#this man was so stunned by dins beautiful eyes and by seeing his face that that's what came outta his mouth

[verpineshatterrifle]

oh if i dont watch it im going to start shipping din and mayfeld

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || You're Not Financially Stable [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Chan was starting to get increasingly worried about you. You had been evading him for weeks, your once warm embraces replaced by cold distance. Suspicion clawed at his mind, whispering tales of betrayal and deceit. Unable to ignore the gnawing doubt any longer, Chan set out to confront you at your apartment. As he approached your door, his heart hammered against his chest, each step a testament to the turmoil within him.

Knocking gently, Chan waited with bated breath, the tension thick in the air. When no answer came, he pushed open the door, his eyes scanning the barren room.

"Yn?" he called out, his voice echoing against the empty walls.

Silence greeted him, the absence of her presence a heavy weight upon his shoulders. But then, amidst the desolation, a glimmer of hope flickered—a letter lying on the table, its edges crumpled with despair.

With trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, his eyes devouring the words scrawled upon it—a tale of eviction, of loss, and of a new beginning. You had been forced from your home, cast aside like a forgotten memory.

Determined to find you, Chan retraced your steps, each corner of the city a labyrinth of possibilities. It wasn't long before he stumbled upon a quaint café, its windows aglow with warmth and laughter. Above it lay a modest apartment, a sanctuary hidden from the chaos below.

Heart pounding, Chan ascended the stairs, anticipation mingling with trepidation. When he reached the door, he paused, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. But then, with a resolve born of love, he knocked.

The door swung open, revealing your tear-streaked face, your eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of him.

"Channie?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the city. You never thought you'd see him again after everything.

"Yn," he breathed, relief flooding through him at the sight of you, knowing you were well...at least alive, you looked as though you'd barely slept and had been crying a lot. Tears welled in your eyes as you beheld the man who had once held your heart, his presence a lifeline in the storm.

"I thought I'd lost you," You confessed, your voice trembling with emotion. After being kicked out, your phone was off service and you'd lost your charger so you couldn't even get his number. Everyone you turned to for help ignored you or pushed you away. Chan stepped forward, enveloping you in his embrace, his touch a promise of safety amidst the chaos.

"You'll never lose me," he vowed his words a beacon of hope in the darkness. 

"I'm here, Yn. And I'm not going anywhere." He promised, kissing your cheeks and keeping you pressed close to him. He wasn't certain what the future held for you both but he was sure he wasn't going to lose you again.

MINHO:

Lee Minho, a prominent figure in the underground world of organized crime, strode into the opulent ballroom of the Grand Palazzo, his arm intertwined with that of his stunning girlfriend, you. The two of you were a striking pair; Minho, with his sharp suit and commanding presence, and you, elegant in your signature red dress, exuding grace and beauty.

The occasion was a black-tie charity event, a masquerade of the city's elite, where appearances were everything. Minho relished the opportunity to flaunt his status, but tonight, his focus was solely on you.

As you mingled through the crowd, a snide remark caught Minho's attention. A well-dressed socialite whispered to her companion, casting a disdainful glance at you, 

"Isn't that the same dress she always wears? How embarrassing. Clearly, she can't afford anything better." It was a comment you'd grown used to hearing by now, it wasn't as though you could afford extravagant gowns every time Minho wanted you to join him at a party. Minho's jaw clenched in anger, his protective instincts kicking in. He resisted the urge to confront the woman, knowing it would only draw unwanted attention. Instead, he steered you away, his mind swirling with thoughts.

Later in the evening, amidst the swirl of music and laughter, Miinho overheard snippets of a conversation nearby.

"Did you hear about Yn? Word has it she's struggling to make ends meet. Works multiple jobs just to pay the bills."

"I heard Izzie say she saw her working in a diner just outside of the city," Another voice said before laughter ensued. Minho's heart sank. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You had never mentioned anything about financial difficulties, and he had never thought to pry into your personal affairs. But now, faced with these rumours, he couldn't ignore them.

He guided you to a quiet corner of the room, his expression troubled. "Yn, is it true? Are you having trouble with money?" Your cheeks heated with embarrassment, and you looked down, unable to meet his gaze. 

"Minho, I... I didn't want you to worry. It's nothing, really." It wasn't as though you were in tons of trouble, you just struggled to make ends meet sometimes and some weeks you'd have to survive on just noddles. Minho gently lifted your chin, his eyes searching yours for the truth. 

"Don't shut me out, baby. I need to know. If you're struggling, we'll face it together." Tears welled in your eyes as you finally confessed, 

"I've been working extra shifts at the diner, tutoring on the weekends, just to keep up with the bills. I didn't want you to think any less of me." his heart ached at your words. He had always admired your independence and strength, but now he saw the toll it was taking on you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace, holding you close.

"You don't have to do this alone, baby. I'm here for you, always. We're a team," he whispered softly, promising to support you in any way he could.

CHANGBIN:

Changbin strode purposefully up the steps to your apartment, anticipation building as he looked forward to spending time with you, the two of you had hardly spent any time together as of late since he got busy with work. However, his eagerness turned to concern as he noticed the unmistakable shape of an eviction notice pinned to your front door.

His heart sank as he read the terse words printed on the paper, realizing the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, he knocked on the door, his mind racing with worry for you. 

When you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise and a flicker of embarrassment flashed across your face at the sight of him standing there with the notice in hand. You'd meant to take it down when you got home from work but you'd completely forgotten when you were cleaning the apartment.

Before you could say anything, he spoke gently but firmly, "What's going on, baby?" Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you met his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been struggling," you confessed, your words heavy with shame and yet admitting it felt as though a weight had been taken off your shoulders. "I couldn't keep up with the rent, and now they're evicting me." Changbin's heart ached at the sight of your distress, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, enveloping you in a reassuring embrace.

"You should have told me," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "We'll figure this out together."

Determined to help you through this difficult time, he wasted no time in springing into action. Whether it was arranging for temporary housing, offering financial assistance, or simply providing emotional support, he was determined to be there for you every step of the way. He'd been tempted to buy the apartment building out from your landlord but you'd refused to let him, promising that what he was doing was already enough

HYUNJIN:

The atmosphere in the grand hall was electric as the auctioneer's voice echoed off the walls, commanding attention. Hyunjin was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, and surveyed the room with a practised eye, his gaze flickering over the exquisite artworks on display. It felt as though he did this a few times a week if he was lucky enough and he could never get enough of the art functions.

But amidst the flurry of bids and whispers, something caught his attention—a series of paintings that seemed strangely familiar. As he drew closer, his heart skipped a beat. They were your paintings, each stroke a testament to your talent and passion. Confusion and concern swirled in his mind as he approached the saleswoman, his tone carefully controlled.

"Excuse me," he began, "but could you tell me about the artist who donated these paintings?" He knew you'd never want to sell them and he worried someone might have stolen them from you. You'd sold a few paintings before but these were your masterpieces, the ones you couldn't even dream of selling.

The saleswoman offered him a sympathetic smile, her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. 

"The woman who donated them was struggling," she explained softly. "She didn't want to sell, but she had no choice." A surge of protectiveness washed over Hyunjin as he listened to her words. He knew how much those paintings meant to you, how each brushstroke told a story of your dreams and aspirations. Without another word, he made up his mind. As the bidding continued around him, he silently placed his bids, determined to acquire every single one of your paintings.

Once the auction concluded and the paintings were in his possession, he wasted no time in arranging for them to be hidden away, safe from prying eyes and opportunistic buyers.

Weeks passed, and Hyunjin watched as you struggled with your art, unaware of the fate of your precious creations. He knew you longed to reclaim them, to see them hanging proudly in your studio once more. Hyunjin knew you'd never let him help you if he tried to give you money for rent or even if he tried to get you to let him help with anything but he was proud of you. You'd dug your way out of the financial pit you were in until you were ready again.

"I thought we were going to dinner," You giggled as Hyunjin took you into a warehouse, the two of you were going to celebrate your new job but he wanted to take you to your paintings first.

"It's a secret." He chuckled, as you entered the dimly lit room, Hyunjin could sense the tension radiating from you. You glanced around, your eyes widening in disbelief as they landed on row after row of canvases shrouded in darkness.

"What is this place?" You whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. Hyunjin stepped forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp yours. 

"This is where I've been keeping something for you," he explained softly, guiding you further into the room.

As you approached the first stack of paintings, he paused, allowing you to take in the sight before you. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what lay hidden beneath the cloths. You'd been desperately trying to find the buyer for almost a week now, willing to trade him some of your other paintings for your old ones.

"These... these are my paintings," You whispered, your voice shakey as you turned to look at Hyunjin who was nodding, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze never leaving yours. "Every single one of them." Tears welled up in your eyes as you moved closer, reaching out to touch the familiar textures of your artwork. It felt like a dream, surreal and yet undeniably real.

"Why?" You asked, your voice choked with emotion. "Why did you do this?"  He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes filled with tenderness. 

"Because I know how much these paintings mean to you," he replied softly. "And because I wanted to make sure they were safe until you were ready to reclaim them." Your heart swelled with gratitude as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. In that moment, you knew that you were loved more deeply than you had ever dared to imagine.

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in his chest, overcome with emotion.

JISUNG:

Jisung sat patiently in the living room, his mind drifting as he waited for you to finish getting ready for your date, the two of you were going out to celebrate your anniversary tonight. Glancing around the room absentmindedly, his eyes fell upon a stack of unopened envelopes on the coffee table—bills and late notices, their contents a stark reminder of the financial struggles they faced. 

His brow furrowed in concern as he picked up one of the envelopes, his heart sinking as he read the ominous words printed on the front. He had suspected that you had been under financial strain, but he had never imagined it was this severe.

Before he could dwell on his thoughts any longer, he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you descending the stairs. But instead of the usual smile on your face, he was met with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lip when you saw what he was holding.

Instantly, his heart clenched with worry as he rose from his seat, crossing the room to envelop you in a comforting embrace. You snuggled into him and sniffled a little.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice filled with concern. You buried your face in his chest, your tears staining his shirt as you struggled to find the words to explain. 

"I... I'm sorry," You choked out between sobs. "I didn't want you to see this... I've been trying to handle it on my own..." Your family taught you never to rely on others for your money and it was something you'd tried to stick by but it was getting harder and harder to hide your troubles. Jisung held you tighter, his own heart heavy with the weight of your pain. He had never wanted you to feel like you had to carry the burden alone, but he understood why you had kept it from him.

Gently guiding you to the couch, he sat beside you, wiping away your tears with a gentle touch. 

"You never have to hide anything from me, my love," he assured you, his voice tender and reassuring. "We're in this together, no matter what." He whispered before kissing the top of your head, your heart was heavy as you stared at the stacks of unpaid bills just waiting for you to get another paycheck.

"It doesn't matter how much overtime I do, it's never enough." You admit to him with a sad smile, you wanted to be able to do this alone but it seemed damn near impossible. 

"What can I do?" He whispered, rubbing your back softly as you stared down at the bills.

"Give me a job?"

"How about I do that and you come to live with me? We can split everything," You stared up at him, nodding with a small smile on your face, you couldn't think of anything better. 

FELIX:

Felix sat in the dimly lit restaurant with his lawyers, enjoying the ambience of the evening. As plates clinked and conversations murmured around them, the mood suddenly shifted when his lawyers leaned in to offer some advice.

"Boss," one of them began cautiously, Felix thought his name was Noel but he couldn't have been sure since the two of them were twins and he could hardly tell the difference.

"We've been noticing something concerning about the women you've been seeing lately." Felix lowered his drink to the table and raised an eyebrow, intrigued but also wary of where this conversation might lead. He hadn't given them any permission to dig into you or your life, in fact, he'd given specific orders for almost all of his men to leave you alone.

"She doesn't seem... financially stable," The other lawyer added, choosing his words carefully, swallowing a lump in his throat and Felix noted he appeared to be sweating.

Felix felt a surge of disbelief and anger. These were his trusted advisors, but their intrusion into his personal affairs caught him off guard. He clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Not financially stable?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. 

"What exactly do you mean by that?" His lawyers exchanged uncomfortable glances, sensing his displeasure.

"Well, boss,"  Noel ventured, 

"we mean that perhaps the woman isn't the best match for someone in your position. They could be a liability, you know?" Felix's jaw tightened. He felt a mix of indignation and hurt. You were being judged solely on your financial status and he wanted nothing more than to kick the lawyers to the curb but they'd told him something you hadn't yet. 

He leaned back in his chair, a steely resolve settling over him. 

"I appreciate your concern," he said icily, "but I'll thank you not to meddle in my personal life. I'll handle my relationships as I see fit." His lawyers exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they may have overstepped their bounds. But the Felix wasn't finished.

"And from now on," he continued his voice like ice, "I don't want to hear another word of advice on this matter. Is that clear?" His lawyers nodded hastily, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Later that night Felix found himself sitting across from you in your small apartment, your bills stretched out on the coffee table as you showed him everything that was late or on its final notice. It wasn't exactly something you were proud of but when he'd asked you if he could see it you didn't want to hide it from him.

"So Noel and Joel told you?" You laughed dryly and rubbed the back of your neck,

"I would have loved for you to tell me." He admitted, looking at the pieces of paper before he started to organise them into piles from most urgent to not-so-urgent.

"I was-"

"I know," He whispered, rubbing your hand softly as you laid your head down on the coffee table. You'd been trying everything to get yourself out of the hole you were in but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd been intending

"I think the best option is for you to move in with me," The suggestion came out so casually you thought it might have been a joke if it wasn't for him looking at you with a serious look on his face.

"Your biggest problem is your rent, once that's out of the way you'll have more than enough money for your bills." He told you with a smile, he'd been meaning to ask you for a while but this was just giving him that final push. 

"I still need to pay rent at yours," You told him and he nodded at you,

"Sure, but only once you're back on your feet, I won't take no for an answer," He smirks at you before your cheeks begin to heat up, moving in with him was the next step in your relationship, it only made sense. 

"O...Okay, great. I'll call my landlord-"

"I'll call, you focus on packing," He smirks, kissing you softly as you rush to go and get some bags and suitcases ready. 

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin's heart pounded with fury as he burst into your apartment, only to be met with a scene of chaos. Two burly loan sharks loomed over you, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the room as they smashed objects in a display of intimidation.

Without hesitation, Seungmin stepped forward, his imposing figure radiating authority. The loan sharks froze in their tracks, their expressions shifting from arrogance to fear as they recognized him.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. You turned to see him, relief flooding your features at the sight of him but you were still scared that he was here. 

"It's... it's nothing," you stammered, your voice trembling with emotion. "They say I owe them money, but I don't know what to do."

Seungmin's jaw clenched as he surveyed the damage, his mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. He knew you had been struggling, but he had never imagined the extent of your troubles.

Turning to the loan sharks, he fixed them with a steely gaze. "Leave. Now," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The loan sharks hesitated for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances before hastily retreating from the apartment, their bravado crumbling in the face of the Seungmin's formidable presence.

Once they were gone, he turned his attention back to you, his expression softening with concern. 

"What happened?" he asked gently, his voice tinged with regret for not realizing the extent of your struggles sooner. Tears welled up in your eyes as you recounted the story of your ex-boyfriend, how he had left you drowning in debt with no way to escape. God, you'd been too ashamed to ask for help, too afraid of burdening him with your problems.

But as you poured your heart out to him, you felt a weight lifting from your shoulders, knowing that you no longer had to face your troubles alone.

"We're going to find your ex, make him pay those assholes back and then you're moving in with me," He tells you plainly, looking around at everything those two had smashed up,

"Make a list of everything they've broken, I'll have your ex or them replace it," He said sternly, looking at you as you wrapped yourself around him and cuddled into him, just happy you weren't going to go through this alone anymore.

JEONGIN:

The atmosphere at the black-tie event was opulent, with chandeliers casting a soft glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Jeongin, resplendent in his tailored suit, mingled effortlessly among the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and nods with fellow attendees.

"Isn't that your girlfriend?" Someone asked him, his gaze wandered to where his friend had been pointed and he frowned when he spotted you. His heart skipped a beat as he realized it was you, clad in a crisp uniform as you moved gracefully among the guests.

Confusion and concern mingled in his mind as he watched you discreetly from across the room. You had told him you were too sick to join him tonight, but here you were, working tirelessly to cater to the needs of others.

"Who knew you'd be dating a waitress," Someone sniggered before Jeongin "accidentally" spilt a glass of champagne down his suit, glaring at him before going back to watching you. Anger simmered beneath the surface as he approached you, his steps purposeful yet controlled. When he reached your side, he fixed you with a steely gaze, his voice low and measured.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your eyes widened in surprise as you met his gaze, your whole body heating up. You hadn't known that this was the specific party he was going to be at tonight,

"I... I had to work," You stammered, Your voice barely above a whisper. Jeongin's jaw tightened, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. He had trusted you and believed you when you said you were too sick to accompany him tonight. But now, faced with the truth, he couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice cold and distant. "You couldn't even be honest with me?" You lowered your gaze, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides, it wasn't like you wanted to hide it from him but you were working four jobs and it was hard to let people know that. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the crowd. "I didn't want to disappoint you." Jeongin's anger softened slightly as he looked at you, his heart aching with a mixture of frustration and compassion. He knew you had your reasons, your own struggles and obligations that you felt compelled to fulfil.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite the tension between them. 

"You should have told me," he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with an undercurrent of understanding.

"How? I work four jobs and you barely work one, I-I felt like you might hate me if you found out." You admit before he takes you in his arms, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

"I couldn't care if you worked none or ten, you're my girlfriend and I'm here for you, no matter what," He whispered before kissing you softly.

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[xmissrogersx]

Brown Curls | Din Djarin

tags: a lot of Fluff. Grogu’s being adorable like always. Domesticy and family.

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

-Hi baby, are you hungry? -I leaned down to take the kid in my arms, to which he responded by raising his little hands to my face, making me laugh.

-Well, let's see what we can have for breakfast.

I began to improvise a breakfast with the few things that were in the ship's kitchen. I was to tell Din that we had to make a stop in Nevarro to buy more provisions.

-And by the way, where is your father? -I asked my little boy, who only had his attention on the blue cookies he was devouring with fervor.

I went down to the Crest in search of the brown-haired man, to find him in the bathroom in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in hand.

-Din, what are you doing? -I frowned.

-Hi mesh'la —he turned around, to which I had to cover my mouth from my gasp of surprise.

My poor Mandalorian had made a bit of a mess of his beautiful hair, leaving it very short in the front and uneven on the sides.

-I know, I thought I could do it myself. I always trimmed it myself, but I guess I couldn't handle the amount I was going to have to cut…

I crossed my arms and bowed my head, then approached him.

-Let me help you. I know you always did it yourself, but you don't have to do it anymore, you can ask me.

Din smiled, I took the scissors and started to cut the strands of his hair. I snorted under my breath, faking a moan as I removed the long curls I loved so much.

-Mesh'la, it will grow back —he comforted me, as he tightened his arms around my waist, giving me a little bit of a kiss.

-I know... It’s just… I love your hair, Din. Your curls are beautiful. But I know you must get hot looking like that when you put on the that bucket —I finished my lament, eliciting a chuckle from him and earning a pinch on my thigh.

I continued doing the job for 15 minutes. When I finished I took a step back admiring my work of art.

-Ready, ¿what do you think?

He stared at himself in front of the mirror amazed at the result. I bit my lower lip nervous that he wouldn't like it. However, all fear vanished when I saw him smile slightly.

-What do you think? —he asked, sitting me on his lap, to which I frowned in amusement.

-I don't know, I'll have to get used to seeing you with this new look —he pulled me closer to him, our foreheads pressed together.

-How about now? —Our closeness let me contemplate his brown eyes that drove me so crazy since the day he had revealed himself to me.

-Din Djarin, you look stunning, whatever cut you have. You are beautiful. But please, ¿could you grow it a little longer when you're my riduur?

He laughed at my desperate request. In 4 weeks we would go to Sorgan to get married in that beautiful place where a year ago he broke his Creed for me.

I already loved him before I saw his face, but I must say he exceeded all my imagined expectations of what he looked like.

-It's okay, Mesh'la, I promise.

I took his face in my hands and brought our breaths together, melting into one. By the creator, I was addicted to his lips.

I sat hanging from him, to which Din descended his hands, caressing my thighs.

I began to trace a path of small kisses from his jaw down his neck.

-Mesh...Priya...if you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to contain myself, and well you know a certain womp rat is up in the cabin awake.

-You're right...¿how long until we get to Nevarro? -I asked him, resting my hands on his chest.

-About 10 hours —he answered confused by my question.

-Make it 7, and I'll use the handcuffs you use in the bounties —I whispered in his ear, causing him to shiver slightly under me.

-I'll make it 4 —he said seriously, to which I kissed his cheek.

[purehypnotic]

🪩 💿 look at what the light did now 💿 🪩

din djarin x reader

the origin of mando saying “wizard”, aka, what happens when din gives you the aux cord.

sfw, gender neutral

☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚

He’s not a taxi service.

He insists on this, with one hand on his hip and the other pointing straight between your eyes, while dragging you from your hiding spot. His grip on your forearm isn’t harsh enough to hurt, but you know you can’t wiggle your way out.

“How did you get in?” the Mandalorian drills and you release a full body sigh. You’d found yourself in a little situation back at the space port. A little predicament, you might say. A little tussle that needed a quick getaway, so you darted through the Coruscant spaceport and threw yourself into the belly of the first ship you saw. You planned to lay low and sneak out on the next stop, but apparently not much can get past this Mandalorian.

“I uh came in through there,” you lamely pointed at the hatch. His helmet followed your finger to the door and swiveled back, unimpressed. You’d successfully avoided his attention for two days before he’d glanced at the cargo container you tucked yourself behind. Now here you were, awkwardly trapped between the container and the tin man, ready to convince him to let you couch surf.

“It’s honestly a miracle that I hid for this long, thought I would’ve sneezed or something to give me away,” you attempted at a conversation.

Silence.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Silence.

“Okay, alright, that’s fine. I really am sorry about sneaking in. I’ll stay out of the way or organize to make up for it,” you offered. His silence was starting to creep you out, but he squeezed your arm tighter and dragged you to the latter in the center of the hold.

“I’m not a taxi. You’re getting off in Nevarro. Stay in the cockpit where I can see you,” his clipped tone left no room to argue.

That was fine with you. Just dandy, actually, a real chair sounds pretty nice right now. The steel walls of the hold were hell on your back. As the Mandalorian stalks through the sliding doors and settles in the pilot’s chair, you stop in your tracks. You’d seen space only a couple times in your life, but hyperspace? The watercolor of starlight streaked past the windshield like neon rain, taking the breath right from your ribs. The dull thrum of lightspeed resonated through the cockpit, buzzing through your bones like an amplified bass. Glancing at the Mandalorian, you gasped. Soft blues and lilacs streaked across his reflective armor, haloing him, strangely beautiful, like an iridescent statue.

“Sit and buckle in; the Crest likes to stall,” he gestured to the seat at his right, not caring for your slack jaw. Was he not aware of the universe revealing all it had to offer in front of your faces? You took the copilot’s chair, but leaned your elbows on your knees to shift closer to the glass.

“Wizard,” you mumbled, stunned by the beauty of hyperspace.

“Wizard?” The Mandalorian deadpanned. What a killjoy.

“Space. It’s wizard,” you rolled your eyes. His wet blanket aura got in the way of your whimsy.

The Mandalorian puffed out an exhale that was a little stronger than the rest. Was that how he laughed? Is he serious? Is this what you were working with?

Giving up on entertainment from the buckethead, you reached into your pack for your earplugs and music player. A little archaic, but that was part of the charm. Fixing the little cushion into your left ear, you clicked at your vintage player and leaned back into the co-pilot’s chair as the intro to your favorite song started up. Sure, you were half-captive to a metal man with no name, but as you melted into the music with the gorgeous view of hyperspace, your situation didn’t seem so bad. It was almost peaceful.

“What is that?” The Mandalorian pressed.

Nevermind.

“Music, good music. You want some?” you offered the other earbud to the bounty hunter. He tilted his helmet in a way you were starting to suspect was how he showed emotion. He lifted one finger to point at the edge of his helm as if to say the earbud won’t fit. Awkward silence fell upon the two of you as you figured out a way to share your music with him.

“It’s alright. I’m sure you hear plenty of it while flying this thing,” you gestured to the control panel, happy that he’s at least communicating with you.

“I don’t,” Mando flatly confessed and you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Music isn’t big in my culture. Unless it’s a war chant or a song for the kids, we don’t sing,” he continued. Briefly, you felt some sort of understanding for him. Robotic and sterile as he seemed, there was a person with a culture and an upbringing beneath the beskar.

“Plug it into here,” the Mandalorian pointed to an audio jack with an auxiliary cord cleanly coiled underneath, as if never used.

“I’d like to hear some,” he said softly. You caught something secret in his tone, as if he was asking for something he shouldn’t be having. Was his culture so strict that he never learned to enjoy music? You had a hard time imagining the Mandalorian dancing or humming under his breath. Your time as an accidental stowaway would’ve been less tense if you caught him tapping his fingers to a tune he can’t get out of his head. Only, he’s never been granted the mundane freedom of music. Fidgeting with the aux cord, a little nervous to show him your tastes, you were giddy to share this with him. Here is a warrior, who was absolutely ready to manhandle you off his ship minutes ago, gently asking you to share your favorite songs with him. His curiosity was endearing, no matter how nonchalant he tried to seem.

As the melody of the first track twanged through the cockpit, the Mandalorian leaned forward in his seat, as if chasing the song for more. His helmet tilted to face the glow of hyperspace, and you guessed he was feeling the wonder you experienced in seeing the stars up close. You slouched in your seat once more, half doubtful of how the hell you upgraded from stowaway to personal DJ, but also entranced by the mystery of the bounty hunter before you. How was he so intimidating when he found you, but so careful, almost bashful, when asking to share your music? Why were you so willing to give him more?

Snapping out of your stupor as the song crescendoed, you realized the Mandalorian’s visor was already pinned on you. A shiver ran through you under his intense gaze, and your wide eyes blinked at your reflection in his shimmering Beskar.

“This is a beautiful song. It suits you,” he murmured lowly. You felt a triumphant smile spread across your face, oddly proud that you were putting him onto good music.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, shiny. Track six is gonna blow your mind,” you leaned an elbow on the console as he puffed out another breathy laugh.

-

True to his word, the Mandalorian dropped you off at the first spaceport he docked in. Without complaining or looking back (except maybe a couple glances), you hightailed it from the bounty hunter’s ship. While you ended up with a soft spot for the tin can, you didn’t want to push his patience and overstay your welcome. Admittedly, you wished you had spoken with him more, asked about his culture, or asked him for stories about the galaxy. Hell, you hadn’t even gotten a name.

As you perched under the veranda of a small restaurant, you fished through your pack to ensure all your belongings stayed inside. Digging between a thin blanket and an extra pair of socks, your fingers brushed by a cool, metallic object you didn’t recognize. Pulling out the pocket-sized cylinder, you turned it over in your hands as you unraveled a note coiled around it. The silver trinket was a commlink, you figured, and the note read:

“Let me know when I can hear that song again. It was wizard.” - Din Djarin.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚⊹☆ ☄︎₊˚

theyre listening to champagne coast btw

with love, katie 💌

[darcydarlingdabbles]

At Mid Winter ~ Part 10

RadioApple❄️Human Au/Age Gap✨Top!Dom!Alastor

✨Divorced Dad!Lucifer❄️Explicit~

On the Tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: the skies like starlit seas.

❄️✨☕✨❄️

☕ On Ao3✨Become my Arc Reader✨On Tumblr ☕

The transition was jarring. 

The biting cold air hit them like a wall, crisp and sharp. Lucifer gasped involuntarily, the icy wind searing his lungs and cutting through the fog of panic that had enveloped him. 

The din of the gala faded abruptly, replaced by the soft whisper of wind and the distant crunch of snow.

“That’s it,” Alastor encouraged softly, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “Just breathe, my dear.”

The rooftop stretched before them, a pristine blanket of snow glittering under the inky night sky. 

Lucifer’s eyes swept across the landscape, drinking in the stark beauty of the winter scene. The distant mountains loomed like silent sentinels, their peaks barely visible against the star-studded horizon.

Lucifer took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he gripped the icy railing at the edge of the roof.

“I…I couldn’t get any air in there,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the frigid air as he leaned his chest against the older man’s back.

“You’re safe now, Lucifer. She can’t reach you here.”

The muffled sounds of the gala drifted up from below, a faint reminder of the world they’d left behind. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, focusing on the crisp air filling his lungs. But the shame came creeping in with every inhale.

“I used to be better,” Lucifer murmured, more to himself than to Alastor. He opened his eyes, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape. “I used to be…so much more …than this.”

Alastor’s hand found Lucifer’s, his fingers intertwining on the metal railing. “You are more, Lucifer. Don’t let her poison seep back in.”

Lucifer turned to face Alastor, torment etched across his features. “But what if she’s right? What if I’ve changed too much? What if I’m not—”

“Stop,” Alastor interrupted gently, cupping Lucifer’s face with his free hand, not leaving an inch between their bodies.

"I'm sorry," Lucifer whispered, humiliation coloring his words. "I shouldn't have let her get to me like that."

Alastor's hand moved to Lucifer's back, a warm, reassuring weight. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly.

Lucifer opened his eyes, watching his breath form misty clouds in the frigid air.

The vastness of the star-studded sky above made him feel small, insignificant. But Alastor's presence in front of him was a tether, keeping him from drifting away entirely.

"I feel so…exposed," Lucifer admitted, his voice barely audible above the whisper of falling snow. "Like she saw right through every defense I've built."

Alastor was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains as he let Lucifer bury his head in his black satin shirt.

When he spoke, his words were measured, careful. "Lilith has a talent for finding weaknesses…I could see it in her as easy as I use it myself.”

Lucifer clutched at the jacket over his shoulders, just now realizing that it was Alastor had draped it over him. And the younger looked stunning still.

Alastor grabbed him by the shoulders again, making him look up.

“But remember, Lucifer—your vulnerabilities are just one part of who you are.”

The older man took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the icy air fill his lungs.

Slowly, gradually, the frantic pounding of his heart began to ease.

Alastor's hands remained steady on Lucifer, a grounding presence amidst the swirling snow and Lucifer's tumultuous emotions.

The warmth of his palm snuck under Alastor’s jacket and Lucifer’s underneath it, a stark contrast to the biting cold surrounding them.

“I can feel you trembling.” Alastor murmured, his voice low and soft, barely audible above the muffled sounds of the gala below. "Breathe with me, Lucifer,"

Lucifer closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm of Alastor's breathing against him. He tried to match it, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth.

The cold air burned in his lungs, but there was something cleansing about it, as if it were washing away the suffocating panic that had gripped him earlier.

He was supposed to be stronger than this, more composed. And yet here he was, falling apart on a rooftop, relying on Alastor to keep him together. A man half his age.

"That's it," Alastor encouraged softly, his thumb tracing small circles on Lucifer's back. "You're doing well."

Lucifer opened his eyes, meeting Alastor's steady gaze.

In those dark eyes, he saw no judgment, only concern and something deeper, something that made his heart skip a beat despite the lingering anxiety.

"I'm sorry," Lucifer whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don't usually…I mean, I'm not…"

Alastor shook his head, cutting off Lucifer's stammered apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We all have our moments of vulnerability, Lucifer. Even me."

Lucifer nodded, his breath visible in small puffs as he exhaled.

His breathing had steadied, but a fine tremor still ran through his hands. He pulled his hands from the icy railing, trying to still the quivering as he gripped to Alastor’s shirt.

He’d have to buy the brunette an entirely new suit. And that would be a herculean effort—the younger gave no protest to Lucifer buying his own clothes, toys, and other things. But getting gifts for Alastor was like pulling teeth.

Lucifer’s gaze drifted past Alastor, focusing on the swirling snow beyond.

The flakes danced in the moonlight, hypnotic and soothing.

"It's beautiful," Lucifer murmured, his voice distant. He wasn't entirely sure if he meant the snow or the man before him. Perhaps both.

Alastor shifted, changing places with the older man. He leaned back against the railing, pulling the blonde into his chest, his proximity a comforting barrier between Lucifer and the rest of the world.

Alastor linked his arms around Lucifer, tucking him under the brunette’s chin, and Lucifer felt a warmth bloom in his chest, pushing back against the chill of the night.

"How are you feeling now?" Alastor asked, his voice low and intimate in the quiet of the rooftop.

Lucifer considered the question, taking stock of his emotions.

"Better," he admitted. "Still shaken, but…grounded. Thank you, Alastor."

A small smile played at the corners of Alastor's mouth. "Always," he replied simply.

Alastor's expression grew serious, his eyes searching Lucifer's face. "Whatever she said," he began, his tone firm but gentle, "you don't have to carry it. You're more than her words, Lucifer. You're…more than even you realize."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

Lucifer felt a lump form in his throat, emotion threatening to overwhelm him once more. He wanted to believe Alastor, to see himself through the other man's eyes. But Lilith's cutting remarks still echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.

Lucifer shook his head, his golden hair catching the moonlight.

When he spoke, his voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "She's right, though. I'm…I'm a mess."

The admission felt like a weight lifting from his chest, even as shame burned through him. He couldn't meet Alastor's gaze, instead focusing on the intricate patterns of frost forming on the railing behind the younger.

What must Alastor think of him now?

To see him so thoroughly undone by a few cruel words, reduced to this shivering, insecure shell of himself. He half-expected Alastor to agree. To finally see him for the fraud he was underneath.

Alastor tilted his head, the movement catching Lucifer's attention.

Their eyes met, and Lucifer found himself unable to look away from the intensity in Alastor's gaze.

"I’ve never asked you to be perfect, just to be mine.”

When Alastor spoke, his voice was soft, but it carried a quiet strength that seemed to cut through the chill of the night air.

“And I'll remind you of that, as many times as you need to hear it."

The words hung between them, simple yet profound. He searched Alastor's face for any hint of mockery or pity, but found only unwavering certainty.

The concept was almost too much to comprehend in his current state.

"I…" Lucifer began, then faltered, unsure how to respond.

His fingers tightened on the railing, anchoring himself against the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm him once more.

The weight of Lilith's cutting remarks still pressed heavily on his shoulders, but as he held Alastor's steady gaze, he felt something shift within him.

A tiny spark of warmth ignited in his chest, fragile but undeniably present.

"You really mean that, don't you?" Lucifer finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor's lips curved into a soft smile, devoid of his usual sharp edges. "Every word, my dear."

The sincerity in Alastor's tone washed over Lucifer like a soothing balm.

He exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension in his body release. Lilith's words still echoed in the back of his mind, but they seemed less potent now, as if Alastor's presence was acting as a buffer against their sting.

Just then, the faint strains of music from the gala below drifted up to the rooftop.

A soft waltz filtered through the cold night air, its gentle melody a stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions Lucifer had been grappling with moments before.

"Listen," Alastor murmured, his head tilting slightly as he caught the tune. "Quite lovely, isn't it?"

Lucifer nodded, allowing the music to wash over him.

It was as if the melody was weaving itself around them, creating a cocoon that separated them from the rest of the world.

In that moment, with Alastor's steadying presence beside him and the music swirling through the air, Lucifer felt…safe.

Like he'd found an anchor in the storm.

Alastor straightened suddenly, his posture shifting from comforting to purposeful.

He extended a hand towards Lucifer, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Dance with me," he said, his voice an invitation and gentle command.

Lucifer blinked. His mind, still raw from the earlier confrontation, struggled to process the abrupt change.

"Here? Now?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

He glanced around the empty rooftop, suddenly acutely aware of their solitude. His breath misted in the frigid air, a visible reminder of the biting cold surrounding them.

There was something undeniably romantic about the idea, even if it was entirely impractical.

"I…I'm not sure I'm in the right state for dancing," Lucifer admitted, his voice quieter now. He could feel the tremor in his hands, a lingering effect of his earlier panic.

The thought of trying to coordinate his feet when he could barely trust his own balance seemed daunting.

Alastor's smile softened, his eyes warm with understanding.

` "Why not?" his voice a gentle caress against the night air. "No one's here but us."

His hand remained extended, an invitation and a promise wrapped in one simple gesture.

Lucifer felt his hesitation wavering.

There was something in Alastor's expression, a patience and affection, that made the cold night seem a little less dispiriting.

He hesitated, but another part, the part that craved connection and comfort, whispered…maybe this was exactly what he needed.

With a small nod, Lucifer reached out, his hand quivering as it met Alastor's.

The warmth of the contact sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold. Alastor's other hand settled at Lucifer's waist, the touch light but grounding.

"I don't know if I remember how to do this," Lucifer murmured, his voice barely audible above the faint strains of music drifting up from below.

"Just follow my lead," Alastor guided him gently into the rhythm, his movements fluid and assured. "Like you do so well."

Lucifer couldn’t help it. He chuckled at that.

As they began to sway, Lucifer found himself relaxing incrementally into Alastor's embrace.

The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet and the distant melody guiding their steps.

Lucifer's feet tangled, and he stumbled, nearly losing his balance. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck as he steadied himself against Alastor's chest.

"I'm rusty," he muttered, averting his gaze. His fingers tightened on Alastor's shoulder.

But Alastor's grip remained steady, his expression softening.

"Then let me teach you," he said, his voice a soothing balm laced with both patience and warmth.

There was no judgment in Alastor's eyes, only gentle encouragement. Lucifer swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to pull away.

"I don't know if I can," the blonde whispered, vulnerability seeping into his words.

Alastor's hand at his waist tightened slightly, reassuring. "You can," he murmured. "Trust me, Lucifer. You can."

Lucifer inhaled deeply, forcing his tense muscles to relax. He surrendered to Alastor's lead, allowing himself to be guided across the snow-dusted rooftop.

With each step, the rhythm of the distant waltz seeped into his bones, his body remembering long-forgotten movements.

"That's it," Alastor murmured, his smile widening as Lucifer fell into sync with him. "You're a natural, my dear."

The biting cold nipped at Lucifer's exposed skin, but the warmth radiating from Alastor's body kept the chill at bay. Their closeness created a bubble of heat, a stark contrast to the frigid air swirling around them.

Alastor's movements were fluid and confident, each turn executed with graceful precision. Lucifer found himself mirroring that assurance, his initial awkwardness melting away like snow in sunlight.

"I'd forgotten how this felt," Lucifer admitted softly, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with something akin to pride. "Dancing?"

"Yeah, that," Lucifer replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The world around them seemed to fade into a soft blur of starlight and gently falling snow.

The muffled strains of music from the gala below became their own private symphony, guiding their steps across the rooftop.

Lucifer's earlier anxiety melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace in the silent night.

Alastor's steady presence anchored him, keeping the intrusive thoughts of Lilith and the gala at bay.

For a precious moment, Lucifer allowed himself to exist solely in this bubble.

As the last notes of the waltz faded into the night air, their movements slowed. Lucifer found himself reluctant to let go, savoring the closeness for a heartbeat longer.

But as they stilled, the biting cold of the night rushed back in, causing him to shiver involuntarily.

Lucifer pulled Alastor's jacket tighter around his shoulders.

"We should go back in," he said, his breath visible in the frigid air.

Alastor shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Lucifer's face. "Actually, let’s not," he said softly. "Let's walk around the lodge. We'll stay outside—it's quieter, and no one will see us."

Lucifer hesitated, torn between the sanctuary of isolation and the growing chill seeping into his bones.

The thought of returning to the gala, of facing Lilith's cutting gaze, or the curious stares of the other guests, made his stomach churn.

But…

"I…" Lucifer began, his voice catching. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "What if someone notices we're gone?"

Alastor's hand found Lucifer's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "They won't," he assured him. "And even if they did, does it matter? You're allowed to take a breather, Lucifer."

Years of carefully cultivated public persona warred with the older man’s desperate need for respite. He took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs.

"Okay," he finally agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "A walk sounds nice."

As they moved towards the roof access door, Lucifer found himself unconsciously stepping closer to Alastor, seeking both his warmth and his steadying presence.

The thought of separating, even for a moment, sent a spike of irrational panic through him.

Don’t ever leave.

He couldn’t say it. The words stuck in his throat.

Instead, he tightened his grip on Alastor's hand, hoping the gesture conveyed what he couldn't bring himself to voice aloud.

Their footsteps crunched softly in the freshly fallen snow as they circled the perimeter of the lodge. Alastor's hand rested lightly on Lucifer's back, a constant, reassuring presence guiding him through the darkness.

"The stars are quite clear tonight," Alastor murmured, his breath visible in the frigid air.

Lucifer glanced upward, the vast expanse of the night sky momentarily stealing his breath. "They are," he agreed, his voice hushed.

The glow from the lodge's windows spilled onto the snow, creating a patchwork of warm light and deep shadow.

As they walked farther from the entrance, the cold seemed to intensify, biting at Lucifer's exposed skin.

He shivered, pulling Alastor's jacket tighter around himself. "It's getting colder," Lucifer observed, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “Wait, aren’t you cold?”

“I know what I can handle.” Alastor's hand moved from Lucifer's back to his shoulder, pulling him closer. "But we can go back in, and warm up by the fire in our room.” he offered.

“Yeah, okay.”

They continued in companionable silence, the muffled sounds of the gala growing fainter with each step. Lucifer found himself leaning into Alastor's warmth, grateful for the anchor he provided.

❄️✨☕✨❄️

As they approached the lodge's side entrance, Alastor guided Lucifer with a gentle hand at the small of his back.

The warmth of the interior hit them like a wave, thawing their frozen extremities. Lucifer's teeth chattered as his body adjusted to the sudden change in temperature.

"This way," Alastor murmured, leading them towards a discreet service elevator. He pressed the button for the top floor, where their suite awaited.

The elevator ascended silently, and Lucifer found himself leaning heavily against Alastor, exhaustion from the emotional turmoil finally catching up with him.

Alastor's arm wrapped around his waist, supporting him without comment.

When they reached their floor, Alastor produced the key card from his pocket with practiced ease.

The door to their suite swung open, revealing the spacious living area dominated by a large stone fireplace.

Embers still glowed in the grate, casting a warm, flickering light across the room.

"Let's get you warmed up," Alastor said softly, guiding Lucifer towards the hearth.

He settled Lucifer in front of the fire on the plush before kneeling to stoke the fire.

Lucifer watched, mesmerized, as Alastor added logs and coaxed the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, sending a rush of heat across the room.

And, also, maybe through Lucifer, too. A little guiltily as he watched his partner bending over in front of him.

Alastor often teased him for his sex drive, especially at his age, but how exactly was Lucifer supposed to resist his gorgeous partner in those tight burgundy suit pants.

Alastor disappeared briefly into the closet, returning with an armful of thick, soft blankets. He draped one around Lucifer's shoulders, tucking it carefully around him.

The weight and warmth of the blanket seemed to seep into Lucifer's bones, chasing away the last of the chill.

"There," Alastor murmured, satisfaction evident in his voice. He settled himself on the thick rug in front of the fire, leaning Lucifer back against his chest.

Lucifer's fingers, still cold, found their way to Alastor's hands, curling through his fingers. Alastor leaned into the touch, a contented hum escaping him.

The crackling of the fire filled the comfortable silence between them.

Lucifer found his gaze drawn to the dancing flames, their hypnotic movement soothing his frayed nerves. The warmth from the fire slowly seeped into him, chasing away the last vestiges of cold from their rooftop excursion.

☕ On Ao3✨Become my Arc Reader✨On Tumblr ☕

[ryehouses]

Hey, just wanted to say that AST is hands down my favorite bobadin fic and one of my favorite star wars fics of all time. When life/work stops interfering I WILL go back and comment on chapters, but in the meantime I was wondering if you had any more Mandalorian POVs from the summit that you cared to share. I'm so excited for the rest of blackiron, you're amazing and I can't wait to see what else you do!!

aaah thank you so much! i'm so glad you liked the fic <3 seriously, getting messages like this warms my heart. sorry it took me so long to respond to this, lol. my inbox is like a wonderful, dopamine generating hydra. one ask is answered, three more asks appear.

i did have some POV left from the summit on krownest; here's a bo-katan POV, set during the night between the first day of the summit and the duels the next morning.

typical cw for mandalorians being kind of awful to each other. bo-katan derogatorily refers to boba as a clone. she also mentions thinking about killing din in order to claim the darksaber.

in which a plan comes together. 

Rau managed to hold off for three entire hours before he tracked Bo-Katan down. She was impressed. Rau’d always been a curious moth-owl of a man, for all that his signet was a snarling shriek-hawk, and back on Mandalore he’d turned up at the most inconvenient times, brimming of questions that Bo-Katan didn’t want to answer. 

On Mandalore Bo-Katan had done her best to avoid him, because starting a clan feud with the Mandalorian Protectors would have been karking stupid, but today, she would welcome his questions. 

Today, she thought, watching him approach, I want him to ask. Over the long course of their shared history, Bo-Katan had only very rarely been able to enjoy stealing a march on Rau. 

Bringing him a new mand’alor, Bo-Katan thought, lidding her eyes, definitely counts. 

All across the frozen lake that lay at the foot of Clan Wren’s great morut, cook-fires were going out. The smell of smoke and snow and tiingilar lingered in the air. Most of the clans had drawn back inwards into themselves, reeling their warriors back from the games of getshuk that had sprung up across the ice, from the fires, from the woods. Many clans were heading back to their own ships for the night, but some were staying nearby. Ursa Wren had opened her morut to as many Mandalorians as would accept her offer of shelter, and all along the lakeshore tents were rising. 

Bo-Katan watched them all, this last remnant of her people, and waited for Rau. 

He crossed the ice, guided only by the last of the fires and his usual ability to find and irritate Bo-Katan. His helmet was tucked underneath his arm and there was a thoughtful expression on his face. He had a glass of tihaar in one hand. Rau’s usual minder – Kippan Awaud, who Rau’d stolen out from underneath Bo-Katan’s nose a few years ago – was nowhere to be seen. 

Probably skulking around somewhere, gathering secrets, she thought. Awaud had painted his armor bright orange, but somehow that had never stopped him from learning all sorts of interesting things. 

“You’ve talked to Djarin, then,” Bo-Katan said, when Rau was close enough to hear her. “I know that look.” 

Most Mandalorians – most beings, probably, though Bo-Katan’s experience with Djarin was as a Mandalorian – ended up with that look on their face, after talking to Din Djarin for a little while. Mirsh’yc, the word was. Stunned, like Djarin had ended the conversation by punching Rau square in the nose. 

Rau grunted. Now that the fires had gone out, Bo-Katan could see the stars. They glittered above Krownest, distant and beautiful. Like this, looking up at them with her gaze half-lidded, the stars blinked in and out of existence like bright eyes. 

The Council of Kings is watching, she thought. 

“What did you think?” Bo-Katan asked, watching the stars. She didn’t need Rau to answer, not really. That he was still here was answer enough. 

“Where did you find him?” Rau asked. 

The corner of Bo-Katan’s mouth pulled up against her will. “I didn’t,” she said. “He found me.” 

“Where?” 

“Trask,” said Bo-Katan. “Ever heard of it?” 

Rau thought for a moment, then shook his head. 

Bo-Katan snorted. She finally looked away from the stars and studied Rau instead. It had been a few years since Bo-Katan had seen him in erson. Back on Mandalore – where there had been a Mandalore, and Bo-Katan had ruled it – she’d seen him often, because Rau had helped Bo-Katan win Mandalore back from the Empire and had wanted a say in its ruling. His say hadn’t lasted very long – the Empire’d come for Mandalore not six months after Gar Saxon had been overthrown. Bo-Katan’d heard that Rau had made it off the planet when the bombs had started to fall, but she hadn’t seen him since then. 

Rau looked healthy enough. Older, like Bo-Katan herself was older, but still strong. HIs armor was in good condition. His eyes were sharp and intelligent. He had moth-owl eyes. 

“You’re not missing much,” Bo-Katan said. Trask had been cold. The air had tasted like salt. Bo-Katan, Axe and Koska had planned to raid the Imperial cruiser for weeks without any progress, until Din Djarin had flopped into Bo-Katan’s lap like a particularly surly colo claw fish and accomplished the work of weeks in just one afternoon. 

“He was half-drowning,” she added, watching Rau’s face. “Then, once we pulled him out of the water, he took out the crew of an Imperial cruiser.” 

Rau snorted. “That seems to be a trend,” he said. He hadn’t come to attend Bo-Katan on the Gra’tua before the summit had started, but Bo-Katan hadn’t particularly expected him to. Rau’d been very clear, when Mandalore had fallen, just who he thought was responsible for the lost of their homeworld. 

Bo-Katan inclined her head. “He’s a good fighter,” she said. 

Rau smiled. “I believe it.” 

Bo-Katan lifted an eyebrow. “Wow,” she said. “You like him that much, do you?” 

The shrug Rau offered her was delicate. Non-committal. Rau was an old soldier and his expression gave nothing away. But Bo-Katan knew him. She’d seen him talking to Djarin next to a cook-fire. Rau’d sided with Djarin after Fett had shown up, which would endear him to Djarin, given how annoyingly devoted Djarin was to the clone.  

“I like him well enough,” Rau said. “Though I’m surprised that you do.” 

“Who says that I like him?” Bo-Katan asked. Most of the time talking to Djarin made Bo-Katan want to claw her own hair out, because Djarin made very little karking sense. Most of the time Bo-Katan thought about killing him and taking the darksaber off of his corpse. 

“Respect him, then,” said Rau. “You wouldn’t have named him mand’alor otherwise.” 

“Maybe I just want to get rid of a rival,” Bo-Katan said, though Rau had the right of it. “He’ll have more than his share of duels tomorrow. He is a skilled warrior, but there are hundreds of us here. Any Mandalorian could walk away with the darksaber.” 

Rau snorted again. “You can’t fool me,” he said. “I’ve seen your tal’vode working the crowd. You’re rallying underneath Djarin’s signet.” 

It was Bo-Katan’s turn to offer up a delicate shrug. She wasn’t going to state her intentions. Her plan. Rau could figure it out on his own, of course, but she didn’t plan to make it easy for him.

“Why?” Rau asked. His moth-owl eyes glitterered. 

Bo-Katan shrugged again. Rau knew why Bo-Katan had named Djarin the mand’alor over her own name, over a clan-ally’s, over a Mandalorian more well-known to the people than Din Djarin. A Mandalorian like Ursa Wren or Rau himself. 

“It can’t just be respect alone, not with you,” Rau added. Bo-Katan didn’t rise to the bait. “Does Djarin owe you a debt?” 

“No,” said Bo-Katan, truthfully. Djarin didn’t owe her anything, not really, though if Bo-Katan could make Djarin think that he owed her, that sense of debt could be a useful tool. 

Rau groaned. “What, then? What do you want? What do you gain?” 

“You take any sharp blows to the head recently?” Bo-Katan asked, politely. “Because you’re smarter than this, Rau. You know what it is that I want.” 

Rau eyed her for a moment. “Mandalore,” he said. 

Bo-Katan inclined her head. “Mandalore,” she agreed. 

Rau went quiet. Bo-Katan thought about pushing him a little farther, but let him keep his silence. She turned her attention back to the stars. 

“When you called this summit,” said Rau, slowly. “I thought – well. We knew of your Quest.” Bo-Katan had been searching for Moff Gideon and his stolen prize for years, before Djarin’d literally tripped over the blade. She had intended to use it to make her own claim. To rally her people to glory one last time. 

“We thought that you called us here for vengeance,” Rau said. 

“I know,” said Bo-Katan. She’d done that on purpose. She’d named her ship the Gra’tua for a reason. “Half of the clans wouldn’t have come, if they’d heard that some nameless Child of the Watch was the new mand’alor. I needed to get everyone here.” 

“Well-played,” Rau muttered. 

Bo-Katan inclined her head. It had been well-played. Djarin’d thrown a hydrospanner into the middle of Bo-Katan’s plans when he’d taken the darksaber from Moff Gideon. He’d upended years of planning. Of careful work. 

But sometimes, in a game of ci’bikad, losing a square or a knife or a token opened up a new path, and Bo-Katan was Mandalorian. Mandalorians could change, if they had to. Her pride was one thing, but if Bo-Katan had to weigh her own pride against the future of her people – 

“You didn’t call us here for vengeance,” Rau said. 

“No,” Bo-Katan agreed. “I didn’t.”

“You do mean to name him, then.” Rau rocked back on his heels. 

“I did name him,” said Bo-Katan. She’d called Djarin mand’alor in front of the entire gathering. 

“To support him, then,” said Rau. 

“As long as he doesn’t die tomorrow,” Bo-Katan said, wryly. She had seen Djarin fight and knew what he was capable of, but she didn’t know some of the other Mandalorians – these Children of the Watch – and she didn’t know what they could do. 

But my credits, she thought, the memory of Djarin crossing the Gra’tua’s bridge with the darksaber singing in his hand seared into her bones, are on Djarin. 

“Then yes,” she said. “With all of my power.” 

Rau looked like Bo-Katan had just punched him in the nose, not Djarin. “You’ll – you’ll fight for him? An ijaa’kaan?” 

She smiled. “What?” she said. She shifted so that the smooth, dark handles of her WESTAR blasters were visible in the moonlight. “You don’t think that I would? That I will? Do you want me to challenge you? I’m a bit old for an ijaa’kaan, Rau, but if you insist – ” 

Rau held up his hands in mock-surrender. He was Bo-Katan’s age and knew as well as she did that even an old Mandalorian was plenty dangerous. “I’ll leave that to the verd’ike,” he said. “You and I have done enough fighting. There wouldn’t even be much to duel over, would there?”

Bo-Katan shrugged. She could always come up with a good reason to punch Rau in the face. 

But she hadn’t answered Rau’s question, not out loud. 

You’ll fight for him? 

Yes, Bo-Katan thought. Djarin was irritating. Stubborn. He’d chosen Fett as a riduur, which had ruined half a dozen half-formed plans Bo-Katan had made to tie Djarin to a proper Mandalorian clan, and he’d taken the darksaber from her, and he’d defied every expectation that Bo-Katan had ever had. 

But Djarin was strong. Honorable. He was a good man. He had the potential to be a good king, if he lived long enough to learn how to do it. Bo-Katan could help him learn. So could Rau. 

“No,” Rau said. His voice was quiet, almost like he was talking to himself. “We’re on the same side, aren’t we?” He sounded faintly surprised. 

“It’s happened before,” Bo-Katan pointed out. It wasn’t an agreement, but Rau knew her well enough to know that he wasn’t going to get one, not until Bo-Katan was sure that she’d been right about Din Djarin.

I’m pretty sure that I’m right, she thought. That he’s strong. But tomorrow – tomorrow will tell. Haar vaar’tur nau’e. 

Rau must have reached a similar conclusion, because he pulled a face. “It has,” he said, agreeably. “But that doesn’t mean that I was looking forward to it happening again, you know.” 

Bo-Katan smiled. Rau was always honest. He always had been. Honesty – even the dangerous kind, the kind of honesty that could be fired like a blaster, swung like a sword – was a trait that Rau and Djarin shared. A trait that would weld Rau to Djarin’s side like vhekad binding two layers of beskar. Bo-Katan remembered her father’s forge-lessons. She knew how to make strong metal. 

“Me neither,” Bo-Katan said, offering Rau a little bit of honesty of her own. She pulled a small metal flask off of her belt and opened it with a twist of her thumb. The smell of tihaar, sharp and sweet, rose on the breeze. She held her flask out, offering it to Rau, who lifted his own glass of tihaar and knocked it against her flask. 

She didn’t need to say anything else. Rau likely knew that tomorrow would be a hard day. A bloody day. Convincing any number of Mandalorians to follow one course always required a little bloodshed. Rau had already chosen his side. Bo-Katan had seen it the second she’d spotted Rau and Djarin talking together by the fire. 

Djarin is Rau’s mand’alor, she thought. And after tomorrow – 

“Oya Manda,” said Rau, dryly, lifting his glass again and lifting it to his mouth.

“Oya Manda,” Bo-Katan agreed, and drank.

[no-droids]

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec​

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay!  I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.  

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck?  Look whenever you want?  That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind.  You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are?  Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look.  You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right.  You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there?  Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means.  It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible.  Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look.  Sort of.

Sort of.  Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid.  Mostly for him.  What if he’s making a mistake?  It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you.  This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn.  Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him.  To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around.  Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer.  Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?”  (“I don’t know.  Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?”  (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?”  (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles?  Or moles, or birthmarks?”  (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?”  (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?”  (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?”  (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look.  One right after the other.  You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence.  You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take.  One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally.  And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines.  He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful.  When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib.  But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off.  He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because.  Now he does.  Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully.  Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch.  Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear.  At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom.  He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door.  Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them.  Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born.  Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare?  He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye.  But to you, he’s… his own monument.  Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else.  A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him?  No, that’s not phrased right.  What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference.  He could be anybody.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features?  Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun.  Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would.  Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing.  Every single time.  You feel like you could do it in the pitch black.  You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous.  Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable.  Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous.  Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides.  He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back.  He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over.  No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova?  For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning.  He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it?  Din is… different, he notices.  He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too.  He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around.  That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why.  You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood.  While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes.  Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite.  Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder?  He said you’d say no.  Was he right?  You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now.  It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could.  Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself?  Where would it be?  Naboo?  No, that’s too cheesy.  One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it.  You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels.  Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away.  You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is.  You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated.  Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you.  “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair.  “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it.  “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it.  “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss.  You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs.  “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time.  You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it.  “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around.  “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body.  The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it.  “Be safe.  Please.”

But then… well.  Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach.  You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so.  Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned.  “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up.  You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him.  But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you.  Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him.  You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea.  “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

*** 

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…?  You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real.  You actually fucking did it.  You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey!  See that, bug!?”  You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms.  “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him.  “No demon powers necessary, little man!  I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two.  You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward.  You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach.  You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.  

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious.  Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.  “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm.  It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible.  You have company.  “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.”  He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you.  It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still.  Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…”  You immediately feel yourself get nervous.  “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more.  The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity.  Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits.  It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it?  But it doesn’t hit.  It misses, like usual.  Miserably.  And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck.  You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either.  But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect.  There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly.  However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just… 

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point?  All that practice and nothing to show for it.  If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot?  Are they gonna stand still for you?  Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk?  You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done.  It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.  

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time.  You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him.  “I hit it earlier.  I did, I promise.  You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago.  “I know you did.  It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center.  I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet.  Dumb.  Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear.  “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection.  It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things.  Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through.  You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you.  Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it.  “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point.  I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist.  “Try using this one when you do.”  And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship.  Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand.  You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor.  Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety.  It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look.  The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be.  The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside?  Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot?  Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him.  Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones.  “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs.  “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up.  He didn’t have to do this.  This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do.  Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle.  You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place.  It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly.  “They’re… dangerous animals.  Fiercely protective, preferring solitude.  The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him.  It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor.  Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel.  You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back.  “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other.  The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right.  The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is.  What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears.  Fuck yes.

“Look at that!”  Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory.  Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous.  You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark.  “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot.  A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later.  “That one.”  Bark splinters.  “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing.  “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous.  As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance.  So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger.  Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress.  He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that.  Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way.  It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back.  That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again.  “We have to get going.  The fifth quarry is far.  Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker.  You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest.  His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight.  “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you.  After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding.  You hope he sees it in your eyes.  You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along.  It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.”  Short.  Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay…  Um.  Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.”  Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks.  Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now.  “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay.  I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp.  “My fault for being late.”  And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive.  Aloof.  Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help?  Maybe?”  Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you.  “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up.  You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known.  You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it.  “I can be useful.  I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—” 

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?”  He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze.  You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how.  I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.”  He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before.  “No.  Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry.  Quit asking.  I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine.  Uh.  You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then.  No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder.  Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat.  Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting.  It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself.  It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting.  Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him.  A choice he made because it just fit him best.  You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you.  You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence.  Not… everything else’s.  Now it’s haunting again.  Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes.  Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance.  Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.  

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will.  You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid.  You’re quiet but in a different way from Din.  When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to.  When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right.  What were you thinking, wanting to tag along?  Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant.  Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though.  That still stings a bit.  This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time.  Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally?  You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap.  He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there.  You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either.  The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be.  He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is.  You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms.  There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny.  He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull.  There’s a good chance he’s already asleep.  “I think… he might still be mad at me.  Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation.  That’s not gonna work, come on.  They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips.  It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?”  You ask him, unable to even fathom.  “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength.  You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again.  It’s just as well, you figure.  He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time.  You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be.  So big, crammed into such a tiny place.  You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace.  He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time.  You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door?  The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be.  You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?”  You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor.  A complete mystery again.  Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.”  His voice stops you dead in your tracks.  It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter.  “I… hurt your feelings.  I’m sorry.”

And…  Maker, if anybody else had said it.  If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment.  But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted.  That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it.  This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now.  Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before.  Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him.  He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is.  “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to.  It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before.  Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time.  “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well.  Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet.  “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it.  “Shit.  I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly.  “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way.  I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel.  I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?”  He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused.  “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…”  Now you’re confused.  “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything.  “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now.  “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing.  He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all?  By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.”  He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground.  “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor.  “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?”  He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they?  You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little.  You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?”  Din asks you, the words sounding cautious.  Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all.  “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this?  It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed.  Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did.  Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier.  It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now.  At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have.  You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second.  There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him.  Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral.  “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that.  What are you, an eight year old?  Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life?  Credits?  Time?  Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal.  Why is he even entertaining this right now?  “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words.  “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall.  Someplace to find for yourself.  Explore.  Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that.  Like he… just inherently understands.  He knows.

He knows you.  He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying.  You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now.  “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing.  “Ever.  And not because you can’t handle it, understand?”  He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to.  “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars.  He’s… too kind.  You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve.  You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to.  Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands.  You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it.  “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit.  Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints.  That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din.  Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this.  Yikes, this is a toughie.  “Um.  If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words.  “Say what you mean.  Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain.  “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry.  It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before.  If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week.  But only if you want to, you don’t have to.  It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise?  Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah.  Well.”  You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms.  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that.  As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up.  You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?”  Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest.  So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?”  You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you.  You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip.  You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable.  One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker.  The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you.  Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue.  “Forgive me.  Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed.  But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing.  Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through.  You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours.  It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…”  You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic.  It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good.  Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you.  “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering.  Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes.  “There could be, but I don’t know it.  I’d use… out of a million million millions.  Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier.  Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation.  How is that possible?  You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through.  You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t.  You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower.  You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?”  You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth.  The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall.  Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on.  “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…”  You blink, surprised.  “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay.  You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it.  He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you.  “You’re going to run.”

“Um.”  You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised.  “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation.  “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee.  “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves.  He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside.  “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire.  You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start.  You’re going to run from me.  Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now?  You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised.  Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?”  He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay!  Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone.  “One.  This is a safe world, but things can always happen.  You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only.  Do not shoot me with it.  Do you understand?”  You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow.  “Out loud, please.  For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you.  “Do not… shoot at me.  Near me.  Around me.  No, just—don’t shoot.  Unless I am… very far away.  Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that.  You frown, but acquiesce regardless.  “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words.  “Second rule.  Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either.  We’re on foot.  I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair.  “Good.”

“Three,” he says.  “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you.  Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight.  What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod.  “Also not really a rule.  Please continue.”

“Four.”  He pauses for a second.  “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back.  “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide.  “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious?  “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you.  “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet.  Trust me.”

You… do.  Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do.  If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin.  It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it?  It actually sounds right on par for him.  “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly.  “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright?  I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises.  Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening.  “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too.  Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.  

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly.  It is a very, very stern tilt.  “Okay.  New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows.  “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious.  “Us.  Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate.  “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh.  Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting.  “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry.  You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine.  “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator.  Not mean or harsh, but firm.  “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not.  When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground.  “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest.  There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud.  It… really is a struggle for him too, then.  You understand.

“Okay,” you nod.  There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given.  You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself.  It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more.  “Final rule.  I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe.  Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies.  He doesn’t do that.  Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?”  You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you.  Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself.  “This is your communicator.  It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance.  I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days.  If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.”  Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other.  Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head.  His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator.  “Gar darasuum.”  For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain.  You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning.  Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here.  Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way.  The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?”  You ask, already clueless.  “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side.  “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me.  You know how I think.  I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…”  He slowly shakes his head.  “See me.  Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now.  “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time.  “Remember what I told you a long time ago?  What your best weapon is?”

You… do not.  He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast.  You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?”  Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers.  “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet.  So…”  He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  “Don’t try to outrun, okay?  Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.  

Outsmart.  Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking.  His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know.  You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair.  Are you going to a city?  Would there be one in walking distance?  The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals.  The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him.  He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long.  Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement.  He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Chained

Rated: M.

Jaskier takes a date to a visiting circus and ends up rescuing a witcher. Warnings for canon typical language, and a more medieval approach to what was included in a circus.

Partly inspired by my rereading of "Freakshow: Presenting Human Oddities for Amusement and Profit" by Robert Bogdan (1988) and "Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture" by Nadja Durbach (2009), thus the word "freakish" is used in the context of the spectacle presented.

Jaskier didn't much like the circus. The “oohs” and “aahhs” of the crowd felt contrite and the prevailing smell of animal dung, human odour and tar made his stomach roil. But the young debutante on his arm promised quite the whirlwind romance, with her ruby painted lips and dazzling sea foam eyes. Anthea. She was a stunning little starlet with the sweetest soprano, and she would sound ever so beautiful in the throes of passion. The things he did for love.

Jaskier took a deep breath of relatively fresh air as they walked through the Gate of Heirarch, dug deep to find the liquid amber courage still warm in his belly, and plastered on his most charming smile.

The front of house greeted them at the flap of the tent, his outdated ruff spotted with yellow sweat, mutton chops greased down over his face. “Welcome, welcome, sire, to the greatest show on the Continent,” the slimy chap proclaimed.

“A claim lofty enough to be touched by the gods. Let us hope they give you their blessing,” Jaskier said airily, and Anthea elbowed him with a soft giggle.

The front of house offered his most beguiling smile, his eyes almost coal black. “I assure you, sire, our performers are one of a kind.”

A young porter dressed in a threadbare scarlet doublet and hose showed them to the private box Jaskier had purchased. (Such a beautiful woman required a little extra effort, and greater privacy may assist in convincing her into his embrace a little sooner).

“I heard they have a witcher,” Anthea whispered, as if the general din of noise wouldn't drown her out even at a normal volume. Jaskier allowed his date that moment of wistful wonder before he patted her elbow.

“Hyperbole and rumour, I assure you. A living Witcher hasn't been spotted in some sixty years. They died out long before you were a twinkle in your father's eye.”

“Well, we'll see,” she replied, dismissive, and Jaskier sensed that he would have to agree with her next five claims to curry back a little favour, no matter how bland and inaccurate. Thankfully, he didn't have to entertain conversation for long, for the stage crew dimmed the bracketed torches and the ringmaster stepped into the light.

“Esteemed gentlemen, beautiful ladies,” the man tipped his cap to the nearest such lady with a wiggle of the eyebrows, aiming for charm and achieving an uncomfortable degree of lechery instead. “We, of the Temerian Tumblers, welcome you to our humble show. We ask that you keep your hands inside the stalls at all times for we are about to introduce you to some of the wildest creatures, the most wondrous performers, fearless acrobats and stunning beauties...”

Jaskier felt his interest drifting. He watched Anthea from the corner of his eye and pondered over the first verse of the ballad he would dedicate to her hidden depths. A substantial amount of creative license would be necessary, but needs must to maintain his reputation.

The show started with a pair of twin acrobats swooping through the air from a trapeze, performing flips and turns, defying gravity to the awe of the audience. A contortionist twisted through hoops of decreasing sizes, a fire-eater spat flames over the heads of the crowd, woolly mammoths rolled out on huge balls, with parrots opening cans and primates juggling clubs. Anthea was enraptured, grasping onto the railing at the front of the booth. In his travels, Jaskier had seen many things. Exotic, fantastical, mysterious. The show felt like a pale imitation of his lived adventures across the Continent. Such was the life of a man living a double existence.

The ringmaster started wheeling out the freakish and macabre; a bearded lady with three breasts, a set of dwarven twins attached at the hip, an elf with mottled skin like that of a leopard who scampered around like a beast. Jaskier felt a stab of disgust as the crowd jeered and “ooh-ed" at each poor creature that was presented to them.

“And now, the spectacle you have been waiting for,” the ringmaster bellowed. “A true rarity. A beast of unnatural magic and the evil machinations of scheming sorcerers...”

Jaskier leaned forward. Anthea cast him a smug glance that he ignored.

“I, your humble servant, present to thee, the terrifying, the beastly, White Wolf!”

The crowd collectively held its breath as an orchestral howl swept the arena, echoed by the voices of every porter and performer in the rafters. Dozens of hands banged drums and wooden beams, accompanying a cacophany of growls and snarls, building the expectation of the horrified audience. Heavy chains clanked in the tunnel, metal scraped on the floor as the creature dragged itself into the open. There was the crack of a whip in the air, and a hoarse shout of pain. Jaskier leaned so far forward he almost fell from the booth.

The creature that staggered into the lights of the ring was thin and haggard. His long white hair was tangled, his face covered in a matted beard. His body was emaciated and scarred, muscles wasted where they had once been lean and strong. This poor, pathetic thing couldn't be a witcher of fable. It was but a man. A man beaten and bruised by handlers who circled with whips and sticks. A woman below them shrieked before fainting theatrically, but Jaskier only rolled his eyes. Paid performer, no doubt.

“Fear not, dear guests. We have the beast well contained. We shall get him to demonstrate the power of the mutagens in his system, but no one shall be harmed.”

They shoved the witcher into the centre of the ring and one of the handlers passed the ringmaster a small box. Jaskier couldn't hear what the ringmaster demanded if the hollow creature that struggled to stand under the glaring lights, but the witcher must have been too slow, because seconds later he was on his knees, his hands at his neck. There was a heavy collar there and the witcher's entire body went rigid as the ringmaster gripped the box harder.

When the spasms of pain ended, the witcher lifted his hand and sent flames billowing into the air. What followed was a pitiful display of the Witcher's strength. He shattered a huge rock with telekinetic force and then lifted one of equal size on to his back; “the strength of ten men,” the ringmaster bellowed, and the crowd murmured their approval. The witcher trapped a pack of stray dogs in purple tendrils and deflected the stones hurled from the rafters with a golden shield.

Jaskier couldn't believe his eyes, but his heart ached. He'd read countless historical accounts of Witchers and their feats. They were capable of staggering bravery and protected thousands from the most ferocious beasts. True heroes of old, and yet here was one reduced to a mere shadow.

Whatever the final feat was intended to be, the Witcher could not do it. He staggered and then fell when the collar around his neck sent shocks of agony through his body. The ringmaster seethed and bellowed, but the Witcher collapsed under the weight of the chains on his wrists and ankles. The handlers appeared to drag him away. “The great White Wolf, ladies and gentlemen.” The crowd applauded as the ringmaster bowed, inviting his performers out with a sweep of the arm. Anthea leapt to her feet. Jaskier left the booth without a word.

***

Jaskier managed to get ahead of the crowd at first, but soon he was joined by throngs of gawkers pouring out to observe some of the wild beasts in their cages. Jaskier inspected each one he passed; lions, tigers, monsters and birds. But no Witcher. He circled around the tent and headed towards the staging area behind the tent, where the performers would gather in preparation. It was there he found his target.

The Witcher was sprawled on his side in the mud, new bruises on his naked ribs, his hose torn. The ringmaster stood over him, flanked by his thugs. “It's such a shame,” the man said. “I thought we'd get a few more shows out of him.”

“E’s done, guv. Death of the spirit. Death of the body follows soon after,” one of the handlers murmured. “Could always sell him to that matron like we did the other.”

“No, the novelty of that one was its huge endowment, its physicality, and its health. This one's a husk. We'll get more for its corpse if we trade it with the university.” The ringmaster sighed and swept a hand over his eyes theatrically. “Put it out of its misery.”

Jaskier pushed through the canvas barrier. “Wait! Hold up there, my good man.”

Three grimy faces turned towards him, and the ringmaster paused by the entry to the domed tent. “This area is out of bounds to the public. Full of dangerous beasts, you see.”

“Ahh, yes,” Jaskier plastered on his most winning smile, “he looks truly terrifying, dangerous. But I couldn't help but overhear that you intend to dispose of him.”

“Sometimes creatures expire. Age, injury. It's part of the industry,” the ringmaster said, guarded. “I assure you it will be done in the most humane manner.”

“And you intend to sell his body?”

“What is it you want, sir?” The title had taken on a disparaging tone, but Jaskier was not easily ruffled.

“I wish to purchase him from you. Alive, you understand. Exactly,” Jaskier fluttered his hands over the Witcher's body, “as he is. And, in payment, I offer my signet ring. Real sapphire gems, solid gold.”

The ringmaster turned, arms folded across his chest. Jaskier knee that look. Pursed lips, high eyebrows. The man was going to try and bargain him up. “Low price for our prize dog. Whets my appetite. Two hundred Crowns, and the ring.”

Jaskier laughed; a hollow, arrogant bark that he usually reserved for Valdo Marx. “My dear man. Your prize dog is half dead. He might expire before I can get him back to my residence. You will take the ring, and I won't pen a memorable little ditty about the Terrible Temerian Tumblers, their bearded lady wearing a wig 'pon her face, your dwarven twins tied together with rope.”

The ringmaster scowled. “No one would believe you.”

“I have dismantled reputations far greater than yours. Jaskier the Bard, at your service.”

Recognition passed over the ringmaster's face. His cronies may be illiterate, but he had probably read Jaskier's most recent poem about the weak chinned Count of Vizima and the impotence of the a local merchant who had prized his reputation with the fairer sex. Bard was a rather modest title for what Jaskier had achieved; he had used his sizable fortune to open every door possible, and his name was known in halls and ballrooms from Kovir to Ebbing.

“You take him as he is. We'll throw in his cage, the control device. Not fit for another beast anyway.”

“Most obliged,” Jaskier said, smiling tightly. “I will leave my address with your fine assistants here. I expect him to be delivered alive. No more bruises, no more wounds. My man will meet yours at the gates.”

Jaskier pulled an embossed business card from his doublet and passed it to the ringmaster with his signet ring. A life purchased for such a trifle. It left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but neither he nor the Witcher could afford any hesitation. They shook hands to seal the deal and Jaskier afforded one more glance at the Witcher and saw him gazing back, golden eyes swimming with hopeless pain.

It was difficult to leave after that, but Jaskier knew he had to walk away with his back straight and his emotions in check. Anthea was long gone. There would be an angry letter sent to his address about abandoning a lady in the wilds of Novigrad, but he would ignore it. His mind was now fully occupied by the Witcher, with his haunted yellow eyes.

***

Zoltan met the couriers at the gates as Jaskier had said. The dwarf peered into the stinking cage with a wrinkled nose, and then guided them up the short gravel path to the stables. They passed Zoltan the device and showed him how to use it; the Witcher thrashed weakly in pain and fell unconscious. “Yes, thank ye, that'll be all,” the dwarf snapped, holding the black box gingerly between finger and thumb.

Jaskier had bought some odd things in the past. A cursed music box that reduced everyone who heard its song to tears, a colourful parrot that had escaped within an hour of arrival (its descendents could be spotted in the rafters of Heirarch Square), ancient statues and woven tapestries. He was a collector of oddities, but this was the first time he had bought a human. It left an ill feeling in Zoltan's chest.

When he opened the cage door, the Witcher didn't move. His eyes were closed, his emaciated body limp, and Zoltan had no trouble gathering him up and carrying him inside. The chains were heavier than the man they were attached to.

Jaskier had cleared a guest room and there was already a warm bath waiting for their new arrival. “I'll need t' get 'n 'ammer 'n chisel for these chains,” Zoltan said, depositing his reeking passenger on the rug before the fire. “Not sure about the collar. If magic's involved, we may need a mage."

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, leaving his post by the window. “Go get your tools. Freya's arse, he looks worse in the firelight than he did in the mud. Smells something awful.”

“Aye, he's got lice and ticks too,” Zoltan murmured. “Don't be gettin' too close lest you fancy delousin' with him.”

Jaskier watched Zoltan leave before he crouched down at the Witcher's side. He wanted to touch him, this living legend. He would be lying if he denied the well of fear in his stomach; he hadn't really thought this far ahead. The Witcher had shattered boulders with the power of his magic, had bound and choked wild dogs. Jaskier was a mere twig in comparison. “Who are you?” Jaskier wondered aloud, reaching out to brush the Witcher’s grey hair from his face.

The Witcher's eyes snapped open and Jaskier fell back with a squawk of terror. He wasn't the only one caught by surprise. The Witcher, barely strong enough to lift his head, clawed at the rug and then the floor, dragging himself to the corner of the room. The chains scraped on the floorboards and every movement looked like agony, but Jaskier was too afraid to intercept. He had brought this wounded creature into his residence, and now he was completely out of his depth. The Witcher gathered his thin limbs to his chest and turned his face away, making his body as small as possible.

“Hey, it's alright,” Jaskier said, hesitant. “We're not going to hurt you. You have my word. My--my associate, he'll get those chains off and there's a nice bath, and--and then, perhaps, some food?”

The Witcher didn't look up. His shoulders stayed hunched, his fingers curled to fists. Jaskier reached out only to see the man flinch as if he sensed his proximity. Zoltan appeared moments later, hammer and chisel in his hands, and grimaced. “Ahh, he's awake, woulda been better fer him to be unconscious fer this bit.”

“They’re not embedded...”

“Aye, maybe not, but look at the skin. Must be red raw under there, every blow's gonna shake him.”

“Well, he can't stay in them,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling more than a little helpless. “Just... Do what you need to do. We'll go from there.”

“A'right, Witcher, easy now.” Zoltan approached slowly, but the Witcher did nothing more than shirk away further. When the dwarf lined his chisel up at the hinge of the ankle cuff, Jaskier held his breath. The first blow made the Witcher shout, frail limbs quaking, but he didn't lash out to defend himself. How broken must he be to not fight back? To accept whatever pain they wished to inflict?

It took three blows to remove each ankle cuff. By the time Zoltan reached for the Witcher's wrist, he was unconscious again and Jaskier moved forward to hold his arms up until the chains had fallen away. “What are we going to do?” Jaskier murmured, big blue eyes lifting to Zoltan, hoping the dwarf could whip out a solution as he always did.

Zoltan sighed, tugging thoughtfully on his beard. “First stage is a bath. Then... No idea.”

This was going to be harder than Jaskier thought.

[thefanbasewhore]

Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

[itsnothesameasitwas]

greek mythology aus you say 👀 ana my dear pls spare some links 👉🏼👈🏼

yes… I said that my dearest friend 😌; sadly there are only a few ones but here the links of those i have already read 

✰ To Hell and Back by poshboyfriends | 4k | NR | MDC (happy ending)

an au based off of the story of orpheus and eurydice, the one with the musical lute player who loses his lover and plays his way through the underworld to bring her back.

✰ The Five God Cure for One Anxious Heartbeat by homosociallyyours | 11k | GA

When OT5 decides to sneak into a music festival to have a bit of fun and maybe make a few people fall in love, they expect things to go relatively smoothly. Fate has other plans.

Or: Niall, Louis, Harry, Liam, and Zayn are just five lesser Greek gods out there trying to have a good time, and they're feeling so attacked right now.

✰ not even the gods above (can separate the two of us) by feelslikehxme | 17k | TUA

“Mhm. Soulmates, the two of them.” Harry lays back on the grass, shielding the sun from his eyes with his arm. The last thing Louis needed was the sun shining down on Harry, not that he was staring or anything. “Do you have a soulmate?” He asks, curious to how matchmaking worked. It must be nice, watching people around you fall in love.

“I do. Somewhere. Everyone has one.”

or the one where Louis finds out he's the son of Athena, Harry keeps matching him with the wrong people, Niall accidentally breaks into Louis's flat and Liam doesn't know when to stop asking out Zayn.

✰ Winter Pines and Ocean Eyes by binarysunsets | 14k | TUA

Harry is awoken by the sudden weight of his dog across his chest, and he yawns and stretches his arms above his head, relishing the crack of his back the gesture produces and sending Fen tumbling down onto the bed. There’s a niggling sensation that he has something important to do that day, but in his still-sleepy state he’s struggling to recall what it is. When it hits him, he freezes mid-rub of his eyes, and his hand slowly falls to the furs strewn across the bed. His fingers tangle into their soft texture and he bites his lip.

Right. It’s that day.The day he’s meant to travel south.

Or, the arranged marriage au between young viking Harry, son of his clan's chief, and a certain caesar by the name of Louis, heir to the empire.

✰ A Dangerous Night (To Fall In Love) by FallingLikeThis | 7k | E

“Hey, Harry!” Louis greets, walking up to Harry with a sunny smile.

Any other time, that smile would lift Harry’s heart even as it made it race. He could let himself get lost in it, would probably catch himself more than once hoping, wishing for it to be more than a smile aimed at a friend. He’d relish the moments he could forget that that’s all he is to Louis. Any other time, he’d be selfish and let himself entertain those thoughts. But this is not like any other time. Tonight is the beginning of the end.

or Harry has visions and sees the destruction of Pompeii before it happens. Now, how does he tell his best friend what's to come?

✰ this is heaven in hiding by hemakeshimstrongx | 48k | GA

Harry is destined to sit on a throne. Louis makes him want to throw it all away. Or: Harry embarks on the greatest journey of his life. Louis is there every step of the way.

✰ keep your eyes upon the skies by hypocorism | 12k | TUA

Disney - Hercules AU

✰  the tragic story of a muse and a war god  orphan_account | 30k | E

Harry is a reckless god of war, Louis is a muse unspoken of, and their love might not be written in the stars.

PERCY JACKSON AUS

✰ in a sea of mist by tomlinvelvet | 126k | E

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

✰ How Far We've Come by hrrytomlinson | 32k | TUA

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

✰ Like A Drum (Baby, Don't Stop Beating) by exitthequitters | 9k | NR

They walk through the camp together hand in hand, past the big house where Chiron waves happily at them, past the strawberry field where Louis first kissed Harry, past the lake where Louis first met Zayn and Liam, past the dinning hall where Niall sat down next to Louis before he knew he shouldn’t, and to Harry’s cabin.

Or, they're all sons of Greek gods at a summer camp for demigods.

HADES/PERSEPHONE AUS

✰ Breakable Heaven by amomentoflove | 44k | E 

“What do you think?” Louis gets captured by Harry’s green eyes, unable to look away or even take a breath.

“I think you’re the most magnificent creature I’ve ever met.”

“You must not have met many creatures then.”

Harry’s eyes glance downward to Louis’ lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own. 

“None like you.”

✰ My Heart Lies With You by asphodelknox | 31k | M

“What did you hit me on the head for?” Louis said. He tried to frown, but it hurt too much. Plus it was hard to frown at someone taking care of him so tenderly. “I didn’t hit you on the head,” Harry said calmly, moving from Louis’s forehead to remove some bandages on his arm. “My friend Niall, the God of Death, hit you on the head.” “Well, why did Niall hit me on the head?” Louis asked. He noticed his lips hurt too, and felt a small gash on them. His arms were covered in scratches and cuts, and as he moved to sit up, he winced at a pain coming from his waist. “What the hell happened to me?” Harry sighed. “Niall… can get a bit… excited.” “Was he excited about hitting me on the head?” “No!” Harry said. “Niall just got away with himself.” “Does he do that often? Get away with himself, I mean?” Louis asked wryly. “Only when an idea gets stuck in his head that he can’t get out.”

For being the God of Death, Niall has a habit of acting on ideas without thinking them through. It's probably why Harry ends up with an unexpected but entirely welcome visitor in his bed the day after a Mount Olympus party.

✰ daisies & dying by xaz | 14k | E

Harry’s eyes stayed cemented to the marble tiles, engraining the memory of his shiny loafers and their contrast to the flooring as he heard the footsteps draw near. An icy hand yanked his chin violently, forcing his face forward.Hand still clutching Harry’s chin, the man gave a toothy smirk, “I’ve waited centuries to have you as my bride. I won’t settle for less than your full attention, my love.”

OR Hades!Louis and Persephone!Harry but make it pirates

✰ you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity | 18k | M

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

✰ For every reason why, you were my because. by hisfirstrealcrush | 3k | GA

He was his greatest form of love.

an au in which harry meets louis in his forest and nothing seems to matter but his ocean-like eyes and his warm embrace.

------

hope you like them!! <33

[ohheyitsokay]

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

-

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

-

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

-

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

-

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

[lavendertales]

Hello, my sweet amazing Ari!!! I hope you’re doing well 🥰💕

As you know, I’m a weakling for your stunning writing!! And I was wondering if I could perhaps request something soft with Din? Reader isn’t feeling too good and needs cheering up but doesn’t know how to explain how she feels, but Din’s already picked up on it and tries to make her laugh and is all goofy and cute or something just trying to get her to smile again?😌hope that made sense, haha😅

💕💕

my love!!! oh I am absolutely living for soft!Din, so here comes some more 💕💕

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

There are good days and there are bad days for everyone. And today is one of those damn bad days that has its grip tight around you and simply would not budge in spite of your best efforts.

You’ve learned the signs for when it approaches and you’ve learned to let it surround you in its coldness and harshness and wait for it to pass. It seemed to work best. Or at least it used to back when you were all on your own. But now, being someone’s companion – a Mandalorian’s, no less – is an entirely different story. While both you and your Mandalorian enjoy your respective solitude, there are certain things you share with each other.

And when this one chose to share his name with you, you took it to mean that things were now personal. He trusted you, and you trusted him.

So when he sees you at the feet of the loading ramp, apparently taking in the landscape, his instincts tell him to check on you. He can’t explain it, but the attachment he feels to you is unique and you call out to him like a siren, beautiful and strong.

And if there is any explanation at all, he doesn’t care for it.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you say before he even has the chance to strike up a conversation.

“It is.”

He sits next to you, taking a few seconds to admire the beautiful forest and the way birds are chirping, the sound of a waterfall in the distance and his eyes land on you. He always seems to find every picture more beautiful when you’re in it, too.

“It’s so beautiful and yet… here I am, feeling like the least important person in the world.”

Din turns towards you, puzzled. He dares not interrupt you.

“I can feel when it comes. The Big Sad, as I call it. I feel it coming, even when it tries to sneak up on me, and yet when it finally arrives, I can’t shake it off. I’m… at its mercy. I’m in a beautiful place, with a wonderful person, and…”

You sigh, further explanations failing you. You’re not even sure if Din ever feels this way or if he would understand if you would have the proper words to describe it. Sometimes it’s hard to even breathe or get out of bed, not to mention living inside your head, let alone letting someone else in.

But Din is someone who does understand the power of silence. And right now, he reckons it can be healing. He doesn’t ask anything else from you; he knows that you’d prefer just not being alone. So he moves closer to you, removes the pauldron from his left shoulder and holds you close to him till your head rests on his shoulder. You close your eyes, breathing in and out and enjoying his presence and nothing more. There are not many moments such as this one, in between bounties, so you want to savor every second of it.

“You know, those feelings, those thoughts… when they get dark, you shouldn’t listen to them. Those are not the ones that define us.”

You look up at him, being met with beskar and his modulator, but underneath the sketch you have of a very understanding and soft man remains intact. A faint smile warns to break from your lips.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I might not look it, but I know some stuff about those dark thoughts, too.”

“It can’t be easy being a bounty hunter.”

“It’s not. Most of the time it’s lonely.”

“You’re not alone, Din.”

He faces you now, and in all of those years he’s never wanted to forgo the Creed and everything more, just to enjoy a kiss with you.

He smiles underneath the helmet, taking enjoyment in your smile, and he imagines your lips are just as soft.

permanent Pedro crew:

@doin-stuff @pedro-pastel @acourtofsnakes @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @beskarboobs @rosiefridayrogersunday @boxdyeblonde @imcalledflorence @artsymaddie @casssiopeia @sleep-tight1 @pasckles @northernpunk @wantingpedropascal @evelynseventyr @itssmashedavo @phoenixhalliwell @elegantduckturtle @mylifeinthetardisforever @ohhersheybars @kingsqueensandvagabonds @greeneyedblondie44 @sebbys-girl @mrsparknuts @hnt-escape @hayley-the-comet @spideysimpossiblegirl @lsphoenix @kirsteng42 @lunaemss @goldielocks2004 @diogodxlot @queridopascal @gracie7209 @floraandfrost @mejswho @dobbyjen @janebby @what-iwish-you-knew @jedi-jesi @kaqua @datenshi666 @stevie75 @ezras-channel-rat @for-my-satisfaction @quica-quica-quica @mishasminion360 @eri16 @lovesbiggerthanpride @xaestheticalien @grandfanficstation @mrsudontknowme @hello-i-am-daydreaming @mando-s-wife @pastamomma @midwesternwitchery @headinthestarz @drreidsconverse @dindjarinneedsahug @captainjaspenor @pscalwhiskey @1800-fight-me @phandoz @ayrusss @amneris21 

requests are open!

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hidden Desire

Pairings: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, domestic violence, angst, family feuds, mutual pining, jealousy.

Summary: Forced into a marriage you did not want, your sentenced to a life of loneliness. What happens when you meet your husband’s handsome brother?

A/N: so this is another AU and is loosely based of the true story of Belvedere house(Ireland). I went for a walk along it’s grounds and got inspired. Also no helmets in this.

You’d been married to Paz for a year now and to say it was the worst year of your life was an understatement. You hadn’t wanted this marriage, but Paz was an Earl and your father had made an arrangement with his family. He was from an important mandalorian house and they we’re wealthy. Upon your marriage he’d brought you to his stately home. You were blown away by its beauty. It sat on acres of land, had I a huge forest and had its own lake. This was where the beauty stopped. Paz was cordially first and you had thought that perhaps if given time you both could learn to love one another, but that was not the case. Weeks into your marriage he became adamant that you produce an heir. Family he had told you,was sacred to the mandalorian culture. Weeks then months past and you were not with child. He became furious and began blaming you, and with each month passing when another period came he began to hit you and it only got worse. Your whole body was covered in bruises, you had prayed to whatever god was out there that you became pregnant to end his violence. But it never happened. A year on and Paz has now given up on you and has taken to visiting his other estates more frequently leaving you alone with just the maids. It was during on of these trips away that you had met HIM!

***

He has come to visit Paz, having been away bounty hunting. You were shocked he decided to stay when he was informed Paz was not there. Each night he would have dinner with you and after you would both walk along the forest path, discussing literature, politics, art, anything that came to mind. He told you his name was Din Djarin and that Paz’s parents had adopted him when he was very young. A debt he could never repay. It was on these night you had developed feelings for him. It began with stealing glance at one another to the soft brush of hands when you we’re near. Things had shifted dramatically one evening when you both stood at the edge of the lake, the moon shining bright. You stood staring up at the sky and you were illuminated but the light of the moon looking ethereal. He couldn’t take it anymore he had to have you. Walking up to you he put his hands around your waist turning you to face him. “What are doing Din?”. His eyes lingered on your lips and before you could say anything else he crashed his to yours. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, and you his only source of water. He pulled back a little and rested his head against yours. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t pretend I don’t love you when your all I can think about.” Your stunned by his admission but the joy it brings to your heart out ways all else. “I love you too Din. I wish it was you I had been married off to.” Upon hearing that Din walked you backwards towards the big oak tree. When your back hits it,he lifts up the skirt of your dress and runs his thin along your folds. “So wet for me already Mesh’la.” “Yes always wet for you Din”. He kisses you again unbuttoning his trousers in the process and lifts one of your legs around his waist. He lines himself at your wet core “are you sure you want this, want me Mesh’la?” “Yes yes…please Din I want you to fuck me.” With that he thrusts up into you and you let out a loud moan. He is huge, and the stretch of him hurts just a little, but you feel every ridge of his cock pumping into you and you love it. “I knew…thrust…that this…thrust…pussy…thrust..would be…tight. You take me so well. This…thrust…pussy..thrust…was made for me.” With that you feel the pleasure coursing through you and you can’t hold back anymore you scream his name into the night. “Oh god yes…Din…yes.” Your cunt clenches around him and it sends him over the edge. “Where, where do you want me?” “Inside, come inside.” With that his seed coats your womb. He rests his head on your shoulder. When he looks up he cups your face in his hands. “I do love you”. “And I you.”

***

From that night you spent most of your time in bed where he had you on every surface of the room. You both did not try to hide your growing relationship from the maids, who would they tell, Paz was never home. You began imagining a life with Din, away from this place, where you spend the rest of your days together. You had explained to him that you could probably not have children given Paz’s fruitless efforts, but this did not stop him from wanting to fill you up every time hoping it would take root. On this particular day you had been in the gardens playing with some of your nieces when he spotted you dancing with the youngest. He imagined you doing that with your child, his child, and he felt his cock grow hard at the thought. That night after dinner he was extra touchy and you had no sooner entered the bedroom when he pinned you to the bed. He wastes no time tonight, quickly stripping you both of your clothes. “On you knees Mesh’la.” You did what he asked and before you could think he was deep inside you. His thrusts were relentless as he pounded into you from behind. He grabbed your hair as to pull you towards him. He grabbed your breast roughly, kneading it. “You look so pretty like this, all cock dumb for me. Tell me who you belong too?” “You…only you.” “That’s right your mine. And I’m going to fuck my seed into you until it takes.” “Oh god yes…fuck Din, please give me a baby.” With one last thrust his seed spurts into your cunt. He pulls out slowly and you groan at the loss. You both collapse onto the bed and he pulls you into him. He runs his hand up and down your spine. You feel..happy. Your suddenly brought out of your daze when the door to the room bursts open. “What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”. Din gets out of bed, puts on his clothes and tries to calm his brother. “Paz please, brother, you do not love her, you fuck any whore you can, but I love her. You can both divorce and that’s the end of it.” “How dare you come into my home, fuck my wife and think I will let you get away with this, and you.” He turns toward you now, furious “you are nothing but a cheap whore, fucking the first man that comes into my home, you couldn’t even do your wifely duty and give me a child.” He is beyond angry now and he makes to pull you from the bed not caring that you are naked. He grabs you by the hair and pulls you along the halls. Din is trying to get you free but his brother is strong normally, but even more so when he is angry. “Paz stop, your hurting her, let her go.” “ oh no she’s going no where ever again.” Din is nervous now what did he mean by that. He tries to grab you again but to no avail. Paz brings you up to the attic. He throws you in and locks the door. “Now she can spend the rest of her days locked away. If I can’t have her no one can.” “ you can’t do this, I won’t let you.” “Oh and what are you going to do huh, last I checked I was the head of this household, what I say goes.” Din could feel the anger in his veins but he left, leaving you, the love of his life locked away like some criminal. He would not let this happen to you he needed help.

***

Weeks passed and you lost hope of ever seeing Din again. You had been given clothes and scrapes of food. Your were being held captive in your own home. You began to feel sick and after the sixth day you mentioned it to one of the maids. Paz allowed a doctor to visit you. It turns out you are 8 weeks pregnant. Your shocked, having believed your were barren. A maid comes in and tells you she can get word to Din and so agree. If Paz finds out about this he will kill you. Din is planning an attack on his brothers home to free you when the maid comes to find him. “Mr. Djarin, em excuse me sir, but I have news of Ms. Y/N.” “Y/N, is she ok has he hurt her?” “No he is not currently home sir, she has been ill of late and Paz allowed us to call for a doctor.” He walks up to her and puts his hands on her shoulders almost shaking her “what is it girl, spit it out.” “She is pregnant sir, 8 weeks I believe.” “Pregnant!” He is speechless sinking into a nearby chair. Cara stands and comes over to him.We have to move now Din, if Paz finds out his wife, who could not bare him a child,is now pregnant from his brother, she is dead.” With that Din stands “ok we go tonight.” You are asleep when you hear keys rattling at your door, suddenly Paz bursts in and storms towards you. “Your fucking pregnant?” He is fuming and grabs you by the hair. He grabs a knife and places it along your throat “ I should have done this in the beginning”. “Don’t you ducking touch a hair on her head.” Paz turns around quickly to see Din standing in the door way blaster pointed at him. “Come to rescue your little whore have you, sis you know she is carrying your child, of course you would get her pregnant, you were always better at everything.” “Put the knife down Paz, you don’t have to do this.” “Oh but I do, you see my reputation is at stake.” “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that, now.” Paz turns to see who Din is talking to buts it’s too late Cara shoots him in the head with her blaster. You fall to the floor trembling and Din moves towards you. “Your ok now Mesh’la, I’ve got you, I’ve got you both.”

Tagging:

@asta-lily, @lunaserenade, @librariantothejedi , @maievdenoir , @seasonschange-butpeopledont , @elinedjarin , @day-off-inkyoto, @danniburgh @absurdthirst

[princessbatears]

Eeeeee! For your prompt celebration! What about Paz and his love’s wedding feast back with his people? Man has to make good on his promise to hold up her wedding traditions toooooo and a bunch of drunk Mandos? Sounds extra fun! 🙌

Ahhh, thank you, Heather! I've written a short one shot about the feelings that come up for Reader as she prepares and goes to her wedding feast. Enjoy! 😘

“Don’t fidget,” Nafi scolds mildly as she makes the finishing adjustments to your wedding feast dress. The seamstress has been hired to create the garment for you to wear tonight and she’s determined to make it fit perfectly.

You force yourself to go still. The layers of thick red and white fabric are heavy, making your already-nervous body sweat even more.

The traditional Crorian bride’s dress is elaborate, with a fitted, embroidered bodice that’s tightest just below the bust and a long skirt that flares out dramatically until it hits the ground. Gauzy sleeves cinch just above your wrists, leaving room for the bangles adorning them.

“All done.” Nafi straightens, hands resting lightly on your shoulders to turn you around to face the mirror.

You stare at yourself in wonder. The woman looking back at you is far more beautiful than you realized she could be. You could be.

Slowly, you twist from side to side, watching as the skirt flows around your body. The bracelets at your wrists tinkle delicately. “It’s gorgeous,” you breathe. “I can’t believe it’s mine.”

The spell is broken when there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Nafi sighs impatiently at the interruption. “Yes?” she calls through the door.

“Paz wants to know if he’s allowed to come in yet,” Din’s voice says with a mixture of apology and annoyance. He’s likely getting tired of being the go-between while you prepare.

You fix a bit of stray hair. “He can.” You sound more breathless than you expect. You really hope he likes how you look, too.

Nafi smiles at you. “I’ll give you some privacy. Walk about the room a bit to make sure everything feels right.”

“Thank you,” you smile back.

After she’s left, Paz enters, wearing his full armor. It’s been polished until it gleams.

He stops just beyond the doorway, silently looking at you for long enough that you start to get self-conscious. “Is it too much?”

Shutting the door with his foot, Paz pulls off his helmet. He’s beaming. “You’re stunning! Let me see the whole thing.”

Pride now fills you as you spin for him. The skirt billows out in a perfect circle. Despite the dress’s weight, it is designed to allow plenty of space for dancing and to look incredible while doing it.

Paz steps forward, catching your hand and raising it above your head so he can twirl you. “This dress is fit for the queen you are,” he purrs, leaning down to nip lightly at your jaw.

You giggle at his ticklish breath. “Maybe we could just stay in here tonight.”

He shakes his head, eyes gentle. “I want to honor our union with your culture. Besides, if we didn’t show up, Din would murder us. Apparently, he had to call in some long-held favor over the tablecloths or some bullshit.”

“Over tablecloths?” What kind of table clothes did he get?

Paz waves a dismissive hand. “Tablecloths, the food, who knows? I’d stopped listening.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s gone to a huge amount of effort for us. The least you could do is listen to him.”

Din, as the leader of the covert and Paz’s Mandalorian brother, took it upon himself to throw this party as soon as a new home had been found. He’d gone to great lengths over the last few months to make sure it’ll be as much like your home’s wedding feasts as possible. It was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for you, and you will always be grateful to him for it.

Paz chuckles. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t know I wasn’t listening.”

“Oh, he knows. Just like I do.” You poke him in the chest.

He laughs again, kissing you soundly.

There’s another knock on the door. “Everyone’s arriving,” Din says briskly. “Vok’ika needs to finish getting ready.”

Butterflies fill your stomach again at the idea of the dozens of people from your covert gathering with a focus on you and Paz. “Okay,” you manage to get out, sounding strained.

Paz’s eyes grow soft and serious, a calloused finger tilting your chin up. “Let yourself be witnessed tonight, cyare. You deserve it.”

His confidence makes you smile. “I’ll see you there.”

A short while later, after Nafi’s finished the final alterations to your dress and gone to tell Din you’re ready, you hear the drums start, signaling the bride’s approach is imminent.

As you walk, knees a wobbly, out of your home and to the field that’s been set up for the feast, your mind drifts back to your childhood when you were a guest at wedding feasts. You’d watch the drummers and dreamed about when that would be you.

After so many years alone and then your community on Croria slowly dissolving, you’d given up on that dream, but here you are, the drums playing for your entrance.

Confidence fills you, legs growing solid and back straightening. Some of the Mandalorians wear helmets, like Din and Paz, but most do not. The feeling of so many eyes on you isn’t frightening any longer, it’s liberating. You do deserve to be witnessed tonight.

Paz is standing behind a chair at the center of the largest table, his armor reflecting the orange glow of the bonfires around the space. When you reach the empty spot next to him, the drummers soften the music, letting it fade into the background.

He leans his forehead down to touch yours briefly before picking up his knife and fork and slicing off a small bite of meat. Even though you can’t see his face, you feel his excitement and tenderness as he raises the fork to your lips. “I give you the first cut of my meat and the first sip of my wine from now until fate destines we be forever parted.”

You take the meat from the fork, allowing the nourishment of both his vow and the food to fill you. Next, you take a sip of the wine he offers you from his cup.

Now, it’s your turn to give your promise to him. You slip a sliver of meat up to his mouth. “I give you the first cut of my meat and the first sip of my wine from now until fate destines we be forever parted.” Then, you manage to get some wine into his mouth, thankful that Din had suggested slim glasses.

After he’s swallowed, Paz takes your hand and links your fingers together. “I love you,” he whispers so only you can hear.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you whisper back, pleased by how easily that Mando’a sentence flows from you now.

Taking a satisfied breath, Paz raises your linked hands up in the air and turns to your guests. “Eat, burc’yas! Then, we dance!”

- - -

Mando’a Translations: Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you Burc’yas - friends

🥳🥳 I’m having a celebration! Check it out and send me a prompt/HC request! 🥳🥳

Paz Vizsla Masterlist

Werewolf Masterlist

[mothandpidgeon]

Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

[ladydorian05]

A Christmas with you~

Oh god...where do I begin, okay as of today Dec/24/2020, the movie We can be heroes isn’t out yet, so everything is just from my imagination, interactions, personalities and everything else that may sound slightly canon, it’s most certainly NOT canon. I hate using ‘Y/n’ on reader inserts but this time I had to. Thank you @din-damn-djarin​ for being my beta for this fic, I really, really appreciate it. Go check out her fics, I adore her Neigbor Marcus Pike series, it’s SO good. 

This is a monster of a fic, where did so many words come from?

Hope you guys like it.

Thoughts are in italics 

A Christmas with you~

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with your best friend for years, what you don’t know is that he’s also in love with you. Could a little push from one cunning young girl help you both get together during the most wonderful time of the year? (sorry, still suck at summaries)

Warnings: Reader’s superhero name is “Striker”, why? Because my brain thought it sounded cool, I jump from POV to POV, one plotting child, best friends to lovers, a pair of pinning idiots and implicit spiciness.

Words: 7K something

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was no secret to any of the members of the Heroics that you had no family to spend the holidays with.

In a way they were all your family, you were all a close-knitted team, but sometimes, it just wasn’t the same.

Then, there was Marcus and his daughter. He had been there from the moment you joined the team he became a very close friend, your best friend. Most of the time you got partnered with him, especially when it came to reconnaissance missions, you worked well together, you trusted each other and always had each other’s back.

Eventually, you began to feel differently towards him. You were no fool, you knew what you felt for him was definitely more than simple fondness, attachment or admiration. Your heart rate increased when he was close, his smile makes you smile, you would do anything for him, anything to keep him and his loved ones from harm’s way.

He’s always been so charming and handsome and a total gentleman. There had been times where you had wanted to take the first step, confess your feelings to him and see where that would take you, but you couldn’t; at first because he had been a married man about to become a father when you met him and then when his wife stopped being a part of the picture, well you just wanted to be there for him as a friend, he had enough on his plate raising Missy on his own, he didn’t need you to dump all of your feelings on him.

He was doing amazing on his own, but you wanted him. No, you wanted both of them, Marcus and Missy, to know that you would be there for them whenever they needed you. Besides, you were just friends, he’ll never see you as anything more.

“That will be all for today, everyone’s dismissed. I wish you all a happy Christmas eve and remember to keep your locators close, we all know how crime rates increase during this season. I'll see you again here until the 26th” Ms. Granada said, taking you out of your thoughts and officially ending the debrief meeting.

Every year, during the holidays, most of the team got a leave from duty, beginning early on Christmas eve, until the 26th; that was if no major crisis happened that required the whole team, otherwise only a handful of volunteers were left on patrol duty during those days.

Seeing as you’ve never celebrated the festivity, you always volunteered to be a part of the patrolling team. Not that your teammates had never invited you to spend Christmas with them and their families, they had done it on multiple occasions, not wanting you to be alone, time and time again you had reassured them that it was alright you didn't mind spending the night patrolling.

In truth, you always declined because you didn’t want to intrude, the celebration was all about family and spending time with loved ones, you knew your friends had good intentions but you just didn’t want to feel like you didn’t belong there, like you were invited to tag along out of pity.

Eventually, the invitations stopped coming your way, and while it hurt a bit that they gave up on you, you were also relieved for not being put on the spot again and again having to decline their generous offers.

But this year, unbeknownst to you, a scheme was beginning to brew inside the head of one young girl, to make you change your plans for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Missy wasn’t blind, she knew there was something between her father and Striker, even before she learned that her father was a superhero.

When she was younger, she had shipped his dad’s alter ego and Striker. They always looked so in-sync on the tv, like the perfect duo, but now that she gets to watch them both in real life? She had no doubts, they liked each other.

And it wasn’t just when they were in costume, Striker had always been around ever since she could remember, all of her birthday parties, her school festivals, even helping her dad every time some mom came up with the idea to have bake sales at school over and over again; what’s wrong with that woman?

She had noticed all the constant glances, the here and there ‘accidental’ brush of hands, even the full-on staring; just like right now, during the debrief, her father’s eyes kept straying from Ms. Granada to Striker and every single time he turned his attention back to the meeting before he could notice how Striker had been doing the same thing. Oh yeah, they were both pining for each other.

The problem was that they were SO stubborn, she’s been trying to bring it up to her dad, but he would immediately change the topic of the conversation with some question about school or any upcoming mission, it was frustrating!

She wanted him to be happy, she wanted both of them to be happy, and being superheroes was dangerous business, she wasn’t about to wait until something happened to either of them, as dramatic as that would be, for things to move forward. Like always, it was up to her to give them a push.

“You know, if you keep staring at her like that she’ll burst into flames.” One good thing that came with the pair of pinning adults was that the whole thing made them so easy to tease, and she loved to tease her father.

“I think you're mistaken, that would be something Lavagirl could probably do, not me sweetheart.” With a chuckle, Marcus puts a hand on her head to ruffle her hair. “Ready to go?” Changing the topic, again. This time she wasn’t about to let it go.

“Not yet. Actually, there’s something you haven’t done.” Missy crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Oh, really?” Marcus smiled as he mimicked his daughter’s stance. “And what is that thing I haven’t done?” he said with amusement.

Missy smirked. “You haven’t asked Y/n if she wants to come home and celebrate with us. “The smile on Marcus' face disappeared, a stunned expression replacing it.

“What!?”

“Yeah, you should invite her, we can all have dinner together and maybe she can stay and open presents with us.”

“Uh…Missy, sweetheart I don’t think that’s a good-“

“Oh, come on, dad! It’ll be great! It’s not as if we’re doing something REALLY special tonight. Please?”

“Sweetheart, she’ll probably say no, you know she never comes to Christmas parties.” His hands moved from his chest to rest on his waist as he spoke.

“Which is why you should invite her over. We’re not throwing a party; it’ll be just the three of us. And even if she says no, you won't lose anything just by asking.”

He wouldn’t know what to do if she rejected him. How cliché of him to fall in love with his best friend.

He had slowly fallen for you, so much so that by the time he realized what was going on, he was already a goner.

He had always known how beautiful you were, your smile, the way it illuminated your whole face; your eyes, your nose, your lips. He noticed how you were always helping people, inside and outside your Heroic persona, he also noticed how you tried to dismiss your own worries, not wanting to ‘burden’ others with them.

If only you would let him do for you the same things you do for him. He would love nothing more than to share whatever problems weighted down on you. He also knew you never accepted invitations to any Christmas celebration, at first, he had thought maybe you were being shy, being the new member of the team and all that, but year after year you always declined every single invitation from your teammates, he had always hated the thought of you spending the holidays on your own, patrolling the city.

He had never tried to invite you himself, back when his wife was around, they had always traveled to her parent’s house so it was useless to ask you to tag along, and then, after she left, it had been difficult to even try to celebrate.

If he asked you to come to Christmas and you said no, if you rejected him…well what hope could he have that maybe, just maybe he could find the courage to confess his feelings. But the probability of them being unrequired scared him so much. Should he risk it all?

Missy didn’t need to be a telepath to know what her dad was thinking, he was thinking too much and that normally resulted in him chickening out, well this time she wouldn’t let him.

“Or do you actually like the idea of her spending Christmas patrolling the city in a cold night most likely on her own?” This time she copied her father’s stance, silently challenging him to a staring contest, she had this in the bag, her dad had never won a staring contest in his life.

“You can be so stubborn when you want to, little lady.” Marcus said after a few seconds, breaking eye contact.

“Who do you think I got it from?” She said with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Come here.” Marcus pulled her in a hug. “I love you; you know that?” he said, leaving a kiss on top of her hair.

“I know, I love you too. Now stop stalling and go ask her.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh, you’re also bossy.” He squeezed her a little before letting go and walking towards y/n.

“It’s called leadership!” He shook his head laughing, well, at least he was doing something right, god knows raising Missy almost on his own hadn’t been easy.

~~~~~~~~~~

You had been waiting to see which teammates would be staying with you this year to agree upon a schedule, when you noticed Marcus approaching you, he stood in front of you with a wide smile making his adorable dimple appear.

“Hi there.” He greeted while rubbing his hands together, one of his nervous ticks.

“Hi there yourself, everything okay?” It was weird, you could see how tense he was and he kept shifting from foot to foot.

His eyes widened and his head kept moving as he nodded. “Yeah, yes, everything’s alright.”

“Okay.” Now this was a Marcus you didn’t get to see often. Normally he was so self-assured, he always carried himself with confidence, even in the face of danger. “Are you excited to go home and spend a whole day with Missy?”

“Of course, it’s been some time since we’ve had the chance to spend a whole day together.”

“I’m glad you got the chance, she’s been working so hard, you both have, you deserve some time off.”

And so do you. He thought.

“You know, you’re right, you should also take a break.” He frowned. Marcus could see the bags under your eyes. You had also been working harder, pulling more time than the others. You did this every year during this season and it always pained him, while everyone else went home to their families you didn’t even hang your suit and equipment for a night and a day off, no, you made sure to keep everyone safe.

“I don’t know, not many of us volunteer for patrol as it is, and I don’t have any plans for the night or tomorrow so, why not?” You looked down at your feet. It was the truth, why bother taking a break, only to go to a cold empty apartment? You could find a better use of your time like this.

Marcus, swallowed, steeling what little resolve he had, it was now or never.

“You know, we- Missy and I that is. We were wondering if…maybe, if you don’t have any other plans; and of course you can say no, but it’ll be great if you said yes, and it’s nothing formal-” You watched him with amusement as he kept rambling, “It would be just the three of us and well, pizza and movies and junk food, staying up until midnight and opening some presents. Don’t worry, you don’t have to actually bring anything, it’ll be fine with jus-“

Shit, why was he talking so much, and why wouldn’t his hands stop moving!? Something like this hadn’t happened to him in a freaking long while, since he first invited a girl he liked on a date, like twenty or so years ago!

Leave it to you to have this kind of effect on him, only you could reduce him to a babbling idiot, if this kept going on, he wouldn’t be able to actually ask you the question.

~~~~ 

Oh my god! What is he doing!? Missy stared at her dad as he kept talking and moving his hands around while you just looked at him with mirth and confusion.

She had to do everything in this family, didn’t she?

“Would you like to join us tonight and maybe even tomorrow?” Missy interrupted her dad before he could keep on talking.

 Marcus hadn't been so grateful to his little girl than in that moment. “Umm, yeah, would you like to join us?” Marcus looked at you with a smile and hopeful eyes.

“Oh…OH!” You were speechless, you weren’t expecting an invitation this year, least of all an invitation from him. While it wasn’t weird for him to invite you to special occasions, he’s never once tried to invite you to spend Christmas with him. You always thought this time of year was special for him and that he preferred to spend it alone with Missy. “I-I…”

“Please say yes! It’d be fun, we just sit in front of the tv and watch movies while eating junk food!” Missy jumped in hugging you. She wasn’t scared to use her resources, every single one of them, if that meant that y/n agreed to the invite; she’d even use the puppy eyes if she had to, she had to exploit that one before it stopped working.

“I don’t know, we can’t leave the city defenseless…” Puppy eyes it was.

“Pretty please! I’m sure it’ll be fine, you always stay on duty, they can manage one year without you!”

Oh no, not the puppy eyes! You stared at Missy’s brown eyes, they looked so much like her father’s. You shifted your gaze from Missy to look at Marcus only to find him doing almost the same expression. God damn it! Not him too, he’s too old for that face to work, why is it working!?

What the hell, it’s not like you didn’t want to.

“Okay, I’ll join you guys”

“Yes! You’re the best, see ya later!!!” Missy gave your middle a squeeze before running out of the room, leaving you and Marcus staring after her.

“You mister are way too old to be pulling the puppy-eyed look, you should be ashamed.” You turned to see his smug face.

“I’ll keep using it for as long as it keeps working.”

“What a disgrace.”

“So umm, does six work for you?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to let the others know I won’t be a volunteer this year. See you then.” With a smile you gave Marcus a quick hug before approaching one of the members of the Heroics that, much like you, always volunteered and was the one in charge of making the schedule for patrol rounds.

“Yeah, see you.” Marcus said shaking his head, long after you had left his side. He needed to get a grip of himself, if not, he would have a long night waiting for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even if Marcus said not to bring anything, you hated arriving at a friend’s house empty handed, even if it was Marcus, especially if it was Marcus; so you made sure to grab a couple of things on the way to your apartment. Some bags of everyone’s favorite chip flavor and enough ingredients to make some cinnamon rolls.

You took a quick shower once the glaze was done and the cinnamon rolls were in the oven. With one towel around your body and another one around your hair; you stood in front of your dresser debating on what to wear.

It’s not like this was a date; as if. So why worry so much?  Still, you kept on throwing clothes on your bed, you told yourself enough by the time you were seriously contemplating putting on a dress.

You put away the mess you made, leaving out a nice button up shirt and a pair of comfortable dress pants, the ones that had actual pockets, you finished your look with some comfortable boots, you were probably going to end up taking them off at some point so you also put on some cute Christmas themed fuzzy socks.

Satisfied with your choice, you decided to put on a baggy T-shirt to take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and to prevent the glaze from dirtying your clothes when you poured it on the buns once they were cool enough.

You were fifteen minutes late by the time you got dressed, packed everything up, and grabbed the presents for Marcus and Missy that you had wrapped up a week ago. You send Marcus a message saying that you were on your way.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus went into full panic mode when they got home an hour and a half away from the time he told you to arrive, they lost too much time lining up to pay at the supermarket, he insisted on going once he remembered he was out of your favorite candy, he also got a bag of chocolates and some sodas.

For a moment he contemplated getting some beers, but soon dismissed the idea, he wasn’t that much of a drinker and he didn’t like to drink in front of his daughter. Besides this wasn’t a date, of any kind, just his daughter and best friend; who he had been in love with for a long time now, spending some quality time together.

Shit, he forgot about the pizza!

“Missy, go take a shower and change into something more comfortable but nice and then come give me a hand, we need to set everything up in the living room” He said as he dialed the number from the pizza place the three of you loved.

Missy took the grocery bags to the kitchen before doing what her father asked her to do, but in reverse, that way there was a chance that you would arrive while she was still getting ready leaving the two of you alone for a few minutes.

She opened the chocolate and candy bags dumping the contents into two different small bowls, she listened as her father finished ordering the pizza on her way to the living room where they had a slightly bigger tv than the one in front of the breakfast table, she left the bowls on the coffee table in the middle.

“Missy, I thought I asked you to do something else before setting everything up.”

“I know, but we’ll finish faster this way, you need to take a shower too. Can you get the glasses from the cupboard?”

He sighed but went to the kitchen to get the aforementioned glasses.

“Hey, did you order the potato wedges?” Missy asked, taking one of the soda bottles and putting it inside the fridge.

“Yup.” Marcus answered, passing her the second bottle. “Give me a hand with the plates please.” He bumped her with his hip as he passed her.

They inspected their work for a moment before going to their respective rooms to get ready, Missy decided to take her time choosing her clothes, she even contemplated whether it’d be too much to take a bath instead of a shower.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Never before, in his whole life, had he gotten ready for ANYTHING as fast as today. He almost pulled out a suit from his closet before doing a double-take and grabbing a nice shirt, some black denim pants, and his favorite sneakers.

He decided to forgo any kind of hair product and only dabbled a little bit of cologne on his wrist and neck. On his way to the living room, he stopped by Missy’s room to knock on her door.

“Are you ready darling?”

“Not yet!” Was her muffled response.

“Okay, I’ll be in the living room, take your time but remember we’ll have a special guest over.” A special guest? Come on Marcus, she’s been here multiple times before, she’s like part of the family, maybe not in the way he wished her to be but still.

~

“Okay, dad!” A special guest!? Really!? He was hopeless, did he even notice how obvious he was? Why hadn’t he done something about it yet? Y/n could easily slip through his fingers by the time he decided to actually make a move. She needed to up her game.

 Marcus kept staring at the clock as it read five minutes past six, leg bouncing. Maybe his clock was wrong, maybe he didn’t put the right hour, maybe it was forward by a few minutes.

God, he was a mess, he needed to calm down, it was just Y/n, his best friend; she’s hung out with them before, on multiple occasions, except…well she wasn’t JUST Y/n, she never was and never would be.

She was everything, she became everything to him in such a short time that sometimes it scared him. If he had to be truly honest with himself, he needed to admit that he began to fall for her the moment they met, he fought against it for years, he was married with a baby on the way for god’s sake.

He had loved his wife and he would’ve never cheated on her, but he also couldn’t deny the connection he felt with you from day one, he had never felt something even remotely close to it with anyone else.

If things had been different, he would have told you about his feeling’s way sooner, he had been selfish, he knew he couldn’t afford to lose you, he lost his wife, Missy lost her mother, he couldn’t lose you too if you didn’t feel the same, that would’ve destroyed him when Missy needed him more than ever.

So, instead he kept it silent, holding on to the hope that maybe, someday, he’d be able to act upon his feelings for you.

He was startled by his phone chiming in his pocket, the first thing he noticed was the hour, quarter past six; and the second, your message. ‘I’m on my way.’

He sighed, you would be there soon, could he maybe try to hint at something tonight? Well, if he didn’t, maybe he could bring ‘that’ out.

~~~~~

Fifteen more minutes later you were finally ringing Marcus’ house doorbell, not for the first time, you were happy with the proximity of your apartment complex to his house.

“Hey! Why didn’t you use your key?” Marcus' smiling face greeted you. “Oh, I see why.” You were holding a container in one hand, balancing two gift boxes on top and the cloth bag with the chips in the other.

“I kind of couldn’t even if I wanted to.” You laughed.

“I told you, you didn’t have to bring anything but yourself; here, let me help you.” He took the container with the cinnamon rolls from your hands. “Come on in.”

“As if you didn’t know me Marcus, I never come here with empty hands.” You followed Marcus to the kitchen after closing the door behind you.

“This thing is warm, what’s inside?” he had left the bag and the container on the counter, he also put the boxes aside.

“Well, you have two options, you can try to guess or you can open it.” You said with a smile, taking the bags of chips out to fold the bag they were in.

“I know it’s warm, is it something sweet?” so guessing it was, you loved to play this kind of game with him every time you brought baked goods.

“Yes.”

“Can I smell it? Am I allowed to do that?” he asked, eyebrows raised and a big smile on his face.

You faked a thoughtful look before nodding. Marcus lifted the container close to his face and took a deep breath.

“Cinnamon?” His eyes opened wide in delight. “No way, don’t tell me! Are these, you brought cinnamon rolls!? Holy sheesh!”

You laughed at him, you knew he loved cinnamon rolls so you made them as often as you could, you even gave him the recipe but he claimed that they just didn’t taste the same when he made them himself. You thought he was just too impatient to make them and preferred to just eat them.

He opened the container to keep the bread from getting soggy because of the condensation inside it.

“My god! They look delicious, I swear could kiss you right now!” What!?

 FUUUUCK!!! YOU IDIOT! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!!!! he froze up, there was a moment of silence between the two of you before it was thankfully interrupted by the doorbell.

“The pizza is here! Just in time.” He said with maybe too much enthusiasm. The delivery guy deserved a big tip, he just unknowingly saved his ass.

 Did you hear correctly? Did he say kiss? That’s what he said, right?

No, well yes, he did say it, but he probably didn’t mean it like, well...THAT. It was just an expression, he was overjoyed you brought him food and you were just thinking too much into things. Yeah, that was it, you were thinking too much.

“I heard the pizza arrived! Don’t start without me!” You shook your head, clearing your thoughts as Missy appeared around the corner. “Hi y/n!”

“Hi Missy.” You opened your arms towards her for a hug that she walked right into.

“You got chips, nice. Wait do I smell cinnamon rolls!?” Like father, like daughter.

“Ah-ah-ah! Don’t touch those, little lady. Those are for later.” Marcus said stepping into the kitchen. “Now, come on, I left the pizza on the coffee table.”

“But dad, they’re WARM.” Missy argued, stressing out the last word.

“Don’t you think it also hurts me to leave them there? We can reheat them later in the oven.” Marcus said with his hands on his hips. Missy looked like she wanted to say something more, so you decided to cut in.

“Mis, why don’t you take the gifts I brought and put them under the tree? We’ll be there in a minute.” You said handing her the boxes.

“Okay, but I get to pick the first movie!” Both of you watched as she walked out.

“I swear this girl.” Marcus huffed running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought Moreno, you’re just as bad as her when it comes to your precious buns.” You said shaking your head.

You hear him gasp as you walk to the fridge, knowing he probably stashed the drinks there. “You wound me!”

“Uh huh, let’s go before she decides to start eating without us.” You grabbed one of the cold bottles of soda inside the fridge and made your way towards the living room. “Don’t forget to bring the chips.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Together you made your way to the living room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Missy decided to sit on the carpeted floor right in front of the coffee table, that way her dear pining love birds would be forced to share the loveseat.

“What took you so long? I hope the big box is for me, also I already picked a movie.”

“Don’t be impatient, you’ll find out soon.” You said as you ruffled her hair a little, leaving the bottle of soda on the table close to the glasses.

“Oh no. Sweetheart, we forgot to move the couch.”

“It’s okay dad, you two can have the loveseat, besides this way I’ll be closer to the snacks.” Don’t be suspicious Missy, you don’t want to ruin this perfect chance. Phase one, getting them to sit together: complete, phase two is on hold.

“You sure you don’t mind darling?”

“Nope, can I start the movie?”

~~

Oh god, they were going to be really close to one another.

Calm down, Moreno. You’re fine, this is fine. It’s your best friend. He reminded himself for the millionth time that day.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, maybe it was because this was your first Christmas with them and all the domestic stuff was getting to him.

He turned to look at you “After you.” He said gesturing towards the loveseat with his hands.

“Thank you. What are we watching Missy?”

“First Home alone, The Santa Clause, Arthur Christmas; you know, the classics with a touch of new stuff.”

“Let’s begin then.” Everyone sat in their respective places with a plate and a slice of pizza.

As the evening progressed, he found himself using the ‘stretching move’ to put his arm around you, when he noticed you weren’t bothered by it, he willed his body to relax and enjoy the company of his favorite people in the world.

 As the movies kept playing on the screen and the snacks disappeared little by little. You felt yourself get more comfortable.

For a moment you let your imagination run wild; for a moment you let yourself believe this was a normal occurrence, family movie nights, cuddling with Marcus on the loveseat, going to sleep beside him afterward, waking up beside him, help him raise Missy…

You needed to stop this, as wonderful as everything sounded inside your head you knew none of that would become a reality.

“Okay, it’s getting late,” You got startled by Marcus nudging you softly with his shoulder before pausing the movie, you hadn’t even realized you leaned into him “don’t think that I’ll forget about your bedtime just because Y/n is here.”

“But dad!”

“No, come on, let’s open some presents and then I want you to go get ready for bed. I can see your head nodding from here, you’re tired, go on choose one.”

Phase two: Leave the love birds alone, has officially begun. Missy thought, wishing for her dad to finally take the opportunity to climb that last step. Phase three of her plan, officially having you as a mom, depended on it.

“Okay,” Missy said pretending to be disappointed “Y/n, which one is mine? The big one?”

“Sorry Mis, It’s actually the small one.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t you have faith in me?”

“I do, but what cool stuff could possibly be wrapped in such a small box?”

“You’ll see once you open it, sweetheart.” Marcus left the remote control on the table and returned to his previous position on the loveseat, arm around you and all.

Both of you watched as Missy broke the wrapping paper and opened the wooden box taking out what looked like a smart watch from inside it.

“Oh! It’s one of those cool watches!” Missy exclaimed with surprise.

“Yes and no.” you said, leaning in towards her.

“what do you mean?”

“This one’s special, see I got Tech-no to make it especially for you. It does work like any other smart watch, but you’ll be able to use this one even if you don’t have a Wifi connection or aren’t close to any phone tower.”

“What!? How!?”

“It’s linked into one of the Heroics main recon satellites, it has a GPS function that’ll show you the map and your location no matter where you are, it also has the emergency button. It’ll alert your dad, me, or the Heroics mission control station. It has many more functions, I think, but that’s all I remember. Tech-no included a manual, you’ll get it once you turn it on. Oh yeah! Almost forgot, aside from being able to use conventional charging cables, I don’t know how but he also included solar panels.”

“OMG! I can’t believe it!! It’s the best gift ever!! Thank you!!!” Missy jumped from her place on the floor to tackle you in a hug.

“You’re welcome, I thought it could come in handy now that you’re in the saving the world business with us.” You said with a laugh.

“Hey, Missy, you still want the big box? We can exchange.” Marcus said with raised eyebrows.

“No way! This is mine, I’m gonna go charge it. Thankyousomuch, goodnight, bye.” With that Missy took off running towards her room.

“Hey, don’t forget to brush your teeth!” He reminded her.

“I won’t!”

You both heard the door to her room slam close.

“Wow Y/n, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s no big deal Marcus, you know how much I love her, and I worry. She’s too much like you.” You said staring at him.

“Wha-what’s that supposed to mean?” He said feigning offense.

“I mean it in a good way! She’s kind and selfless, headstrong, brave, and so intelligent. What we do is dangerous, and now that she's exposed to it, well, knowing her she won’t stay behind anymore. All we can do is give her the tools to keep herself and her team as safe as possible.”

Could you be any more perfect? He knew you loved his daughter, it’s always been clear to him, but could she love him just as much?

“You know now I have to try and top that gift next year, right? There’s no way anything I got her this one is going to top yours.” He said with the most serious face he could muster.

“That was the point.” You answered with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Mala.” he said, squinting his eyes at you.

“You think I’m bad!?” you gasped, “I’ll show you bad mister.” You stand up from your seat, you walk in your Christmas themed socks; boots long forgotten in favor of comfort; towards the tree to take the gift you brought for him. “No present for you, I’m going to keep it.” You said smugly .

“Now that’s not fair.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” He apologized.

“What? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said I’m sorry, oh benevolent woman! Goddess of the amazing Christmas presents! I kneel before you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You laughed at him.

“The things I have to do for a present.”

“You didn’t really kneel.”

“You serious?” he asked flabbergasted.

“No. Now open your gift before I change my mind.”

Marcus eagerly tore the paper apart, revealing a thinner wooden box than the one Missy received. Inside, Marcus found an old throwing knife.

You stared at him, holding your breath as he opened the gift, it wasn’t some cutting edge piece of tech, but you knew how much that knife meant to him.

He was speechless, he instantly recognized it the moment his eyes laid on the engravings of the blade, this had been one of his father’s throwing knives. While not exactly a superhero, his father had served in the army as part of a special secret division. He had preferred knives instead of guns. And he taught Marcus everything he knew about them, that was the reason he had chosen to fight with swords, in memory of his father.

But how, how could you have gotten hold of one of his knives, they had been lost during his last mission.

“I-I, how-” He swallowed hard “How did you find it?”

“Well, I remembered what you told me, about your dad, what he did and a-about your dad’s last mission and well, remember last time I took some days off a few months ago? I did some research and found the town he had gone to. I asked around and I found this old lady, she treated your father’s wounds at some point during his mission and he tried to pay her by giving her one of his knives, she never sold it. I told her about you and well, she insisted on returning the blade to you.” You finished your tale a little bit breathless, he became really quiet when he opened the box.

He couldn’t believe you remembered that, it’s been so long since he told you about his father.

Had it been a mistake to search for the blade? Did you overstep? Maybe you should have told him before going on that trip.

“Marcus, I’m sorr-” One moment you were trying to apologize to him and the next you were being enveloped in a pair of strong arms.

“Thank you.” He said breathless, leaving a kiss on top of your head. “This means so much to me.” You just smiled and hugged him back.

You stayed like that, relishing in the feeling of his arms around you, holding you tight to his chest.

This woman, this wonderful, amazing, beautiful woman… fuck it, he knew what he had to do.

You felt a pang of sadness and longing as Marcus’ arms began to retreat from around you.

“Wait here. I-I need to go get something.” You watched as he left the box with his gift on the table, stood from his seat and disappeared around a corner.

 Calm down, calm down, it was just a hug. You told yourself.

Marcus came back to sit beside you a minute or so later holding a small baby blue box with a white ribbon on top in his hands.

“I-I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give you this. It’s nothing like what you gave us but…I hope you like it.” He reached for your hands and left the box in your palms.

Upon a closer look, you noticed the box came from a jewelry store, an expensive one at that. You opened it carefully, not wanting to damage the little box. Inside the box, lying on a silky looking piece of fabric, you saw a beautiful heart shaped golden locket, there was a flowery design with some vines on the surface giving it some texture.

“Marcus!” You gasped. “You didn’t have to; this must’ve been really expensive.”

“Go ahead, open it.” You did as he said not lifting the heart from its silky bed. Inside, you found a small picture of Marcus, Missy and you.

You remembered that one was taken during Missy’s birthday last year, in the picture the three of you were laughing, your faces dirty with cake frosting from the small war that took place moments before his mother had taken the picture without them noticing.

“Marcus! This is beautiful, thank you so much!” You were about to hug him when he raised a hand to stop you.

“There’s more.” You were confused, he was acting a bit strange, you noticed he was tense as you looked from him and back to the necklace. “Turn it around.”

Once more you did what he said, closing the locket you took it in your palm noticing something engraved into it. On the back you found that it was indeed engraved. It read:

‘For the holder of my heart~’

It’s now or never. He held his breath as he watched you read the words. He began to worry when you didn’t show any kind of reaction.

“What?” you whispered, it can’t be, could this mean, did he, what?

“I-I was going to wait to give it to you, I had this elaborate plan, I wanted to ask you out, take you to a nice restaurant, then maybe we’d go to a park or something. I also thought of giving it to you on your birthday, but then we got kidnapped by aliens and I lost the courage, because what if I ruined everything? What if I ruined our friendship just because I fell in love and you didn’t feel the same? Then things would’ve become awkward and we’d stop hanging out and eventually we would’ve become strangers and I never want that to happen, I want you, I want you in my life, in our lives and I can’t imagi-”

“Marcus.” You interrupted him. “You love me?”

“More than anything.”

“How long?”

“Long time now.” You nodded slowly. Your brain still trying to process everything he just said, but mainly repeating ‘he loves me!’ over and over again.

“Can you... help me put it on?” you gesture to the necklace still in your hands.

He nodded, taking it in his hands as you turned around for him. He didn’t understand what was happening, you were still here, you asked him for his help to put his gift on, so that was something good, right?

“Done.” He said stunned as you turned around to face him with the biggest most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

“You love me?” You asked again. Your voice, now full of emotion, a stark contrast from the flat one you used a moment ago.

“Yes.”

“You really, really love me?” now he was getting confused.

“Yes Y/n, I love you, you and only you.”

“Good. Because I love you too.” He barely had time to react before your lips were on his and just like that, time stopped, right there, in that moment, there was only you, the feeling of your lips on his, the pounding of his heart, the feeling of your hands, your fingers as they carded through his hair.  

He couldn’t get enough of you. He pulled you closer to him until you ended up straddling his lap, his hands on your hips, your lips moving in perfect sync with his as if it wasn’t the first time you kissed. His senses overwhelmed by you and how you made him feel.

Suddenly, you leaned back, ending the kiss with a smack; much too soon for his liking; leaving you both a panting mess.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of you saying that, of you feeling the same way.” You said breathless, giving him a small peck when you finished talking. 

“Oh, honey-is, is it okay if I call you that?”

“It’s more than ‘okay’ Marcus.” You said laughing.

“I’m glad, because I’ve been dying to call you all kinds of beautiful names. And me too, honey; I’ve imagined countless times telling you how I feel about you. I’m so sorry it took me this long to tell you.” He pulled you in, claiming your mouth again, in a kiss more intense than the first one making you moan. You felt his tongue lick your lips, silently asking for entrance, letting go of your inhibitions you let him explore the insides of your mouth, your own tongue tangling with his.

This time he ended the kiss, making you whine from the loss of contact.

“I want you, but tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered in your ear, “Tell me if it’s too soon and I’ll stop.” he sucked on your earlobe before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t you dare stop Marcus.” you gasped, “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?” you asked as you ground your hips against his earning a groan in response.

He returned to your lips for one more hungry kiss before outright growling “Hold on tight, honey. Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.” His hands slid from your hips to your ass, supporting you as he stood from the cushions making you squeal in surprise. Your arms went around his neck as you tried not to fall backward.

“Marcus! Warn me next time.” You admonished him “What about Missy? What if she hears us?” You ask as he begins to walk towards the part of the house you knew led to the bedrooms.

“That’s why we’re going to my room, so we don’t have to worry, it’s soundproofed. Now like you said, we’ve waited long enough.” He squeezed your ass before latching his lips on your neck again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He stirred awake, with the feeling of your hand drawing mindless patterns on his naked chest. With a smile, he remembered what happened last night when he finally confessed to you, and what happened after as well.

He let his eyes open, slowly, letting them adjust to the little morning light that managed to seep through the curtains. He turned his head to look at you, your head resting on the hand that wasn’t drawing shapes on his chest.

He smiled at you, lifting one of his hands to hold yours, lifting it from his chest to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“Hey. Merry Christmas.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Merry Christmas indeed. Did you sleep well, honey?” he asked, lowering your hand in his and resting it on his chest right over his heart.

“Better than ever.” You gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment before leaning in at the same time to share a sweet, slow kiss.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Who would save the world if we did?” You managed to ask between little pecks to his lips.

“I bet the others can do it just fine.”

“Okay, well, who would keep Missy out of trouble?”

“Yeah, I don’t think either of us can keep her from that.” he stared at you, before saying your name. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.”

You stayed in bed, in each other’s arms, until one of you remembered that neither of you turned off the tv last night, and he remembered the cinnamon rolls had been left on the counter in the kitchen.

Once dressed, Marcus in his pajamas and you in one of his shirts (that almost made the both of you stay in bed longer) and a pair of pants that he let you borrow to keep you comfortable, you set out to clean the living room.

When that was done, you set to work together inside the kitchen preparing breakfast for everyone, reheating the cinnamon rolls and making fresh coffee.

The two of you were soon joined by Missy, whose only reaction to the two of you being now together-together was a very happy, very exasperated ‘Finally!’.

He looked at his little family with a smile on his face as he sat down on the table. He could finally say that this Christmas he finally received what he’s always wished for, what he’s been yearning to have for years.

Your heart.

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