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auroracalisto · 3 months ago

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Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

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werecreature-addicted · 7 months ago

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Not that long ago I gained a better perspective of monsterfuckery 🥰🥰 I'm gonna give way too much personal info in the second paragraph 😄

Thing is I'm an early 20s virgin and also not very adventurous when it comes to masturbation (cause of lack of privacy and late bloomer reasons) so I've only just now gotten around to fingering and even then just one, I actually haven't been able to get to even 2 fingers.

Like I obviously understood in fic all the needed preparation and descriptions of how those sizes feel but I definitely gained a newfound appreciation for the receiving readers!

And now I'm in Great need of some gentle and patient monsters who just like me, can't wait to stretch me out enough to fit them 🥴🥴🫡🫡

I've never heard anyone more suited for a tentacle monster than you my friend.

Long thin tendrils sliding over your body and groping you, squeezing your body feeling your skin get hot and goosebumps rise over your skin before they even start doing anything. A thick tentacle crawls over your neck and curls around your cheek cupping your face. The monster keeps its larger tentacles on your skin instead of inside of you, for now at least. Massaging your tits, holding your thighs apart, and stroking your face.

One tentacle is dedicated solely to stroking your clit the thick tip slides over your slit without pushing into you- it would be cruel to try and make you take something so thick and this creature is nothing if not adoring. It is fun to run the thick tongue-like tentacle over your whole cunt from bottom to top and make you squirm though. Your thighs flex against the strong tentacles that hold you spread open.

They use thin tentacles to push inside of you and stretch your pussy. They start out no wider than your pinky finger but they're long and push deep inside of you, slowly more of these slender tentacles enter your cunt, moving at different rates almost tickling you until you're ready to size up. Then they repeat the process again with the next only slightly thicker tendril.

The monster is slow, patient with your needy inexperienced cunt. You lose track of how many times you cum. You're completely soaked from the waist down. your own wetness mixing with the natural slick slime the creature produces.

This is the kind of process that spans over days, working your cunt open until you're relaxed enough to take something as thick as a human cock. now the real fun begins, now they can really fuck you and pump you full of sticky sap-like cum the rounded tip of the tentacle bumping up against your cervix.

You could stop there, it's a big improvement from where you started. Your monster partner can fuck you easily now without hours and hours of prep. Or...you know. they do have bigger tentacles than this one. you could do the whole process again to work up to their biggest one. maybe that's too much. but you also have other holes they can stretch out and fuck if you're feeling adventurous.

#monster fucker #monster imagine #monster boyfriend #monster #teratophillia #tentacles #tentacle monster

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago

Text

.⋆｡Morning Voice｡⋆.

König x plus size reader

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader

Just imagine their morning voices

Warnings: Lou is thirsty again, implied smut, secret relationship, mutual pinning, injuries, fluff, little angst, itty bitty bit of smut, might be ooc König, mention of stitches

WC: 970

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

König

It was the voices that woke you up. They were muffled behind the door to your private room but just loud enough to rouse you from a surprisingly restful sleep. You blinked your eyes open but the warmth that surrounded you and the heavy weight across your soft stomach urged you back to sleep.

Just as your eyelids fluttered shut once more, a thought occurred to you. You shuffled backwards just slightly and your ass came into contact with something hard and teasingly hot. There came a deep groan from above your head and the weight around your stomach tightened, drawing you even further back into them.

“Stop moving, liebling.” (darling) His voice rumbled through you like an earthquake, shaking you down to your core. It was breathy but not weak, no, you could hear its power waiting just below the surface. The German rolled off his tongue in a way that made your eyes roll back into your head.

“König.” You whimpered. “You have to go, they’ll find out.” But you made no effort to pull away from his protective hold, in fact you snuggled back into the colonel, putting your right hand on top of his own much larger one.

He laughed softly into your hair before planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think you would rather me stay spatzi.” (little sparrow) Long fingers danced down your plump stomach, drawing closer and closer to your core. “I think you need me right here.”

You gasped as he finally cupped your mound, the butt of his hand brushing against your overworked clit. “König.” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice down.

“That seems to be all you can say this morning.” He teased and rolled his hips into your ass, forcing his hardening length between her cheeks. “How about I make you scream it?”

Ghost

The words on the report in front of you had stopped making sense about 2 paragraphs ago but you continued your attempt at reading the action report just to distract from the sight only a few feet away from you. The room was silent save for the quiet beeping of the heart monitor and the almost deafening sound of your own breathing.

With a groan, you threw the folder of papers onto your cluttered desk and looked back up to the bed in front of you.

He was only wearing a tight black shirt and tan cargo pants but you had insisted that the old skull balaclava remain firmly on his head. His wide chest rose and fell consistently, giving you peace of mind even as your hands still burned from stitching up so much of his body and the smell of blood still overpowered that hospital smell you had grown so used to.

He looked so small laying on the infirmary cot, his normally overwhelming presence now dwindling down to an ember and it broke your heart. Not because you were in love with the man! You cared out of professional obligation given you were the only doctor for the 141.

As the clock struck 3 am, you stood up from your desk and approached the bed. You told yourself that you were just going to check his stitches but you never even touched his bandages. Instead you sat on the rickety folding chair that Gaz had found in one of the broom closets.

Simon’s hand was devastatingly cold as you took it into your own. You cradled his palm, tracing over the various silvery lines of scars with your fingertips. Exhaustion hit you all at once and you couldn’t help but slump over the huge man, your head coming to rest on his thick thigh. “Only for a second,” You muttered, “Just need to rest my eyes.”

His whole body ached as Simon slowly slipped back into consciousness. His mouth was dry and parts of his skin felt stretched to its limits. But as he opened his eyes, all of that faded away. You were dead asleep on his lap, holding his hand as small snores escaped your lips.

He tutted at the huge dark bags beneath your eyes and he vaguely wondered how long you had been awake for. With his other hand, he cupped your head, marvelling at the way that he almost covered your whole head. You grunted softly and nuzzled into his touch.

Simon would love to let you keep sleeping especially since you were using him as a pillow but your neck was at a weird angle and he didn’t imagine that the metal folding chair you were sitting on was particularly comfortable.

So with a considerable amount of hesitation, he spoke up. “Doc.” His voice was broken and husky, just barely louder than the machines attached to him. Your brows scrunched and you burrowed further into his thigh, clutching his left hand even tighter.

He smiled beneath his balaclava.

Pain ripped through his body as Simon bent forward. He slipped his hand from your hold carefully in order to slip them both under your armpits. You were a dead weight in his arms, exacerbating the tight stitches on his sides but he still pulled you up easily, laying your soft body down between his legs.

Your head fell to his shoulder, nose immediately pushing against his throat. “Si?” You asked sleepily, attempting to sit up but a hand on your shoulder and another one on your wide hip prevented you from moving.

“Go back to sleep doc, I’ll still be hurt in the morning.” Heat crawled up your neck with the deepness of his voice and you found yourself unable to disagree, even though you were probably causing him even more pain. You nodded against his skin and Simon squeezed your hip gently. “That’s my good girl.” He purred.

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moonyswifee · 20 days ago

Text

Nemesis and Tutors

Remus Lupin x fem!reader [part 2]

summary: enemies to lovers, fem!reader. lingering touches, and gazes held far too long. slow burn.

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, she/her pronouns used for reader, slow burn, mutual pining, oblivious idiots

word count: 1.4k words

a/n: this is the second part in the nemesis and tutors series. if you haven't read the first part, i would advise to read that first, but its fine if you just read this one. its longer than the first part, and its contains detailed and oblivious pining, also contains slow burn, necessary in an enemies to lovers fic lol. hope y'all like it!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

---------

For the tenth time this week, Remus is thinking why he ever agreed to do this. You were supposed to be at the library 20 minutes ago. Call him self involved, but he is so sure you arrive late on purpose, and that purpose is to annoy him. He makes up his mind that if you don’t show up in the next 5 minutes, he’s leaving.

You stumble into the library, and sit down next to Remus, as always. Before he could say anything, you speak. “Okay, I know, I’m late. I’m sorry. Can we skip the lecture and sarcasm and just start?”

Remus sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Open your textbook.” They start discussing the topic, writing their essays alongside on Boggarts. For a long time, the only sound in the quiet library is your breathing and the sound of quill scratching against parchment.

“If you don’t understand anything, ask me.” Remus says, without looking up from his essay. He was not being nice, it was just his job.

You huff. “I know this.” You say, defensively. Remus just rolled his eyes and resumed writing his essay, not bothering to validate your stubborn demeanor.

You’re halfway through the essay, when you pause. Remus notices but doesn’t say anything, and keeps writing his essay, his head bent over it as he draws out messy letters on the parchment.

For a moment, you just look at him, contemplating. You were stuck, but you had also been so proud right now, and you mentally cursed yourself for that. The streaks of sunlight pouring in through the window on the high end of the library walls reflected on Remus' hair, making it look lighter than its usual sandy brown.

You had never really noticed how Remus was. Look-wise. You had always been too busy coming up with pranks and sarcastic comments and riling him up, to notice how he had really grown. But now that you notice it, you saw why people called him the Casanova of Gryffindor Tower.

Sunlight reflected in his untamed, sandy brown hair, making it look….oddly soft. Scars littered his arms and his face, silvery and thin, you could trace them with your fingers. And you were sure if you saw him shirtless, there would be even more, littered down his chest and abdomen and…

Wait.

What?

You shake your head quickly with furrowed eyebrows. Why were you thinking about Remus shirtless? Jesus. He was your enemy for Merlin’s sake. That was one wrong train of thought. “Uh, Remus?” You spoke a little too softly for your own good, and mentally face palm yourself.

Remus looks up. “What?”

You look down at your book, avoiding his gaze. “So, uh…I don’t really get this part, with the um…” You say, feigning casualty.

Remus smirks slightly, at your downfall of stubborn-ness. “This part?” He asks, pointing to the paragraph in the book, the one you didn’t understand.

You nod, looking at the book. Remus nods slowly, with a small smirk, but starts explaining it to you, without commenting on it.

You’re slightly surprised Remus didn’t seize the opportunity to tease you. He could’ve responded with sarcasm, or laughed or something. Just not…explaining it. Perhaps he was slightly more…tolerable than you had presumed.

As he explained, you could see his scars more clearly. One ran over his eyebrow, and a big one across the bridge of his nose. You knew how they got there, of course, you weren’t stupid. You had figured out in 4th year, that Remus was a werewolf. His friends had not done a proper job of hiding it well. You could see the bags under his eyes, as if permanently carved into his skin. His eyelashes almost brushed against his cheek. They were long, and you thought it was so unfair. His eyes were brown, too. Chocolate brown if the sunlight hits them, you don’t know how you know that.

Your eyes subtly trailed over his face. His slightly crooked jaw, but sharp, Merlin. His hair that definitely needed a cut, falling slightly over his eyes, covering most of his forehead. And his lips were…they looked soft but also chapped, and pink and…

Jesus, you had to get a fucking grip. This is Remus Lupin! The boy we hate, remember? A small voice kept saying in the back of your head. But you couldn’t help but focus on his sweet voice, explaining Boggarts to you as if he were reciting sonnets. He talked with his hands, bony and long, slender fingers. Even his hands were pretty.

“Y/n? Y/n.” He said slightly waving said hand in front of your face.

You blink, startled out of your daze. “Huh? What?”

Remus blinked and looked at you weirdly. “I said, did you understand what I said?”

You nod quickly, and sit up in your chair. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Boggarts, I…I got the gist.”

Remus looks at you unconvinced. “O…kay. Because you know, if you want me to explain it again, I can-“

You shake your head. “No, I got it. It’s fine. Really.” You tuck your hair behind your ears and resume writing your essay, avoiding his gaze and trying to push out all those weird thoughts you just had.

Remus is suspicious that there’s more to it, but he doesn’t push it. He knows how stubborn and defensive you can get. He’s experienced it. He watches as your hair falls over your eyes, and he has the sudden urge to reach out and tuck it behind your ears.

He quickly shakes the thought out. What the hell, Lupin? He thinks this might be result of all his sleepless nights finally catching up on him.

But he still can’t help but wonder what it would be like to touch your hair. It always looked soft, like he could just…run his fingers through it. There were definitely people who got to do that, run their fingers through your hair. The thought makes Remus' stomach churn with jealousy.

He blinks. What? Why was he feeling bad if anyone likes her? It’s not his business, he couldn’t care less. Right?

Remus goes back to writing his essay and vows to sleep tonight.

Remus looks over at your essay after a while, to check that you were on the right track. He leans over to you, close enough that he could smell your perfume. “That’s not correct.”

You look at him, slightly startled by his face so close to yours. You quickly look down at your paper. “Yes it is. Its correct.”

Remus huffs. “No, its not. They’re found in dark spaces, not in a room.” He takes the quill from your hands. His fingers brushing against yours sends a jolt of electricity through you. Remus fixes the mistake, his handwriting scrawled on top of yours.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his face, so close to yours. You could smell his scent; books, chocolate, and something distinctly him. You could see his scars up close, the crook of his nose and his shabby hair over his eyes.

“There.”, Remus says, and looks at you. His breath almost hitches as your eyes meet, your breaths mingling. The air feels suddenly charged with something heavy, fragile like broken glass taped together.

Your eyes are really pretty, Remus thinks. His gaze travels from your eyes to your nose, and dips down to your lips, so full and…inviting. He looks back up to meet your gaze. Your heart is racing. Did he just look at your lips? No. Surely not. This was…Remus.

Your hair falls into your eyes slightly and you blink. Before Remus could think about what he was doing, his hand reaches out, and gently tucks the strand behind your ear.

You feel your neck and ears heat up, at his touch. Heat radiates from his hand so close to your skin. Remus suddenly realizes what he’s doing and his hand falls from your ear. You feel your face heat up, you're definitely blushing. You gulp and blink and look away abruptly.

Remus blinks, broken out of the daze. The moment was over, and Remus had screwed up. “I…I’m sorry, I-"

“Hey, look at that! Our time's up.” You say, a little too loudly, and stuff your books into your bag, your hands shaking. Remus drops your quill on the desk and sits back in his chair, his face heated up as he sees you hurrying to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lupin.” You say with a small forced smile and then turn on your heels and walk away as fast as possible.

You sigh heavily as you walk out of the library, the air outside providing some kind of stability to your crazy, and frankly unstable mind.

One thing was clear: you were definitely not going to be wearing your hair up anytime soon.

----------

thank you so much for reading ♡

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luvfy0dor · 9 months ago

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“And My Daddy Tells Me I Light Up His World ♡” Dad!Bsd Drabbles ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Warnings; Line breaks between indented paragraphs mean new scenarios, girl dads, d/n- daughters name, s/n-sons name, p/t-parental title for reader

Description; a couple different scenarios, 2 for Fyodor, 1 for Dazai, 1 for Chuuya

A/n; just so u guys do know I giggle every single time I type out d/n, also also I've got a req still about dad Fyodor in my inbox but I don't know why it's so hard for me to write it 3: I'll get it out ong, im so sorry dad fyodor anon </3 consider this tribute to you 3: also next post's gonna be for the event! Had to rewrite it.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

Fyodor stood in the kitchen, accompanied by his young daughter sitting at the dining table. In his hand was a letter to Nikolai, written a week ago that he had finally decided to mail. He grabs an envelope before rummaging through drawers while his daughter colors idly across the room. She peers up at him from her spot and hops out of her chair, coloring paper in hand. "what're you looking for, papa?" She asks, looking up at him with her e/c eyes, the ones that matched yours perfectly. He smiled at her and closed the drawer he was looking through. "Just a pen, malyshka. Do you know where I could find one?" He asks her, looking down at her. She nods and fetches one of the pens from her big bag of coloring supplies, digging through it for a quick second before returning to him with her arm outstretched and a glittery pink gel pen in her small hands. "This is okay, right, papa? Who's the letter going to?" He takes it appreciatively and writes out Nikolais name and address. "Uncle Kolya, and any pen you give me will do, sweetheart." He gives the pen back to her and ruffles her hair. "Oh, uncle Kolya will just love it, then! I'm pretty sure his favorite color is pink. I'm gonna color this for him so that the next time he comes over he'll have a present from me!" She says with excitement, skipping back over to her seat at the table to resume her coloring. "Oh, ofcourse, d/n." After Fyodor mailed the letter, he soon got a response from Nikolai expressing his disappointment over the letter not being fully written in pink gel pen, which was backed up by his daughter as well.

You stood in yours and your husbands bedroom, buttoning his shirt for him while he watched the numbers flicker and change on the alarm clock on your nightstand. Your daughters school was hosting a daddy-daughter dance and your daughter insisted on Fyodor taking her. He agreed obviously, but he felt unfamiliar with such things, after all, he'd never experienced a daddy-daughter dance in his childhood. You gave him a smile once you buttoned his shirt and grabbed the only tie he owned off the dresser. "You look so good, Fedya. Like a prince." You said with a smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. He hummed and guided your chin with his fingers to kiss his lips completely. "Just a prince? Not a king?" His eyes were half lidded as always and you could make out a small smile on his face. "Alright, fine, a king." You finished tying his tie for him and left it slightly loose around his neck, knowing he was never really fond of how tight they could be. "Perfect, that would make d/n our little princess." Almost as if summoned, her footsteps are heard pattering down the hallway in her cute little flats that you got for her. The dress that she wore was adorned with puffy, mesh layers on the skirt and some gemstones on the top. "Papa, are you ready to go yet? " she asks, walking over to his side and examining his outfit thoroughly and gasping excitedly. "Papa, your tie matches my dress!" She says, pointing out the same colored material. "It does." He picks her up with a smile. "Do I look pretty?" She asks, a big, toothy grin on her face. He laughs and nods.

"Absolutely, now go say goodbye to p/t." He says, putting her down onto the ground so she could hug you and bid you a goodbye. "Bye, p/t!!" She says, squeezing you quite tightly. You hug her back and kiss her head, looking down at her. "Bye, sweetheart, I love you. Oh- wait! Before you go I want a picture of you and papa." You fish your phone from your back pocket and open the camera app as she backs up and hugs her papa just as tightly as she held you. Fyodor places his hand on her back while they both smile for the photo, but wince all of a sudden as your phones flash goes off. "Oh- whoops, I forgot to turn the flash off- for real this time." They both pose again, d/n giggling at your small mistake. You snapped it and then examined it on the phone before your daughter started pleading to see it. Fyodors smile was as charming as always, both in person and in the photo, and your daughter looked absolutely adorable in her poofy dress. Once you had shown her and she was satisfied, she quickly made her way out of the room, holding the skirt of her dress by the handfuls. Fyodor laughed at her under his breath before he leaned in to kiss you once more before he left, letting his hand linger on your hip like his taste did on your lips. "Bye, Fedya, I love you, have fun." You grin, to which he lets out a sigh. "I will, I love you too, Moya Lyubov." He pulls away and follows the young girl out of the bedroom. You smiled to yourself as you heard him call from down the hallway, "Wait, malyshka, don't go out the door so fast", followed by the prompt creeking and closing of the door.

Osamu Dazai ★

No one got the memo that it was apparently 'bring your kid to work's day', but everyone had to adjust rather quickly when Dazai pulled up to the Ada with a young child on his hip, oogling at any shiny object in its sight. Kunikida was the first to ask about it. "Is this another orphan that you've decided to pick up off the streets? It's too young for a job here." Dazai rolled his eyes. "For your information, this is my son. His babysitter has come down with the flu." He clarifies, walking past everyone to his desk and sitting the one year old on his lap. The baby leans towards him and reaches for the tassels of his bolo tie, grabbing and pulling on them to his mouth. Dazai laughs and gently pulls them out of the little boys grasp. "No, s/n, you can't chew on those." His son pouts and coos out some baby nonsense, starting to look around for some other entertainment, only to find nothing that interests him. He looks up at his dad with his big brown eyes and pouts, huffing and gripping his long jacket in his chubby fists. "Papa, 'ome." He babbles, missing the comfort of yours and Dazais house and preferring to be there over the agency. "I know, s/n, believe me. I'd rather be at home than sitting here with these people." He says, sighing and shaking his head. "Just keep him from crying." Kunikida says exasperatedly while writing a report from the last case he worked on for Fukuzawa. Dazai hums in acknowledgement and turns the baby to face away from him, keeping him sat on his lap. "My boy doesn't cry, he's nothin' like those other babies." He says with a grin, grabbing a pen and wrapping his son's hand around it and helping him drag it acrossed the closest paper on Dazais desk. "Yeah, just get a feel for holding the pen and as soon as you can write on your own, daddy's never doin' his own reports again." He grins. "Your son isn't doing any paperwork for the agency until he joins. And that still doesn't mean he'll be doing yours." Kunikida says from his desk. Dazai shakes his head and lets go of his sons arm. "Ugh, whatever... Kunikida doesn't gotta know if I bring it home though." He whispers to the boy, evoking an unaware giggle. Kunikida let out a knowing huff and gave up on trying.

Chuuya Nakahara ★

After his little girl had asked him on numerous occasions for a trip to the fair, he was finally able to get some time off and go with you and her. He weaved through the crowds with her on his shoulders and his hand in yours while trying to decide on one final game for your daughter to play before you left.. "Papa, look! They have fish!" D/n exclaimed, pointing at the booth that ran the famous goldfish game that parents never want their kids to see. Not Chuuya though. He's nothin' like y'all. Chuuya didn't mind the idea of having a fish for his daughter, even if it was him who had to feed it every day and clean it's tank regularly. He smiled and looked over at you with eyes that asked you if you were in mutual agreement of letting her try to win a goldfish. You smiled back at him and nodded, noticing your daughter watching the two of you exchange your glances. "Alright sweetheart, let's go get ya one of them fish." He walks over to the stand with you, lifting her off of his shoulders while you handed the carnie a $5 bill for a basket of ten ping pong balls. Chuuya watched d/n try to toss the first five into one of the colorful mini-fishbowls and miss every single one, so he grabbed a ball and tossed it, getting it into one of them. The man running the game cheers and heads to get d/n her fish, but she ends up getting two of the last four balls in on her own, nearly shrieking in excitement. "Daddy, that means I get three fishes, right?" She excitedly asks, her hair bouncing in the pigtail style it was pulled into. "Yup, that's right." He smiles at the carnie when he hands the fish to him and mutters an appreciative thank you, patting his daughters back and telling her to do the same. "Thank you! P/t, can we get them a tank at home?" She asks, still super hyper from her triple win. You laugh and nod, holding two of the fish so Chuuya doesn't have to hold all three and your daughter if she chooses she's too tired to walk to the car. "Yeah, we'll stop at the pet store to get you a nice tank for them." You tell her, nodding for her to follow you and Chuuya grabbing her hand so she doesn't get lost. "What do you say to daddy? He got you one of those." You say with a small laugh and she looks up at her dad with big, adoring eyes. "Thank you, daddy! Ahh, I'm so excited for my fishes!" Her misunderstanding of the plural version of fish also makes you giggle a little. "You're welcome, princess. Y'gonna take real good care of them? Remind me to feed 'em every day?" He says, guiding you guys through the parked cars towards your own. "Yup! Every single morning! But what're we gonna do when I'm at school and you and p/t are working? What about their lunch?" She frowns. "Fish don't need lunch, don't worry." He reassures her and hands you the third bagged fish for a moment while buckling d/n into her seat. "Good, I don't want them to starve!" She says. Chuuya laughs under his breath and closes the backseat door, pulling out a cigarette to smoke before taking the sorta-long drive to the pet store and home. Now he had three more responsibilities, but it made his baby happy, so he really didn't mind having to take care of three more animals in addition to his original one.

A/n; yawns speed ran these, wrote Chuuyas in like,, 12 minutes, it's not proofread (js Chuuyas) but hopefully it works (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ also I'd like to come out and say ion proofread my own stuff, I have my friends do it (I love you guys MWAH)

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ineffable-suffering · 1 year ago

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The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

#good omens season 2 #good omens #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens s2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #my own meta #the bloody vol-au-vents made me do it #aziraphale has balls #truly #jaune austen ball #it is a truth universally acknowledged that this show is going to drive me out of my mind #azi just wanted his silly little love confession #but then he had to surrender the angle #bummer

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misssakuramochi · 2 months ago

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'UNSUNG SONGS' A SENKU x READER DRABBLE

Synopsis: After literal years of watching Reader pine over Senku, Gen decides to give them both a little push. [Indirect sequel to this fic] Requested By: A Lovely Anonymous Requester Request: 'Hello Author! Iam the person who requested Senku x Reader a few days ago that you already made into drabble. I came here to request a Part 2 of the drabble.A few days have passed, and Reader can't help but fall deeper for Senku. She remembered that someone used to say to her that a crush is just lack of information but years, month and days have passed since she met him long time ago but the more she get to know Senku the more she fall in love with him. It's feel like she have fallen into a black hole with how deep she have fallen. Though of couse the black hole she have fallen is quite a pleasant one. Without knowing her eyes light up everything time she see Senku. When she look at Senku, she smile without herself realising. Her heart feel light and fluffy when thinking or being with Senku. Though Reader does wonder if Senku feel the same way. She didn't dare to ask him anything. Fearing that his blunt word would break her heart and ruin their relationship ( Soft Hearted Reader here! ). Reader feel it's more better like this ( Their current relationship ).Basically, Iam pretty sure people around would notice the adoration/love/soft look in her eyes when Reader look at Senku ( I guess ? What do you think ) especially Gen. What do you think people around would do when they looked at Reader being like that and surely will Senku do something? If not the it's alright too. Because I don't think Senku is the type of person who will tell the person they in love with that they have fallen in love with them straightforwardly consider in the anime Senku want to quickly return from the island because afraid of Tsukasa body rotting because left too long in the freezer but of couse he kept it inside his heart since he didn't want to be emotional???? Basically with the second paragraph I write can you write a FLUFF drabble of Senku x Reader.THANK YOU FOR READING THE LONG PARAGRAPHS AUTHOR!!!!!! I plan to write my request just like before but it's came out like a story. Iam pretty sure you can write something more amazing with the information ( Second paragraph). I think you are quite AMAZING author. The way you write Senku is like the real Senku ( You get what I mean right? (″ロ゛) )' Age Rating: E Warnings: N/A Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4,760

With legs crossed and shoulders rounded you sat relaxed, palm cradling the jut of your chin as you watched Senku work on his latest science project. The finer details of what exactly he was doing were somewhat beyond you, but as you watched him carefully pour out a measured test tube into a larger beaker, grin almost manic-looking with his brow furrowed in concentration and eyes focused in with pinpoint precision, you could easily tell that the scientist was absolutely elated about whatever it was he was doing. That was more than enough for you to be excited about it, eyes soft as you watched him work from a safe distance across the lab.

“You could just tell him you know.” While Gen’s voice was mischievous, matched by a grin that would make the devil flinch, he wasn’t exactly joking. He’d been the first to pick up on it, noticing the way you began to follow Senku about with a near desperation to be in his presence, catching your change in demeanor at the mere mention of their head scientist’s name before you had yourself; he had not, however, been the only one to notice it. In fact, it was common knowledge amongst the kingdom of science by now that you had fallen hard for Senku, and you had no chance of recovery. Some had even taken to making bets on who would say something first - surely, if they had all noticed how you felt, Senku had too.

“Huh?!” Gen’s sudden intrusion into your thoughts made you jump: you had nearly forgotten he was there, “Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Though you found yourself no less startled as you processed what Gen had just said, you struggled your way towards an attempted recovery, stuttering through a weak denial as you pleaded silently for Gen to drop the subject. You knew as well as he that, this wrapped up in an experiment, Senku wasn’t listening to you. Still, he was right there - what if he heard you?

“Come on…” With a heavy sign Gen deflated with ever-dramatic flare onto the countertop he sat in front of, squishing his cheek to the cold stone as he drew out his words in a whine. Though when you showed no signs of budging, even as he pouted up at you, Gen was quick to change tactics. His back straightened so gradually he almost seemed to be a snake, slithering upright as silver tongue danced behind smirking lips and mischievous eyes cracked ever so slightly open to meet yours.

“It’s been nearly three years [Name]. You’ll never move forward if you keep running away.” A weak protest died in your throat, lips parting but sound failing you as you stared at Gen. Even as his high tone lilted lightly, much too casual for the words spoken, his words struck you. Seldom was Gen ever so serious - you couldn’t help but take what he said to heart.

“Besides,” A sharp poke to your cheek pulled you from your whirling stupor, Gen’s expression becoming light again as his eyes closed and his lips quirked into a boyish grin, “...it’s no fun to watch a drama if there’s no drama.” The joke hardly bothered you, a part of you even thankful for the way it smashed away the lingering tension. Still, you felt obligated to shoot Gen a small, pointed scowl, smacking away the finger still pressed to your face indignantly as you clicked your tongue.

“Oi, quit fooling around!” Senku’s voice cutting into the conversation stopped the topic dead, both your and Gen’s attention drawn immediately as Senku spoke up for the first time since he’d begun his work perhaps an hour ago.

“We’re about to make a serious breakthrough here.” Though his words were rough as always, the grin that spread wide across his face told of his lack of malice. All those in the lab were quick to gather around, yourself and Gen crowding on either side of Senku as Chrome and Ukyo padded over from the opposite station where they had been working.

“Look at this.” Raising the beaker he’d been so carefully mixing and measuring with a success that told you he’d finally gotten the reaction he’d wanted, Senku showed off the fruits of his labor. A glass beaker, carefully modeled and crafted, filled about ⅔ of the way with clear liquid. Most stared at it with clear confusion, heads tilted and eyes blank as they tried desperately to recall what Senku had been making through his ever-detailed explanation of how exactly he was going to make it; Chrome specifically stared with bright-eyed excitement, fists clenched as he took a wide stance and pushed his face so close his nose nearly touched the glass.

“Woah! It’s so cool!” You could see Senku inflate under the praise, “What is it again?” only for his shoulders to drop and his eyes to narrow, looking around at four confused faces staring between him and the beaker. You held back a giggle, listening to Senku sigh, pretending he was the least bit upset about “having” to explain the process again.

“To put it simply, once we were able to grow our own crops and find a way to preserve them it was only a matter of time before we had everything we needed to make this.” A small, empathetic swirl, sent the clear contents inside the beaker to spin and bubble ever so slightly, “Antiseptic.”

xxx

The evening was one of celebration. With the creation of an antiseptic, even a mild one, came a world of possibilities for the health and wellbeing of the Kingdom’s people - a world most had never dreamed being possible in this stone world. The introduction of something that could destroy an infection, kill something that so easily robbed the life of even the most able-bodied, the antibiotic, had been revolutionary - the introduction of something that could prevent the infection to start was enough to bring many of the village elders to joy-filled tears, more hopeful than ever for future generations.

Their happiness was ironically infectious, the evening quickly picking up into a boisterous feast that continued even as the sun said it’s goodbye’s for the night and the moon rose to greet you. The fire’s flames flared high, rising in flickering curls that left tendrils of smoke trailing into the chill of the night air as the firewood beneath popped and crackled with the heat. You watched as many of the people you’d come to call friends danced in its orange-tinted glow, moving along to the swaying beat of makeshift instruments created for the more musically-inclined. It made you happy, seeing those you cared for so much basking in so much excitement, given such hope and purpose; knowing it was Senku who’d made this all possible, facilitating every step of the road you’d paved together, made your heart swell.

The longer you had spent by his side the harder you had fallen. Even as you’d tried to wiggle yourself free from the desperation of your heart, Senku had come to reel you back in, striking you with the realization of why you had fallen so painfully in love with him in the first place. At first, you’d feared being a burden - and then, as Senku wiped away both your doubt around your worth and any chance you had of getting over him in one fell swoop, you’d decided that you were simply happiest as things were.

Revealing your heart and placing it, open and vulnerable, before Senku came with freedom of burden, unspoken words and untold secrets finally free from the cage you’d trapped them behind. It also came with the danger of having it torn apart, revealing your tender heart to him and giving him the opportunity to break it. Terrified as you were of having the overwhelming warmth your feelings brought you turn cold, what you feared more than anything was the damage of the aftermath. If you broke the barrier that kept things strictly platonic between the two of you, you feared it may never heal back the same way. If you told Senku you loved him, would he start seeing you differently?

Brow furrowed and eyes downcast you stared into the dark liquid of your drink, rippling as your hands gripped tighter to your wooden mug. Your thoughts spiraled and just as you feared the anxiety may swallow you whole, a tug at the fabric of your clothes pulled your thoughts back to the surface.

“[Name]? Are you ok?” Blinking away the blur your head inclined to find Suika standing beside you, a hand still entwined in the loose fabric of your shit as she stared up at you, head tilted.

“Oh, I was just lost in thought. Nothing to worry about. Did you need something Suika?” Perking up as if your question had reminded her why she’d sought you out in the first place, Suika pulled her hands back to clasp them in front of her chest.

“Have you seen Gen? I have a very important message! Oh, that’s supposed to be a secret-- you won’t tell anyone, right?” You managed just barely to stop yourself from chuckling at the adorable way Suika looked at you, instead smiling and offering a small nod.

“Not a soul. I haven’t seen him at all tonight though, come to think of it…” Having spent much of your night distracted, wrapped up in your own thoughts as they warred between echoing Gen’s earlier words and blatantly trying to forget them, you hadn’t realized until Suika had brought it up that you hadn’t seen the offending speaker since you’d parted ways at the lab. As if in disbelief of your own memory you found your head turning, searching about the crowd for any sign of his stark white streak of hair, or the pale lavender of his flowing kimono. It was unusual for Gen to miss events like this, opportunities to unwind and focus on fun few and far between. Still, no matter how hard you searched, eyes straining and head swiveling, you found no sign of the Kingdom’s resident mentalist.

“Hm… Then that means this is a job for Detective Suika and her trusty assistant Chalk!” You smiled fondly as Chalk gave an affirmative bark, hopping about Suika’s feet in excitement. She thanked you as you wished her luck, giving the duty-bound detective a small wave as she tucked into the watermelon atop her head and rolled off.

xxx

“Everyone’s celebrating out there, you know.” As Gen made his rather dramatic entrance, arms open at his sides as he walked forward to allow a sliver of moonlight to illuminate him in silver, Senku found himself rolling his eyes. He’d known Gen had been standing there for just about two full minutes, but he was waiting to see how long it would take him to show himself; Senku had almost hoped that if he’d ignored him long enough Gen might leave him to his research.

��Yeah. Sounds like they’re having a good time.” A hand on his hip and an absent glance out of a nearby window allowed Senku a moment to grin fondly, thinking of the people outside as he heard their joy resonating through the wooden walls.

“[Name] is out there with them too.” Senku’s expression became level as he turned, studying Gen for a moment. He was done beating around the bush, it seemed. Still, as quickly as Senku had made his assessment he pulled his lips into a hard line, a finger scratching at the inside of his ear as he feigned ignorance.

“Eh?” Even as Senku refused to engage with the topic, hoping Gen would drop it if he didn’t pick up his end, the mentalist remained undeterred. Enough was enough, and he was going to push. This was a mental game, and they both knew Gen was winning it.

“Are you just going to let them continue like this forever?” Though Gen’s light tone and raised brow feigned amusement, Senku could feel the jab residing beneath as it swiped for his gut. Even in Senku’s continued silence, eyes hard as they met Gen’s slightly revealed ones, Gen pressed on.

“Hm. Maybe you like the attention, having someone hovering around you all the time like that? I can’t say I blame you.” As Gen gave a heavy shrug, hands facing palm-up as they came parallel with his shoulders, he felt the tension in the air become heavy. His words had made impact: good.

“Gen, this is still basic medicine. We have a long way to go if we’re going to get humanity back. I have work to do.” Senku’s eyes were downcast now, and as he took his seat back at his desk and began pouring over his paperwork again he made a show of apathy anyone else may have believed. But, as Senku’s voice shook with the lightest lack of it’s normal, unwavering conviction, Gen knew his point had been made.

“Fine, fine.” Raising his hands, pretending to surrender the battle he’d already won, Gen allowed himself to back towards the door, leaving Senku to stare blankly down at equations he could no longer focus on as he slipped out from the lab.

xxx

“Suika.” It had only been moments since Gen had taken his leave from the nearly-empty lab, just ranging out of ear shot when he spoke to address the person he knew had been listening for some time. Stifling a laugh as he saw the stem of a melon dart into and out of sight again as Suika jumped, Gen offered a smile in her direction.

“You heard all that, right?” Timidly, Suika peeked out ever so slightly from behind a protective curtain of brush, looking guilty as she stared up at Gen, as if waiting for punishment. As he met her expression with a grin, however, crouching to be eye-level with her, her eyes widened with curiosity.

“Then you know what we need to do, right?” As the realization dawned on her Suika’s lips broke into a beaming smile, hopping ever so slightly as excitement overcame her.

“Right!”

xxx

The echoing sound of the party outside still resounded through the small walls of your hut, though from in here the world felt much more contained. The flickering candlelight at your bedside was much less overwhelming than the roaring fire that burned at the center of the village, the weight of your own thoughts more than enough intensity for you to bear all at once. It hadn’t been long after your conversation with Suika that you’d opted to head home, saying your goodbyes and turning in for the night.

Even as you laid in your bed, covers pulled to your chin, you found yourself restless. Tossing, turning, your eyes settled on the ceiling, the candlelight, the small decorative plants you’d managed to keep, but not once did your focus stray away from Gen’s words from that morning. You wanted to fight it - argue that this was the best option for everyone involved. But the only reason you believed that was because it was the safest option - and if you only ever did the safest thing, abandoning any and all desire for fear of risk, what were you really doing but running away?

‘I have to tell him.’ The thought swirled, chased by nattering whispers that told stories of heartbreak and pain, loneliness and ruin. You wanted to give in - tell yourself those thoughts were your realistic side, the floating need to confess that you’d held back for years nothing more than a fleeting whim. But, if you did nothing but run from those thoughts, what did that make you?

“Shit.”

xxx

“Shit.” Head sinking into his hands Senku finally dropped the quill he’d been destroying his parchment with, letting it land atop a pile of scribbled over equations with a messy splotch of spreading black ink. Try as he might to get the numbers aligned in his head, making tables, compartmentalizing into columns, he couldn’t focus. Inevitably, every thought warped into a thought of you, Gen’s words playing in the background like a tortuous record: ‘Are you just going to let them continue like this forever?’

He had been correct in what he’d said earlier regarding the experiment; this was just the beginning. While he was happy his friends were happy, pleased to let them celebrate the accomplishment, he was nowhere near satisfied. This discovery had just been a stepping stone, and it only made Senku all the more eager to use it to jump to the next. Even that excitement couldn’t outweigh the plague of guilt that weighed in his chest like a tumor, though, and so long as he was worrying about you he wasn’t going to be able to focus.

“This isn’t good.” Sighing aloud Senku slowly forced himself to rise from his desk, hand rubbing at his neck as he glanced absently towards the ceiling above him. He allowed himself a singular moment to lament on how he’d gotten himself here, caring so much even after so many years of telling himself that a relationship, that love, would be nothing but trouble. Then, with renewed determination, he headed towards the door. He had to deal with this, and he was going to do it now.

“Senku!” The crack of the door ricocheting off the opposite wall was drowned out by Suika’s voice, high and pinched in urgency as she came bouncing down the path, “I think [Name] is in trouble!”

Senku felt his heart clench, beating once, twice rapidly as his thoughts turned to the worst; however, as the first shot of panic eased in his mind he found those same thoughts becoming suspicious. Suika’s explanation only confirmed the nagging conspiracy forming in his mind as she frantically told him that she had seen you running off in a panic towards the outskirts of the Kingdom’s boundary - right after speaking with Gen.

As the final piece of a puzzle he’d set off to the side came into play the picture fell into his lap. A heavy sigh deflated his lungs, hand leaving his hair in even further disarray as it combed through the jutting tangle. He may have been able to see through this little set-up, but there was no way you would be so logical; especially not if Gen was involved.

“I came to you right away!” As Suika finished her frantic story, manic gesturing stilling as she stared up at him with expectation, Senku found himself unable to be irritated. He could be annoyed with Gen for being meddlesome, certainly, but with Suika staring right at him, the innocence in her eyes only reflected by the glass that enhanced them, he found himself unable to be overly upset. She, at least, was genuinely just trying to help.

“Thanks - I’ll check it out.” As Suika hopped with excitement, beaming the way she did only after a job well done, Senku gave himself the moment to consider that he was walking into an obvious trap - all for you. A subtle shake of his head was all the response he offered the thought before taking off towards the spot he knew Suika was sending him, building up to a jog.

It was a blessedly short trip along a forest path for Senku, allowing him to limit the time he lamented on how troublesome this was whilst unsuccessfully trying to talk himself out of it. Still, it seemed he had arrived at least a few minutes after you had as he pushed away an overgrown branch to reveal you, head swiveling as you looked about with a frantic desperation that suggested you simply couldn’t find even a hint of what you had been looking for.

The ragged pants and harsh breathing that strained Senku’s lungs and pushed through his throat as he struggled to catch his breath caught your attention quickly, though, and you wasted no time in making your way to his side to begin worrying over him.

“Senku? There you are! Are you ok?!” A raised hand begged you to pause, give him a moment, as Senku tried to catch his breath. It wasn't a long trip to this spot, but he was not an athletic man. Still, much more worried over Senku’s wellbeing than his raised hand, you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“Gen told me you’d gotten stuck out here and I came looking but I couldn’t find you anywhere-- what happened?” As Senku finally managed to stand upright again, turning to meet your eye, the flat expression on his face told you exactly what had happened, even before his voice chimed in to chastise you for it.

“Gen suddenly came to you claiming there was an emergency and you believed him without question?” The flash of memory that matched Senku’s hypothesis almost exactly had your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. As your arms crossed defensively you mustered, just barely, the courage to meet Senku’s eye with the corner of your own.

“I… if there was even a chance something had happened to you I wasn’t taking it.” Courage faltering your eye fell to the grass below, light summer breeze sending it to sway at your feet, “You showed up too. That’s why you’re here - right?”

It was at the small grunt of surprise sounding from the back of Senku’s throat that you managed to look at him again. It was his turn to avoid your eye, head rolling to the side as he pretended to look at something in the distance.

“Suika showed up at the lab. I figured you’d end up out here.” There was a moment where you found yourself puzzled, struggling to put together the new pieces you’d been given. Gen and Suika had been working together to send you both out here? Though it made you fluster, you could figure out why easily enough - but why here? Curious eyes studied Senku, as if you’d find an answer in his eyes, until you decided finally to follow his gaze. Immediately you understood.

The top of the hill where you stood marked the crest of a clearing. From up here, you could see with complete clarity the way the risen moon, full and abundant, blessed the field of flowers below with it’s silvery light. The light breeze had the sunflowers, taller perhaps than you, swaying in hypnotic rows as evening dew sparkled like stardust on their vibrant petals. In this stone world, the loss of everything modern had taken much from all of you; sometimes, you forgot how beautiful the natural world could be.

“Senku?” Somehow the scene put you at ease, the peace settling a determination in your mind. Heads turned slowly, eyes met, and before you could even begin to think of any of the million ways you’d prepared for this moment you found your lips parting and words overflowing, spilling finally free.

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was heavy. You watched as Senku’s relaxed expression became uneasy, a wariness clouding his eyes. Your gut lurched as anxiety settled in your stomach like a stone. Senku had been your rock, his level-headed stability bringing you comfort; conversely, when he felt uneasy, you couldn’t help but mirror the emotion. Still, determination boiling, you reminded yourself that life wasn’t about just settling for being comfortable.

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to. I just…” A hand raised as if grasping for words you struggled to string together, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I think you know that already.” A small, bittersweet smile met his guilty expression, “I needed to tell you eventually. But I also need to know how you feel.”

At first Senku avoided your eyes, too earnest, too vulnerable. But, as he steeled himself to meet your gaze he managed the response he’d had in the back of his mind ever since he’d first noticed your behaviour towards him changing.

“I don’t think I can give you what you’re looking for.” Somehow the answer upset you more than a ‘no’, his refusal to answer the question upfront making you frown.

“I’m not looking for more than you already give me.”

“I think you should be.” Senku’s response was too quick, giving you no time to explain as crimson eyes locked on yours, the hard line of his lips doing his best to keep you locked out, “My research is always going to come first. I’m never going to care about stupid days like Valentine's Day or White Day. I’m not the least bit romantic and I’m never going to be.” Though Senku found himself somewhat surprised by the way your eyes continued to meet his, gaze unwavering, he continued along with his explanation, “I’m not a normal guy. You should have someone who can match what you’re putting in.”

“What more can I ask for than someone who makes me happy?” It wasn’t often Senku was asked a question he found himself without any answer to, but having you retort so quickly, so assuredly, had him lost for words. As your hand outstretched to take his own, gentle as you placed his upside down palm in your face-up one, Senku struggled not to flinch; the contact was unfamiliar, intimidating. His curiosity won out as he waited, breath caught in his throat as he listened to you continue.

“I didn’t fall in love with you because I want you to change, Senku.” You felt long fingers tense in your own for a moment before the attached hand slowly relaxed, words striking Senku like an open palm. Even as his posture eased he stared at you with a lingering wariness, logic fighting heart behind burning crimson eyes as he fought between pulling his hand from yours and engulfing your fingers within his own.

“I’m not saying anything has to change if you don’t want it to, either. I just need to know how you feel.” Eyes wide, alight with unguarded emotion, you found your voice shaking as you again asked Senku to tell you how he felt about you; to shatter your heart, here and now and let you finally recollect it’s pieces, or to accept you as you were - and as he was.

“I think love is more trouble than it’s worth.” Senku looked again at the field of flowers below, lids low as you felt the tips of his fingers begin to tremble against your palm, “It impairs logical judgement, consumes valuable time, and promotes unnecessary risk.”

Senku’s eyes flitted back to you as you shrunk beneath his words, chest aching. Even as the mood of the situation began to sink, Senku couldn’t help the grin beginning to spread at the corners of his lips.

“Which is why I avoided telling you. But you’re kind of forcing my hand here, huh?” Lowering eye shot wide, the threatening burn of forming tears stopped immediately as you looked towards Senku again.

“Ahh, this is troublesome. You know I hate mushy stuff, so don’t expect me to say it often - but I love you too.” A sharp pinch to your cheek paused your beginning celebration, catching the smile that spread across your face as Senku’s expression became serious again.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to change, [Name]. I’m always going to be who I am - for better or for worse. Are you sure that’s what you want?” Leaning forward, face inches from your own you found your cheeks burning from his sudden proximity, throat tight as the intensity of his stare threatened to rob you of your senses. A heavy gulp swallowed the feeling as you nodded, smiling again.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Though Senku rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as his fingers pinched again at your cheek, the small blush you could see dusting his cheeks made your heart swell.

“You’re a weirdo, you know?” Finally letting go of your face Senku freed you to laugh as he teased you.

“You’re one to talk.”

xxx

“So… it worked? We did it?” Suika’s voice was hushed as she stood on top-toe to peer from behind a stretch of underbrush, expression giddy as she turned to look at Gen, who’d been watching the scene at her side from the beginning.

“Yup! I knew they just needed a little push.” Gen spoke in a song, raised hand counting invisible numbers as flexing fingers did unknown math, “Which means Magma owes me 100 Dragos!”

Staring at the excited face of Gen as he celebrated his gambling win Suika found her lip curling.

“So slimy…”

xxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you so much both for your request and your kind words! I'm SO glad you enjoy my writing, and I'm also very happy you like how I characterize Senku! I try really hard to keep the characters as they are, so I'm glad to hear it's working!

I got a little carried away with this one and wrote more than I thought I would, but hopefully you don't mind!

I hope all who read enjoyed. Thank you for making it to the end, and safe travels!

#dr stone #dr stone x reader #senku ishigami #dr stone senku #senku ishigami x reader #fluff #dr stone headcanons #dr stone imagine #dr stone drabbles #dr stone fluff

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604to647 · 6 months ago

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Safest with You (Ch. 21 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)

11.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Despite Din's attempts to be evasive, you learn the truth about your break-up, and make some decisions about what you are and are not willing to accept going forward.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Angst, pining, longing. Nicknames as usual (pretty bird, baby). Some smuttiness but won't spoil.

A/N: Well, we're here: the penultimate chapter (if you don't count the epilogue) - sorry for the word count! 😱 Thank you to everyone who's read up to here - I can't tell you how much it means to me! I know some of you have some strong feelings about Din's actions/dumbdumbness and that's okay!! If you feel like regardless of his intentions, he shouldn't be forgiven/can't be redeemed, I invite you to read up until the paragraph that ends with the blue heart dividers 💙💙💙. I hope that where it ends provides a satisfying conclusion for the series for you and thank you, thank you, thank you again!

All dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

You don’t know how you get through dinner; you must have gone on some kind of small talk auto-pilot because if Mark knew just how much your mind was preoccupied by another man while he was being nothing but genuine and engaging, he probably would have thrown a glass of wine in your face.

Outside of the restaurant, Mark gives you a shy look and asks if you want to get ice cream for second dessert. Oh man, he really is good guy.

“Oh Mark, I really cannot believe I’m turning down ice cream, but I have something to confess to you,” you look apologetic and hope he’ll let you say what you think he deserves to hear.

“Honestly, Mark – you’re a dream date. You’re smart and funny and Jen was so right, you’re a fucking catch. I can’t tell you how guilty I’ve been feeling because I don’t think I’ve been reciprocating the energy and effort that you deserve. I don’t know if Jen told you, but I got out of a relationship a while ago and I thought I was ready to date again – but being with you tonight… I realize I’m completely out of my element. I don’t have any business going out with a great guy like you – not right now anyways. I’m so sorry.”

Mark looks surprised, but his tone is understanding, “Oh! Wow. Jen did say something about that – I’m sorry about your last relationship. It sounds like it really did a number on you. If it makes you feel better – I had a great time. I didn’t in anyway feel like I was carrying the date or anything. And if tonight was you not feeling like you’re up to dating again, then I can’t quite imagine what it would be like to date you when it’s something you’re ready to put your all into. Thanks for being honest. When you feel like you’re ready to give dating another shot – think of me?”

It’s a generous and gentlemanly response; you really couldn’t ask for anything more. The two of you part ways with a light hug outside the restaurant; Mark offers to call you a cab, but you let him know you’ll be fine, and wave appreciatively as he drives away in the car the valet brings him.

Sighing a heavy sigh, you’re just thinking it might be best if you send Jen a message to let her know how the date went before Mark does when you hear a crash coming from the alleyway next to the restaurant.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you walk over to the side of the building and peek around the corner; there in the alley is the occupier of all your current thoughts, Din, kicking garbage cans in frustration. When you see him punch the brick wall of the building and shake out his fist, your legs carry you to him as if on instinct – unable to see Din hurt without the urge rising to comfort and soothe him.

Din has both of his palms up against the wall when you close in on him, leaning his weight against his hands with his eyes closed, breathing heavy.

“Din? Are you okay?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He looks up, surprised at your appearance – eyes stormy, the rich browns of his irises full of emotion, “I’m okay, pretty bird.”

Pretty bird. Your heart swells at the familiar term of endearment that you thought you’d never hear again. It’s like music to your ears.

“This doesn’t look okay,” you gently pull the hand that you saw him shake in pain away from the wall, turning it over and cradling it in your hands - gasping a little when you see his knuckles scraped and bleeding. Din watches your pretty face cloud with concern as you take a handkerchief from your purse and delicately wrap it around his wounded hand; tying it snugly against his palm before turning his hand over and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a tender kiss against the makeshift bandage.

“Thank you, baby.”

You’re looking at him with such a sweet expression that Din’s heart starts to ache again; he has to remind himself that your concern isn’t really for him particularly – it’s just your kind nature, “Where’s your date? Did he go and get the car or something?”

You shrug good naturedly, “I sent him home. Would you mind putting me in a cab, Din?”

“Of course.” As Din walks with you back towards the street, his injured hand rests protectively on your lower back and the gesture causes a chill to run up your spine.

It’s not in uncomfortable silence that the two of you wait on the curb, but Din is afraid that if he doesn’t engage you in some type of conversation, you and this moment will disappear before his mind registers it as being real, “Why did you send your date home? Did he try something?” His eyes darken.

You shake your head lightly; Din’s protective nature is exactly as you remember - you’ve missed it, “No, nothing like that. He was fine, really.” You can’t deny it any longer, you’ve missed him, “He just wasn’t… you.” With this admission you look up at Din and search his eyes – does he miss you too?

“Oh, pretty bird,” Din manages to breathe out before he descends on your mouth, kissing you fully and so full of longing and desperation he’s afraid he might actually break you. Your arms fly up of their own accord and wrap around Din’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer; your fingers thread and tug at the loose curls at the nape of his neck and you long to run your hands through his hair again - you refrain, not wanting to mess up his hairstyle. He’s yours and you’re his again in this kiss – every brush of your lips, every step in the dance of your tongues a testament to how much you’ve missed each other.

You’re melting. Melting into Din’s strong arms and the safety of his hold, reveling in the warmth of his affections. It’s like you’ve never left, his body molds to yours, fitting so right – pressed flushed against Din, you dare anything to try and get between the two of you right now.

Parting reluctantly when you hear the slow crunch of tires coming to a stop next to you, Din kisses your forehead gently before seeing you into the backseat of the cab. When you see him open the passenger side door and speak to the driver, you recall with a surge of affection that cab ride after Katie’s birthday when you and Din reconnected after your brief separation. Once again, Din tells the driver your address and emphasizes the importance of getting you home safely, punctuating his point with an overly generous tip. Your heart swells at the memory – the déjà vu driving home how everything about your relationship had been real.

When Din comes back to see you in the backseat, your eyes are bright and full of feeling – he’s here, the sweet man who always takes care of everyone, who only every wanted to take care of you; he’s right here in front of you again. Bringing your hand up to Din’s cheek, your heart soars when he leans into your palm with a smile; the soft feel and weight of his face familiar and comforting.

“Din, I know you didn’t sleep with Vanessa,” you say simply with no room for argument – a simple fact. Now that you’ve said it out loud, it seems so fucking obvious. How could you have ever believed that this man could have been capable of such a betrayal?

Simplicity and truth are all that Din can afford as well, “Of course not. How could I ever want anyone else when I had you? The perfect woman. You’re the love of my life, pretty bird. Would never cheat on you.”

The sincerity of his words brings tears to your eyes, “Then why, Din? Why would you want me to think that you had?”

You look so confused and sad; for the billionth time, Din chastises his past self for his dumb decisions, “Needed you to hate me, pretty bird. Needed you to stay away from me. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Though this answer is vague, your response is relayed with certainty; hands cupping Din’s face, “I’m safest with you, Din.”

The kiss that Din presses to your lips at this declaration is achingly desperate, as if he’s trying to brush away all his past mistakes and wipe clean the hurt he’s caused. He loves you. You can feel it in every stroke of his tongue over yours, and in the way his teeth nip and nibble at your lower lip.

You’ve missed his mouth, his touch, and everything Din – and judging by the way his hands cradle your face and the deep emotions swirling in the richness of brown eyes, Din’s missed you just as much. The two of you hold each other, foreheads pressed together for closeness, breathing in the other’s air as you soak in this togetherness that neither of you ever thought you’d experience again.

Finally, remembering what that last cab ride led to, you whisper, “Din, will you come over tonight?”

There’s a pause as Din’s brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. This moment of tenderness with you, one where you don’t hate him, has been more than he deserves. But it’s a fantasy, a mirage – the reports of escalating violence he listened to during tonight’s meeting still fresh in his mind, Din shakes his head in frustration. Based on what had been disclosed in the meeting, he can’t help but think that it’s working – everything he’s done to remove the target on your back is working; he can’t throw away your safety just so he can have this feeling again. That would be too risky. Selfish.

“Pretty bird, I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand, Din,” your voice breaks at his latest rejection and the sound tears Din in two.

He lifts your chin with his fingers so that you’ll look at him though the tears that are already starting to form in your beautiful eyes, “Baby, please understand. We can’t. We can’t be together – you deserve better than this, than me. Being with me puts you in unnecessary danger. My deepest fear is that you get hurt and I can’t… I won’t let that happen.”

“You’re hurting me right now, Din,” your voice small, sad.

Din knows he is, but he has to stay strong and resolved for your sake, even if this short respite from the dull ache of his everyday existence has been a heaven beyond his imagination, “I’m sorry, pretty bird. I really am. I love you, I love you. But you deserve better.”

You say nothing but the few tears that roll down your cheeks speak volumes. With great difficulty, Din says a wordless goodbye with kisses to your hair, then both of your hands before letting them and you go. He knocks on the top of the cab to let the driver know he can leave; as the taxi drives away, he sees your hurt face looking back at him and it nearly brings him to his knees.

Pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes, Din lets out a loud growl of frustration. Taking several deep breaths before going back in to rejoin the Family meeting, he repeats to himself a mantra that he has to believe – This is the right thing. The most important thing is that she’s safe. Staying away from her keeps her safe.

---

Din’s resolve lasts exactly two days.

---

It takes you only the duration of the cab ride home to get over the sting of Din’s rejection. Yes, the emotional whiplash of having him tell you that he loves you only for him say that it doesn’t change anything between the two of you hurt, but by the time you’ve taken Al out and finished getting ready for bed, your hurt feelings have been replaced by fresh purpose and determination.

You finally have some answers. Somehow Din has convinced himself that being apart from him is for your benefit and he’s willing to sacrifice his own happiness for it. The problem for you is that he’s also willing to sacrifice yours.

There’s a part of you that is livid about this, but you’re keeping this particular emotion at bay for the present moment with your newfound conviction to get to the bottom of what’s going on; you’ll get the answers you seek before you decide how you’re going to feel about it all.

You spend most of the weekend turning over the events of the last five months in your head, looking at them with a new perspective after the revelations from the past four days; mentally preparing a list of things that Din owes you explanations for and talking yourself in and out of how you’ll demand them of him.

By some twist of fate, your regular Sunday brunch has been cancelled for the first time in forever, with several of your friends unable to make it – you can’t decide if this is in your favour or not.

On one hand, you could really use their opinions and a sounding board for your rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions; on the other hand, you suspect that Din is currently not your friends’ favourite person and you could probably do without the barrage of insults that would inevitably be thrown about as a reaction to his and Vanessa’s confessions from this past week. Not that Din didn’t deserve them, but rather they wouldn’t help you work out what you need to do next.

By Sunday afternoon you’re sure of a few things:

Din loves you.

He has always loved you and he never stopped.

You love him, too.

He truly believed that being with him put you in danger.

What you didn’t know:

How could it be that he loved you so deeply but could so readily leave you? Not just initially five months ago, but again, not two days earlier?

What gave him the right to decide what was best for you?

Did he really think it acceptable to keep you in the dark about things that he clearly believed impacted your life so significantly?

The details of what prompted Din to act the way he did don’t interest you as much as why it led him to behave so unsympathetically for the past five months. The more you think about it, the harder it is for you sit still and wait out the indetermined amount of time needed before you get your answers.

On Sunday night, you make the decision to head down to Mando’s yourself after work one day this week. Feeling confident in your decided course of action, you’re as satisfied as you can be with the situation when you hear a knock on your door.

---

This is too easy.

Din mutters to himself as he walks through the parking garage beneath your apartment building undetected. It was entirely too easy for him to gain entry into the garage and avoid the security cameras on his way to the internal stairwell. He makes a mental note to talk to Paz about this gap in security as he’s taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor.

He had tried to stay away, he really had. But just as Din had always known, without the deterrent of you hating him and the surety that you would push him away, he had only his own self control to keep him from seeking you out, and that had crumbled under your loving touch outside the restaurant on Friday.

It had been too long since Din had gone without the feel of your soft lips pressed to his or basked in the warmth of your soft gaze and he had positively melted from both when he saw you after your date. Like an addict in recovery, the high from his relapse was too intense to ignore; he simply could not be kept from you any longer.

He barely recalls what happened after going back into the restaurant on Friday and finishing the Family meeting. Or how he got through Saturday at the gym, trying to slog through this month’s invoicing and attempting (unsuccessfully) to concentrate on Jimmy’s training. Don’t even ask him what he did today. All he knows is that after nightfall, his body drove his truck over to your neighbourhood and his feet carried him straight to your door.

Unsure of what type of reception he’ll receive if you open the door, Din doesn’t even know what he expects, only what he wants: you.

Your door opens with you already ready for bed, blinking at him with an unreadable expression. Din thinks he should speak first and lets Al buy him some time when he noses out, nuzzling his snoot into Din’s large hands. After giving your happy pup a few head rubs to show him how much he’s been missed, Din straightens up to look at you again; he opens his mouth to say something, though he doesn’t know what - and he never finds out because you kiss him.

You hadn’t expected to see Din before your planned confrontation, and you certainly didn’t think you’d see him at your door looking so soft and vulnerable. After he had dispensed some love to Al, the expression in Din’s eyes when he raised himself back up to his impressive height was that of a much smaller man. One who was unsure, ashamed.

To see Din like this takes all the wind out of the proverbial sails you had hoisted high over the last two days, the ones you had readied in anticipation of the fight you were bringing to his doorstep this week. And just like before, when faced with seeing Din in distress, your mind, heart and body ache to soothe and calm him - so you do what comes naturally and press your lips to his.

Din’s lips never leave yours. Not when you walk him inside your apartment and close the door, and not when he familiarly navigates the layout of your living room to sit on the couch and pull you down onto his lap. He won’t stop brushing his desperate mouth against your perfectly plush pout, the one he dreams about regularly, even as he murmurs the only two phrases he needs to know you understand:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

You match Din kiss for kiss, “I know. I know, Din” as you undress first yourself, then the man whose touch you’ve been yearning for for nearly half a year and whose weight you long to be under again. Your body cries out, remembering the feel of the corded muscles of his strong arms and the comfort of his hard chest; your hands molds to Din’s body as they roam and explore, afraid if you release him he’ll be ripped away from you again. On Din’s part, even as his mouth becomes more insistent, his touch on your body remains gentle, reverent – where you’re urgent and possessive, he is worshipful. And still, he recites:

I’m sorry, baby.

I love you, pretty bird.

With Din owning your mouth, your moans of I know, I know, I know are swallowed and vibrate down into his chest - setting his heart on fire and quickening his pulse even as he kisses deeper and steals all your air.

Feeling him lick into your mouth, you whimper ‘Din, please’ and the sound of his name once again on your lips makes Din’s dick jump. He grabs you tight around the waist, holding you to him to continue fully exploring the open, moaning cavern of your mouth, conveying his devotion with each caress and massage of his tongue. How could he have ever let you go? You show Din that you don’t want him to do so ever again by meeting his every touch, every kiss, every guttural needy noise with a hungrier one of your own.

It’s been too long and your hearts and bodies have missed each other too much; Din is already hard and throbbing against where you’re wet and wanting. Everything is hurried, messy, and inelegant. You need each other and that’s all there is to it.

Overcome with your own greediness, you murmur, “Need you inside, baby.”

As Din’s entire body melts into a puddle at your words, every muscle in his broad frame relaxes and all his power and control evaporate in the face of his one and only fantasy coming to life; only snapped out of his euphoric state by the sensation of you smearing his leaking precum over his length with your soft hands - Din thinks he might come from this alone. He’s craved your touch every moment since that fateful night outside his apartment, but he holds back for the heaven he knows is to come when you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down.

It’s really has been too long – Din’s too big and you’re too tight and there hasn’t been enough prep; it hurts. But somehow it’s welcomed - both of you needing it to hurt, wanting it to hurt, so you know it’s real.

“Nggghhhh – fuck, Din, so big,” you whine as he stretches you out - he’s bigger than you remember. He feels better than you remember.

“I know, pretty bird. But it’ll fit,” Din hums, “because you’re made for me.”

His sweet words belie the sting to your tight channel, but the joy that overflows from your heart straight to you core soon drowns out the pain; this is how it was always meant to be: you trusting your body to Din, and Din taking care of you. Slowly, slowly, your sheath yourself onto Din’s cock – fitted so close that you feel every thick vein and groove along your warm walls.

Din’s kisses are gentler now, tender and reassuring like his words, “Doing so good for me, pretty girl,” “You feel so perfect around me,” “Love this tight cunt, missed her so much.”

His praise causes your pussy to gush and your hands card through his soft curls appreciatively. Gazing into Din’s eyes lovingly, you coo back your own song, “Feels so good, daddy,” “God, I’m so full,” “Noone wrecks this pussy like you, baby.”

When you’re finally fully seated, with Din bottomed out inside you, his balls nestled perfectly under your ass, the two of you simply just rest. Countless minutes go by so you can relearn to breathe and Din thanks his lucky stars for the privilege of praying at your altar once more.

Fully blissed out and body trembling upon remembering its rightful place on Din’s cock, you whisper, “Din, please move.” And move he does.

Slowly and with the restraint of a saint, Din thrusts up to meet your tentative downward movements, dragging his cock deliciously in and out of your tight cunt, letting her suck him back in of her own volition. You wrap your arms around his neck and feel Din’s sensual kisses on your lips, down your neck, and at the hollows of your throat; the wet trail his mouth leaves behind causes an electric chill to run throughout your entire body, your hips bucking a little harder, a little more ambitious in response.

There’s no rush, the two of you have all the time in the world to enjoy your reunion, and yet there’s an urgency - a hunger to devour as much of one another as you can, both starved from your time apart. The need to make up for lost time takes over; every kiss of skin on skin is an apology and a promise, your declarations of love becoming louder and more unabashed, movements more fervent, frantic.

Din groans into your skin, “Pretty bird, not going to last. Missed you too much,” as he starts to punch up with an impressive force, driving his cock deeper into your cunt and reaching that spot that only he’s ever been able to find.

“Give it to me, daddy,” you mewl, barrelling towards to your own orgasm faster than you had expected, “Need it. Need you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” This is the first time you’ve said it back tonight, and the only time Din’s heard these sweet words in the musical lilt of your voice in last five mouths – this alone sends him on the fast track to the edge.

He snakes one hand between your bodies to find your already pulsating clit and starts to pen a long overdue love letter with his thumb. Din’s other arm pulls your body as close to his as possible, so you’re now pressed flushed against his warm chest, moving with him as one.

I’m sorry, baby. I love you, pretty bird. I love you.

I love you, Din. Missed you so much. I love you.

You come - teary eyes locked onto Din’s as he signs over his fate with an elegant signature on your clit. Your slippery nub kisses his thumb back just as hard, crying and begging for relief as you clench down from the onslaught of pleasure that only Din can give you. Din spills deep into you as your pussy chokes him, milking the euphoria of his release for all it’s worth. He’s in heaven. You’re his heaven.

Wordlessly, you and Din exchange soft smiles and besotted looks as you clean-up after; a string of never-ending tender kisses lead the two of you back to the couch where you lay down in Din’s arms, sated and pliant, soaking in the strength and sureness with which he holds you, “Din, we need to talk.”

“I know, pretty bird,” he’s ready to tell you everything, lay it all bare for you.

Propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look Din in the eye, you implore him to be honest with you, “You said you needed me to hate you. That it was the only way to keep me safe. What were you talking about?”

Din tells you about the photos that the Family received which had been received as threats and the various confrontations and incidents of harassment in the months following that confirmed them as such. He tells you how scared he’s been for you, and how guilty and sorry he is that you were ever caught up in his world in this terrifying way.

Forcing himself not to look away from your pretty face when he sees it line with fear, Din tells you that he never wanted you to feel frightened or for your life to be interrupted, “You’re safe, pretty bird, I promise. You’re well protected - the entire Fett Family is looking out for you. They love you as much as I do. The Family would never abandon you.”

“Just you then?” It wasn’t meant as a sarcastic or passive aggressive comment, but you just honestly can’t see what this had to do with why Din left you. If anything, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to stay by your side?

Regardless of your meaning, Din looks pained at your question and averts his eyes in shame.

“I understand that you were afraid for me because of the threats, but if the Family was willing to protect me, I still don’t understand why you would need me to hate you to be safe?”

“You should never have been in danger at all, baby. The reason you’re a target is because of me. Whoever issued the threats only targeted you because… because, they knew how much you mean to me. How much I love you. It wasn’t enough just to protect you from the threat, I didn’t want you to be under threat at all. That’s the only way to guarantee you would be safe.”

You stroke Din’s face with your hand, and he leans in to your comforting touch and closes his eyes.

“If you hated me, then you would no longer be a worthy target. The person they really want to hurt is me, and if we weren’t together anymore, they can’t do that through you.” Din sighs, “But I’m so sorry, pretty bird. The way I went out about it was all wrong - hurting you like I did is inexcusable and it shattered my heart to do so. You didn’t deserve to think I cheated on you.”

Your heart softens and you lean in to lay gentle, sympathetic kisses to Din’s soft lips. Finally, finally you understand. Though you don’t excuse the hurt he caused, you can understand Din’s fallacious reasoning; in an odd way, it’s a relief to see him so unchanged – his actions ever consistent with his self-sacrificing nature and his conviction to take care of those he loves, to keep them safe. The only thing is, his was not the only heart he had sacrificed.

“I thought you never loved me,” you say in a small voice, “when I thought you had cheated on me, it made me question our entire relationship.”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Din’s shame and self-anger triple upon hearing your words. He had expected you to be angry, to hate him for the lie he had you believe, but he never considered that you would have doubted what he felt for you prior to that horrible night. Secure in the depth of his own devotion and the truth of just how in love with you he was, Din had thought what was unshakeable to him would be the same for you; but of course, now that you’ve said it, it makes complete sense and he adds this egregious transgression against you to his long list of regrets, “I’m so fucking sorry. I never thought- oh, fuck. It never crossed my mind that you might ever doubt how so completely in love with you I’ve always been. From the moment I met you it was over for me, baby – you became the single most important person in my life. I live for you, pretty bird. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel any differently.”

Din looks at you with so much sincerity and desperation, you heart is unable to do anything but believe him. You know without a shadow of a doubt that Din loves you and moreover, that everything he’s done has been in the name of that love. And though you trust in his pure intentions, they’re misguided in a way that you have to make him understand. If the two of you are to have a chance again, you need honesty and openness, and Din has to have faith in that same love when things get tough.

You’re lightly scratching Din’s facial scruff the way you know he loves, wanting to just enjoy this affectionate moment a little longer before you dive into the more serious things you need to talk about when you both hear Din’s phone start to buzz incessantly.

Din reaches his long arm off the couch and easily finds his discarded pants and pulls out his phone, frowning when he sees the multiple notifications on his lock screen.

His entire body tenses as he reads Paz’s messages.

Hutt movement three blocks away from Lil’ Lady’s.

Woves confirms the group is growing.

Mods say traffic cams show more on the way.

Din feels a stab of fear tear through his chest before the horror of what he’s done settles like a boulder in his stomach.

For the five months that Din had left you alone, there hadn’t even been a hint of suspicious activity anywhere near you. No appearance of shady characters or any incidents of malfeasance, not a single one. You had been safe.

What had changed tonight? What could have possibly happened to incite a flurry of rival gang activity so close to your home when it had never previously been an issue?

It was him. What had changed is he had been weak. He had given in to his need for you, selfishly putting you in harm’s way. Din realizes he had been right: staying away from you had been keeping you safe. He gets up suddenly, the need to rectify his mistake overwhelming.

“Din?”

Din’s hurrying putting on his clothes and doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t hear you get up from the couch after him and grab a house cardigan from the back of one of the dining room chairs to throw over yourself, watching as he carries on to leave without saying a word.

“STOP!!”

You hardly ever yell. And you never slam your hand down on your dining table so hard and loud it hurts, but you need to get Din’s attention somehow. It works - Din’s shocked out of his automated movements and turns to face you.

“What are you doing, Din?” you look distressed, confused, but most of all, frightened by what you think you already know is happening.

“This was a mistake, pretty bird.”

His words cause you to recoil; your voice comes out tight, bordering on bitter, “What was a mistake, Din? Telling me you loved me, that you lived for me? Or sleeping with me? Tell me, which mistake do you mean?”

Din rushes forward; he’s fucking up all over, he can tell, and hurting you again is the very last thing he ever wanted to do, “No, baby – none of that was a mistake. Being with you tonight has been a happiness I never thought I’d feel again. Honestly, I didn’t think I deserved it and still don’t think I do. The mistake was me somehow thinking that everything was behind us. That I wouldn’t be putting your safety at risk by coming over here.”

He can’t possibly be doing this again, you’re incredulous, “You’re doing this again? You’re going to leave? And I don’t get a say in it?”

“Pretty bird, you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand, Din.”

“There’s something happening right now, a danger that’s closer to you than should ever be allowed. And it’s because I’m here. This is proof that I’m no good for you baby.”

“Din, how can you say that? I love you.”

“And I have to keep you safe because I love you, too.”

“What you’re doing is breaking my heart, Din. This isn’t the only way - you have to trust me.”

“This isn’t about trust, pretty bird, it’s about your safety.”

“Of course it’s about trust, Din! You don’t trust me to be able to handle some of the things in your life – things that you think I’m too delicate or ‘good’ for, whatever the fuck that means. You don’t trust me so you don’t tell me anything or let me make any decisions, and that’s really fucking condescending and hurtful. You have to trust me, Din! You have to trust that you can show me parts of yourself and your world that maybe aren’t perfect or you aren’t that proud of and that I’m not going to leave! You have to trust that I love you enough!”

The silence between the two of you is punctuated only by your shallow breathing from finishing your speech and the electric tension that now hums in the air. Something in Din’s brain is awakening, yelling at him that there’s a truth in your words that he hasn’t had the courage to face – that other than your safety, he’s been worried that bringing you fully into his world and telling you everything, sharing in all the fears and dark parts, would scare you away. That he’s been afraid that you would walk away, so he did it first.

Din doesn’t know if he’s ready to face this realization or its implications out loud, not when you’re looking at him with so much disappointment and anger. Not when the phone in his pocket continues to buzz non-stop.

You’re at your wit’s end and throw out ludicrously, “So, what? We stay apart until you deem it safe again? Then what, we’re allowed to date until the next time you think it’s safer for me if you leave? And then we just repeat this pattern forever?”

Din’s exasperated too, frustrated with the unexpected turn this evening has taken – at himself. He throws his hands up in the air, “I don’t know, okay? I just know it’s not safe for you to be my girl right now. And as for later? May not then either? Maybe you just don’t wait for me.”

You freeze, the retort on the tip of your tongue that you’re supposed to be a team and that Din doesn’t get to choose for the both of you, dissipates from your shock at his last words, “Wait. What do you mean ‘don’t wait for you’?”

Din doesn’t immediately clarify so you press on, “You would be okay with that? If I moved on with someone else? Is that what you want?”

Din wants to reassure you; it’s not what he meant, of course. His heart would shatter if you were with someone else; he had only meant that he knew it was terribly unfair for you to have to wait for this situation to resolve itself, and he didn’t want to force you to be or assume that you were okay with it – but it had come out wrong. He stops himself from explaining though; realizing with a punch to the gut that he could use this to give you a clean slate, a clean break from him. You would hate him again – but it would remove the temptation to come see you in secret like tonight, endangering your safety every time he was too weak to stay away from you. So, he says nothing.

You take his silence the way he intends, as confirmation that Din doesn’t want you anymore and your tears come fast and threaten to overflow. You’re angry, confused, and hurt. Again.

The barrier you had put up earlier when you so logically decided to figure out your feelings once you figured out the truth comes crashing down and you think you’re going to drown in the tidal wave of emotions that swell and rise with being so casually tossed away again. You feel like a fool, letting Din toy with your feelings (and your body) over and over.

“Din. Is that what you want? Do you just want us to be over?” you choke out.

Din’s expression is unreadable and he won’t make eye contact with you - but when he sighs, it’s the most devasting sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

Your cheeks are wet and you feel yourself shaking. The words that are blabbering out now hardly make sense and you don’t think you even mean half of them, but you aren’t thinking straight - you just know these words will sting and make Din feel as bad as you do right now, “Why did you come tonight, Din? For an easy fuck? You knew you would find guaranteed pussy here, didn’t you? I can’t blame you, I guess. I mean, if you know you always have a desperate slut you can use, someone who’s stupid enough to buy whatever lies you tell her to get her to give it up, why not, right?”

Suddenly aware of how exposed you are, you pull your cardigan tighter over your body and shrink away from Din.

Din reaches for you - this, he cannot have. He cannot have you reducing yourself to just a worthless fuck when you’re his sun. He loves you more than anything, would hang the moon for you; you’re the most incredible and precious thing in his life, “No, no… that’s not it. Please, pretty bird, don’t…”

You pull away from his outreaching hand and say in a flat, dead tone, “I’m not your pretty bird anymore.”

Even Din can see that he’s hit your limit - hurt you beyond repair and now you’ve shut down. Shut him out. Fighting ever fibre in his body to go to you, soothe you and try to reassure you of his love, he hangs his head, “No. You’re right… you’re not.”

The two of you stand in silence, facing each other but worlds apart, for what is probably only a minute but feels like forever. Finally, Din turns to the front door to leave; pausing just after turning the handle, he whispers, “I’m sorry”, before exiting your apartment and closing the door behind him.

Once in the hallway, Din hears the lock turn immediately, followed by the most devastating sound he’s ever heard. You’re sobbing, loud enough that he can hear it through the door and he wants more than anything to kick down the door and sweep you into his arms, take it all back - comfort you with kisses and lightly chastise you for even considering for a moment that he could ever stop loving you.

But he doesn’t. It’s better this way, Din tells himself.

The sound of your sobs follows Din as he races down the stairs, towards the danger that lurks too closer for comfort. He’s more than ready to take out his distress on the bastards who had deigned to look upon you as someone to threaten, to hurt - or just some unfortunate Hutts who found themselves in the wrong neighbourhood tonight. Din doesn’t much care. Blinking back his tears and steeling his resolve with clenched fists, all Din knows is you won’t be the only person he hurts tonight – you’re just the only one who doesn’t deserve it.

Exactly one week later, you storm into brunch still angry, exhausted and hurt from your altercation with Din the Sunday before; hot tears brim along your lash line from the humiliation of having slept with Din only for him to leave you again, and your frustration at his dismissal of any attempt to talk out your issues. The only sure-fire thing you’ve decided is that there will be no more secrets - no more half truths, no more protecting people from hard and ugly realities. Sure, you would have much preferred if this was the road upon which you and Din were embarking, but in lieu of that, you decide that you can come clean with your friends. You tell them about the Fett Family and Din’s old role, and what he seems to still do for the Family. You tell your friends about Poe, Boba, Cass, the Hutts and the Pykes, and the Mandos and the Mods. You tell them about all the security incidents from earlier in the year and the threats you only just learned of and about Din’s and your place in it all. You tell them about your run-in with Vanessa and how your date with Mark went and about sleeping with Din last week. You tell them everything that’s yours to tell and even somethings that aren’t because you’re done with pretending that these secrets are worth keeping and somehow worth your happiness.

Your friends are speechless; all the food, and shockingly the drinks, are untouched as you talk and only after you indicate you’re done with your recollection of how Din left you crying in your foyer, do they descend on you to offer their kind supportive words and loving hugs. Once everyone is settled back in their seats and people’s emotions have leveled out a bit, Rory asks,

“Do you still love him?”

It’s not the question you expected from her, or from any of your friends really, and it truly deflates you as you lean back in your chair to contemplate your response. The last week saw you primarily cataloguing Din’s transgressions against your heart; it’s a long list and it had kept your mind and heart fairly preoccupied. You’re furious at him… but did his foolhardy actions change the man you believed he was? The man you had loved? You answer only what you’re sure of,

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t seem to matter to him what I think or feel. Din just does what he thinks is best.”

Your friends nod sympathetically, understanding you’re already fighting a seemingly endless battle between your head and your heart. They thoughtfully put forth their opinions in between bites of their now cold dishes:

“No matter what his reasoning is, it doesn’t give him the right to jerk you around in the name of ‘your safety’.”

“Does he have a point though? Is it dangerous to be with him? Are you scared?”

“Won’t the Family protect you? Why is he acting like he’s the only one who cares about you?”

“I don’t like that he hurt you on purpose with that Vanessa nonsense. That lie was so elaborate.”

“How many times does he think he can do this to you?”

“You deserve someone who is honest with you. Someone who will treat you like an equal partner in everything.”

“He loves you so much. It’s always been clear to us that you’re his whole world, babe.”

You agree with it all – these same thoughts have been running laps in your mind since the night Din closed your door behind him. Din’s martyr-like approach to your safety did not sit well with you, especially when it sacrificed the wellbeing of your heart without so much as a consultation of your feelings; it’s crystal clear to you now that entirely too many lies and secrets had been justified and tolerated in the last several months and even your relationship prior. Yes, you know how you feel about what Din did.

But how do you feel about him? To a certain degree, you know you still love Din, but things just aren’t that simple anymore. Given everything that’s happened, how can you feel about him? You don’t know.

6 months ATN

Waiting until there’s a break in the traffic, you cross the street quickly, heading straight for the bookstore across from your office building. Right away, you spot the display you’re looking for: the centre table for “Current Hot Reads” with Bea’s book right in the middle - you can’t help but grin widely. Picking up four copies, you busy yourself for a few minutes straightening up the display - strategically stacking and propping up copies of your friend’s book so it stands out in a pleasing manner amongst the other titles. When you stand back, satisfied, to review your work, a kind voice behind you says, “Are you the author, dear?” You turn to see an older woman in a delightfully ostentatious fur coat smiling at you.

Unable to keep the pride out of your voice, you beam, “Ha ha ha! No, one of my best friends is! I’m actually buying these as gifts to give out to our mutual girlfriends at dinner tonight!”

“Oh, that’s so lovely dear! What a good friend you are!” the lady smiles, “What is the book about?”

“It’s a modern romance, childhood best friends turned lovers. The first in her series!” you gush, ready to talk Bea up to the high heavens.

“Oh lovely! My granddaughter loves romance novels, maybe I should get it for her?”

For a moment you simply imagine what the granddaughter might think when reading the smut her sweet nana bought her and you do your best to hold in your chuckle, “Tell you what. I’m going to buy an extra copy and leave it at the cashier for you. If you decide you don’t want it or prefer to buy a copy, just tell the cashier to pass it on to the next person who’s interested.”

“Oh dear, you don’t have to do that!”

“I know! But I want to! I can’t tell you how much it delights me to support my friend. Please ask your granddaughter to help spread the word about the book and the author. I know she’ll love it, it really is just that good,” you enthuse.

The older woman squeezes your hand in thanks as you pick up a fifth copy of Bea’s book; leaving her to read the jacket summary as you head to the cashier. After giving the cashier the instructions for the last copy, you give the display another quick once over before leaving the bookstore, heading directly to dinner with a spring in your step.

---

Din sees you the moment you walk in. For some reason, maybe a sixth sense, he had looked up at the bookstore front door before it opened, and there you were. He hasn’t seen you since the night he left you crying in your apartment, the same night he sent half of the Hutt enforcements to the hospital; when he accepted this surveillance post for the day, he had half hoped he would see you. You’re just as stunning and bright as the you he keeps in his memories, if not more so.

He had also seen the display of Bea’s books when he walked in and already picked up a copy to buy in support; he figured he would give it to Lisa. Din watches you rearrange the display from behind the shelves, trying not to be a creep but unable to take his eyes off of you – wistfully, he recalls seeing you do the same thing on the day you first met; it’s no less charming now than it was then. Listening with a smile as you talk excitedly to the older lady about Bea’s book, Din’s heart swells when he hears you offer to buy her granddaughter a copy. You’re still you. Sweet, generous, unassuming, and unflinchingly kind.

God, he misses you.

He’s been trying to put you out of his mind, of course; positive that he’s eradicated not only any goodwill or affectionate feeling you may have held for him a few months ago, but also any chance he had of ever being with you again. Whereas before he kept away for your safety and his own self punishment, he does so now out of self preservation. To steel himself for his future without you.

Din does, however, allow himself one photo of you. It’s one that Paz took the night of the fight with Rotta Hutt. Taken right after he’s scooped you up ringside, the shot shows only the back of Din’s head, but your face is on full display, filled with joy and adoration. He looks at it everyday; trying not to long for you more than he already does, Din comes to regard it as motivation of sorts – this is what makes all his misery worth it, he thinks to himself. You. Happy.

And while he can’t bring himself to delete his photos of you off his phone, or even erase your old messages, Din never looks at them either. He doesn’t deserve to. Especially not the dirty texts and photos; he doesn’t have a right to see you that way anymore - as much as he misses you, Din won’t violate your privacy. But on the days when the pressure, stress and Din’s own loneliness lead him to release his frustration while in the shower, he imagines a soft hand touching him and knows it’s yours. The voice that he hears telling him how good it feels, he knows is yours. The moans that ring in his ears as he furiously fucks his fist can only be yours. And when he comes, choking out broken pants of I love you, I love you, I fucking loving you so much, those words are for you and you only.

Seven months ATN

Opening your guest room closet, you sigh to yourself.

It’s time.

You’ve been avoiding doing this, but not only is it long overdue, you’re also embarrassed at how anxious you’ve been to attempt this task. It’s been two months since Din left you crying on your knees in the front foyer of your apartment and seven since you fled his apartment after believing he had cheated on you. In that hazy first week, you had gone around the apartment grabbing anything that belonged to him and stuffed it into what ended up being an overflowing bin that you then shoved into the back of the guest room closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

But you have guests coming to stay next week, and moreover, it bothers you how rude it is to have kept these belongings that aren’t yours. It was one thing when Din had been a lying cheating bastard; but now that you know he hadn’t had any ill intent and was as much of a victim of his poor decisions as you are, it doesn’t feel right to hang on to these items. Bringing home some flat packing boxes from the work mailroom, you assemble them first, trying to prolong actually having to go through your ex’s things.

Stop being a chicken shit, you chide yourself, it’s been months. Get over it and get it over with. You pull the bin out of the closet and his smell, Din’s smell, immediately hits you when you when you start to take out the clothes. You close your eyes and let yourself breathe in the familiar scent. It’s as inviting as you remember and immediately brings his handsome visage to your mind. When you open your eyes, they’re filled with tears. Dammit.

You force yourself to work through your tears. Fighting it at first but eventually allowing yourself to recall memories associated with Din’s items, you feel and expunge all the emotions you had hidden away like you had these belongings. It’s cathartic and freeing, and once you’ve shed the tears you need, you make quick work of the task. When you’ve filled the last box, you write a short note apologizing how long it’s taken to return these items and quickly tape up the boxes so that the contents are once again out of your sight.

---

The following weekend, you and Katie take a cab with the boxes to Din’s neighbourhood. You don’t think you’re ready to see Din in person, but you think you can handle dropping off the boxes… at Peli’s. Katie helps you carry the boxes from the taxi into the drycleaner’s and you ring the little bell Peli leaves out when she’s in the back working with the machines. You see her bushy crown of curls before you do her inviting face, the smile she smiles when she sees you is brighter than the sun. You feel warmed just seeing her again.

“Well, look who it is,” Peli grins, eyes full of genuine cheer and relief, “long time no see.”

Nodding, your heart feels a tug with how much you’ve missed Peli and all the other friends you made through Din who you haven’t seen in months, “Too long, Peli!”

“Glad you can admit you missed me,” she teases, holding absolutely nothing against you, “what can I do for you? Don’t tell me those boxes are full of drycleaning?”

“Oh… no. Could I ask you for a favour?” sheepish that the very first time you see Peli after such a long absence, you’re asking something her.

Peli’s good nature isn’t phased for even a second, “Of course! Anything for you, love.”

Then as if some higher being heard your request before you had a chance to speak it, Paz walks through the front door of the drycleaners. He’s just as surprised to see you as you are him, but readily leans in to give you and Katie welcoming hugs.

“Hi Lil’ Lady. Whatcha doing here?”

You gesture to the boxes and look between Peli and Paz, “Just wanted to drop off Din’s things but… I didn’t feel up to going to Mando’s. Do you think I could trouble you to get these boxes to him?”

Peli looks shocked, and for a moment you wonder if it’s possible that she didn’t know that you and Din haven’t been together for over half a year now. Paz saves you from the potentially long and awkward explanation by nodding with some sympathy, “No problem, I’ll carry them over.”

“Thank you, Paz.”

“No problem, Lil’ Lady,” Paz gives you a smile that looks regretful, maybe even sad.

You turn to go, but suddenly feel compelled to make one last request, “Please don’t tell Din you saw me? I don’t want him thinking about me anymore.” You say this without any malice or bitterness, though you’re not convinced it comes out that way.

When going through Din’s belongings, you were initially hard hit by the waves of sadness and grief from the loss of your relationship; but after letting the ache of your heart dull, you had surprising found comfort in a barrage of happy memories:

Din’s favourite basketball team shirt you slept in. You had teased him mercilessly for how often he wore it, but showered him in compliments at how good he looked in those loud team colours every time. When you explained to him what Pima cotton was and delighted in a sports shirt feeling so luxuriously soft, you noticed that Din started leaving it for you to wear for sleep – first only at his apartment, but before long, he “allowed” the shirt to migrate to your place.

That lime green sweater he wore the first time he was invited to girl’s Sunday brunch. Bea had wanted to introduce the new guy she was dating and thought that having another boy at the table might make it less intimidating. Din had gone and immediately clocked Gideon to be an asshole, but somehow managed to convey a polite, yet protective vibe throughout the meal. When Bea broke up with that odious man a few weeks later, Din, invited back to brunch and coincidentally wearing the same sweater had been so supportive (“You deserve better than that self-absorbed blow hard”), even offering to “take care of him” for her. You had quickly refused on Bea’s behalf, knowing what “take care” might actually mean, but it had cheered her up so much nonetheless.

His cozy oversized patterned jacquard cardigan that Din wore whenever it was nippier out than usual. Large enough that it could envelope you while being worn, Din took every opportunity to do so - pressing you against his hard chest while wrapping the front around you to keep the chill away when you were out at the farmers’ market, waiting for the subway, or just standing on the sidewalk while Al finished sniffing his favourite spots.

And more – all the clothes and items you packed away had at least one memory associated with Din where he had made you feel warm, cared for, cherished.

How grateful and lucky you were that Din had loved you the way he did.

Yes, he had broken your heart, but you know that he himself didn’t get away unscathed – Din had also been destroyed by your breakup. Having long since recognized the immature and empty things said during your last fight as your own emotional lashing out, you saw with more clarity how your own hurt and pain had sliced through Din’s already battle damage armour. To be honest, you regret your words and how you left things with Din; though the way he did it was all wrong, Din had only ever loved you, cared for you and put you first in the way that he believed matter the most. And he did so without fanfare, pomp or circumstance - expecting neither accolades nor acknowledgment, or even a hint of self satisfaction.

Your heart truly goes out to Din. He so willingly carries the weight of the responsibility to take care of others, to put their well being over his own wants and desires; he sees it only as his duty and a mark of his honour to put himself last. Din never gives himself leave to be selfish, despite being the most deserving for exactly that reason; as long as others are well taken care of, you know that Din would never complain or wish for more for himself. And while your heart has done its share of mourning for yourself, it also breaks for Din – you know with certainty that he’s as devastated as you are, and yet, he also bears the guilt of having been the cause of your respective heartbreak; likely believing himself undeserving of any sympathy or comfort.

You remember what Boba had once said of Din, that he’s a caretaker through and through. He attends to the needs of those around him and always has – thinking of the betterment of others, sometimes, and possibly even often, at the expense of his own. But Din’s always done so happily - it was his duty and he performed it consistently, admirably. And you remember that you had promised Boba that you would take care of Din right back.

Refusing to add to Din’s already heavy burden when it came to your breakup, you don’t want him to think about you more than he has to when he gets his belongings back; you know he will only spiral into more self blame wondering if you’re still mad or how much you hate him. He will undoubtedly think about how you might be hurting, and then feel regret and guilt, disappointment or whatever else that eats at him.

So, you make Paz promise not to tell Din that he saw you, to say that Peli had called him over to get the boxes and you were already gone when he arrived. The fierce look in your eyes tells Paz that you won’t relent and he acquiesces – you were prepared to fight him if necessary, the urge to protect Din where you still can burning brightly within your heart.

Quiet and heartfelt goodbyes are said and longer than needed hugs are dispensed before you and Katie leave Peli’s, arms now empty. As the cab pulls away, you wave what you sadly think might be your last goodbye to two people you’ve also come to love and will miss terribly.

9 months ATN

Seeing Peli and Paz at the drycleaner’s is the last contact you have with Din’s world.

After nearly the better part of a year, it no longer feels strange that there are facets of a life you had come to embrace, that are no longer familiar - like bringing baked goods down to Mando’s, or being part of the celebratory group when a Mando’s boxer wins a title. Making a normal portion size of garlic knots is once again the norm.

Periodically, it might feel unsettling when you remember that you are or were, at least at one time, under threat, and that there are unseen eyes on you, both friendly and unfriendly. But you never see anyone or any actual evidence of this so there’s not much you can dwell on. Who’s to say the circumstances of the situation haven’t changed or if you’re even on anyone’s radar anymore? It’s likely you’ve been forgotten by now and you leave these thoughts at that.

With time, you go from thinking of Din constantly, to less frequently, and now only periodically. You don’t think you’ll ever quite forget Din. He had loved you fiercely, of that you were certain, and in turn, you had loved him back just as hard. He was undoubtedly, a great love of your life. You don’t think that type of connection is easy to find, nor would you attempt to try and do so again – the way Din had seen you so completely and how you had felt being his was not a feeling you think you’ll let go of any time soon.

But the price for that type of love was one that you hadn’t been prepared to pay – adherence to some creed or code of honour that was willing to sacrifice your heart wasn’t something you could open yourself up to again. Not even for that kind of love. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t look back on it with fondness and remember Din as a man you admired adamantly and would continue to hold up as one of the best men you’ve ever known.

He was kind. Protective. Caring and loyal.

The strength of his character and his generous nature live on in your grateful heart.

Some of your happiest memories will always be ones that you shared with Din. He had, as was his highest priority, made you feel safe and cherished; despite how it all ended, you knew his motivations and the intentions of his heart to be pure - he had only ever wanted the best for you. Din’s easy way of making you laugh, supporting you in all your endeavors and of lightening your mental and physical load, all while making you feel like the most special person in any room, were not easily forgotten. Nor his integrity, considerate nature and the gentleness of his touch. A lover and a fighter – Din was a rare combo indeed.

You think you’ll love Din until your dying day, but you can’t pine for him anymore.

Had you forgiven him? Hardly. But forgiveness wasn’t necessary.

Forgiveness implied that you needed something to change, to be acknowledged, in order to move forward, and that just simply wasn’t the case. You neither forgave him or were looking to forgive Din; you didn’t expect there to be a continuation of your story and so, as far as you were concerned, neither of you owed anything further to the other, including forgiveness. You’re at peace with where the pages of your love story have permanently fallen open; having reread those finally passages a million times, you’ve worked through your grief of having to put Din and your relationship behind you - what remains is only a nostalgic sort of affection and maybe wistfulness.

Your life has gone on without him, but it had always been full before you met Din and it remains so after him: full of friends, hobbies, Alfredo, accomplishment and pride in your work, and everything else your undoubtedly privileged life has to offer. That’s probably the best word to describe it. These days, when you do think of Din, it can be without bitterness or disappointment, because you do so only with genuine gratitude; not everyone will have the good fortune of being loved so wholly, so generously and so fearsomely, albeit it had only been for a little while. Yes, it takes no great effort to admit: it had been a privilege to be loved by Din Djarin.

It’s been a good day. Great even. All your meetings finish on time (!), and no one on your team, yourself included, had extra work assigned at the last minute – you’re all able to leave ON TIME.

Stepping out of your office building, you can’t quite believe it – you haven’t seen this side of 5:30 since… you were a junior? No, that’s an exaggeration, but it’s been a long time for sure.

You and your colleagues exchange excited hugs, marveling at your luck; a few even joke that you should all prepare to pay for this tomorrow before laughing and each going in your separate directions.

Pausing for a moment where you stand, you contemplate maybe popping into the bookstore across the street before heading home when your eyes are drawn to a hulking figure that sits on one of the courtyard benches directly facing your office. Despite his size and striking profile, the man’s presence isn’t terribly imposing, but it is a wonder that you hadn’t notice him until now.

You lock eyes with the man, not ready to believe he’s really there, when he gives you a tentative smile along with a small wave of the bouquet of peonies that he holds in his hand.

Din.

Thanks so much again to anyone who has read this far in the series with me - I love you all so much! Your kind words and encouragement really motivated me to finish this chapter a bit earlier than I had anticipated! I'm still on the cruise, so I'm just posting this when the ship's wifi is strong 🤣 so adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo @yopossum @cartonkid1200 @rav3n-pascal22

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au

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