the tip of his cock, paying extra attention to the slit there. 

“Mmmm,” you murmur. “The tip seems to be okay. Let me check the length.”

Using your saliva as lubrication, you run your hands down his shaft to his balls. “Doesn’t appear to be broken,” you smirk, “In fact, seems pretty solid and firm to me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “Might want to apply some suction there, love, just in case.”

You don’t really care what he means by that last phrase. You’re more than happy to test out the equipment to ensure that it’s in full working order. Spreading his legs more firmly, you lean in, sliding his entire dick into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. Harry grasps the hair at the back of your hand, bunching it in his hand as he guides you along his length. You hear him sigh, and you’re confident he’s tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but when you glance at him, you find that his eyes are still on your lips. 

Fuck. It turns you on even more, and you can feel your pussy dripping onto the pillow. You make a mental note to remove the cover and wash it before leaving the villa. 

As your lips glide along him, you’re frustrated at not having full access to him. As you apply suction to his tip, you pop off him with an audible sound. Both of your hands reach for the waistband of his shorts, and you gently encourage him -- “Lift your bum, H” -- so you can fully remove the garment, throwing it over your shoulder and hoping it doesn’t sail into the pool below. Harry smiles, adjusting his stance into the biggest man spread you’ve ever seen. 

Before you return to your ministrations on his cock, you grasps your chin, drawing your face forward and upwards until he can lock lips with you. 

“Not much longer, love, or I’ll explode.”

“I don’t mind,” you purr. 

“Mhm. But if we’re fully going to test the equipment, then that should include more than a bj.”

“Ah, I see,” you grin. “But of course. We want to be thorough.” 

First, though, you are compelled to play with his balls, so you take him into your mouth again, adding one hand to his length while the fingers on the other play with the balls underneath. Fuck. You could do this all day. Breathing through your nose, you deepthroat him and suck for a solid ten seconds before you release him completely. 

With a grin, you stand, kicking aside the pillow. “Hmmmmm...trying to decide the best way to do this.” Your voice has a catch in it, and you wipe your mouth before bending over and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Tongue darting forward, you taste him, allowing him to suckle your tongue briefly. 

As you come up for air, Harry moves his legs together while slipping his hand between yours and nudging your legs apart. With one finger he teases your clit, flicking it from side to side as he watches your face and eases another digit inside you. Oh hell. This feels…

“Fuck, H.”

“You’re so tight, baby. Come sit here. Let’s test out the equipment. Make sure everything works properly.”

At his invitation, you step forward as he shifts his bum down on the chair a bit. 

“Shit. I forgot…”

With his words, you remove the first condom from your bralette where it has conveniently been nuzzling your nipple, the hard corner of the foil packet hardening your nip. 

Grasping his dick, he uses the tip to slap at your pussy a few times before using your internal juices to lubricate himself. Your eyes roll back into your head as the two of you work together so you can slide onto him without any additional moments wasted. 

When you’re fully seated on his dick, you grind just for a moment. 

“Hmmmm...seems sturdy enough,” you pant. 

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he drawls, but his eyes roll back in his head when you glide along his length, your stockinged thighs surrounded by his large hands. “Fuck, love.”

“Working on it,” you laugh breathlessly as the rhythm becomes easier. His hands move to your arse as he assists you in riding him. 

Draping your arms over his shoulders, you shake your tits in his face, and he grins as he bends his head to press a kiss at the juncture of your boobs. 

As your climax begins to arrive, your movements become less steady and more sporadic. Harry, knowing you as he does, reaches between your bodies to tease your clit as you throw your head back and cry out two thrusts before his seed spurts into the condom and his eyes roll back into his head. Spent, you collapse on his chest, still joined. 

“I think,” you whisper as you kiss his neck while playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, “we can agree that the equipment still works just fine. No damage here.” Picking up your head, you glare at him. “But no more, H! What’s mine is mine. The fans get enough of you.”

He laughs as his arms surround you, and he buries his head in your shoulder. 

“Of course, love. Whatever you say.”

A/N:  Reblogs are love, my readers.  If you liked this even just a little tiny bit, please take a second to reblog so that others might find it.  Getting likes is nice, but it doesn’t help me grow my readership.  Thanks for your consideration!

[levis-little-nuggie]

(SFW) prompt 84: “Leave me alone.” “I brought cookies.” “… fine, come in.” with Leviathan and f!mc

Hey nonny! For this prompt, I immediately knew how to start this and I knew it was going to be "easy" for me to write it but it took me... awhile... to finally sit down and write this.

Thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy this at least half as much as I did writing it 💜💜

Inspired by this rolling pin

SFW, female MC, fluffy with a dash of angst, no warnings (but can be added if requested)

Cookies for the Otaku

The timer rang and she picked herself off the counter. Sliding on the oven mitts, MC opened the oven, pulled out the tray, closed the oven, and turned off the timer. The kitchen resumed its relative silence as she inspected the baked cookies. She'd made enough, she hoped, for Beel and the other brothers, but this last batch was special.

Resisting the urge to sigh again, MC waited a few minutes before removing the cookies from the pan to let them rest on the wire cooling rack. What better way to cheer up the otaku than with her signature snickerdoodle cookies imprinted with Ruri-chan and Azuki-tan designs from the limited edition "Baking With Ruri-chan Rolling Pin" she'd bought specifically to make for Ruri-chan's number one fan.

She'd overheard the brothers this morning teasing the third-born over a picture he'd posted of the two of them from Christmas he'd tagged with #ChristmasDate and #WithMyBeloved. Mammon had started the fuss showing it to everyone and soon after, the brothers had followed suit. They filled the halls with their squawking and opinions saying things like "you wish she saw you more than a friend," and comparing what they saw as their redeeming qualities with his "flaws."

Before MC even had a chance to step in, Lucifer intervened. Much to her disdain, the eldest criticized Leviathan's decision to post the picture at all, saying he'd had the intention to cause a ruckus. MC felt Leviathan's growl of frustration vibrate the air around her before he stormed back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Distracted during her classes, MC sent Levi a few messages throughout the day, trying to reach him through a few of his social media accounts but his status was always unavailable or offline compared to the almost permanent active/online status.

Plating up the special cookies made just for him, MC set off down the hall not knowing what state he'd be in but wanting to help him any way she could. She knocked on the door, but only silence responded. Knocking a little louder resulted in the same silence. Starting to worry, MC jiggled the locked door handle and knocked louder; he would be able to at least feel the vibrations if he was in the aquarium.

"Go away." His voice was rough, not necessarily loud but it was low and threatening reminding her of a rattlesnake.

"Levi? It's me, I-"

"Leave me alone." He cut her off and she heard a splash of water followed by soft footsteps. His voice, no longer filled with venom, sounded defeated and sad.

"I brought cookies. Snickerdoodle? Said to hold magical powers that can turn any grumpy guppy into a silly sea turtle..." Silence stretched out the seconds and her hope gradually deflated until she'd heard him sigh and a rustle behind the door. The lock clicked soon after, the door opening barely a sliver.

"...fine. Come in." Usually he'd at least smile, tease her for using such childish alliterations when she'd attempted to cheer him up in the past. Levi's deadpan tone crawled under her skin uncomfortably but she reached out to open the door, pulling it closed behind her and locking it as he had done previously.

MC's eyes followed the trail of puddles decorating the floor around the room before her gaze landed on the culprit. Levi had fallen back in his bathtub bed, legs dangling over the edge as his computer's screensaver cast an unsettling glow in the room.

Walking over to his desk to set down the plate of cookies, MC moved the mouse slightly causing the screen flicker to life; she wasn't interested with what was on the screen so much as the default screensaver had been silently mocking her.

MC took a cookie from the plate and placed it in her mouth, moving to stand between his legs. She held her hand out expectantly, waiting for the third-born to take it and let her pull him up. Eventually when he reached for her hand, Levi locked his legs around hers, lifting her before pulling her down into the tub with him. The cookie had fallen during the movement as she had yelped in surprise, and landed on his chest.

Arranging themselves to be comfortable, MC was lying on her back and Levi had his head resting on her stomach, her fingers brushing through his wet hair with the cookie lying innocently on her abdomen. It was quiet for awhile, neither of them spoke but the atmosphere was comforting, reassuring.

Finally, MC felt his fingers ghost along her stomach to inspect the cookie. It was too dim to see the pattern but she wasn't concerned about it; he'd see the design eventually.

"You made these?" His voice was barely above a whisper so as to not disrupt the mood.

"Mhmm," an affirmative hum in response, fingers still sifting through his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. Levi hugged her a little tighter before lifting himself up, cookie in his mouth like she had done earlier, and held his head right above hers, the cookie gently pressed against her lips. Levi couldn't meet her gaze and she swore she could feel the heat radiating from his face, but she raised her head to take a bite from the offered sweet.

Crumbles rained down onto her face and she laughed, bringing up a hand to swipe them away causing Levi to shove the rest of the cookie into his mouth not knowing what else to do with it and not wanting to drop any more crumbs on her.

"It was supposed to be romantic, I'm sorry I messed it up," she could hear the pout in his voice. Looping her arms around his shoulders, MC pulled herself up to kiss him on the cheek, his skin warm against her lips.

"Romance is for boomers and normies. You're adorable and literally perfect the way you are." Levi groaned and leaned forward, burying his face against her neck, his chest rumbling as he tried not to whine.

The two of them shifted their positions again with practiced ease learned from maneuvering around in his narrow bathtub bed. Her ear against his chest listening to the rhythm of his heart beat and his arm resting gently on her upper back. She could feel his hand ghosting over her arm, still showing his shy, hesitant nature.

"Do you want to talk about it? This morning I mean." She felt him tense up and moved her hand from under her chin to splay her fingers gently on his chest to which he flinched from the contact. "We don't have to if you don't want to, I just want to make sure you're okay. You weren't online all day." Her voice got quieter the longer she spoke until the last sentence was mumbled.

"Eh? I bet you jumped around all my accounts to see if I'd been active." MC shrunk down trying to make herself smaller and he let out a laugh. "You did? Oh you totally did! Let me guess, DevilTube, Devilgram, Devilbook, Devcord, don't tell me you also checked Devtrest? Man I haven't been on that one in ages!!" Levi continued laughing and MC playfully smacked her hand on his chest with a scoff, her face burning as he teased her.

"And you even made me cookies too?" Levi sighed and wrapped his arms around her in a hug, squeezing her for a few seconds before pulling away. A hand lingered on her shoulder made her heart swoon. "I just," he started before stopping short, trying to collect and organize his thoughts and she waited patiently as he knew she would.

"You're so patient with me, I'm, I should be able to show you off to my brothers, to the world like you deserve. I should be confident enough to announce that we're, y-you know, t...to..., GAH! I can't even say it! I'm sorry MC, that I'm so use-"

"I don't think so," MC snapped back and pushed herself up to straddle him, smooshing his cheeks together to make fish lips, effectively cutting him off. "Do you remember what we talked about?" Levi looked away and huffed an exhale through his nose. "About being nice to ourselves?" MC still had a hold on his face squishing his cheeks together so he wasn't able to vocally respond but he huffed again before nodding slowly. She released his cheeks and patted his head, watching him expectantly. It was a battle they had frequently, waiting for the other to break first, but he always caved.

"Fine, fine, I give in, you win." As part of their agreement, whenever they caught each other saying something negative or self-depreciating, the one that was caught has to then say a compliment about themselves. "Ah, I'm Ruri-chan's number one fan!" Levi laughed and MC playfully huffed in response before standing and leaving the bathtub bed.

Levi peeked his head over the rim of the tub, worried he'd actually upset her, his eyes following as she walked to his desk and spotted the plate of cookies. He smacked his lips relishing in the sweet aftertaste and his stomach growled signaling it hadn't had a morsel of food all day. Pulling himself out of the tub, Levi padded over next to her and sat down in his chair.

Waiting until he got comfortable, MC sat down in his lap, facing him, and wrapped her arms around his torso, nuzzling her face against his sternum. Levi rested his chin on the top of her head and opened up his social media accounts to catch up on notifications and news, forgetting about his hunger. Hearing his stomach rumble, MC reached over for another cookie, holding it so the glow from the computer highlighted the imprinted design on top.

"If your her number one fan, then that makes me an enabler." Confused by her words, Levi looks down at the cookie in her hand and squealed, cupping her hand holding the baked good gently like it was a precious delicacy.

"MC," he whined. "Is this from the Limited Edition Baking With Ruri-chan Rolling Pin featuring Ruri-chan and Azuki-tan in their aprons and chef hats?" The designs smiling back up at him confirmed his suspicion. "But, we went to all the stores, all the lottery tickets, how were you lucky enough to get one?" She tittered knowing he was impressed and her surprise a success.

"Someone bought one by accident not realizing the design was themed. They wanted the original Ruri-chan design and returned the limited edition one."

"What?!? That's, how does that even happen?" Levi exclaimed, confounded by the happenstance.

"The store clerk was confused too, they could have made bank if they would have sold it instead but nope; they made an even exchange. The clerk remembered how desperate we were to get one and held on to it in case we were to stop by again. Mammon and I were window shopping when the clerk flagged me down. He said by doing us this favor, he hopes we'll seek him out first for future rare merch drops."

Levi was quiet for a moment, considering the design imprinted on the homemade baked good. His free hand lifted, running his fingers along her neck, urging her to pull back and she followed suit, her eyes blinking wide up at the otaku. Levi's hand held her head steady, his finger under her chin, blinking slowly and a soft smile parting his lips.

"I change my answer, I'm your number one fan." Her heart skipped a beat as he pressed his lips softly against hers and she melted. Their flushed cheeks mirrored each other and as she found herself dazed, he realized what he'd done and his face burned hotter. Looking everywhere else, Levi's attention was brought back to the cookie and he quickly took a bite as a distraction. Actually tasting and enjoying the sweet, he let out a delighted hum while he chewed and MC laughed in response, grabbing another cookie for herself to eat.

"You know," he spoke up after finishing his cookie, "I'm a pretty big fan of these cookies too."

"You're not gonna kiss the cookie too, right? Cause that'd be weird." MC snorted with laughter and Levi sputtered before following her in laughter feeling the weight of the day, of the morning, finally drift away.

[tamakissimp]

headcanon- secretly rich s/o

request: @rayanicaraynbow​ Hi! This might be a little weird, but could I get headcanons for Todoroki, YaoMomo, Shinsou, and Jiro with a s/o that is the child of a pro hero/someone who's just generally rich, but they have a different last name than their rich parent, so nobody knows their rich. I'm not sure if this is *too* specific or not specific *enough*. If not, that's fine, it was just a random 1 AM thought, and I couldn't find a rules list if there was one. I love your blog btw! :)

a/n: I wrote Shouto’s differently because this boy 100% has a rich people radar. idc it’s true.

TODOROKI:

He'll probably know that you're rich before you tell him. He most likely saw you at a 'rich people' party when he was younger.

He knows how much it sucks to be judge by your parents' name so he'll ignore the topic of your family all together.

Shouto thinks it's cute and sad at the same time how much you try to hide your wealth.

He loves how nonrich you act. Going to thrift shops as dates, always sharing bills, checking price tags, not always getting name-brand stuff.

He loves how normal he feels around you. No pressure to go out to fancy restaurants. You tow can just make a nice homecooked meal.

Absolutely adores the low maintenance dates. You two can go for a walk in the park and call it a date.

You've already gone through your 'allowance' (while you have a couple hundred thousand in your bank account) and still need a sweater. He'll use this as an excuse to gift you his clothing. Seeing you in his shirts makes his heart do summersaults.

"Shouto.". The half-and-half boy turns around at the sound of your voice. His hearts warm up at the sight of you, a big smile plastered on your cheeks while you hold a shirt in front of you. "Look how cute this is! And it's only 300 yen.".

Shouta walks over to you and presses the shirt against you slightly. He tries to imagine how it would look on you. "It's pretty," he says. "But it'll look even prettier on you.". You give his chest a playful swat as you hide your face behind the shirt. "What, it's true.".

"You are a flirt, mister," you say before twirling around and walking to the changing rooms in the thrift shop. Shouta doesn't know what he's feeling. Maybe it's love, maybe it's happiness, maybe it's longing. He doesn't know. All he knows is that he's hooked on how domestic things like going shopping together feel. How normal everything feels. He isn't Shouto Todoroki, son of Endeavor. You aren't Y/n Y/L/n, child of one of the richest family in Japan.

No, you're just Shouta and Y/n. Just a young couple wanting to spend their afternoon together.

MOMO:

She is very rich herself. Even though she should be able to recognize a fellow rich person, she doesn't.

She always pays when you go out to eat, she buys you the most extravagant gifts while yours are just average.

You even got a job, not wanting to solely rely on your parents' money.

Every time she offered to pay for something or gift you something, you had to stifle your laughter. Her intent is kind and sweet but at the same time useless. You could easily buy all the stuff she gifts you yourself.

You like to DIY stuff with her. Upcycling old clothing, tailoring thrift shop clothing, mixing broken items. You make it a bonding experience for both of you.

If she thinks that you're on the poorer side than she'll spoil you to death. Either with basic things like your favourite snacks or with that shirt she's seen you eyeing in the store.

She had no clue about your wealth so when she found out, she was perplexed.

It isn't weird for Aizawa to take attendance, though he forgot to do so most of the times. "Bakugou," he says. Bakugou grunts in response. You and Momo are too caught up in your own hushed conversation to pay attention to what the teacher is saying.

"Tanaka," Aizawa says. Fuck. Your attention is suddenly turned to the teacher. Students look around themself for the said Tanaka. "Oh, sorry. Y/l/n.". You raise your hand and drop it back down the second Aizawa acknowledges your presence.

You turn back to Momo. Her jaw has dropped and she's looking at you with wide eyes. "You're a Tanaka?". You nod at her question. Everyone knew the Tanaka's. They're the richest family in Japan, owning multiple renown hero agency.

"Yeah," you say as you awkwardly scratch at the back of your neck. "But I go by my father's name.". Momo nods. She understands the pressure of being seen as the 'rich kid'. The assumptions people make about you just because of your financial status.

"Don't worry," she says. "You're still Y/n to me.". You smile at her before continuing your conversation. God, how did you get lucky enough to end up with someone like Momo?

SHINSO:

Shinso never cared about how much money you had or how little. All he cared about is that you're with him. That you don't judge him for his quirk.

So he never noticed the few designer pieces of clothing you had mixed between your wardrobe. Or the fact that you always had the newest model phone on the market.

He thought that you were just being kind and wanted to treat him when you offered to pay the bill whenever you went out to eat.

When you were younger, you tried to hide who your mother was more but as you went older and went to the U.A, you started to accept it more.

So, when Shinsou found out you're the child of a pro-hero, saying he's shocked is an understatement.

Guest speakers come every often. At least once a week, the school arrange a pro-hero to come and give the class a pep talk or give them tips. Due to this, you knew that it was only a matter of time before your mother would be standing before your class.

"I'll pick you up at your dorm.". You read over your mother's text a hundred times. Even though you weren't the one who's going to be standing in front of a class full of hyperactive, overly excited students you're still nervous. You tap your foot against the floor as you bit your nails.

"Y/n!". You turn to your left. You see your mother standing in the elevator, waving at your happily before mentioning you to come over. You take quick steps towards her. The moment you're within arms-reach she pulls you in for a hug. "I missed you. Have you gotten taller?".

You swat her hand away as she tries to ruffle through your hair. "A little. And I missed you too.". The elevator doors close and you two start to move downwards. You tell your mother all about your class but your conversation is interrupted when the elevator stops and another person enters.

"Baby?". You look up as you see your boyfriend standing before you. His eyes wander from you to the pro-hero, your mother, standing beside you. He bows slightly to her before standing beside you.

"Is this the boy you've been telling me about?" your mother asks as she nudges your side. Your cheeks heat up as you nod your head. "He's handsome!". You look over at Shinso, who's eyes are wide. He tilts his head as you can almost see the gears in his hand turning.

You smile at him. "Shinso, this is my mom," you say. With that his jaw drops. Sure, he saw how much you two looked alike but he didn't think much of it. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times as he tries to think of what to say.

"You didn't tell him about me?". You shake your head at your mother's question. The elevator doors open against and your mother quickly slips out of the it, leaving you and a barely functioning Shinsou behind.

You lace your fingers through Shinsu's and pull him out of the elevator. "You're.....She's your mom?" he asks. You nod while keeping your eyes fixed on the ground. Will he judge you? Will he be mad that you didn't tell him? "Huh, never would have guessed.". You're taken aback by his cheery tone but your confusion doesn't last long as Shinso drags you along with him to your classroom. Well, that went smoother than you imagined.

JIRO:

Much like Shinsou, she doesn't care about your wealth. She doesn't care about your money. All she cares about is that you love her.

She'll start to grow suspicious when you buy concert tickets and new instruments for her like it's nothing but she won't bring it up.

Jiro will probably try to 'compensate' with your gifts and goes out of her way with cute dates and romantic gestures.

She doesn't say a thing about your wealth until you gift her a new guitar for the third time.

And when she accidentally sees your true last name on a letter your parents send you, she's surprised. You, her Y/n who's she's been with for so long, is filthy rich.

"Surprise," you say as you push the beautifully wrapped box towards her. Jiro quirks up her brow as she carefully rips the patterned paper of the box. She opens it to reveal a new guitar.

She recognizes the model. You've seen her eying it for a week now. Your heart warms up as you see a smile spread across her lips. "Again?" she asks. You nod.

"I couldn't help myself," you explain. "I wanted to hear you play on it.". Jiro just shakes her head with a smile as she continues to unbox the instrument.

You watch her intensively as she places the now fully unwrapped guitar next to her older ones. It stands out. It's shinier than the others. "How do you afford this?" she says. "A guitar is like 60,000 yen.". You just shrug as you pull her towards you.

"Oh, it's...inheritance.". You feel bad for lying straight through your teeth but you don't know who she'll react if she finds out about your family. You plaster on a smile.

"I saw the letter," she says. Your blood runs cold. Maybe she saw a different letter. Yeah, it must have been. "I don't care about your family.". Oh crap. She definitely read the letter.

Your smile falters a bit. Jiro notices and cups your cheeks. "Is something wrong?" she asks. Her voice calms you down a bit. You just shake your head.

"No, I just..." you say. "I just thought you might...act differently when you found out.". She shakes her head and plants a kiss on your forehead.

"God no, you're still my Y/n," Jiro says.

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 14

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N: I’m glad I was able to get another chapter out before school starts for me. Anyways, please let me know what you guys think! I love hearing your thoughts and feelings on the story!

(masterlist)

You woke up on Sunday with a small pit in your stomach.

It only grew bigger as the day continued.

However, it started small. Just a little bit of nerves for your training sessions today. Except, you did not have much time to think about these anxieties because you woke up to an email from Kobayashi.

You went in yesterday to try on the costume, it fits quite well. You loved the style he was able to encapsulate as well as the functionality it allowed. Once he pinned it in a few places and adjust some things, he bid you farewell.

He said his intern, who was a student at U.A., would make the adjustments that day and be able to give it to you for one more look over in the morning. Additionally, this student would be the person you would be contacting if you ever needed any adjustments.

The email, which also had this student in it, detailed where you two would meet up to do any final adjustments if there was anything after the adjustments made yesterday.

The meeting time was set for 10:00 in the morning and it was currently 7:00, giving you ample time to go on a quick run, shower, and eat something.

Although your morning run was usually an opportunity for you to relax, you ended up feeling more nervous than anything. It was during this run that you were able to finally think about your fight against Bakugou.

You were sure in your abilities and skill with your quirk, enough so that you knew you would be safe. However, you also knew that Bakugou has been waiting for weeks for this rematch. If he won, he would surely gloat. If he lost, he would look like an angry Pomeranian as he demanded another fight.

Additionally, this anger would surely pour-over and affect the fight in a way that could be unsafe.

You felt the pit in your stomach grow just a bit more as you turned up your music and increased your running speed in an attempt to calm down.

By the time you finished running and took a shower, you barely had an appetite. The nerves in your stomach were making the idea of a meal seem disgusting and vile. Despite this, you knew you needed to eat something and forced yourself to drink a protein shake and a piece of toast with jam.

Hopefully not having an empty stomach will help my nerves, you thought as you munched on the toast.

Once the clock inched close enough to 10:00, you made your way to the support team’s school building.

Even though it was the weekend, the building was loud and bustling. Students were running through the halls and rooms with metal in their hands. Cautiously, walked through the building to find a specific room where your new costume designer would be.

Once there, you noticed only one other person in the room.

“Iwasaki Kou-san?” You asked while taking in their outfit and style. Their hair was straight, with some strands falling in front of their face. The rest was pulled back into a white hair tie. The dark color of his hair had hints of blue throughout when hit by the light correctly. With that in mind, it was difficult to identify the hair as one solid shade. However, the most noticeable things about him were his deep eyes and thick eyebrows that made him stand out despite no one else being there.

He was nowhere near as fit as the heroes you surrounded yourself with. However, the black t-shirt he had on shaped his form in a quite flattering way.

You stopped your eyes from wandering lower and you instead looked at his surroundings. He was currently tinkering with something, but you weren’t quite sure what it was. On a mannequin behind him was your hero costume, laying limply across the much too small body.

“Yeah,” He casually replied, the smile forming on his lips was kind, inviting, and yet held a mysteriousness that you couldn’t decipher. “Are you Y/L/N-san?” His voice was soft.

You gulped down and nodded, stepping further into the room.

“Perfect,” He took off the thick gloves that covered your hands and wiped the soot off them with a white cloth he kept tucked into his pants. He then held out his now clean hand to shake your own.

You gently took his own, his calloused hands sending shivers up your spine.

Why do I feel so calm and yet so nervous? You questioned as you forced yourself to smile.

“Shall we get started?” He asked.

“Sure!” You excitedly agreed.

Iwasaki immediately moved to the mannequin and unzipped your uniform. Gently, he handed you the fabric. “You can go into that room there to change,” He explained, pointing to a door on the other side of the classroom. “I’ll pull out all the extra items while you change.

You entered the small room to see that it looked quite like a typical changing room. A small ledge to sit on or hold items, a body-length mirror, and a few hooks to hold items.

The tight bodysuit was a deep blue that looked almost black. Sort of like Kou’s hair, you thought as you pulled it on. Throughout the suit were detailed of neon yellow. As Kobayashi explained to you before, the details were the only stylist and were a way to incorporate your family’s colors without being too cheesy. The arms of the suit stopped just after your shoulder to allow for mobility. The legs, additionally, stopped quickly. You had a small metal waist set that could hold swords and expand to protect vital organs. Your pants stopped midthigh.

You remember specifically telling Kobayashi-san that you wanted skin exposed so you could use your quirk when people touch you, without having a hard to manage skirt.

Once you zipped up your suit, you made your way back into the main classroom.

Iwasaki smiled at you once he saw you.

He was currently surrounded by a variety of dark blues and neon yellows that stood out at all your support items.

He handed you the boots to your suit first.

“I tinkered with the boots a bit, but you shouldn’t notice much difference,” Iwasaki explained. “I was just trying to make them lighter.”

You nodded and you took your time to attach them. The boots stopped under your calf, but straps ran up your leg to attach to a knee cap.

“I’m sure Kobayashi-sensei told you, but the straps are to help prevent injuries from any awkward movements or excessive running. The boots and straps will help you to run faster, but it won’t be by too much so you can get used to the boost. If you want, you can also attach weights to them while you train so that you move faster in the field with the weights off.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Oh and the blade feature on your other boots is the same with these.”

You silently nodded, much too focused on putting everything on correctly.

You then attached the compact shoulder pads to your costume.

You the attached metal cuffs to your wrist that you also assembled to help prevent injuries on your hands or arms. It would also help add weight and power to any punches you would have to throw.

Last but certainly not least were your ear and eye protectors.

Kobayashi brilliantly designed your ear attachments with three different functions. When needed, you could use the ear attachments like your earbuds and prevent you from hearing thoughts. The second function was to increase your hearing distance. Although he was unable to increase your hearing distance for thoughts, he was able to help even out the differences. Now you could hear people from as far as 100 ft without needing to take out the earbuds that help prevent you from hearing thoughts. You were also able to zero in on certain sounds if needed. The final function was a simple Bluetooth addition in case you needed to communicate with other heroes on the field.

“Your ear attachments are cool, but I’m really excited to make them better for you,” Kou smiled calmly and brightly at you. “I want to make them perfect because half of your quirk is so based around your ears.”

Appreciatively, you smiled at the boy. “That’s very nice, thank you.”

Iwasaki sheepishly waved you off, “It’s my pleasure! I became a support student for a reason. If I’m able to figure anything out, I might even make it my final analysis and creation project.”

“Are you a third-year?” You asked.

“Yeah,” The boy blushed lightly and scratched at the back of his head, “I am.”

You simply nodded before attaching the shield to your earpiece that protected your eyes.

You then moved over to look at yourself in the full-body mirror.

I look amazing.

“You like it?” Iwasaki asked, interrupting yourself from going on an analytical tangent for each piece of the costume.

“I love it,” You explained, smiling brightly at yourself.

“I’m glad,” He paused briefly. “I saw your original sketches and I was worried you would hate it. Kobayashi-sensei didn’t tell me how much you two collaborated together, so I didn’t know.

You nodded as you looked at the dark black dots on your left shoulder pad. It wasn’t too noticeable from far away, but you could see it up close against the dark blue.

“Yeah,” You started, “He basically lectured me in a face call and told me I needed to think more about my quirk and what would be best for me, rather than what I thought was cool.” You thought over your next words carefully, “I’m still glad a have a place for my swords. And I have my own black shoulder strap for my biggest sword.”

“Thanks,” Kou said, “I actually thought of the metal sword holder and shield expansion feature.”

“Really?” You inquired.

“Yeah,” He ensured, a smile brightening up his face. “But you should also show me the shoulder strap. Maybe I can make it better or make a new one that will help with weight and comfort.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“You seem to keep forgetting this is literally my job,” He laughed. It sounded beautiful. “My third year is all about helping students and only asking my professors or intern leader for help when I need it.”

You nodded in understanding before adding. “Maybe I will. I’ll make sure to email you about it.”

“Of course,” Kou agreed. “And do you have any other adjustments you want now?”

“No, not really,” You explained, a bright smile plastered across your face.

“Then I guess you are all set if you want to change back,” Iwasaki spoke while slipping on his gloves again.

“Perfect, I’ll be right back then.” You grabbed your suitcase and went back into the small changing room to take off all your support items and costume. When done, you stepped back out, bid Kou a farewell, and left.

You walked back to the dorm with your suitcase, a little bit happier than you expected. The costume fit perfectly at this point, and you were excited to move forward with OOO in all other possible upgrades you could make. Although it wasn’t what you initially envisioned and sketched out when you first met Kobayashi, all the changes he made, with your approval, made the costume much better and more modern.

You reminisced about your first meeting with the designer, where he asked you what kind of hero you wanted to be, a sentiment that OOO was clearly upholding.

After discovery and debate, the new costume that was drawn up fit you much better than you could expect.

It wasn’t until you got back to the dorm that the pit in your stomach reared its ugly head.

The first thing you saw when you opened the large door was a sleepy Bakugou, clearly just woken up.

He was yawning, a small cup of coffee in his hands, and his hair seemed to be more of a mess than usual.

Once he opened his eyes again, he immediately found your own eyes. Although the living room and dining table were crowded with about five other people, he immediately made his way to you.

“You got your hero costume?” He asked. There wasn’t any malicious tinge to his voice, but the gruff sound of his natural voice mixed with the deepness from just waking up made your stomach queasy.

You had half a mind to just run into the bathroom and make yourself puke. However, you swallowed your nerves and nodded, hoping you didn’t look like too much of a fool.

“Maybe we should wear our costumes for our training today,” He smirked at your before eyeing your suitcase that had the number 21 printed on it. “I have a few support items I would love to try out on you.”

The idea sent a shiver up your spine, something that wouldn’t normally happen. Bakugou makes me way too nervous, you thought as you debated over what to make next. In hope of lightening up to conversation a little bit, you asked, “Oh, did Iwasaki make new support items for you too?”

“Iwasaki?” Bakugou spat back, obviously offended. “Not only would I never let that weirdo touch my equipment, but I’m also offended you didn’t realize I made them myself.”

“Iwasaki isn’t weird,” You countered, practically laughing. “He was so nice!”

Bakugou scoffed and looked away from you. “Whatever, I would just rather tinker with my own shit than have him do it. He seems too perfect, that smile of his is so weird.”

Despite still being nervous about the fight, you found yourself laughing at Bakugou’s explanation. “Too perfect?” You spoke in-between laughs. “You really can be funny sometimes, Bakugou—”

You stopped yourself from using an honorific. Not sure if he would prefer a more formal ‘san’ or a friendlier ‘kun’.

Although he clearly noticed your pause and debate on which one to use, he simply glossed over it and replied with an “I am not funny! I am being serious!” The blond groaned in frustration before adding. “You know what? Let’s wear our costumes, and we will actually see how well Iwa-shitty did.”

“Iwasaki barely did anything to my costume,” You reasoned, “He only adjusted a few things, the work is still mostly Kobayashi-san’s.”

“Whatever,” He gruffly replied, “Just bring your damn suitcase so we can change in the lockers beforehand.”

“Whatever your say, Bakugou,” You replied, quietly laughing to yourself at his small and childish fit.

The blond walked away from you without another word, leaving you by yourself with some free time.

The first thing you did was make your way to the kitchen to prepare yourself something to eat. Since it was approaching lunchtime anyway, Iida and Uraraka we currently preparing themselves some food.

“No internship today?” You asked them, remembering seeing each of them go out to internships before.

“Nope!” Uraraka gingerly explained, “We aren’t allowed to have internships on Saturday and Sunday because they want us to have enough time for school.”

“Today is our day off,” Iida added as you watched him mix something in a small, Styrofoam container.

When you got closer, a rank and vile smelled filled your nose. You immediately knew it was coming from the container and backed up while covering your nose.

You had no intention to insult their food preferences, especially because you weren’t from here, but Uraraka immediately noticed your reaction and laughed.

“You’ve never seen natto?” She asked.

You shook your head, not wanting to speak in fear that you would get a bigger sniff of the food.

Iida looked back to see your face. “Sorry,” He spoke.

“No! Don’t worry!” You replied, wanting to be as nice as you could.

Uraraka laughed again. “Natto is fermented soybeans. It might smell weird and the texture is slimy, but it tastes so good in rice, especially with mustard and fish sauce.”

You nodded while peaking over to get a look at the slimy brown beans.

“Do you want to try it?” Iida asked you, turning so you could see his portion of rice and beans.

“Umm,” You mumbled, not sure what to say. You didn’t want to take his food, and you definitely didn’t know if you would like it.

“You should,” Uraraka encouraged. “We can give you just a bit to taste.” She pulled out a bowl from the cabinet and scooped a little of her portion into the bowl. “Even if you don’t like it, you’ll have to get used to it. It’s a cheap, easy, and healthy meal so everyone here eats it often.”

Hesitantly, you grabbed the small bowl and chopsticks she offered you.

“Don’t smell it, “Iida began “Just eat it.”

Listening to Iida, you stopped yourself from smelling the bowl and shoved it into your mouth. Despite 80% of the dish being rice only, the flavor of the natto was most prevalent. You chewed quickly, not sure if it was the type of dish to savor.

You closed your eyes, swallowed the bite, and looked back to your two classmates.

“It looked like you hated it,” Uraraka laughed while munching on her own bowl.

“No,” You countered, “It’s okay. I’m just not used to it.” You got the rest of the rice and bean in-between your chopsticks and finished your bowl. “Thank you for letting my try.”

“No problem,” Iida and Uraraka replied together before they took their leave from the kitchen to seat at the large dining table.

You then scoured the fridge and cupboards for a suitable lunch and settled on fried rice leftovers from dinner the night before. You heated up a bowl and took it upstairs to eat.

Time passed slowly as you worked on homework and had videos playing in the background. Eventually, then the clock read 10 to 3:00pm, you got up from your seat and changed into comfortable workout clothes. You grabbed your suitcase, a large water container, and two different swords before making your way downstairs.

When you got to the front door, Bakugou was already waiting, dressed in comfortable workout clothes. His own suitcase was in his hand as well as two large looking grenades and water.

You didn’t bother even asking what the grenades were for as Bakugou simply waited for you to slip on other shoes.

You followed Bakugou out the door silently. “We’ll start with stretches and then change into our costumes,” Bakugou explained. “I rented out a fourth of the cityscape so we will have plenty of room to move around.”

“Okay,” You replied, “Although I might need some time to warm up with my hero costume because it just got finished today.”

“It can’t be that different, can it?” Bakugou inquired.

“It’s completely different, “You explained. “My older hero uniform was so ugly; it didn’t help my quirk at all and just matched with my family’s theme.”

“Your family has a theme?” He questioned while barking out a laugh. “That’s so cringy.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled, “But it is important to my mom and common in the United States.”

Bakugou simply hummed in response and he brought you to a small field. It was right next to the building that held changing rooms, making it ideal for your short warm-up.

“Do you want to warm up together?” You asked him.

“It’s up to you,” Bakugou replied before setting down his things and beginning his warm-up. It mainly consisted of basic stretches every person typically does.

Following his lead, you dropped your belongings to the side and moved to take off your earbuds.

“You’re taking them off now,” Bakugou asked.

You turned to see him looking at you and replied, “Yeah, is that a problem?”

“Uhh,” Bakugou fumbled, “No, I guess not.”

Ignoring his weird comment, you simply put away the earbuds. I’ll just hear any weird thoughts he has anyway.

What first filled your mind, however, was Bakugou thinking:

Don’t think weird thoughts, don’t think weird thoughts.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his thoughts which immediately drew his attention.

“What?” He spat out.

“Nothing,” You replied after your laughter died down. I don’t need to tell him about how weird he is being, you told yourself and you began your own stretch routine.

You also needed to warm up your quirk, something you did by focusing on different thoughts around you. Because Bakugou was so close to you, his thoughts we most noticeable. However, it was important to see how far you could take your quirk, so you focused as best your could on different thoughts from people different distances away.

Eventually, when your body felt nice and stretched, you wanted to move on to a jog. After letting Bakugou know, you jogged a few laps around the field while he sprinted to build up a sweat.

Once ready, you made your way into the changing rooms with all your belongings. Bakugou followed shortly behind you.

The second you put it on, you could feel the differences in your hero costume. You felt lighter despite having more on. You took a small lap around the locker room to test your speed. You then tested your earpieces that covered your ears completely. Once satisfied, you attached a dagger to the metal plate around your waist. You brought your largest and heaviest sword today. First, to test out how it works with your costume so you could bring it to Kou with any needed adjustments, and two, to intimidate Bakugou.

No one in your class yet had seen your work with knives, daggers, and swords, making it a surprising advantage if need be. You took another moment to stretch in your hero uniform before exiting the room and meeting back up with Bakugou who was facing away from you and stretching.

Immediately, your eyes found him and stared at his hero costume. It was mainly black, with touches of orange and green. From the first view, it was scary. However, you noticed intricate pieces that made it seem detailed and well thought out. However, what was most interesting to you was how it fit on him.

You would hit yourself if you weren’t so distracted ogling his free arms. They looked much bigger than you had ever seen on him. And yet, they also seemed like the perfect size. He must do a lot of weightlifting, you thought as your eyes then traveled to his waist. It was covered in black cloth, making it impossible to see his abs, but his thin waist was enough to see.

He looks so hot, your thoughts. You were unable to place every piece of his hero costume that made him this attractive, but his arms and waist were the main ones. You gulped down the lump in your throat as you watched him bend over to touch his toes

“Holy shit,” You accidentally spoke aloud.

Immediately, the blond shot up and turned to look at you. “What did you s—?” He began to question before stopping halfway through.

Holy shit, his thoughts similarly echoed yours.

You looked down, very aware that your cheeks were flaring a deep red. Although it definitely boosted your ego to hear him react to your costume like that, it sent waves of anxiety through you. He knows I can hear his thoughts. Why isn’t he stopping himself, you questioned as he thoughtfully admired the way your leg straps hugged your bare thighs.

“Are you ready?” You asked, breaking the thick silence, and hoping to distract him.

You weren’t sure how to feel. On one hand, it felt amazing to hear his thoughts. It was clear he found you attractive. However, that did not mean he liked you as more than a friend, classmate, or whatever he actually thought. You nervously shuffled from one foot to the other and Bakugou shook his head.

You fucking creep, he thought.

“Yeah,” He mumbled. His voice was raspy, and he immediately grabbed his water from the ground and chugged a good portion. He then picked up all his items and you silently followed him to the cityscape.

Both of you were stuck in your own thoughts. You debated whether or not this situation was a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll definitely have to talk to Ashido and Hagakure later. And Bakugou was currently wondering over if you heard him.

What are those things are her ears? Can she hear me with them? Maybe she can’t… I could ask her what they are. No, that’s too obvious!

“So,” You eventually began after Bakugou signed in on a sheet of paper that hung at the entrance of the cityscape. “Are you wanting to do a ruled match? Or are you wanting to do a bad guy versus good guy things?” You were trying to break the awkward silence, hoping that fighting would distract you both from the nerves you were feeling.

“A match,” He simply replied. His voice wavered more than it typically would, however, it evened out more and more as he continued to talk. “It will end when the other person admits defeat or is too injured to play.”

“Oof, that sounds intense,” You jokingly replied. You needed to give this match your all. Bakugou was a competitor and should be treated as a stepping stone for you to improve your quirk usage. Hopefully, Bakugou's thoughts and actions were slow enough for you to interpret and prevent them. That would be the key factor in who won today.

Bakugou laughed in response. The typical bark of a laugh that you had become too quickly acquainted to. “Yeah, well you better be ready.”

You two took your time making it to your designated area and choosing a spot to store your suitcases and waters. Once done, Bakugou put on the grenades he had been carrying onto his forearms.

“What do those do?” You innocently asked.

“I’m not telling you, they’re a surprise for later.”

Similarly, to how Bakugou would, you scoffed at his reply. “That was so cringy,” You added.

In response, Bakugou rolled his eyes and let out a simple, “Whatever.”

You genuinely smiled while you watch him finish securing the large grenades to his forearms.

I wonder what his first attacks will be, you thought. Those grenades can’t be his first attack. It must be something that builds up energy. Smirking, you thought of a way to make his motives clear.

“What’s your first attack against me going to be?” You asked him.

The blond whipped his head around and looked at you with squinted eyes. “Like I would ever tell you.” Don’t think about how you plan to worsen her hearing, you heard him think.

You tried your best not to react to him revealing his thoughts and simply frowned. “I guess it was worth a try.”

Bakugou didn’t bother replying and simply faced you. “Ready?” He asked as he cracked his knuckles and neck.

You simply shrugged, trying your best to look casual. I need to get away from him before he can explode out my eardrums. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” You nonchalantly responded.

You waited for a beat, just enough time to move before Bakugou. Luckily, the straps on your legs helped greatly to increase your speed. It made you feel lighter and helped smooth out your movements enough to save a decent amount of time. You were out of Bakugou’s eyesight in a flash, leaving him baffled. She’s faster than I remember. By the time he recovered enough to chase after you, you had turn multiple corners and climbed up a fire escape attached to one of the skyscrapers.

Bakugou launched himself into the sky to move faster He was clearly looking to attack quickly instead of surprise you. You used the sharp and retractable blades attached to your shoes to smash a window, timing the shattering glass sounds to the sound of his explosions.

You moved into the building, hoping he would be unable to see the shattered glass with him moving so quickly. Inside the building, you drew your dagger, just in case he found you. I’ll throw it at him if need be, you thought and you began moving higher and higher up the floors.

As Bakugou soared through the sky, he found himself analyzing the ground more than anything else. After searching a decent distance, he realized something must be off. She can’t be on the ground if I can see her from here, you hear him think. He then landed on one of the taller buildings and looked around.

I didn’t see any climbing materials on her costume unless those straps are detachable? Bakugou thought over each piece of your costume, noting whether or not they could be used to climb up buildings. He began jumping from building to building, looking for a signal.

And that’s when he saw it.

Shattered glass on the grated ground of a fire escape, teetering from side to side as if recently moved and threatening to fall a floor below.

Excitedly, Bakugou pounced on the building and peered into the room. She isn’t on this floor anymore, he noted while debating to go down or up. I’ll find you soon, he thought as he searched below first. It took him approximately 10 seconds to realize you didn’t move lower down the building. He quickly moved higher and higher, searching through the windows on each floor in hopes of seeing a flash of dark blue and yellow.

She must be on the staircase, he thought after being unable to find you. That’s the only place without windows, he reasoned before debating whether to move into the staircase himself or go to the roof where he presumed you were going to be.

His thoughts were clear to you and did not affect your plan in the slightest. With ease, you made your way to the roof. You didn’t want to tire yourself out too much. You opened the clunky door only to be hit with a gust of wind. This school must be rich to be able to simulate gusts of wind, you thought as you spotted the large fans that were scattered across the walls of this cityscape.

You perched yourself on the metal box that was warm enough to help against the wind.

Now it is just a waiting game, you thought as you simply listened to Bakugou’s thoughts.

Eventually, and predictably, he showed up through the same door you came into. You had positioned yourself behind where he would show up so he initially didn’t see you.

Quietly, you looked around the small building and watched as he peered across the sky.

There’s no way she could have gotten off from here unless she climbed down.

You put away your dagger and de-sheathed your large sword. It was chunky and sharp with a wide and heavy handle to keep it sturdy. Before Bakugou could turn or hear you, you pushed forward and kicked the blond with the bottom of your heavy boot.

He stumbled but did not fall to the floor. You held up your sword, using it to extend your arm. As soon as Bakugou turned to look at you, his neck was greeted by the sharp sword only inches away. He didn’t move for a moment, but quickly recovered and sent a blast your way. Now within a small distance, he sent off multiple small explosions. Not only did you cower to get away from his explosion, but the small explosions made it difficult to hear his thoughts.

You pushed forward despite your nerves to the boy and used the flat edge of your sword to hit him. Not sharp enough to harm him, but still a force to be reckoned with. Additionally, the thin sharp edge that was intended for use may seep in enough from the pressure to give him a small cut.

He shot back instantly, and a small amount of blood dripped from his arm. He was breathing heavily, as were you. Although he was not attacking in this moment, he still set off explosions to impede upon your quirk. You didn’t know Bakugou’s fighting style well, but you knew enough. From what you were able to pick up, you knew he intended to go for hand-to-hand combat.

Idiot, you thought while widening your stance and bending at the kneed to prepare yourself. The 50-foot distance between the two of you closed quickly as he pounced on you. Smoothly, you were able to dodge and keep a good distance with your sword and sharp blades on your shoes.

“You really should listen to my mom’s defensive lectures,” You commented. “Playing an offensive role will only get you so far.” You mocked him, watching his eyebrows turn down in anger and his thoughts rush with the idea of just fucking hit her.

You moved out of the way for each of his attacks, only feeling the heat of an explosion or the brush of his fingertips.

When the time was right, you held your sword with only one hand and pushed forward to grab onto his arm. You twisted it before he could react to make sure he could not send an explosion your way. Currently, you were positioned so your right hand held onto his left forearm. His body was twisted so his back was to your right shoulder. The blond twisted his head to look at you and continued to send off explosions to hopefully distract you.

With every explosion, you felt a pulse through his veins, and you held tightly. He groaned in pain at the action, making you realize that his wrist was a weak spot for him. “Oh, so do you have these protect your forearms and wrists?” You asked, gesturing to the large grenades.

His emotions and thoughts made his arms clear. Not just that, you idiot.

“I am not an idiot,” You replied, feigning offense.

Bakugou scoffed in reply and you laughed back at him.

“I’m winning right now, you know?” You spat back, “I wouldn’t scoff at me when I could end this battle right here.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou encouraged, “How?”

“Like this…sleep.” You immediately put him to sleep, something he wasn’t expected. You could tell from his thoughts that he wasn’t thinking much about this part of your quirk. Once asleep, you thought over what to do next.

You dragged his heavy body to the edge of the building, wondering if he would wake up in time to save himself if you threw him off.

I don’t think I should risk it, you thought.

Sighing, you pulled him away from the roof, pushed him farther into sleep and let go. You sat down on the ledge and waited a few minutes for the blond to wake up. You pat yourself on the back for getting him to sleep for so long and casually waited for the time to end.

It took a total of 15 minutes for the blond to finally beginning rising. Another minute for him to realize where he was. He looked up at you with a quizzical face.

“If this wasn’t training and you were a real villain, I would have thrown you off this building,” You explained. “I think I win.”

“Like hell you do,” Bakugou groggily replied while getting up. He moved into a fighting stance and you stayed put. “Are you going to get up?” He yelled at you.

You hummed, debating what to do next. “I don’t feel like it,” You replied, knowing full well how much it would irritate him.

“Then I’ll send you off the roof with an explosion,” He spat back.

“No,” You calmly replied, “I don’t think you will.”

“And why is that?” He asked.

You smirked at the boy. “Because,” You began while letting go of the ledge with your hands and leaning back, “Of this.” Once you finished those words, your body fell back and off the building. You positioned your body as safely as you could.

Obviously, this was a dangerous tactic. It was something you would never do in the field. However, you needed to have fun every now and then and Bakugou was so easy to tease. You knew he had a fast enough reaction time to get you. That was proved correct when you saw his body shoot off the side of the building.

Explosion after explosion was set off until you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist.

You looked down and saw you were about 10 feet to the ground. Bakugou reached out and grabbed onto a fire escape. “Jump down,” Bakugou spoke, his voice low.

His arm slipped away from you as you prepared yourself to fall to the ground. Your shoes, which could absorb shock, helped to make the jump easy and comfortable. Bakugou followed you, dropping a few feet away.

You stood silently as the blond stared at you before practically running up to you.

“What is wrong with you?” He demanded while holding onto your arms and shaking you.

Because of the large gloves on his hands, you weren’t able to feel his emotions. However, you were fairly certain he was worried.

You felt bad.

You felt really bad.

His eyes held more worry than you had seen from him and his thoughts had been rushing so much during these past thirty seconds that it gave you a headache. You were sure he had one too.

“I’m sorry,” You bashfully replied. “I wanted to shock you.”

“Yeah, well you did that perfectly,” He replied. He groaned while looking over your body, wanting to see if you got hurt.

“I’m not hurt,” You mumbled, pulling away from him because of how nervous his staring made you feel.

He reluctantly let go of you and let you step away.

“I didn’t mean to worry you so much,” You commented, stopping there because you weren’t sure whether or not to say sorry. That might be too far, you thought.

Bakugou stiffened immediately. It was clear those words made him nervous.

Worry? You heard him think. Fuck, I am worried. I shouldn’t be worried. I shouldn’t be worried. But I am.

Bakugou scoffed, “I have to worry for stupid idiots like you.” Why am I so worried about her? I wouldn’t be this worried about anyone else.

You simply nodded, not wanting to remind him that you could hear his thoughts. “So,” You began after a short pause, “Are we done for today?”

“After the heart attack you gave me today?” He rhetorically questioned, “Yeah, we are done for today.”

Once again, you nodded and followed Bakugou as he began walking to where you left your bags.

“Next time,” He began as your items came into sight, “Let’s just rent out part of the gym and work on hand-to-hand combat. That way,” He turned to look at you, “You can’t pull any dumb tricks.” He paused for a moment, “Also so you don’t fucking cut me with your sword again.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, moving closer to the blond to look at his cut. “I forgot!”

Once you got to your item, you opened your suitcase and pulled out rubbing alcohol, a couple of band aids, and a Japanese brand for Neosporin.

“Here,” You began, showing the small first aid kit, “Let me clean it.”

Bakugou reluctantly sat down and allowed you to scoot close to him. You rinsed your hands off by pouring some of your water onto them before grabbing a cotton ball and also putting water onto it. You used the wet cotton ball to clean the blood around the cut, some of it was already dry. You then took another cotton ball and put a small amount of alcohol onto it.

Carefully, you ran the cotton ball over the small cut on his arm. Bakugou took a sharp breath in because of the stinging but stayed still as you cleaned it. You pulled it away and looked up at the blond. Your hands had been holding your arm still, allowing you to feel just how nervous he was.

Unfortunately, because of your quirk, you felt the exact same feelings as him. You tried your best to resist any obvious reactions and let go of his arm, so you were no longer being bombarded with nervousness.

When you looked up at him, you saw pink on his cheeks, and you weren’t sure if it was from the training or the anxiety he felt as you took care of him. Additionally, you were fairly certain you also had a blush because of your empathetic abilities. He looked into your eyes for a moment before you tore your own away and went to grab the ointment.

Cautiously, you spread a small amount onto the cut. You then took a few band-aids and spread them across his arms to cover the wound.

“Thanks,” Bakugou quietly spoke once you finished and started putting away the items.

“No problem,” You simply replied before grabbing your water and taking a swig.

Silently, the two of you grabbed your things and made your way to the lockers. The school provided showers in the locker room and well as all the necessary toiletries to help prevent kids from easily stinking up their dorms. Considering your run today and all the hard work you did, you decided a shower before going back to the dorms would be best.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” You spoke as you two arrived at the lockers. “I’m going to shower.”

Bakugou hummed in response and entered his respective room. You casually and efficiently changed, washed your body, and put on your workout clothes again. They weren’t smelly from only stretching so it wasn’t bad to wear them.

You pushed your dry hair back, put in your earbuds, and grabbed all your things to make your way out of the locker room.

When you exited, you immediately saw Bakugou, who was leaning against a rail on his phone. His items were placed next to him and his left hand was shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Took you long enough,” He mumbled while looking at you. “You didn’t even wash your hair, what took you forever?”

“I told you not to wait for me,” You replied, “It is your fault for waiting.”

Bakugou scoffed and grabbed his things. “Whatever,” He mumbled before beginning to walk back to the dorms. “I wanted to talk to you about dinner tomorrow,” He explained, “And I didn’t want to text your later.”

“Wow,” You replied in a dry voice, “You sure do know how to make someone feel special.”

“Shut up idiot,” He spat back. You could once again see pink on his cheeks but chose to ignore it. “Anyways,” He began again, “Meet me in the kitchen at four. Sero will be there at five. I want to see how well you can cook.”

“What are we making?” You asked.

“Rice with umeboshi, miso soup, salad, some other shit,” Bakugou replied. “It’s a lot. I know in America that dishes aren’t broken up as much so I will show you everything tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Thanks. I appreciate you trying to help teach me.”

“Yeah, well I will kick you out just as fast if you suck,” He replied.

You looked to Bakugou and saw the teasing smirk on his face. You laughed at his comment which was soon followed by a few snickers from the blond himself.

By the time you and Bakugou arrived home, the conversation died down. Silently, the two of you filled up your waters and walked upstairs to your respective rooms.

“See ya,” Bakugou lazily spoke before heading into his own room and leaving you to yourself.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH15

18+ Content: General fluff/angst. Din POV. Word Count: 5138 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it’s up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate. Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist / Playlist

EPILOGUE

Whispers.

Din is subjected to whispers surrounding him and clinging to his beskar like seafoam on his boots; sensitive and hushed tones aimed to show their condolences, their pity, regarding the absence of light beside him. They raise their voice no louder than whispers out of fear, not sympathy—sterile beskar contaminated with the sun’s liquidised crux intimidating them into tight-lipped smiles.

Sorrow radiates off him in potent waves that roll over the settlement to drown them in his grieving. It doesn’t need to be voiced. There’s a plenitude of evidence that stacks up against the presumption; the reclaimed rifle adhered to slippery beskar as opposed to cradling its framework into soft flesh, a tattered cloak that now only stretches across one side of his back, broad shoulders appearing so compact in on themselves, and a heavy-footed stride that simply speaks anguish.

If those factors aren’t indication enough, the blood does it.

Dried blood that coats his tan appendage but not his gloved—funny, how he always seems to dirty his hands—thick streaks that have yet to reach that dry point smeared against his armour, dark patches on his flight suit that adheres to the skin beneath.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the scene of The Mandalorian—a stoic warrior capable of pulling the tides that’ll swallow their settlement whole—so vanquished and mourning the woman he loved in such dreaded silence is worth a million and then some.

The element of a bare hand no longer pining to envelope itself from intrusive eyes is grisly. Abnormal. Eerie, all most, as if Mando’s resolve will snap before their inspections. Children are guided behind the adults with a subtle hand but it doesn’t pass unnoticed.

Din suspends in the maelstrom of the locals, helmet burdensome on his shoulders, vacantly swaying side-to-side as though struggling to remain awake on his feet; struggling to not let slip of his eyelids and succumb to the mud that’ll pose as his eternal resting grounds. If it weren’t for the slumbering speck of green nestled in the arms of Omera, perhaps he would allow himself to sink to his knees for the second time that night, no—third. Third time.

There’s no communication between them, no are you okay’s or I’m so sorry’s, just a simple exchange of glances that reads she’s gone, my girl is gone when Din recovers the Child from her arms. Familiar weight in the nook of his elbow, the same elbow her head resided as she lay dormant, he reverts back between the compound aisle of onlookers.

It’s all the same expression—that pouted bottom lip and upturned eyebrow, colourful eyes attentive to his exposed hand and gory armour; anything besides the chilling black slit of his visor, the red thumbprint of a much larger hand impression sitting in the corner of his view field—Din’s chin descends to his chest to avert his eyes from the hands on their loved ones, pulling them to a warmth he’ll soon forget the feeling of, the silent declaration of adoration upon seeing such a depleted man without his.

Voices are deteriorating before him, echoing and remote as if they were isolated across a vast canyon—everybody’s tone blending into one heaped bulk he can’t decipher who or where they’re coming from; a procedure his mind conducted to dissociate from the pity timbres.

Caben…

...I know.

Beskar wrenches their route, initiating eye contact with the two farmers his love died to save—died so that they could live fulfilling lives while she’s devoured by parasites—and his fist clenches by his side. Din doesn’t blame them for her demise, not really, she never would’ve inflicted such a gnarly wound if it wasn’t for the fact the Guild was after him; the fact that rescuing a helpless child would lead to a chain of events that brings him such an acquainted feeling of despair.

And he’d do it all over again if the situation arises—that’s what causes his slitted fingers to curl into his palms and draw blood out the gaps between. Din had breached many rules, some of his Creed’s and others his personal pledges; do not fall victim to a girl’s loving touches. They were there for good reason. Din’s not mad at Caben and Stoke nor Omera for informing him of their situation. Din’s mad at himself because, despite knowing the outcome of it all and despite how her name has been carved into his ribs, he would never not rescue the Child.

Even if that statement alone induces a thousand scenarios in which his beloved dies in his arms. Perhaps it’s his private method of torture; a way to inflict damage onto himself that doesn’t bruise skin but the sensitive heart beneath it all.

Caben and Stoke quiver underneath the leer of a visor blemished with vermillion—someone so black and white touched with the coloured essence of a cherished one—he’s never donned so much vibrancy. Not even when he wore his shoddy spraypainted duraplast armour had he been so rich in hues that no eyes should witness.

Din takes mercy on the men and tears his helmet away, feet falling with a burden into the forest haunted with a spirit that’ll never be able to rest.

It takes a day of being in hyperspace to reach overfamiliar craggy rocks and whipping sand granules—a day of being confined within his home, now a duralloy prison, with a fallen star coursing ripples of glacial bursts. The corpse of his sweetheart had been covered with what little material remained of the cloth on his back for the Child’s sake, not his. Din could never want that pretty face cloaked even with the browning plasma cracking on the surface of her cheek, the dark crescents beneath eyes that holds overtones that now only live in his head and windburned lips that once felt warm and smooth against his own roughened.

There’s a steep drop to his death waiting for a mere slip of his boots against the coarse siltstone—internal bleeding upon the impact that would cater his physique with that unaccounted heat one last time—but Din is versatile and makes it down with limited injuries; some grazes into the paddings of fingers and a sore ball of the foot where he’d dug his boots into an uneven surface a little too vigorously.

Soft sand sits beneath his feet in contrast to the grittiness above, a result of the lack of rays that reach between the gorge. It’s darkened down these parts, plagued with skeletons of unfortunate victims to the brittle canyon edgings.

A mote of black pokes upright from the golden ground, the end of a matte-finished cylinder storing pale grains into its blueprint. The ground swallows his knees whole and adheres itself to his flight suit where it’ll reside in the empty space that’s left behind for journeys to come.

Din combs the sand with cupped hands, bare digits burrowing deep and bandaging around the target to wedge free of its tenacious grip. It extracts from the planet’s crust with falling particles from its bore reuniting with its sum beneath his weight—a shattered chamber decays in his clutch. The stock, its untethered support deeper in the terra, withdraws into his idle grip.

It’s a straightforward design—a barrel he’s stared down into more times than he can account for—but there’s sentimental value in its mere existence, despite Din never having any interest in the dark oil encrusted with scratches and weathered patches around a jammed trigger. Such a stocky weapon for arms crafted of supple beams. The tide could easily harness such a defying artifact; digest the barrel whole into the belly of its trenches, the increased pressure simply too great for it to ever leave. Not the beams, though—they should never be required to carry such unstable weight, such compactness.

The amban rifle was perfect for those hands; nimble and delicate, easy to employ.

Salvaged firearm in hand, Din finds himself before the entrance of a shoddy dome shack; a flap of shroud swaying one with the wind eased to the side with the back of his knuckles, helmet dipping as he sets a lagging foot inside. The sparseness, the emptiness, drowns his lungs and constricts his airways—it’d been ransacked, by Jawas presumably, all of the deconstructed mechanics that should be gathering dust pinched from the schism-riddled wooden slab.

Disconnected halves of a rifle are gently laid to rest on the surface, the skeleton of a shattered Creed shortly following. Its critical gaze eats at the delicate man frontwards, toned eyes melting to a bubbling molten transparisteel that scars his assaulted morals. Three tan fingers spin the helmet on its axis to face the duracrete, allowing the pang in his temples to subside.

Din’s calves encased with his duraplast greeves butt against the edge of a mediocre cot, not too contrasting to his own—cramped with little to no support, but it’s stable and it works—he envisions a bandaged figure curled up on the durasteel, nothing but an oversized poncho to supply warmth that wasn’t necessary on such a heated planet. He sinks to the bunk and pursues the comfort of a merciless prod in his waist, a sweat-slicked forehead pressing into the wall.

If he closes his eyes and breathes deep he’s rewarded with a faint whiff of a rich syrup that combats the stale crux on his platings—the point of a pinky muscle stimulated with a fleeting taste of his favourite flavours. Sand particles deposited by the gusts of winds flood his ventilators from the cot beneath him, slicing through the linings of his insides. In lieu of coughing and spluttering Din deeply exhales and laxes his muscles; the overwhelming requirement for rest inevitably forcing his mind to disable and his breathing to even out.

Kuiil and his craftsmanship came up short as expected.

Even with the labour of three lifetimes, I cannot fix this. I have never seen something this shattered be repaired before. Perhaps you are not supposed to restore its properties.

Din respected the Ugnaught too much to vocalise his thoughts—what a load of bantha—and opted to depart from Arvala-7 before its granular claws burrowed into him more than they already had; his boots packed to his ankles with hot grit that converts the soles of his feet to blisters, flight suit drenched in sweat and blood.

Rather than dedicating a whole five minutes of changing attire, rather than finally ridding himself of the constant reminder of his dead lover clinging to his skin and clothes, he punches the navigation and activates the auto-piloting to his next destination.

The Child has developed some independence in the peak of Din’s mourning, often finding himself entertained with a drifting gear knob in the vacancy of the air before him—he almost appeared aware of the situation, aware of the black hole in Din’s chest narrowing his interiors and destabilising his balance—and he no longer needed assistance to vacate from the Crest when the hatch extended.

His guardian, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager to leave his penitentiary. It was quiet and cold in comparison to the hustle and bustle outside the duralloy cell, the loud exclaim of a snappy mechanic, no matter how late into the night it had to be, scolding her droids.

Are ya looking to get shot at? You know the drill, back away from it!

Din straightens himself out from the floor between the cockpit and the hold’s ladder, the one place he didn’t encounter the phantom of waning memories; they plagued these walls beyond belief. Recollections of brief intimate instances strewn throughout the hold, his bunk, the cockpit—it made operating his spacecraft a difficult chore.

He does his utmost not to glimpse at the emptiness atop the crates, the browning streaks that run down the slopes of the cubes and into the grooves of the Razor Crest’s base, but there’s only a limited measure of self-control residing within him and its line has been blurry as of late. Submitting to the gravitational pull of his eyes is inescapable and he risks a peak; a raggedy cloak that concealed gelid mounds now servicing as a blanket for the bare inventory containers.

Shoulders tighten and footwork falters as he maneuvers to the hatch, the idle purring of a preservation machine in the far corner a reminder of what he’d gone and done—guilt and grief goading his esophagus but he swallows it, greets the sting in his walls with a gruff clear of his throat.

What’s the big idea of stationing yourself here? She doesn’t appear in bad shape at all. I ain’t free parking, ya know.

Shiny credits are flung in her direction, the satchel containing the remainder of what was once a reimbursement to the bisected rifle in his leathers, he doesn’t allow him the privilege of feeling sorrow upon parting with them. Din doesn’t deserve to experience such sensitive emotions when he’s the trigger that snapped against a guard—a cherry bolt of a hand jabbing through the wind and tossing delicate goods down a ravine.

Peli eyeballs the exposed spinal plating of the Mandalorian and compiles the fragmented pieces of his physique, slotting in each individual aspect from his impaired posture down to the crust on his steel. Shards of a rusting man relocate, twisting and turning—no, not there...not quite...oh...—until it connects, a brittle sharp-edged outline of a man receding.

But that’s all it is.

An outline. Incomplete. His jam-packed insides—his essence, his life, his love—has been swindled from within leaving a husk of an exhausted bereaved soul ricocheting off the internal boundaries of beskar in search of its partner.

Din deposits himself in a corner of the hangar tucked away where the shadows push and pull his limbs, steering his appendages across the surface of an eroding strongbox showcasing the deconstructed blaster. Phantoms of apprehensive hands ghost overhead, their primary function programmed to destroy and slaughter not replenish and recover.

Reparations are out of the question. It’s beyond demolished; hardly decent for a mantlepiece let alone functional. It’s laid out like a butchered tip-yip primed for roasting, components scattered and misplaced; a muddle not even the greatest gunslinger could capitalise from.

Engravings on the stock of the rifle stabilise him, a gorgeous aluminium that shines beneath all the oil and base of obsidian. Its lines paint a picture of nothing, overlapping and crossing into a mess, but it fires a brisk bolt against his heartplate all the same. Bare fingers spelunk its origins for its quirks, its stories of a stubborn girl entrapped within it; utilising the elongated barrel like a third arm, a trigger snappy as her words, the scenic stock a mirror to the beauty beside it.

Roughened fingers were a by-product of being consistently handsy throughout the decades but when perceiving the sun rays they were reborn entirely. Soft and smooth and careful. Now that the sun no longer responds to his touch, now that he’s left with cool inscribed metal, they’ve reverted to their nature. Sandy. Sharp. Aggressive.

Aggressive fingers that match the stained violence of his Creed—his beskar that simply won’t return to that elegant silver shine no matter how desperately he rubs against the surface. Water sloshes back and forth in the modest trough of a sink, a tainted red-brown colour accumulating at the bottom provoking an ache in the tender organ residing in his centre.

He’d practically been forced into the shoddy refresher by the mechanic—you got the kid all anxious, just look at you, go get that gunk off yourself.

That’s all it can be perceived as by others; nothing more than filthy smears required to be rid of simply for presentation—to preserve the comfort of others no matter how intense the guilt chews against his muscles as her pith dilutes. Gunk.

Din muffles a sob. It’s her.

She’s abandoning him for a second time. What little of her refuses to part from him is so encrusted it’s become a part of his armour, inserting herself into the nicks and grooves of his platings his fingers fail to penetrate.

Mindless hands shift to his lesioned flesh, unsteady digits summarising the hills of rashy bumps visible only through the lens of steamy caf. Phantoms of lingering touches mark tan terrain in the shapes of slender fingers and cottony lips on his chest, his stomach, neck and face; everywhere that’d been blessed with the loveliest of kisses and nips from the Sun now scarred over.

Pendant held firmly in place pulses a scorching burst through the tissue on his sternum, the beskar skull leaving its claim. Its fraying thread drifts to thick fingers and lays loose between them, irritable skin of a palm flaring at its exuding heat and crisp pang; none of its physical but it’s as though he’s brushed with a hand of a million degrees all the same.

Shiny silver occupies the empty space beside him, a lithe barrel glittering in the substandard lighting of a crummy Tatooine refresher; heckling the helmetless man but he could never glance its way in any sort of negative class.

It hurts to connect with the beskar pendant and perhaps he deserves to hurt, but he can’t sustain it, can’t confront that sting in his throat and eyes each time it shifts against his chest.

Din weaves the lace of his material initiation through the metal perch beneath the shiny stretch of a barrel; dangling and showcased on the paired rifle of his Sun where it’ll reside—operating as a threatening symbol to partner his visor against enemies who dare glance his way.

And it did, far more successful than he could’ve imagined; rumours of his descent traversing parsecs faster than his Crest could vie with.

Did you hear about that Mandalorian—supposedly lost his lover and went rogue. I heard he turned berserk, he’s killed a town’s worth of criminals! Someone ought to lock him up before he turns on us. He’s a threat to us all!

Din didn’t much care for the presumptions. It wasn’t as though he frequented locations to be overwhelmed with the local’s support, though it made discreetly getting around a challenge—no longer were the days he could enter a cantina with a few intrigued eyes devising a way to lay claim to his beskar before returning to their booze.

But now it was people confronting him in false hope he’d be too deep in mourning to fight against their attacks. It never did end well for them.

He’d become a magnet for death, even of his own.

It wasn’t righteous to die in that common house. Not when those disproportionate black eyes observed from the arms of a droid; deep, dark masses that depicted more emotion for his guardian’s condition than perhaps they should. He’d been selfishly greeting his emerging end with an inconsiderate let me have a warrior’s death. It’d be a lie if he was to deny its translation; let me see my beloved.

As is his entire life, Din’s been allocated with responsibilities far out of his expertise but he’s not relinquishing his guardianship to the kid that easily. It’s not as if he could be transferred to any other old sucker either; not everybody has the same compassion for a floppy-eared bounty worth their retirement funds.

No, it wasn’t his time to rest. It’ll come when it’s merited.

That night after the events that’d transpired, Greef Karga bestowed some unusually wise statements underneath the moonless canopy of speckled stars patterning the abyss. Simply reminding Din of its existence; the constant celestials that’ll never desert him no matter what dodgy planet he dwelt.

A new moon is approaching. As a child I had been told stories of a cosmic reset at the commencement of a new cycle; an opportunity to start anew. Perhaps it was all just folklore but it’s fascinating all the same, wouldn’t you agree? I always did like shiny things.

It’d been the vulnerability that encouraged his Guild’s leader to utter those words—that unmistakable change in demeanour since they’d last met, that insecurity swallowing an iron stomach upon hearing a dead name chanted amongst an army of Stormtroopers—Din knew without it being conveyed.

He had been stripped of his privacy and put in the spotlight in front of dozens of lifeforms. A name reserved for a benevolent tone now recognised by the enemy, trespassing on those memories of all the situations it’d been murmured into his bare flesh as if labelling him as a person; a real breathing blood-pumping person and not the Creed he fought for.

Gideon was his name, the man who spoke of his identity as though he crafted it himself. As though he nursed the bruises and traumas of his title and being—not gentle hands that’d remain uncomplaining despite how little Din offered in return.

If Din had inspected his fallen TIE fighter for life, perhaps he could’ve avoided the forthcoming events.

With the naive belief of security, Din encouraged the pursuit of his aspirations rather than the concern of his violations towards his code. His relationship with the Creed had been on thin ice and he’s not quite willing to pardon its strict principles.

An opportunity to start anew.

His brain requests a rebalance—the interest for the Child’s consideration prodding needles into the fleshy mass—demands his sentiments to be torched, cremated until they are stardust particles drifting through the celestials above. They crack and pop in tune to the sizzle of a droughted driftwood pyre bearing the corpse of his lover, profitably filling two needs with one deed; a clear state of mind to focus on his ongoing responsibilities and to allow depleted beams to finally rest across the horizon.

She’d endured suffering enough; receiving punishment from those she trusted, the guilt and onslaught Din presented as a by-product, sustaining wounds until it’d finally become too much.

Even in death, she wasn’t permitted serenity.

Her fucking body is still with me!

It slipped out of his mouth back on Tatooine.

I had to - had to put her in carbonite...she was fuckin’ rotting in my ship. I didn’t know what else to do. What are you supposed to do with the body of your-... I can’t just - just ditch her on some shitty planet all alone like that!

Peli had been of assistance; providing Din somewhere to rest his eyes without breathing in the stench of decaying flesh. She’d even gone ahead and supplied him with a pair of gloves to preserve his corrupted honour though she wouldn’t admit it,—prefer not to recognise you as human, makes it hard to dupe you outta credits if I’m too busy pitying you—she wasn’t repelled by his grieving, the unusual depictions of a man underneath all that shiny steel.

She’d been of more assistance than he could thank her for.

Being on Tatooine facilitated the idea of his Sun’s disposal.

Kote Kyr’am.

It’s the best memorial he could devise. A ceremony he’d attended countless times as a foundling watching his elders fall in battle. The very same elders who’d knock Din upside the head for constructing such an ancient farewell for an aruetii but she’s worthy of nothing less; more, perhaps, but there are no alternatives in the vacancy of his helmet adequate for the burial of a star.

Din’s lips are chapped, his skin is on fire, there’s a rumbling in his stomach. He’s watching his beloved burn to ash underneath the new moon and yet he feels as though he’s the one succumbing to the flames; the heat just as powerful as the dormant embodiment it’s consuming.

Velvety skin he’d allocate his hands, his tongue, and time, never enough time, to now blister and contract, tear and melt, crackle and—

He heaves over, helmet rim caught on a scrunched forehead, and readies his throat for the bite of acid. It doesn’t come. Not even a trickle of saliva disperses. Instead, his lungs impale themselves on his ribcage, contracting and expanding so rapidly he fails to recognise his cheeks are devoured with a downstream.

The salt probes his tastebuds though it’s insufficient to dominate the heavy particles of ablaze flesh. It’s so rich, so potent that it’s evolved to a taste rather than a scent. Din could withstand the odour, his filters stripped the majority, but the taste is intolerable and it just so freely floats in through his agape mouth to nestle among his tongue - as if it belonged there - as if a contrasting sweeter taste didn’t.

Din’s skin reddens from Navarro’s meanspirited terrain but it’s not enough motivation to rise to his feet. He sits there, steel dwelling amongst the molten, and waits because he can’t continue his journeys for two without that flicker of confidence she’s at peace.

He’ll take a crumb of assurance, it’d be plenty for him to muster up the strength and return to the Crest where the Child awaits.

Usually, as is Mandalorian custom, he’d be stripping the shell of armour from her corpse as a keepsake of a life well-lived - to preserve the name of her clan but all Din had of her’s was a shattered rifle that’ll remain in the vacuum of a satchel.

Not to mention the chants—the gruff Mando’a words designed to ensure their warrior’s spirit may join their fallen. Din had his fair share of howling war cries through the years but not this time - it’s not right.

An aruetii wouldn’t be welcomed.

Besides, his Creed had stolen his spirit. It doesn’t qualify to steal hers.

It isn’t until a final blow of wind carries her skywards that Din raises to his feel, latches his helmet back in place, and returns to work.

Din likes the skies, no—loves the skies; the magnificent blues and pinks and oranges that blend as one, the swollen cushiony whites that conceal his naked face from the shell whatever planet he’d roam, but above all else Din loves how the sun blessed him with its astral kisses.

That unmistakable warmth flushed over him; the remnants of his extinguished star’s touches.

There was a peace up there that’d never reach the conflict of the galaxy; serenity that allowed for a moment of buoyancy—floating among the cornflower identical to how one might in the colossal depths of the ocean without the intimidation of anchoring oneself by weighted platings.

It was a real sight to behold up there; unfamiliar without the confines of his Crest.

Din had forgotten the thrill of the sweeping winds through his limbs, the freedom rising in his chest upon cutting through white puffs. But it had been the horizon that lured his attention inwards—the bends and slopes of a shimmering orange star smiling at the returning glint in his visor.

It was the first time he’d genuinely smiled since the loss of His Star. It had something to do with the warmth; the sunbeams managing to penetrate past beskar and into his flesh and organs so intimately, so overfamiliar to delicate fingers stroking the muscles of his chest or the bones beneath his cheeks.

It became sort of a custom in his travels to visit the heavens at least once on each planet. Often times bemused squealing would accompany him. Grogu—Grogu...the kid had a name—had been adamant about participating in his encounters and Din now has no doubt that was his abilities, the Force as Ahsoka mentioned, enabling him to perceive his intentions; his ambition to be touched by someone who no longer lives. It’d be easier to go up against seven Krayt dragons than to convince a power-wielding typhoon to remain on land, thereby he’d hoist Grogu up and above the overcast where the beams kissed the peak of his fuzzy forehead.

Renouncing his guardianship to Grogu had been challenging. Losing another lifeform so that he’d be entirely alone wasn’t a consideration as he journeyed in search of a Jedi, but it was to be expected. The kid was powerful and Din didn’t possess the knowledge to help him wield his abilities. Didn’t make saying goodbye any easier, though.

The situation resurfaced ghoulish remembrances of draining light in his arms; how he never presented his emotions without the guise of his helmet. So, encircled with copious lifeforms, Din removed his Creed before Grogu—introducing that vulnerability and love for a toddler who’d swindled his affection so effortlessly. A claw on his face wasn’t the same as gentle fingers but he didn’t love it any less.

The ordeal was absolving despite the moisture in his eyes.

Din’s ambivalent about what he’ll pursue from here with no mission, no ship, no love, but he doesn’t much care when he’s brushed with the warmth of his lover’s thumbs on his eyelids. It’s his favourite space; lingering above the clouds, head craned backwards with his helmet loosely held in his leathers, savouring how the beams kiss his skin until it’s pink from its spice.

Some days he simply wishes to take a peak, a small little glance to quench him until the desire builds up again. Some days he remains in the skies until his jetpack whines and runs into failures; until it makes its descent and is replaced with a shimmering orb.

He’s envious of the moon; how it so easily recovers its glossy shine and integrity, neglecting to address the events of the eclipse. Its radiance chips away at his armour but the sunshine restores it—realigns the shards and offers a toasty kiss to the steel, commending it for protecting her Mandalorian.

Din suspends in a herd of clouds and sighs into the air. It’s quiet except for the monotonous bursts of thrusters from behind. Sunshine is greeted with lukewarm caf, a partnering smile tugging his lips.

“Beloved Girl,” Din’s voice is raspy from inactivity but so loud, so clear in contrast to everybody else’s he’d consulted.

There’s too much he wants to say but he determines to voice them all. Din expresses his thoughts he’d been too stoic to admit, ranging from whispers to shouts at the sun as if it was a sentient being listening to his passion.

He tells her of how much he longs to see her, to taste her on his lips, to provoke that sparkling smile he loved so dearly. He communicates his guilt and how he loves her more than he can fathom—mentions the successful end of his journeys with Grogu and how he now has zilch but an undesired blade to show for it.

There’s nothing but a sway of wind whipping his eardrums in response and Din hums, accepting it.

Din cherishes the splinters of beams as she comes to rest beneath the horizon and he too sinks from the skies, obscured dimples in his cheeks as he recounts the memories of his beloved wrapped in his arms.

One last thing, Cyare, keep an eye on the kid for me, will you?

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