#when you dilute a word so much it stops holding meaning

[evermoredeluxe]

No because there two white fans in particular that i follow that need to simmer down. We all fucking hate that she associated herself with that rat man but like thinking taylor was never a nice person or that she said and did things she didn’t believe in (basically calling her a racist now) is a bit much. But yeah, you got your high number of reblogs and likes, here’s your cookie.

there is a difference between supporting and helping uplift voices of poc and outright speaking over them and setting the narrative for them, and that's what i'll say.

people were upset and i get it because i personally don't like MH either and i had to grapple with her dating him, and so did everyone else. if the taylor/matty thing has made your outlook of her to the point of questioning her whole character and everything she has ever done, that's okay, but i think there's a line. and there's a certain tact and way to express opinions that lots of people on here lack because "it's tumblr dot com"

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[wyvernest]

honeymoon love

previous parts - (part 1) (part 2)

pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, talks of pregnancy

summary: with the opportunity of a surprise, miguel makes the most of your honeymoon

“Te amo. Tu eres mi alma”, he kisses below your temple, “mi corazón-”, he moves to your jaw and right below it, “-mi vida.”

He licks at your neck, kissing the sensitive skin with insistence, pressing himself closer to you.

“Y siempre lo serás.”

"Miguel", you manage to speak, placing the name upon a breathy, calm moan.

"I love you, Miguel. You make me so happy."

He stops in his tracks, raising his head and hoping to catch the look on your face immediately after the words left your mouth.

He's all you see, all you hear, all you smell; under the thin makeshift shelter of the bedsheet.

The proximity shrouds all your senses, intoxicating you with his low voice, the scent of cologne on his feverish skin, the stirring look in his eyes that renders you irrevocably vulnerable, willing to submit to anything he has in mind.

He replies with a peck on your cheek, full of love and sincere fondness. Your eyes meet for a quick second before you both lean in to catch each other's lips in a searing kiss, tongues slowly intertwining, a dance you know all too well.

You feel the shy beginning of a stubble graze your cheek while you make out in the comfort of the clean, cotton white sheets, and you yearn to feel more.

Your hands wander over his firm pecs, settling on his huge shoulders, palming at the muscles before hiking higher to hold the back of his head. Your fingers massage his scalp, his dark chestnut hair silky soft under your touch.

"You're always so good to me." he praises, honest and infinitely affectionate. He inhales sharply, as if meaning to continue, but he stops, muffling whatever confessions were about to exit his mouth with another kiss.

His hot palm wraps perfectly around your breast, as if you were made for him. He massages the soft tit, eliciting a whimper out of you.

"Go on, say it.", you manage to dare him.

"Say what?" he looks, at the very least, caught off guard.

"What you were thinking, just now. Tell me."

He groans in defeat, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, not missing the opportunity to kiss the over-reactive skin one more time before speaking.

"I want you to be the mother of my children.", he stops for a moment , scanning your face for any trace of doubt or hesitancy. "You're perfect, mi vida. You're all I could ever ask for, and so much more.", he attempts to urge an answer out of you. A reply. Anything.

Truth is, you have talked about children before. But whenever he would bring it up, after having seen Mayday on a casual weekend, or after having noticed you stare just a little longer at the baby aisle when shopping, you would brush it off with a fearful smile, saying that "when the time is right, it will happen".

And deep down he knew you were scared. Scared of the whole process. The pregnancy, the birth itself, the responsibilities and obligations that come with such a decision. But the very last thing he wanted to do was rush you, subconsciously or accidentally guilt tripping you into giving in and only accepting because of him.

He wanted you to want it too, just as much as he did.

Little did he know, the thought had been lingering on your mind for much longer than he would have fathomed. Every day, the fever got stronger and stronger. Everyday, the doubts and questions diluted more and more into 'I trust him enough to be sure that we'll figure it out on the way.'

And finally face to face with another one of his voiced desires, you feel the enthusiasm bubble in your heart.

"Miguel."

He raises a questioning brow, attentive and focused as if ready to pounce.

"Put a baby in me." You squirm into his embrace, your feet protruding through the white veil cocooning you as you squeeze your legs around his waist. Intimacy, my ass, you mentally joke to yourself. Anyone ski jetting by would know exactly what you were doing only judging by the position of your legs, obvious even through the cover.

But who even cares about that,

when he's on top of you, asking you to carry his babies.

Asking you to give him a child.

You watch his pupils dilate, a familiar red glow taking over his vision as he evidently loses his mind right in front of you over your admission.

You lose count of the swarm of feelings flashing across his face in a timespan of a few seconds.

"I wasn't joking." He forcibly chuckles at the end of the warning, wanting you not to feel in the least bit intimidated or pressured.

"I wasn't either." You're quick to reassure him, brushing a wild strand of hair from his face.

He almost can't believe it.

His brain is short-circuiting.

But before he can ask again, because you know him well enough to tell that he was going to, you pull him into another kiss, more violent, more powerful. One of the kisses you give him when he's back from a long mission, tired and bitter, when you've missed him for so long you could've sworn you'd go insane if you had to stay one more second without him by your side.

He returns the same need, taking the chance and slipping one hand in between you, pulling your summer skirt down your thighs along with your soaked panties.

You shudder at the feeling of his warm hand so close to your core, your body reacting before you could fully process what is about to happen.

With a gasp, you break apart to breathe as the precum-stained head of his cock comes in contact with your cunt, threatening to breach you.

You feel its generous length drag along through your folds. Even with impatience heavy in the air, he carefully prepares you for him. He knows you’re fragile, he knows it's difficult for you to take all of him, and for whatever self-control he has left, he wants to make it well worth it.

Your brows crease in slight pain as he pushes in with a groan, feeling the wet heat of your pussy swallow him inch by agonising inch.

Through barely open eyes, you see him stare down at you.

A horde of fantasies are running wild in his head, but his lust-addled brain stops at one, one that has him nearly drooling on the spot.

He sees you, finally pregnant, breasts overflowing with milk, in a delicate yet flimsy summer dress that flaunts everything that makes you so beautiful to him, everything about you that makes you, you.

Nothing less than a goddess.

But most of all, he sees you by his side.

An arm hooked around his, proud to call him the father of your child.

By his side, for everyone to see. To see that you're his.

He lunges forward with no warning, his hips colliding with the soft flesh of your ass. Strong hands curling around your waist with a bruising grip, he starts making love to you. Avoiding a steady pace, he delivers deep, fast thrusts before drifting into slow, dragged out strokes, only to resume the rough ones again.

It's torture, yet you're drowning in pleasure.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock, the tip brushing against weak spots you didn't know you had with every drive of his body into yours.

He knows he won't last, yet he wants to prolong your pleasure for as much as he can.

His head falls back into the crook of your neck, hot, shallow pants puffing onto your flushed skin. He groans in pure bliss, the intensity of his feelings nearly pushing him over the edge prematurely. You moan his name, hands travelling over his back and into his hair, not aiding him in his struggle to last longer.

"Te amo. Te amo tanto." (I love you. I love you so much) He begins, grunting in your ear, offering you the deepest of his thoughts in the most vulnerable point he had gotten, "No puedo - ugh, no puedo vivir sin ti." (I can't live without you.)

You can't do anything but whine broken fragments of his name, hoping that he'll catch on to the fact that you're so deep in raw pleasure that any coherent thought would mean ripping yourself apart from the euphoria.

"No puedo respirar sin ti." (I can't breathe without you). He rasps low as you flutter around him, earning yourself a strangled moan from the man on top of you.

"Ah, mierda-", He starts to lose his rhythm, the bed creaking under every thrust of his fat cock into your tight heat.

Your blurred attention falls upon his biceps, impossibly big compared to your meagre shape underneath him, flexing by your sides each time his abdomen undulates to drive his dick into you.

You feel claimed. Owned. In the best ways possible.

But most of all, you feel loved.

Suddenly, you feel him stagger, arms flexing hard, his whole body going rigid against you as a low groan shatters in your ears. Through your climatic haziness, you feel his dick twitching inside your walls as he comes. You can’t help the whine it squeezes out of you, the symphony of your pleasured screams compromising whatever secrecy you could have hoped for.

He lets himself collapse on top of you, knowing that the comfort of his body weight on you gifts you an extra feeling of intimacy every time he can't help but try to catch his breath, face pressed snugly into your neck.

You turn your head, coming down from your own high, kissing his forehead, caressing his back with the one hand you managed to squeeze out from under him.

"You make me the happiest I've ever been." he mumbles, defenceless and open.

And you swear you haven't ever been happier yourself.

[perrywrites]

yoo, thoughts on bllk boys who'd probably be in a 'die for you' (by the weeknd) coded relationship/situationship? 👁👁

Oh, that's definitely the Itoshi brothers' anthem. From the vibes I'm getting from a cursory lookover at the lyrics (I've heard the song before, just never paid attention to the lyrics before) correct me if I'm wrong about what they mean lmfao. Very much Sae, and also Rin - especially Rin. The emotional constipation and communication issues paired with that kind of intense and desperate love... Yeah, that's definitely Rin.

But let's start off with the 'colder' of the two - Sae. You just know that he's not going to give you enough in the relationship, especially in the start. Honestly, I think in terms of attachment styles (if you don't know about those, look them up and take the quiz! very fun and illuminating experience... lol), he's definitely very much on the avoidant end. He comes off as icy and distant in the start, impassive and bored, and although most of the angst would be dealt with before entering into a relationship with him (hopefully...) that doesn't mean things become that much better when you guys actually become official. Not in the beginning, at least. He's definitely softer, noticeably. He teases you with that trademark dry and sarcastic wit, bestows you with lingering touches, rare and precious smiles, but that's not enough. It's just not enough. At first, you cling to every crumb like a rain-soaked shirt to skin, desperate and lovesick for any ounce of affection, and his acknowledgment of you as his girlfriend sends you soaring. But of course, as a relationship starts progressing, one would want more, and it's no different in this case. Except, trying to ask a stubborn man like him for more is difficult, and eventually, tiring. It makes you feel crazy, trying to beg him for more than the bare minimum he offers. It's not necessarily so much so that he refuses to give you more, but more so that he thinks it's pointless. He doesn't see the point in complimenting you often (that would dilute their worth and effect, he would explain), or telling you that he likes you, I mean, you should know that, right? Otherwise he wouldn't be dating you in the first place. So when you start asking him for affection and for more of his time (to go on dates and whatnot... what? You knew he was a busy guy, stop asking to go out so often especially when you know the amount of precautions he'll have to take) and all of that, he starts feeling annoyed and cornered. You're asking for too much. What, do you want him to change for you? Is what he's giving you not enough? And before long, your need for affection is dismissed as neediness by him, and he declares you to be clingy and suffocating.

And we all know Sae doesn't hold back with his words, he's harsh and cold with what he believes to be true, and although he doesn't think he's being mean he totally IS mean when he coldly dismisses you as clingy and tells you that he wants an independent partner. And when your face crumbles like that, hurt visible now where it had been brewing subtly for weeks, if not months, Sae feels something that makes him feel even worse. Guilt? Yes, guilt. But he genuinely doesn't believe he's at fault for this, for expecting you to not be so dependent on him and expect him to be the kind of lovey dovey person he just isn't. And so when you ask him if he even cares about you, in that kind of pitiful broken voice, on the verge of tears - he snaps. He tells you if what he's doing for you isn't enough, you can leave him anytime and go to someone else. Of course, that's not what he really wants. What he's really hoping for is that you'll realize what you're asking for is stupid and childish, so you'll shut up about all of that and just accept what he's giving you. And you do, you shut up. And you're quieter after that, not as affectionate anymore, withdrawing into yourself. And although he felt relieved in the beginning, soon enough your weird behaviour starts making him antsy. At first, you don't message him that much after that argument, and then soon enough, you're not messaging him first anyways. He's the one starting all of your conversations (and he realizes, then, that until then you had been the one initiating most of the conversations), and although you respond, they get drier and drier with each passing day. And now you're the busy one, and he finds himself doing the chasing - albeit subtly - for your affection and attention. He finds himself doing the exact things you were asking for back then, but it's like you're completely unaffected by it, numb to it, and he realizes with a kind of late desperation that he's losing you. And he doesn't want that - but at the same time, he doesn't know what to do anymore. I mean, isn't he doing what you asked for then? He's doing that, so what else can he do? He can't be vulnerable, so he doesn't know how to ask - beg - you to stay when he can feel you slipping through his fingers. And it kills him, to watch you grow cold towards him like this, as all he can do is seem impassive to it when he is anything but.

After all, don't you know? He might not know how to tell you that he loves you, but he would die for you. So don't just leave him like this.

Now, Rin... He's an interesting case, and he's definitely more attuned with his emotions (uhm... in a slightly twisted kind of way...) and more capable of being vulnerable than his brother (ISTJ!Sae VS INTJ!Rin). So he's definitely more introspective and willing to communicate, and if you tell him you need something/want more, he's willing to accommodate you (saying that like he wouldn't like giving you the affection you want, because he loves every part of it - although he would never admit that. Fucking embarrassing as shit) and listen to your feedback, honestly. He's even fine with a certain extent of behaviour that is very clearly and outrightly clingy or needy (in fact, considering Rin's abandonment issues and loneliness, it would soothe a large part of him even if he's a bit troubled by it in the beginning, in contrast to Sae where it would make him largely uncomfortable - at least at first. The way the two would approach affection they're not used to is very fascinating especially with the whole younger and older sibling difference - Rin wouldn't know how to react at first, but he would definitely love and crave it, since he did receive it in his childhood from Sae. Sae would probably feel more uncomfortable with it, and I feel like he's more of a giver anyways, even if he's not doing a whole lotta giving in the sense that you would want him to 💀💀💀). That's until it interferes with his soccer, though. Although I believe Rin is the type of person who would pick his partner over soccer any day if he had to, that would come after a bit of dating/a while of him being in love with you tbh. But anyways, getting back on topic.

This happy too-good-to-be situation can only work so long as you're communicative as well, though. Because as honest as Rin tends to be, blushing and glaring at you as he calls you an idiot comes more naturally to him than 'I love you's. So if you want something and you're unable to tell him, things are going to go sour quick. He's not a mind reader, so as much as he's able to pick up on your moods and so on, he doesn't know what's going on in your mind. So if you want more affection, want him to hug you and kiss you more, express his love for you more, want to go on more dates, tell him. If you don't he's not going to know that. And although he's constantly trying on his own, scheduling movie nights, inviting you out to places he thinks you'd like, holding your hand in public because that's about the only kind of PDA he's comfortable with, if you need something more, you need to tell him. If you feel lonely sometimes because he doesn't respond to you much on days with practice, that his responses end up being more dry on those days, that you want to see him more often, then tell him. Otherwise, things are going to start crumbling. Good for you, though, because Itoshi Rin is not the kind of man that goes down without a fight. If he notices you're not telling him something, as much as he'll be annoyed at that, he'll push that aside in favour of trying to get you to open up to him - after all, don't you know? How soft he is for you? He might not be all that delicate about it, but he'll try to probe and get you to communicate with him - and although he seems relatively calm and collected, you don't understand how anxious he feels, how scared he is that everything could fall apart like this. Don't you know? He'd die for you, if he had to. So stop it, don't put him through this, please. You're crying now, and it feels like his heart is being ripped apart, and all he can do is hold you gently, like you're so fragile, like what the two of you have is so fragile, and run his fingers through your hair as he calms you down. It's okay, it's going to be okay. You two can work this out - no, will, work this out. Because this has to work out, and he's not giving up without a fight. He's in your corner, he's your pillar, don't you know that? So just tell him what's wrong already, dammit. And when you open up to him about all of your worries and insecurities, that you're scared you're a burden to him and his career, or that you're a bother to him, or whatever trash you're spewing, all he does is hoarsely call you an idiot and hug you even tighter. He assures you how untrue all of your insecurities are, but he knows that's not enough, so he promises to do whatever he can to prove to you how wrong your own mind is. After all, you're unbearably precious to him. He's already so attached to you, it's too late. Whatever you need, he'll give it to you, so please, just don't leave him.

Honorary mentions; post-wildcard Kunigami, and Barou.

Post-wildcard Kunigami definitely has intimacy issues, and he'll be closed off and mentally retreat inside, making him distant in your relationship (even though he loves you so much).

Barou would be similar to Sae here, except he'd be a lot more gruff and blunt about it, although tbh if it's something he's not necessarily against (like PDA - no way in hell are you convincing him to do PDA unless you're, like, to the point of engaged or something, and even then only a little bit) you could convince him if you can make him see your point.

[bandgie]

Predator & Prey

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

a/n: 6th and FINAL chapter omg

warnings: somno, fire, biting, blood, dark thoughts from Nyryx, one degrading word said (whore), uhh I think that's it

6.8k words gyyaattttt

Maybe it was your nerves, but you wake up just as the birds start chirping. You could fell Nyryx solid beneath you, his chest softly heaving as he slept. You laid on top of him, your own personal bed. You felt bad that he slept on the cold ground, but his calm, neutral expression showed that he didn't care much. His wings were wrapped around you, keeping the heat in. You smiled.

You gently picked your head up, looking at the early morning sky. There was faint pinkish color against the blueish heavens. It had been so long since you woke up so early. You rarely admire the beauty in the waking sun, but against the snowflakes and cold, white powder makes you cherish the sight.

Though you could easily fall back to sleep, especially with Nyryx under you, you don't. It's your first time being awake before Nyryx. When you traveled in the woods, he would be the one to wake you. It's a weird gift you've been granted on your last morning with him, and you're going to take advantage of it.

You looked back at him, loving how soft his features looked. Nyryx usually had a frown, or contemplating look, but there are no traces of hard lines. Instead his eyebrows are relaxed, mouth slightly open, and eyes closed with long lashes to compliment him. He sleeps peacefully, as though neither of you had sent a village ablaze only hours ago.

Your fingers reach up to trace his details. His skin was a little rough in your fingertips, but you still smiled as you felt him. Nyryx didn't stir in his sleep when you played his with lips, but his nose did twitch. You help back a laugh at the cute movement, instead trailing your hand to his cheeks. You decided to travel a little more down and place your hand on the side of his neck.

You rubbed your hand up and down, and without meaning to, your hips followed the movement. You really didn't mean to touch him with any sexual intent, but you just adore the way he feels under you; How still and compliant his is, another gift you've been given this morning.

You slowly adjust so your knees are on the cold ice below you, straddling him. You shiver when you make contact with the ground, the snow almost burning on your skin. Ignoring it, you shuffle so that you scoot down just barely, face lined with his chest. His wings move unconsciously, allowing you more movement. You kiss his chest in gratitude.

Nyryx doesn't move while you trail your kisses downward, hands holding his sides for balance. You would think such a killer would be on high alert even when asleep. Instead it's you that moves in a predatory way, stalking and slyly moving down his body.

Is this how he feels? You wonder as you take advantage of his unconscious state. Nyryx is the one who's supposed to take you like this, asleep and unaware. You're filled with excitement as you think of your reversal of roles. He must feel a power trip as he hovers over his prey, similar how he is to you right now.

When you reach his trousers, you stop. You're shaking, most likely from the cold, but also from the adrenaline in your veins. If he wakes, you don't know how he'll react. Would he be upset? Mad that you succumbed to your horny feelings? That you bested him in a game he plays most well? Or would he be happy? Would he like that surprise you woke him up with?

After all, this is like breakfast in bed for him.

Coming to your conclusion, you carefully free him of his pants. Pulling down just enough for his semi-hard dick to come out. It's less intimidating seeing him softer than usual. You have a lot more confidence this time when you take the tip of him into your mouth. He's salty, it makes your mouth water on instinct to dilute the taste. After what seems like forever, he moved. Legs opening a little wider to give you more access.

You stick your tongue out in the underside of his dick, tongue messily licking while you sucked on him. It didn't take much effort for Nyryx to grow exponentially, hardening in your mouth with a soft groan. You pull away and stroke him a few times, ignoring how cold your body is getting from being away from him.

You fear for a moment if the wetness between your legs can freeze, but you'll make sure to fix that before you have the chance to find out. Though the outside of your body is burning cold, your insides are burning hot. You swear your arousal alone could warm your entire body, but you'd rather have some of Nyryx's help.

You engulf him in your mouth again, bobbing your head to get some action going. Your hands aren't gentle anymore, they grip at his waist almost possessively. Your rough touch must wake him up at some point, but instead he continues to lie there. His body jolting when you suck his tip harshly, how you move your tongue down to lick his balls, the way your throat closes around him when you gag.

You can feel the spit dribbling down your chin, the saliva that coats your hand when your stroke when you can't fit in your mouth. You can't help but move your whole body when you take him, hips grinding on nothing but cold air. You pop him our of your mouth and you swear you hear him whine when you do.

You shiver as you sit up, discarding your pants and underwear when you do. Before you take your place back on his lap, you place your clothes on a rock near the almost dead fire. You don't want to be sticky having to put cold, wet underwear back on.

Once you finish, you scramble to sit on his lap. The morning cold is almost unbearable, but you're glad there's no wind at least. You take a good look at Nyryx's sleeping face, how it's not contort in what seems like impatience. You grab his hardness again, this time lining it up with you pussy.

You know it would be painful to take him in one sit. Nyryx always made sure to get your cunt doodling before you took him, but now that's all up for you do to yourself. So, despite the want and need you ache for, you grind on his cock. It's weird at first, how his hands are limp besides him, wings fluttering besides you as you hump his dick. Still, you find some disgusting satisfaction with you in control, with you on top.

Maybe you aren't as much of prey Nyryx thinks you are.

You hear the slickness of your pussy as you grind on him, looking down to the strings of essence that connects your bodies. You moan at the sight, giving you motivation to keep using him. After all, you are supposed to be teaching him self control. Who knows? Maybe this is the perfect way for him to get his meal.

You rub your clit on his tip, gasping at the feeling. You could feel every vein and even the crown of his head as you grind on him. You bite your lower lip to keep from moaning loudly, but it's more difficult that you originally thought. You're panting, legs starting to get sore from rutting against him. Still, the heat in your stomach encourages you further.

Your legs tremble as you approach your release, wet sounds emulating from beneath you. You find the strength to look at him, unbelievable seeing his eyes still closed. He has to be faking it at this point. He can't still be sleeping with your wetness on his thighs, his dick. How aggressively you're humping and even smacking your pussy on him.

Your body tenses, your orgasm threatening to spill out of you just before you decide to sit up, pulling away from his dick. You shake and tremble from your self edging, almost curing yourself for not finishing. It doesn't matter though, you would much rather cum with him inside you.

You wobbly adjust so you're actually hovering over him, his tip already leaking from the edging. Nyryx's fists ball up and and relax, body trembling as he fights to keep from thrusting into you in his sleep. Though you're now 100% sure he's not really sleeping. You're quick to catch him briefly open his eyes before he shuts them again. You laugh.

"Nyrryyyxx..." you teasingly sing his voice softly. He pretends not to hear you though, instead keeping his eyes closed and lifting his hips to let you know that you should get back to business. It only makes you laugh more at his eagerness. You reach down and grab the base of his dick, shoving his tip in.

You purposely do it slow, feeling every crevasse and vessel his dick as to offer. You love his irritated face, how he looks at you between his lashes. Though you're completely aware of his consciousness, he maintains his sleep like state. Staying (kind of) still and moaning softly as you push him halfway through inside you.

"I know you're awake, you don't have to pretend," you tell him. Despite being this close to his body, you're freezing. The sun is finally over the horizon, but it's far too early in the day for it to give any actual warmth. "I'm cold," you comment to him. You think it will make him break. Have him wrap his arms or wings around you to shield you.

Instead, he smiles, fangs poking out, "Sit on my cock properly and I'll reward you." You're stunned by his morning voice, how deep and gravely is sounds. Perhaps it's also because you're teasing him with the one thing that gives him life, but that's just a theory.

You push him deeper as you exhale, eyes rolling back at the painful stretch. You can feel yourself fully sit on him, ass to his thigh before he finally lift his wings up. Nyryx quickly wraps then around you, forcing you down on his chest for more heat. You moan at his warmth, inside and outside of you. He lets you adjust to the new position before he thrusts upwards gently.

You whimper, burying your head into his neck from the deep angle. In this position, you're also able to rub your clit on his pelvis. Nyryx also uses his hands to snake around your waist, using is was leverage to fuck up into you.

You bite down in his neck, desperate to not make any noise, but Nyryx is displeased with this. "Louder prey, I wish for the birds to sing your moans." His voice holds authority, and you obey. You had been forced to keep quiet with Nyryx in the spare room, but now there is no one to stop that. Only the trees and morning animals will keep your secret.

You let yourself moan with no restraint when he resumes. Nyryx is loud with his grunt, but they're drowned by the slapping of his skin on yours. All you can do is take it as you entire body is jolted by his movements. Drool pours from your lips when you feel him kiss your cervix, so so deep inside you.

Nyryx doesn't hold back in any aspect. You think he was treating you gently compared to now. He doesn't let the snow under him affect his fucking, not the early morning you woke him up at, not your loud moaning in his ear, nothing. Nyryx is still careful to not accidentally stab you with his talons, they're dangerously close to your stomach and trapped under his wings.

He could easily nick you, tear your pretty flesh open and watch you paint the snow red. Hurting you never gives him pleasure, he hates your sorrowful cries from his doings. It doesn't stop him from taking pleasure in the danger though. Your life is in his hands, literally. He could easily take everything from you. Nyryx could keep you from your world, your family. He could have you every second of the day just by threatening you with his power. He could consume your lust, fear, hatred, every emotion your body has to offer.

Nyryx hates how his thoughts turn wicked, how easy it is to make his delusions a reality. Your pleasureful moans though, pull him out. Goosebumps cross his skin as you cry, waking up every animals that still slumbers. He can feel you twitching, gushing out more lubrication when he reaches down to grasp your ass. He shoves you even harder on his cock. you swear you see stars from the deep penetration.

You're supposed to be teaching him control, but instead he's using you like a cocksleeve. You don't think he noticed that he was also drooling, his eyes turning scary wild as he keep his eyes past you, looking at your bouncing hips. He was mumble something, your name occasionally leaving his lips. You thought he was moaning or praising you, but he almost seemed in a trance.

You grew curious and slightly worried, but all you could was whine when he pushed you deeper on him, gushing your cream all over his cock. His dick must be painted white like the snow that surrounds you, but neither of you will ever know. Not when he keeps fucking into you and spreading your essence between you both.

Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back, the noises that leave you are inhumane. Probably even a turn off, but Nyryx takes pride in your moans. You can feel the coil in your stomach, the tingling sensation near your thighs. Nyryx and his creamy cock are quick to notice your closeness, holding you tighter against him so that you could fully feel your clit being rubbed.

You're a babbling mess, not even bothering to properly kiss Nyryx back. All there is between your lips are spit, drool, and clashing teeth. The heat in your stomach builds, almost unbearably before you come crashing down. You sob loudly, feeling your orgasm drip down out of your pussy onto his cock again. Nyryx still beneath you, letting your twitching body come down from your high.

Your cunt is clutching him so tightly, Nyryx couldn't move even if he wanted to. It's not until you go limp against him he decides to move again. It's long before he hears your protests, your whines for him to wait. "Please Nyryx," you gasp. "I-fuucckkkk-you slow down please." Nyryx is riddled with guilt, but your pleas are so beautiful. He wants to keep ignoring you just to hear them more.

Against his primal desires he stops, almost cursing himself. "Just a little longer, prey," he whispers in your ear. "Let me have you." You moan at his words, your sensitive pussy aching for you to listen to him despite the one being abused. You bite your lower lip, eyes meeting his.

Nyryx looks so desperate, so fucked out. You forget that he also goes insane when you fuck, it's unfair for you to use him like you did earlier while not letting him get the same. You nod, eyes dropping to his lips you want to taste so bad. "Okay, but kiss me please," you agree.

Nyryx accepts your terms and condition immediately, tongue slipping in the same time his dick pounds into you. You cry into his mouth, moans unconfined. You can feel how the same pussy that was crying for him ram into it also cry for him to take it out. You don't know how you can take it, the feeling of his cock was too much to bear. Maybe you can't in a way, Maybe it's why you can't help the salty tears you taste on your own lips, the way your hips try to escape his deathly grip.

It doesn't take long for him to resume his violent thrusts, his tip touching the deepest parts of you. Nyryx doesn't stop kissing you, even opting to lick your tears and consume you in anyway he can. He snarls against your lips, a clear indiction of how close he's getting. He's sloppy now, uncaring of how hard he bounces you on him to meet his thrusts. You can taste the sweat on his skin, how it drips and mangles with your kiss, if you can call it that.

Your body trembles from overstimulation. You can feel how your stickiness has completely coated your lower body parts, including his. "Nyryx come, please please I need it," you beg. You do want to feel him come inside, but you also want it to end. You don't want to spray your essence all over the place again. You can't stand the thought.

"Shit, please. Baby I need it so bad, don't stop don't stop," you let a pet name slip you. You're not even sure if he understands the term of endearment, but Nyryx seems to enjoy your dirty talk regardless. "Is that so?" He taunts. "Want my seed deep inside. You are a lucky whore, I don't give it to just anyone."

Nyryx uses you like a rag doll, your body a mere vessel for him to use as he cums. His moan in so animalistic, the bids near by take flight. His warm ropes find their way deep inside you, it fills you to the brim. You moan with him, matching his heavy breathing. Your chests rise and fall together, your bodies in harmony.

Riding out his orgasm, Nyryx gives you a few more thrusts. They're much softer this time, almost lovingly in how he caresses your body. Rather than pulling out, Nyryx let's his cock stay inside you to soften. You're more than happy to comply, feeling your walls envelope him in a wet, warm blanket for him to snuggle in.

Though you both had woken up not too long ago, you were drained. The previous night was cruel, both in sleep and wakefulness. You yawned against Nyryx chest, ignoring the voice that screamed at you to stay awake. To spend every waking moment with Nyryx before night fall came. Your body had different plans though, his seemed to as well. He moved his hand from your ass to tilt your head up, looking at your sleepy eyes.

He placed a tender kiss on your lips, pulling away before either of you could deepen it further. "Rest now prey, you have a journey ahead of you."

-

The remaining day is spent with Nyryx inside you the moment you woke up again. It didn't matter the position, the location, or the weather. He loved being in your mouth, he learned. The feeling of you gagging around him, your dull nails digging into his thighs when he pushed too far 'accidentally.' The best part, however, was when you cried. The silent tears mixing with your spit and his arousal in your mouth. Despite the blissful, almost eager look in your face you still wept.

Not that he cared of course, Nyryx would pull you up to him by your neck. He would kiss you harshly, moaning into your mouth from all the liquids mixed together. He didn't even have to cum from you sucking him off of fucking you, he could lick your sobs away and finish in his trousers.

Though you also loved choking around his cock, you preferred riding him. Sure it was a lot more work (and he would do most of the thrusting anyway), but it was a great way to act like you were in control. The feeling of sinking all the way down on it, being able to maneuver your body so that you could hit all the right parts, the brutal grip on your ass, it was euphoric.

Not to mention how he realized his tail could wrap around your body, giving your clit harsh or soft rubs while his hands stayed on your hips. It was a great way to not only keep balance, but multitask on pleasing you in every way possible. You both loved the view as well. How Nyryx's face would twist in pleasure, his sharp teeth being revealed behind his lips, his dark eyes eating you up in the most vile way.

Nyryx's eyes couldn't leave your body, not when you bounced on him like that. As though you were chasing your own pleasure, that it was the only way you could live despite him being the incubus. Not to mention your tits, how they bounced and pebbled at the cold air around you. It was a fortunate circumstance that Nyryx could produce inhuman heat, and keep his wings around your body so you would stay sick-free.

You didn't feel hungry, completely satisfied with the amount of cum Nyryx poured into your belly. Maybe it was because you just simply didn't have an appetite, you didn't want to waste your time with Nyryx by eating. That didn't seem important to you, not when the demonic being was on top, hips driving into you roughly. You could feel the cold snow on your back, but it was actually soothing on your hot skin.

You were gasping for air, moans spilling out of your mouth when he grabbed your hips to wrap around his waist. With your ass off the ground, it gave Nyryx a better angle to drive into you, dick practically pushing through your cervix. He was going to bruise you for sure, but Nyryx was determined to leave you full of marks. I want you to remember these, he told you. His hips slowed for a second, fingers trailing your purpling skin. Even when you will have left me, these will stay.

Nyryx knows he shouldn't, he knows he should send you back without any suspicion of where you've been. The aftermath of two worlds colliding would be far worse than the humans hunting him, far worse than anything both of your worlds have endured. Still, he can't help himself. Not when you seem more than willing to let him claim you, inside and out.

Nyryx's dipped one of his hands down to your pussy, fingers playing and rubbing on your sopping folds. You arched your back even more, clamping down on his dick. You cried out at this over stimulation, body shaking from the painful gratification he gave you. Nyryx groaned at your tightness, his torso leaning down to place hot kisses on your face. He didn't care if he got your mouth multiple times, only that he got his lips on your flesh.

It was disgusting really, the horrifying way you were crying. Like you were being murdered, like the incubus above you was taking advantage of you as he's supposed to. It didn't help that your hips instinctively tried to get away from him, jolting and pulling away from his own. You gave thanks for the snow and trees drowning out your sound, eating the way you sobbed and the way Nyryx ate you.

When Nyryx came, it was anything but devilish. He looked angelic, his loud moans in your ear, his dominating grip, the convulsing of his body. You took him all, your pussy drinking his release happily. You quivered beneath him, whispering his name like a chant. Nyryx kissed your neck sloppily, ignoring the way you cried when he clamped his teeth harshly on your sensitive skin.

You were tired, so tried that you didn't notice Nyryx laying you down down on the snow. You couldn't feel the burning cold, but you could see Nyryx rushing to grab clothes, your clothes. Wordlessly, he began dressing you. Each leg, one by one through the warm pants. Then to your arm, carefully placing them into the long sleeves before pulling it down your stomach. He reach for your shoes, struggling on the laces before he gave up.

By the time he was done, you realized why he was dressing you. The sun had began going down. The moon was beginning to shine, not to its fullest, but a reminder of the power it was grant Nyryx. A part of you felt like you wasted the day, fucking into oblivion. You should have spoken with him instead, telling him how much you'll miss him, his world, what could have been.

Yet, when Nyryc picked you up, carrying you in the way he liked most, you realized you did communicate to him, and he to you. How his body moved against yours, how you met his thrusts restlessly, the way you kissed, the feeling of not being close enough despite him being in the deepest parts of you. Maybe you didn't talk through words, but you've always been told that the sword is mightier than the pen.

In this case, the sword was very mighty.

You let him walk through the woods, going deeper than what you expected. The trees once beautiful in white became eerily close, as if they were whispering when you walked by. They became tangled within each other, not even the birds dared to rest of their branches. "Where are we going?" you didn't bother hiding the fear in your voice as you asked.

Nyryx kissed your forehead soothingly, taking notice of the quiver in your voice and the increase in your heat beat. "We should be out of sight, no where near humans. If they see what I can conjure, there will be no stopping in the hunt for me. For the others of my kind," Nyryx speaks slowly, as if he's carefully you understand that he doesn't intend on scaring you. It's for both of your safety.

You nod, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Nyryx walked for a long time, filing the silence with questions you didn't expect him to ask. He ranged from asking about your family, if you also worked at a bar back at your world, what Easter was and why boiled eggs was so important. Despite being with Nyryx for over 2 weeks, it was one of the first (and last) times he asked you about your personal life.

It was cute of him, being curious about your life. You answered him happily, occasionally complaining about your troubles that he couldn't help but laugh at. Nyryz wasn't necessarily the talkative type, opting to listen and only really talk when it was naughty. This however, made you recognize that he was nervous. He was just as anxious as you. Nyryx didn't want you to leave, didn't want to say goodbye and never see him again.

Despite being satanically bred, he had obvious human emotions.

The stars were bright in the sky, and you recalled the night in the bathtub, how bright they shone there too. When Nyryx found a spot he deemed worthy, he set you down gently. You sat on a near by rock, dusting off the snow. Just a few feet in front of you, stood two trees. Their roots wrapped around each other as did their branches. The only opening was between their trunks, like a passage way. You knew that on the other side was more snow and more trees, you could see it under the starry sky.

Still, you felt the chill on your spine, the tremble of your legs. It was ghostly, almost, the way the trees ominously intertwined with each other. You looked away, rubbing your neck to feel some type of warmth and settle your uneasiness.

"Is this the portal?" You asked as you kept your eyes down at the snow. Nyryx was clearing the fallen sticks and branches from the ground, seemingly unaffected by the sinister atmosphere. "Yes, it's quite the eye catcher, no?" He smiled. Nyryx could taste your fear, and it was tempting to play into, but he held back. He wouldn't want you leaving pissed off at him.

Instead, Nyryx busied himself with work. He stomped on the uneven snow, attempting to make a steady runway for you to walk on. He gathered his found sticks into 3 piles, small enough to fit into his large hands. You picked your head up, curious at what he was doing. Nyryx paid no attention to your stare, instead taking deep breaths to hone into his energy.

He stood at a distance from his piles, his long fingers creating a shape you couldn't quite see from your place. The silence was deafening, you could practically hear the blood rushing in you veins. "You said there is no magic in your world?" Nyryx voice makes you jump. "Y-Yeah," you compose yourself quickly. "Not real magic at least."

Nyryx looks in your direction, and you shiver. Every fiber in your body is screaming run despite you knowing he is the only person you're safe with. His eyes are full blown black, new red orbs staring into your eyes. His horns are protruding at a length you've never seen before, curving inward at the tip. His wings, even have seemed to grow larger, his wingspan stretching out from him. He gives you a wicked smile, fangs reaching down to his chin, "Then, I suppose it's up to me to show you real magic, prey."

With a loud inhale from his chest, Nyryx turns his head to focus on the sticks. He whispers softly, so lowly you thought it was the wind tickling your ear. Nyryx exhales, strings of fire coming from his mouth that whirlpools into the piles, bringing them to flame. You don't dare to make a noise, not even to gasp when he steps close to the fire. He breaks the formation in his hands to slit his palm with his talons, blood oozing from the wound.

He drips his blood onto the fire, and they seem to grow bigger. Each fire gets so big, that they reach beyond Nyryx's height. They wrap around each other similar to the trees that's your portal, thinning out as they grow taller before bending downwards. The flames start to form a circle around you, Nyryx, and the trees. Your hair whips in your face from the force, the heat so strong, your chest begins hurting from breathing.

"Bleed," Nyryx commands, his voice almost unrecognizable. It takes a second to register that he's talking to you. With a shaky breath you stand, walking to the wall of fire behind you. Your eyes scan for something to prick yourself with, trying to stab your fingernails into your palm to no avail. You don't notice Nyryx's silent steps toward you, you don't notice him until he grabs your wrist. You gasp when he turns you around, taking your wrist into his mouth until he bites down, hard.

You scream when his teeth dig into your flesh, blood pooling from his lips onto the snow. Tears welt up into your eyes, arm aggressively pulling away from his as you slap his chest with the other. Nyryx releases you, but you don't miss the way he cruelly smiles with your blood on his teeth.

He spits into the fire, and it roars in response. You hold your injured arms into your chest, tears spilling while you violently sob. You're scared, you're cold and hot at the same time, your wrist is burning from pain. You're experiencing fear, fear at it's rawest form once again. Nyryx hates himself for taking pleasure in it, your pitiful form practically begging him to soothe you. He can't though, not yet.

The moon brightly shines above you, and it's really the only thing you can find comfort in. Not matter the world, the moon and sun rise and set just the same. The fire travels in circles until it finds its way between the portal of trees, red sticking onto the trunks. You think for a moment that it'll catch ablaze, but instead the fire start turning into a solid. The flames continue to pour into the center of the opening, turning it a blue color.

Nyryx is still besides you, eyes rolled back to his head as he chants softly. Blood starts dripping down his nose, his ears, and you swear you could see it starts seeping through his eyes. With your good hand, you wrap your fingers around his. He grasps your hand desperately, squeezing comfortingly before the final bits of fire create the portal. Now you see why he needed so much energy, animal blood wasn't going to cut it.

It feels like an eternity before silence falls in the woods once again. The roaring fire stops abruptly, leaving you gasping and choking your weeps. Nyryx stumbles backwards, finding balance in your enveloped hands. "Nyryx! Sit down," you voice is laced with concern. He listens though, plopping down on the rock you were sitting on. He still look deadly, even more so with blood all over his face. Though, his horns had shrunk in size, his eyes no longer blood red, but still pitch black.

Nyryx doesn't let go of your hand, holding it close to his face as he leans forward. While you tell him words of comfort and ease at his level, he gathers snow. He tenderly takes your wounded wrist and places the snow on it. You hiss at the pain, but quickly find solace in the numbness. Nyryx kisses you passionately, ignoring your groans of protest from tasing your own blood.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on your forehead, breathing heavily. Before you can start talking again, he places another kiss on your lips.

"Would you believe me if I said that was my first time opening a portal?"

-

You both stood before the portal, it was hazy and blue, giving the impression of the beach you were at. You almost cried when you heard the waves crashing, hand tightening around Nyryx's. It was here, it was real. Home is on the other side, your family is on the other side. You could taste the salt on your tongue already, feel the wind in your face. Nyryx could smell it too, his nose flaring at the sour aroma of the beach.

"Holy shit," you breathed. "I can't believe it's really here." The temperature had drop significantly in the night, your breath fogging as you spoke. You couldn't even tell though, too entranced at the sight. Nyryx nodded, "It is."

You turned to face him, and he to you. Your eyes locked, and before you could get any words out, your cried. Babbling incoherent words while he laughed, bringing you in for a hug. It was awkward as first, his stiff body against your weeping one, but Nyryx quickly found solace against your body as he molded into it.

You didn't want to pull away, but Nyryx did. He held his arms on your shoulders, "You cry so easily. I think that will be what I miss most." You laughed and sobbed at the same time, throat scratching at the mix. You took shuddering breaths, your hands clapping over his, "Will you really be okay? You don't need anything?"

Nyryx hummed thoughtfully at your question, "I would rather you somehow keep you...essence here, but I suppose I'll have to go back to eating pig's blood." You rolled your eyes at him, no longer feeling sorry for the demon. When you released him from your grip to turn to the portal, he called your name.

"Yeah?"

Nyryx held is hand out, a large, black feather in it. His own feather, you don't have to ask to know. You carefully picked it up, holding it up in the moonlight to inspect it. You smiled thoughtfully, holding it tightly in your fingers, "What's this for?" Nyryx thought for a moment, as if he was careful on what he was going to say next. "So you don't forget me," he concluded.

You wiped your tears and cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean? How could I forget you? Or anything that's happened?" You started to laugh, but seeing his serious, solemn expression made you stop. You eyes him cautiously, breath stuttering in your chest. "Nyryx," you started, "I'm not gonna forget anything, right?"

"You should hurry," he ignores your question, "The moon will lose its power. The portal won't hold forever." Nyryx pushes you closer to the portal. You wriggle out of his grasp, whirling to him. "Am I really going to forget everything? This world? The bar? Meredith? You?" Your voice was breaking again, but you tried to not let any tears fall.

Nyryx tensed, and for the first time, he was noticeable scared. "Truthfully, prey...do not have high hopes that you will remember. Not many do, it's what happens when you cross the border between worlds. It's what maintains the balance between us and other worlds." Nyryx wipes the tears that betray your wishes and fall, keeping his hand at your face. His thumb rubs soothingly on your cheek.

"So," you hiccup, "You'll forget me?" Nyryx shakes his head, his lip jutting out into a pout. "No," he confirms. "If I were a human, maybe. But I am already a supernatural being, this will not affect my memory." You nod against his head, trying to find some comfort in his words, at least one of you will remember.

For the last time in your life, in either of your lives, you kiss him. It's gentle, careful. You kiss like he'll break, like he's the purest thing on Earth. He kisses you the same, shivering as he wraps his arms around your torso. You pull away slowly, not missing how his lips chase yours just for a second.

"Thank you," you whisper, not ready to see goodbye. Nyryx gives you a sad smile, his eyes darkening for a second like he's going to cry. "Of course prey. Should we be born again, I hope to spend that life with you. Without being hunted." You laugh at his joke, tears halting from spilling. "Reincarnation? You really believe in that?" You ask.

"Well," Nyryx contemplates, "If it is possible to travel between worlds, I suppose reincarnation is not inconceivable." You tilt your head side to side, also thinking about the thought of being reborn. "Yeah I guess you're right. I also, would spend that life with you, if it exists."

He smiles as you, releasing you from his grip. It takes a second to adjust to the cold again. You ignore how lonely you feel, you step closer to the portal. To the gentle breeze that calls you, begs you to come home.

You take a last look at Nyryx, "So, see you later alligator?"

He looks puzzled at your words, but nods nonetheless, "Yes, but I am not an alligator."

-

You stumble out of the cave disorientated. Your dress stickily clings to you, it's so humid. Your heels find balance on rocks, the sand. It doesn't help that the sun is beating do harshly on you. When did it get so hot?

You can hear your name being yelled in the distance, coming closer. You look up to see your younger sibling running to you, dressed in nice attire like yourself. They have an annoyed look in their face, obviously not as disorientated like you.

"There you are!" They yell, panting. "Mom and dad have been waiting forever! We still have to take pictures come o- what's in your hand?" You quirk an eyebrow, eyes following where your sibling is looking until you see your hand. Between your fingers is a black, gigantic, feather. It swallows light, as if it doesn't want to be seen.

"I dunno," you shrug, eyes still on the feather. When your sibling reaches for it, you pull away, almost protectively. "Hey!" they complain. "I want to see it!" You raise the feather well above your head, a place they can't reach at all. "It's mine, go away," you brush them off.

Your sibling continues to complain, but gives up soon. "Whatever! Hurry up!" They run to your parents without another word. You roll your eyes at them, but you can't shake how you reacted to the feather. You didn't care much about feathers, you didn't even like touching them. So why this one?

You shove the feather into a pocket, deciding not to wonder about your feelings. You made your way to your family, their hands waving you down and shouting for you to hurry up. Surprisingly, you find yourself walking faster, almost fully running to them. Your chest aches, your throat bubbles like you're going to cry. You don't know why, but you're actually happy to take pictures with them.

Despite the overwhelming happiness you feel, a shadow of longing also fills you. You reach in your pocket you squeeze the feather, oddly comforted by it. A weird part of you thinks this mere feather is a gift. From what? You have no idea. Mother Nature perhaps.

You decide that you should keep it. Maybe it's a good luck charm.

a/n: holy shit and thats it. did I check for typos? no! if you see them, no you didn't. thank you for being with my on this journey! I'm pretty rusty from writing, and I feel like I could do a lot better in the future with dialogue and shit, but still, thank you everyone!!!!! I'm thinking about writing like a second part where reader and Nyryx meet in a different life, but I'm debating on different scenarios, I might put out a poll???? anywho yeah, that's that and im totally gonna work on my dead dove I need more gore >:(

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby

update: second part is here

[rafayelsss]

Heyo! I love your Rafie fics! I was wondering if you would like to write a fanfic where S/I doesn't like rain. Like she jokes about them feeling like "watery knives", but even if she doesn't like rain too much... She plays in it just to see fish boyo happy even though she is grumbling.

Idk just wanna see Rafayel be a tease more. Lol thank you for your hard work!

my first official request on this blog!! tysm for requesting! i had fun with this one bc i love him

SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

content: rafayel x gn!reader (was meant to be fem but in the end no gendered terms were used), no y/n, raf gets a cold at the end

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Rafayel somehow convinces you into the rain with him.

The streetlamps scattered around glowed in contrast to the dimly lit afternoon sky, hues of indigo and rouge signaling the beginning of a cold, familiar night in Linkon City.

And what would be a familiar night without Rafayel at your side?

He’s slowly and surely weaseled his way into your routine strolls, in which he now accompanies you whenever he has the time to. Strangely, he always has free space in his schedule for you, which he insists is a coincidence, or that it was simply fate that brought you two together once more.

“So what’s our next stop? The bakery downtown for the third time this week?” Rafayel asked, balancing himself on the curbs of the sidewalk.

“Second, actually.” You corrected quickly with a glare. “Besides, you didn’t have to come along today either… Stop complaining.”

Rafayel feigned mock offense, bringing a hand to his chest as he shook his head. “And leave you all alone in this vast, wide, big and scary city? No way. How could you ever live without me?”

You actually could very well live without him. But he’s too cute to leave, unfortunately.

“I can handle myself just fine, Rafie… You can leave if you don’t want to be he-”

Rafayel cuts through your sentence swiftly. “No thanks.”

Before you could even open your mouth to raise more questions as to what he exactly means by that plain and final answer, your words are diluted by the sudden downpour of rain above.

You watch as most people around you run for shelter from the rain, some more prepared ones opening their umbrellas and calmly carrying on with their day. Being a part of the unlucky few that didn’t bring one, you drag Rafayel to a nearby bus stop.

“Weird… They said it’d be cloudy at most today.” You muttered under your breath, the top of your head already wet, water dripping off the strands of hair.

Rafayel chuckles at you drenched state. “When were weather forecasts ever 100%? This is why you have to think of every possibility.”

“Oh? Does this mean you brought an umbrella?” You raised a brow at him expectantly. If he was so confident, then surely…–

“Nope.”

You stared at him in sheer, unbridled disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

“I was going to bring an umbrella,” Rafayel paused for effect to tap on his chin to ponder for half a second. “but it looks like I forgot. I was so excited to see you again that it completely slipped out of my mind.”

“You…” You inhaled sharply and exhaled back out deeply to keep your blood pressure steady.

He flashes you a grin in an attempt to be a little apologetic, but it was obvious he wasn’t one bit.

“How am I supposed to go home with the weather this bad?” You looked up at the sky, the rain still unrelenting in its showers. You didn’t know how long it would last, and it was getting rather late into the day already.

Rafayel tilts his head at you and grabs a hold of your wrist, stepping forward from under the cover of the bus stop and into the drizzling skies. “We make a run for it, duh.”

He says it as if it’s such an obvious solution, one you should have thought of much sooner.

“We could get a cold, and I don’t look forward to walking past the front door soaked from head to toe!” You argue, disapproving of such a reckless idea. But then again, you’d be lying if his suggestion didn’t pique some sort of interest within you. “And it feels like a bunch of watery knives raining down from up above.”

“Don’t worry, if you flap your limbs, dance and doge around enough, and run as fast as you can, you’ll be able to deflect its attacks. And… A little rain never hurt anyone.”

Rafayel eagerly awaits your answer, but you both knew you didn’t have the heart to turn him down if he kept looking at you with those sparkling purple eyes, practically begging for you to accept and loose a little.

His hand slid down from your wrist to your hand, intertwining your fingers together lightly. You return his gesture with a smile.

“Okay, fine.”

—

The next morning, you receive a text message from Rafayel.

Rafayel poked you

Rafayel: [im dying]

You: [Told you you’d get sick.]

Rafayel: [dun u want me to get better? come here and nurse me back to health urself]

—

[p0ssywhippedcream]

you don’t have to elaborate at all if you don’t want to btw, but I can’t get L with a crush on fellow detective/friend out of my head! He’s definitely a starer imo 👀 👀 👀

"What?"

"..."

For a second, you thought L would stay silent and keep looking at you with those painfully hopeful eyes he only gives to you.

"I like the way you look."

You look back at him. The room is illuminated by the monitors, the only sounds are the computers fighting overheating and Light's shallow breathing in his sleep. It's comfortable and familiar, the smell of laundry detergent and the sweet aroma of spongy cake sits light in the air.

L has his thumb childishly stuffed between his pink lips, his big eyes trained on you and seemingly seeing way too deep inside your soul for your preference.

You snort and shake your head in a lame attempt to dismiss the flush creeping up your neck. "You have a weird way of talking, Ryuzaki. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"In some variation, yes." His hair falls just barely to the right as he tilts his head, you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't paying such close attention to him through your peripheral. You ignore that mental revelation.

"...Did you mean it?"

His chair scraps on the ground as he scoots closer to you.

"What reason do I have to lie?"

"I dunno... you're the smarter one here, you always have some fucking motive or something." You mumble the last few words and shrug, dropping your eyes to his hands that line up and assemble gummy bears in an apparently random order.

"You discount your own investigative abilities. You're quite the detective, Miss Y/n." L pushes with praise evident in his tone.

You're doing a poor job at hiding how his words effect you. With purpose and some difficulty, you roll your eyes and feign nonchalance.

"I told you to stop with that 'Miss' junk, it's just Y/n."

His eyes are on his hands where he holds the bears in one and prods at them with the second in a manner that you realize means he's weighing them and separating them based on that. It makes you giggle behind your palm.

"Of course, Miss Y/n." Now you know he's fucking with you and he's enjoying it too, his smile matches yours in his own diluted way.

"Oh my god..." You murmur under your breath. "You're ridiculous."

"..."

You look up at the quietness that meets your words and find his eyes doing that deep soul-search again. The way his long eyelashes hang shakily over his dark pupils somehow say I'm only ridiculous for you.

It's adorable and lovable and makes you feel like the most important thing in the world. This time you can't look away or shrug it off or laugh, this time it's too magnetic. It pulls you in by the belt hoops of your jeans, by the nape of your neck, by the swirling in your stomach intensifying to an almost cruel extent.

You could wonder how he got so close, so close his chair arms overlapped with yours. You could wonder what horrible consequences could come from acting on impulse. You could wonder what this meant for the investigation moving forward. But you didn't.

You let yourself move ever closer, push his legs out of your way and begin breathing barely an inch away from his face.

"Is this okay?" You ask with hazy eyes and parted, panting lips.

"Yes." He responds with his persistent clinical tone but his face looks too desperate to hide how he's feeling.

There's silence besides the sound of your lungs sharing air and for a second, L worries he's done something wrong and you'll pull away once you realize.

Then you're finally kissing him, enveloping his pillowy lips with yours and stealing his desperation from him. It fills your body in turn and you're pushing for more, fisting the shirt on his shoulder and letting your mouth move against his in an embarrassingly needy way.

When you pull away, his face chases yours. He still needs you, he thinks in that carnal, animalistic part of his mind. The satisfaction your kiss gave was so much more physical than any other, more than solving a case or enjoying a desert or even wrapping his fingers around himself in the dark depths of the night and bringing himself to heaven with the thought of you.

His usual high came from solving crime but that high was felt in his mind and it certainly didn't make him feel dizzy like this. This high was felt in his bones, his blood, and his pants; it was a physical satisfaction for the first time. He enjoyed it much more than he did when it was just mental.

It was so good because it was all yours to withhold and give, to bless him with and to make him yours. The desire to kiss you again, to breathe you in again nearly brought him to his knees.

"Can I kiss you again?" You ask in that breathy, sweet voice of yours.

L has never wanted you to shut up like he does right now, in fact, he does it for you.

[thesinglesjukebox]

ILLIT - "MAGNETIC"

A K-pop debut that we're quite drawn to...

[7.15]

Iain Mew: It's 2024, of course the single picked from their EP picked is the song with the most candied music-box elements. The song isn't as fully committed to replicating that sound as the tentative spoken word intro suggests, which means its sweetness is diluted, but the other elements in the mixture work with it. The bass stomping forward and the 2010s stuttered "you you you"s are a great alternative, and the 16-bit swoops and pops tie it all together with a fizz. [8]

TA Inskeep: This smart K-pop groove has the feel of '80s first-wave electro without actually sounding like it. I don't love the sound effect-sounding stuff, but "Magnetic"'s airiness (especially ILLIT's vocals) counterbalances its rubbery bassline nicely. [7]

Alfred Soto: Its twitchy pulse and winking vocals are a tonic after the relationship psychobabble of their American contemporaries. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: Super eclectic. I'm very proud of Martin KOR. For a first credit, he made his mark; he should have more than one credit. [8]

Isabel Cole: A pleasantly summery little bit of froth; I like the video game twinkles that pop up every now and then. [6]

Taylor Alatorre: Nobody wants an entire genre, even the most vertically integrated of genres, to be flattened into an arms race pursuit of weaponized competence. But there's a bit of a collective action problem, in that it's very hard to object to any single display of that weaponized competence. The besotted bits of spoken word that bookend "Magnetic" are like the blurb on the back of a bag of potato chips, touting its recipe's lovingly handmade origins and capped off with the inkjet signature of the company's long-dead, possibly apocryphal founder. The chips taste good. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: Synth and squelch and pneumatic charm, engineered to precise specs. [8]

Ian Mathers: None of the alerts from my phone or computer (personal or work) sound much at all like that notification-ass effect they use here, and yet I have found myself reflexively checking to see whether someone's trying to get a hold of me at least 3-4 times each time I've played "Magnetic." I can't decide if it's genius or maddening or both. [6]

Michael Hong: ILLIT make low-key proclamations: "you're! my! crush!" exclaimed, but only on paper; "we're magnetized, I admit it," confessed, but not meant to be heard. "Magnetic" is all glittery synths and the word "you" transformed into a dial-tone sound effect, toeing the line between fantasy and reality in regards to a crush, but perhaps that's what makes it so addictive. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Pretty easy to pin down everything here: a spoken intro reminscent of vintage Apink, a vocal melody that points to K-pop’s undying love for “My Boo,” the sort of half-time breakdown that TWICE has been doing since “Likey,” a diaphanous atmosphere that screams NewJeans, bed squeaks that are decidedly unsexy, and pretty synth flourishes and vocal manipulations that are classic “K-pop does J-pop” a la Red Velvet’s “Russian Roulette.” It’s a summation of girlish K-pop throughout the past 15 years made palatable for the genre’s 5th gen. [7]

Leah Isobel: The TWICE-ification of NewJeans -- more garishly obvious, with a thicker candy shell that messes with the textural balance. Still tasty, but less subtle. [6]

Kayla Beardslee: Everything is NewJeans -- except it’s also not, Min Hee Jin, stop making your delusions everyone else’s problem. Trend shifts happen when a force builds up in the background without people noticing, until someone influential who’s great at reading the room happens to give it a push that bursts the damn, and suddenly everyone is swimming together in the changed current. In the last few months, the dam has burst on the 5th generation of K-pop, and "Magnetic" may well have been the song that caused it.

I don’t think even ILLIT’s company expected their level of breakout success: it seems like K-pop listeners were waiting for a release like "Magnetic" without even knowing it, and when it finally came along, it was so perfectly primed for the current moment that we had no choice but to be pulled in. What set the stage for ILLIT wasn’t one group so genius and unique that their tactics simultaneously influence everything yet cannot be replicated, but a combination of releases from multiple big names over several years that gradually pushed K-pop in a new direction. First, in late 2021, IVE debuted to instant massive success with a concept that was essentially "What if we just made good pop music without any gimmicks?" Then NewJeans picked up that same idea and debuted in summer 2022 to even more unprecedented success, causing an instant aesthetic reset in K-pop from the boldness and busy-ness of most leading 4th gen groups back to mellowness, warmth, and simplicity. Between mid-2023 and early 2024, Zerobaseone, RIIZE, and TWS debuted, which was the first time in several years that multiple high-profile boy groups debuted in quick succession. All three hit it off with breezy debut singles about letting boys have fun and be earnest instead of acting cool. (Think about the dorky confessions and bright synths of TWS’s "Plot Twist" next to to the shouted chorus and crunchy hip-hop textures of NCT 127’s "Kick It.") Then, in the span of three days at the end of this March, five different K-pop related girl groups debuted with singles that ranged from mellow candy-colored pop to tight electropop to chill pop-R&B to, finally, the ILLIT track we’re actually reviewing.

Most 4th gen K-pop singles are distinguished by a density of ideas and hugeness of sound that match the expanding size of the global K-pop audience in the late 2010s to early 2020s -- the glut of Blackpink-inspired girl crush comebacks, the boy groups doing a million loud hip-hop and electronic songs, tons of rapping regardless of how good they are at it, deliberately disjointed song sections -- but the flood of girl group debuts in the last week of March focused first and foremost on constructing a solid pop beat, then layering relaxed, approachable vocals over it with a topline that does just enough to keep the listener interested. (If you’re asking, "Is this too slight, or is it actually good?" then it’s probably on trend.) Compare these to the energy and density of "Dalla Dalla," "Savage," "Tomboy," or "Panorama," and you’re in two completely different worlds.

This is how we ended up with "Magnetic," which is nowhere near the most musically ambitious or complex track of the year, and certainly not the most vocally interesting, but is a gently glowing sign that we’ve transitioned into a new generation of K-pop that values entirely different aesthetics. It’s also so supernaturally catchy that it sounds like it was created in a lab: not in a "Haha K-pop is a product" kind of way, but like I think they actually had test tubes with different samples of the hooks sitting around in the HYBE building, and they probably tested them on animals to find the most insidiously catchy ones. (Like, does Lauren Aquilina have a dog who listens as she writes?) "Magnetic" is the biggest K-pop bop of the year so far, and yet it feels so small and accessible due to the incredible economy of its tight, groovy production and its multitude of hooks, which are embedded not just in the lyrics but also the rhythm of the instrumental against the vocals and the careful negative space placed throughout. (Oh! beat My! beat Gosh!) ILLIT are balanced on the crest of the wave as K-pop moves into a new generation, from the larger-than-life ambitions of the 4th gen to the idol-next-door simplicity of the 5th. They didn’t set the wave in motion, but they caught it just early enough to have a pivotal role in its shaping. "Magnetic" is perfectly constructed and historically significant, but it’s also cute and so much fun: I can’t imagine hating a song as endearing as this. Wait... why do I hear boss battle music? [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: pretty! [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[projectmachina]

Chapter 3: Yesterday

word count: 1216

“Are you sure we have to go and bother Yesterday?” Lanie whined as every step to their friend's home filled her with more dread.

“Either her or Richter.” Juno would say giving her a second option. Which was leagues worse than their friend.

“Fine…” she mumbled a twinge of defeat in her voice.

Juno then stopped, turning on his heel. Before planting a kiss on her lips, earning a surprised yelp from her. “ I don't do this to be mean to you Lanie. I do this because we need to get to the bottom of this, before your performance value lowers and you getting relegated back to the wall.” He said, patting her cheek gently. “Last thing I want is for you to be put in a much more dangerous environment.”

“I know…I just don’t like feeling like I’m being dissected.” She admitted rather openly to Juno. Then again, she was always like this with him. Open and honest.

He was the only one she felt was honest and truthful around her. Always there for her when she absolutely needed him. Much like tonight. It was the true face he only showed to her. Not like the mask he only wore around the public. The him that feels disconnected from the world.

But she understood the need for such a mask. Especially when it came to how their ranks operated.

“Yesterday isn't going to dissect you.” Juno reassured her. “But she'll have to probe some if she's to accurately prescribe a treatment to you.”

Prescribe a treatment. Sounded more like something to dilute her system, to slow her down. Or cause other problems.

Lanie started to slow as they neared the door to Yesterday’s apartment complex. Which was very similar in looks to the one both she and Juno called home.

Made of a metallic material used to reflect light, along with a synthetic material used to be invisible to anything in the air above the city. This building, unlike their own. Was a two story building. Which only held the physicians.

“Almost there. Just a few more steps.” Juno spoke gently, holding the door open for Lanie.

Lanie took a deep breath, feeling the urge to back away from the building. To go back home and hide under the covers until it was time for her shift on the wall.

And if she did that. She'd never hear the end of it from Juno, and that was arguably worse than being questioned by a physician.

Juno watched his partner silently. Watching the nervousness around her, the fidgeting. The fear in her green eyes.

To a degree. He felt bad forcing her to go somewhere she felt this strongly towards. But it was something they needed to get to the bottom of. Especially if he wanted to keep her close to him, safe from the rest of the city. As it was rare for a woman to even pass the intense physical aspect of the Agent training. Even more so when it came to how the serum changes an Agents body.

To have gone through all of that, and come out relatively fine was a miracle of its own. The enhancements alone was a miracle she even had obtained.

And he knew what she went through best, as he was there with her every step of the way. As he was with all new Agents. There as a guide to bring them to the point they can handle the serum, and combat training.

It was one of the reasons he cared about her health. Both physical and mental.

“You do this. I'll take your shift at the wall. You can rest the remainder of the day.” he prompted, using something they both craved as a bribe. Time off.

”I'll hold you to that.” Lanie hedged, shaking her head before heading through the doorway.

Walking down the end of the hallway, up the set of steps that led to the second floor. They walked about halfway down the second floor hallway before stopping before Yesterday's door.

Knocking on the door, Juno would give Lanie another reassuring glance. “The hard part is over, nows the ea-”

Juno was interrupted by the slamming of the door, and a woman with frazzled twin tails and a pair of goggles resting on her head to hold back her brown curls. She wore her lab coat, black sleep shirt, and what seemed to be shorts. Her inquisitive yellow eyes darted between Lanie and Juno mere moments before she opened up her mouth to speak. 

“Howdy kiddies. How's the sex life?” She'd ask before being pushed into her apartment by the two.

Closing the door Juno watched as Lanie pushed Yesterday into her chair. Followed by somewhat childish laughter.

“Man, you guys don't have to be such prudes.” Yesterday held up her hands in surrender. “As your doctor, I do reserve the right to such a brutish question.”

“Yes, and we would like it if the other physicians didn't know either Yesterday.” Lanie would chide taking her seat in a lounge style chair. Resting her body against the soft material as she looked up at the ceiling.

“Fair point, don't see why it'd be a problem if people knew two Agents were shagging.” Yesterday said pulling out a clipboard.

“Primarily because it is against the law.” Juno pointed out.

“Yeah, there is that.” Yesterday said thoughtfully before turning to Lanie. “Now, tell me about what's got you troubled, yeah?”

        Project Machina

“Alahakis is expecting him?” Septum questioned walking towards Lance. Peering around him to read the paper he held in his hands. “I thought Alahakis was out on a mission?”

“Mayhaps he has returned without our knowledge. Let's just get him to Yesterday's and see if he has any diseases with him.” Lance said, rolling the scroll back up, returning it to Raishan.

“Is Yesterday's a place?” Raishan questioned tilting his head.

“Yesterday is a person, we'll be visiting her physician's office.” Lance said gesturing to Septum. “Let them know to open the gates. Authorization Pantheonus.”

Authorization Pantheonus was the second highest authorization code in Eden. The only one higher than that was the word Eden itself. Only usable by a single individual. The Mother of Eden. Even then, it was only used in the most serious of situations.

“So, you mind telling me what a Brawler is exactly?” Lance questioned Raishan as Septum walked off to speak with the gate guard.

“Basically a classification for those who pass the physical aspect of the Agent training. But are incompatible with the Serum.” Raishan explained pointing a finger to his gloved hand. “Basically we punch shit really hard, and if it doesn't break the first time. It'll definitely break the next.”

“Good to know, means you’ll be able to keep up with us in the physical aspects. To a point that is.” Lance would say respectfully looking over to Septum who was waving for their attention. “I will also be taking you to the Agent who is ranked under Alahakis in the meantime. He’ll have a much better handle on the situation.”

“It’ll be an honor to meet him either way.” Raishan smiled as he began walking towards the heavy metal gate that was now slowly rising. Allowing them entrance to Sector city Eden.

[sminiac]

hello! congrats on 400 followers, you deserve it a lot! <3 if requests are still open, can u pls write about piwon eating you out? thank u so much^^

also if it isnt taken, can i be 🦭 anon? :333

💌 — Ahhh thank you sm friend! It’s crazy isn’t it? You’re so sweet, of course you can, I’m so happy you’re here <33

Warnings — Smut focused, MDNI.

⋆ Y. Keeho

Teasing, a complete ass matter of fact. He likes licking and kissing at your folds, your legs forced apart by his arms that hook on the underside of your thighs, forcing the impatient shifting of your hips to a restrictive minimum so he can keep his eyes on your face as he only dips so far out of your sight. Loves the anxious feeling of having his tongue working you into your orgasm while the others are still home, mean when it comes to you letting out soft sounds but simultaneously does his best to work those exact sounds out of you. He’s probably had a handful of conversations with Intak while he replaces his tongue with his fingers, pumping into you whilst talking casually through the door like you aren’t on the verge of falling apart.

“Keep looking at me, need you to or I’ll stop. Say my name the way I like too, know how hard it makes me.”

⋆ C. Taeyang

Eager, jumping at your every word. He likes when you tug and pull gently at his hair, has him whimpering wetly against you as his tongue laves and flicks at your clit. He’s incredibly messy, unknowingly leaves a spot of drool under you when you’re finished, asking if it’s your mess or his- even though he’s a big drooler, so obviously it’s his but he genuinely can’t tell because he doesn’t remember. Such a puppy when it comes to you being needy, you’re wanting to leave to return back to his room so you can finally feel him again? He’s rushing you back as soon as he can. Loves when his place is empty because that means he can be a little hasty, this results in him having your legs spread for him in the hallway, one thrown over his shoulder the other haphazardly keeping you upright.

“Can you do that thing with your fingers in my hair? No, promise I won’t cum this time, just please-”

⋆ C. Jiung

Focused, incredibly skilled with his tongue. Unlike Keeho he’s very generous, he doesn’t hold himself back for the sake of making you whine and thrash, he gives you everything he is, spoils you rotten, in the bedroom and outside of it. Enjoys being wanted but also wants you to be loud, to be unbridled by your reluctant habits of being diluted in efforts to be favoured, because when he wants you he wants every ounce of you. Morning head is a favourite of his, loves the domestic act of tracing your skin with his fingers in areas no stranger would be able to, how even in your sleep you chase after the feeling of him, draws out your orgasm to indulge himself frequently, makes up for it by treating you to a yummy breakfast :b

“You’ll tell me when it’s too much? You’re sure you can get a word out this time princess?”

⋆ H. Intak

Dedicated, completely and utterly to pleasuring you. The type to challenge himself to see how many times he can get you to cum by his tongue only, sometimes he goes into it whilst shouldering the burden of a tender jaw, but toughs through it because you’re just so reactive to his every touch that he needs more. Sometimes you think he might love eating you out a little… too much, because when he wants you he wants you, even if you’re in a public space, somewhere unusual, just hope there isn’t a semi-hidden space that he can drag you to so he can busy his mouth with your cunt.

“You’re funny thinking I’d stop even if we’re walked in on, you look hot like this anyways, who wouldn’t want to see?”

ᰔ sminiac’s P1Harmony M.list

[academiccockroach]

So I got in my feels about All Might again

and one of the muses decided to come down and kiss me on my little sleep deprived forehead to help me get this brainrot out

so I wrote a scene

to make a case showing how him telling Izuku what he did on the rooftop was the most heroic thing he ever did

Tw: some gruesome descriptions of violence and gore

“Can I still be a hero even if I’m quirkless?”

Toshinori stopped mid launch. He shouldn’t have. He was running out of time. He should take what measly few seconds he can rake together from his quirk and make a heroic exit.

His lung hurt. That sentence in of itself was a conundrum.

There was nothing to hurt.

So then why did it ache so much right now?

He turned back and looked at the kid, still mumbling on. Pain throbbed up and down his body like a stampeding herd. Very big horses with very big, spiked hooves made of staples and stitches and grafts.

He looked down and he did not see a kid.

He saw bruised knuckles. He saw chipped teeth. He saw callouses and scars and lips and twitches when a sound was just a bit too much like the bang of a gun.

He heard desperate pleas for help. He heard people dying. Horrible, terrible deaths. He heard bodies make sounds that no body should be able to make.

He smelled gunpowder and ozone and the fresh iron of blood and the unmistakable miasma of rotting carcasses and infected wounds and the even more horrid stench of gauze and disinfectant and hospitals and bodies being cremated.

He did not hear whatever the boy said next.

He heard, I leave the rest to you, All Might.

He thought about the rest.

He thought about sleepless nights when by the fourth day or so, everything started to lose meaning. When you no longer are tired you’re just— no longer are anything.

He thought about Torino’s feet meeting his jaw again and again and again. How it feels to swish mouthfuls of teeth and blood diluted saliva around before spitting them and getting up again.

It was always again. Never finally.

He thought about crying. Alone. He thought about fingers digging into fingers in search of someone to hold but finding only his own crooked, calloused hands.

He felt the thin bones of a skull crackling underneath those same desperate fingers like sacramental bread. He felt how soft everyone was underneath that thin, thin layer of measly bone.

Even the most rotten of people.

All he wished was to use those hands to help and all he did was sully them in blood.

Toshinori deflated.

The kid, of course, freaked out. Toshinori just— sighed. He couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered for some reason. He rarely could these days. They were just a red and blue and yellow mishmash of fights he rushed and press interviews he fled and fans he could not spare time and colleagues he no longer knew how to address.

And when you mush together so many colours, in the end, it all just becomes a murky grey.

Toshinori blinked to banish all that grey away and set on reassuring the kid that he was, in fact, the ‘real’ All Might. In the whatever flesh he still had on his bones pierced by hero-grade titanium implants.

The horror on the middle school student’s face somehow made his nonexistent side hurt all the more. Something in there bled still. And Toshinori, for all his raging inner fire, did not know how to cauterise it.

The kid was small. Barely five feet. Face soft and squishy, eyes sparkling and round even if they were red from crying and a bit jittery from residue adrenaline. His hands were delicate, fingers all straight and dainty. The only imperfection on them was a writer’s bump.

His smile was wobbly but it was honest.

Toshinori opened his mouth to say the words. To shove all that down and indulge this kid like he did all the others. Yes, even quirkless ones. He said to them what he himself would have liked to hear way back.

But then he closed it. The kid stared at him, at his hollow vessel of a body with anticipation exuding from every pore like an admiration-fuelled furnace.

He was so young.

He was so innocent.

Toshinori imagined that frame a few years from now. Bulkier but also getting kinda crooked. He imagined how those dainty hands would look covered in blood and dirt, twisted and slightly shaking from damage sustained.

He imagined those teeth kicked in, those eyes blackened, those protruding collar bones broken and remade again and again until there wasn’t a part of this child not contorted by the greatest profession of them all.

He imagined looking into those impossibly large eyes and seeing a lingering shadow behind them. A shadow of guilt and anger and fear.

He imagined the green-haired boy bleeding out on the ground with his entire insides splayed like a morbid art piece and he decided to spare a life.

“A smile that knows no fear, huh…”

[aeolianblues]

I was meaning to just leave this in the tags, but actually this explanation ^ is important. Calling it 'content' removes art from so much of its context. It makes you forget the time, effort, training, equipment and thought that goes into creating and expressing yourself! It makes people think of content generation mills, faceless people, churning out '5-minute crafts' videos for the facebook masses, pointless, mindless AI-generated rubbish that has no meaning to express, made simply as a revenue generator for a company. It lets you allow people to devalue art. It lets you allow people like Daniel Ek (Spotify CEO, net worth $5 billion) say things like this:

Which, inevitably leads to things like this:

"Art is dime a dozen! Why should we pay those lazy fuckers more? Less funding for the arts! Less money to go around! Let's invest it in buying football teams. Let's invest it in military tech!"

And so inevitably, more and more money drains out of the arts, underfunded to the point where artists cannot afford the time or means to make art, art hubs are diluted and broken up because the cultural centres of a city are no longer affordable to artists, bands get downsized to one person with backing tracks—to the detriment of everyone's live music experience—and everything becomes a cheapened version of itself. Soon, only those already well off are able to afford to live out any sort of life as artists.

It probably goes without saying that when you stop being able to have people from all walks of society making art, holding up a mirror to the world, making astute observations and reflecting our realities with their pens, brushes, strums; when only the rich can afford to make art, it loses its ability to reflect on society at all.

Art, poetry, music is the tongue of revolutions. To make sense of the world around us and present it clearly, or romantically, is the job of good art. I would also bundle journalism into this effort. If there is no one left to reflect society, we have fewer words to express, reflect and affirm our own life experiences. When a journalist has to work those two extra jobs to make ends meet, what happens to time-consuming, quality and considered journalism that is able to independently investigate and critique, while also being able to feed themselves?

You might think I'm reaching too far, but it is all connected! Ripple effects, if you will. And it begins with the devaluing of art.

[threepointseven]

hey! i was wondering if i could request hcs of scaramouche, childe and kaeya with a female s/o with a low self esteem? thanks!

-💕anon

When you have a low self esteem

Type- HC’s 🌷

Flowers included!🌼= kaeya x gn! Reader, scaramouche x gn! Reader, childe x gn! Reader

Note🍀= i have no creative energy im sorry this was so lazily made 😞

Genshin masterlist

💐Your bouquet has been delivered <3💐

Kaeya

- He’d be such a good ego booster ngl—

- Every second of the week hes already showering you in peace, complimenting you on your looks even the weirdest things like how your joints move-

- Hes always flirting with you and bragging about you to everyone. Especially to dilute

- So why do you have such a low self esteem </3 he’ll shut you up with a kiss rn if you keep on with the self deprecation

- When he catches you talking to yourself in your shared bedroom panicking cause you think your not good enough for him he’s immediately putting his arms around your waist, whispering in your ear how every inch of you is more than worthy enough to be with him, it doesn’t matter how long he has to stay there hugging you, kissing your skin while chanting the things he loves about you, as long as all that negative stuff about yourself you’ve been thinking comes to and end..

- “Im a push over, im literally a doormat, iim not good enough for you” he cant stand hearing those things come out of your mouth. If its asserting yourself or self consciousness thats stopping you from smiling hes gonna help you get rid of those stupid feelings

- He couldn’t stand to see you crying like that again so he priorities making you feel wanted from then on, whenever he even sees diluc he’ll start telling stories about you and showing you off while reminding dilluc that hes still single, and his oh so charming brother has an amazing lover he’d die for

- So many compliments to the point it gets embarrassing, and if you ever have a breakdown like that again he spends no time wrapping his arms around you and reassuring you once more

Scaramouche

- He has no idea what to do. I mean yes he also has a pretty low self esteem but he doesn’t ever really show it???

- So he proceeds to just hesitantly approach your shaking figure, he can see tears roll down your cheeks but your mouth is twisted into a smile while you degrade yourself with that joking tone of yours.

- He cant stand it. He doesn’t know what to do, at first hes trying to console you but all he’s greeted with is more self depreciation that stings him as much as it stings you. In a whim he pushes himself on you, hesitantly hugging you tightly while he reassures you that you’re nothing of the sort. You’re not unworthy, you’re not a failure, not everything bad that happens is your fault! He’s trying his best, he has no idea how to put it into words but hes trying.

- He doesn’t say much, he’ll let you cry and shake in his hold while you let all your insecurities out, sometimes flinching at the excessive self deprecation.

- He’ll sit there, burying his head into the crook of your neck while he rubs your back before protesting and attempting to make you feel better.

- It’ll be really really badly attempted compliments at your personality, your appearance…

- He’ll actually start telling other people about you, bragging about your strength, your appearance, your kindness. If it makes you feel like enough he’ll talk about you as much as he can.

- He doesn’t know how to deal with it but he tries reassure you, he even asks Childe for advice-

- He just needs you to know that you deserve him more than anyone in the universe really. You deserve everything good, and all those negative thoughts you have about yourself are just nuisances

Childe

- why 😡

- He gets what having such a low self esteem is like so he’ll be all over you

- He’ll probably know youve been feeling gloomy before you even tell him! Maybe its the way youve been looking at the mirror for too long lately, or how you unconsciously bring yourself down at times and excuse it as a joke

- He’ll know.

- And he just becomes such a sappy loving boyfriend.

- He’ll open his arms wide open and beckon you to give him a hug, its a bone crushing hug. One filled with utter love as he whispers every single thing he loves about you.

- He’ll let you sob on his shoulder and he’ll rub your back gently.

- It probably breaks his heart more than it breaks yours when he sees you sob, in the back of his mind somewhere its a voice shouting at him with disappointment, he promised you a life of giggles and smiles when he asked you out and here you are crying because you think you arent worthy enough to be dating him, worthy enough to be anything really.

- If you say sorry for being a trouble hes gonna get whiny and start cuddling into you more while refusing to let go

- Hes spoiling you to the bone after your crying session😡😡

- You wanna go shopping? Go ahead!! If it makes you feel better you can snatch his wallet and use it to your liking!!

- Wanna eat? Hes already dragging you to liuli pavilion

- His arm will be on your waist the entire time, bragging about you to practically every single one of his friends

- If it puts a smile soon your face after you cried that much he’ll do anything

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

should have known | diluc ragnvindr | angst

A.N. eyo. so, i wrote this before the college au, and thought id get it out before i post plug!ayato. so thats coming on the way :D other than that, enjoy and give some feedback! AUs and blurbs are open, and thats all that comes to mind now lol. Also I just wanted to be mean to diluc and come back to my roots. Angst.

Word Count. 1172 words

Page Count. 3.4 pages

Description. You tell yourself the same thing over and over again, trying to cope and understand why he did what he did, and yet- you couldn’t seem to care. 

Reader. gn!reader, written with a female in mind though

Warnings. angst, pain, cheating, yelling,

Prompts.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me"                        

"I love you, but you're not mine."

You should have known better.

        You should have known better.

        The ice in your glass is the only thing you can focus on at the moment, the small clinks of ice against the glass as you swirled it around, burning whiskey slowly diluting as the ice slowly melted. Your mind felt like it was filled with cotton, eyes hazed over with a hateful yet depressing glaze, limbs filled with steel and lead as you slouched over in your office seat. The mantra in your head repeating over, and over, and over again. 

        How stupid you felt. How fucking stupid and idiotic were you to believe in mere words and fruitless touches, rather than actions and fulfilled promises, for falling into the weakness that was love. But the slow thudding in your head was starting to get to you, dull, rhythmic, and quite annoying.

        Could you even describe this as love? With hindsight being twenty/twenty, you look back to your actions, his actions. Words that were exchanged, the little meetings, the yearning arms he held you in, from the break of dawn to the darkest hours of the night, you shared memories with him in nearly every waking hour.

        You should have known better.

        What a waste.

        There were many things you lacked, compared to the true holder of his heart, you realized. Weren't nearly as tall, less muscular, and toned in all the right places- holding curves and divots in those same places. The porcelain skin that was flawless, the noble blood that connected the two of them in ways you couldn't understand, the idealization you can now see through was nothing but bullshit. Your mind is spinning, the pain is aching and growing, but you can't seem to focus on it.

        Because in the end, you were both human, both born to live and die within the span of a century. Both that held meaning and value to many people in the city, in both your lives, but in the end, you knew why he couldn't keep himself for you. You knew, and it hurt because you weren't the issue. You realized this quickly, but it still didn't help you, or your broken heart. All this overthinking, all this over-analyzing, it was an excuse. An excuse to rationalize the pain and hurt without having to feel those emotions.

        Or the senseless pounding in your head.

        Gods, you thought, when was your head going to stop hurting? 

        "Listen to me, goddamn it!" Gloved hands slam down on your office desk, right in front of your face, causing you to throw your head back in response as you're pulled out of your haze. It's only for a split second of surprise before the hatred and betrayal take over once again, and you're glaring and standing to face him.

        "Don't raise your fucking voice at me, you don't have the right." Diluc's eyes widen, either in surprise or shock at your tone, but at this point? It doesn't matter what he feels. You've spent too much time focused on him, and never enough on you, and this is the one time where this is supposed to be about you. He looks weary, glancing down from your face to over your shoulder, his resolve wavering a bit before it comes back nearly as strong as before. 

        "I wouldn't have to raise my voice if you answered me, you know before I called to call your name about twenty times." He nearly growls, and your eyebrows raise, and a sharp laugh leaves your mouth- causing you to hunch over at the recoil.

        "I don't think you get a say in how I react to you and your actions." The sharp laugh slowly turned into a chuckle, and the chuckle then became a cackle, a taunting and arrogant one that made Diluc take a step back- shocked and hurt by the way you were acting. His mind was running, and his cowardice truly started to peak, wanting you to just listen to him. He wasn't dumb, quite intelligent, but at this moment he felt like all the logic and reason flew from his mind as he felt embarrassed.

        "You have the audacity," You continued, staring him in the eye, wild and unrestrained. The pain in your eyes bled into his soul, and he realizes that his actions truly had an effect on you, and why he thought otherwise became a distant memory.

        "To come into my office," You stood straight, fast strides matching your manic state, moving around the desk as you moved to face him entirely. He took a few steps back, and you moved forward, uncaring of his discomfort at this moment.

        "And treat me like I'm in the wrong? That I am the one who should be complacent to you?" Your voice dropped, a dead calm masked the previous state, eyes wide as a hand moved to his collar to yank him down to your height.

        "I was the one that loved you. The one that healed you, cared for you, helped you grow out of the shell you once were. You were a poor excuse of a man, and what did you do?" 

        "I... I-" He murmured, and you shook him by the collar, shame written on his face as he let you do as you pleased to him, a weak grip came around your arm.

        "Don't stutter like a bitch. Answer me like an adult. Admit what you did wrong." The calmness in your voice brought sadness to him he could only describe as hollow, shameful, disgust that was aimed towards him.

        "I... didn't remain faithful-"

        "Don't be poetic about it either, Master Ragnvindr." His title, a disconnect from familiarity, a severing of any connection he thought he could salvage from you.

        "I cheated on you." He nearly whimpered out, his eyes falling down to the floor, his mind shook as you roughly took your hand from his collar. You take your hand away from his neck, and yet he can't breathe, he can't seem to inhale the way he's supposed to.

        "With Jean. Of all people, and you knew how I felt, but Jean." You sneered at him. The room went silent for a few moments, and your anger started to rise again.

        "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

        I still love you...

        "Anything?" Your voice cracked, but just barely, and yet he noticed. And you knew this, from now his leg shifted towards you as if he wanted to come to your aid.

        but you're not mine...

        You scoffed, turning your heel to leave, to get far, far, away from him and the messy situation he created for himself. No longer would you be a part of this, no longer be tied up with him and his whims, his desires, and goals. No more Diluc. No more winery or knights. No more Mondstadt.

        Not anymore.

        No more of your love for the wrong person.

[microcosmiclymbic]

At first I was upset by this, because I exist in a small virtual community where "access needs" includes everything from "I can't physically turn on my computer because I am so incapacitated rn, yet can someone call me so that I can speak up and participate for the 10min I have energy" to "I can't have my camera on today because looking at myself hurts." We even have a breakout room for those needing support if the discussion gets too hard.

Before now I've never been in a space where literally every named need is fought for and respected. And it's beautiful for it to all lead to a way for someone to more easily access the space. It allows folks who otherwise wouldn't feel safe naming their needs because they're so used to them being ignored, to actually get them met. It's been refreshing to be able to listen to my body and mind about what it needs without having to put energy into justifying why I need a change. It means I've stopped forcing myself to sit up when my body desperately needs to lay down. It means I let my hands fly when I desperately need to stim and regulate. It means I stop contributing as much when I'm running on fumes. Both my physically disabled and mentally disabled self has benefited from expanded accessibility.

Yet how many people weren't able to even access our group for reasons I'll never know? How many folks weren't even able to fill out the initial application? What invisible barriers exist as part of our space that are only visible to those constantly running into it? Who is being left out from our expanded accessibility? OP isn't trying to bring able-bodied individuals and their needs down. They're facing the very real issue of being deplatformed from something that is essential for their survival and that's honestly a terrifying position to be in when you're already not getting your needs met. Their anger is valid and important.

I think while making strides on expanding the concept of what it means to be accessible to include all needs is highly important and neccessary for a world that accepts and accommodates all without having to justify yourself(the way folks have to fight to prove they deserve simple shit like a wheelchair is horrifying. Especially when you look at the intersection of poverty & being unable to access medical care).

AND it can't happen in a way that decenters the very folks the word was originally crafted for. It just can't. Their fight was NOT so that able-bodied individuals could springboard off their pain to achieve their own healing.

Expanding language to hold greater intersectional understanding: Good

Diluting language in a way that leads to a reduction of resources for our most vulnerable: Not good

We ought to be very mindful of how we impact others as we move towards justice. It takes more work sure, yet it's neccessary work.

I’m sick of “accessible” going from a word that meant “disabled people can physically access this space” to ablebodieds using it to describe their comfort levels and sensory needs. my brother in Christ we can’t even get through the FUCKING FRONT DOOR

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)

I can explain. 

Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.

Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice. 

You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you. 

It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly. 

Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger. 

It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language. 

"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident." 

His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."

"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"

It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution. 

You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage. 

You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.

You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together. 

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

"Haven't heard that song in years." 

You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!" 

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on." 

You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue. 

"Aren't you going to finish the song?" 

You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you. 

"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me." 

"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead." 

"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise. 

"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them." 

You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things. 

"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.

You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"

"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice. 

"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.

"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were. 

"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about. 

"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with." 

"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?" 

"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore." 

That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir." 

"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked. 

"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?" 

You admitted it point-blank. "No." 

"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly." 

You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood! 

"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."

"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?" 

"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?" 

He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"

‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute. 

"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles. 

He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders." 

"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand. 

You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield. 

"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin." 

It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library. 

"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!" 

You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge. 

"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance. 

"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again. 

You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try. 

You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look. 

You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine. 

You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it. 

You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere. 

"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!" 

It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.

"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center. 

"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it." 

Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free. 

It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center. 

"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen." 

Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground. 

"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again." 

"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'. 

"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it." 

He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down. 

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors. 

“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"

A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of. 

"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick." 

"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?" 

"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that." 

"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?" 

"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable." 

"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now." 

"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.” 

He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?” 

It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction. 

“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.” 

It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion. 

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.” 

“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”

“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?” 

“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”

“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”

“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”

“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.” 

“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?" 

“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.” 

Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach. 

"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."

"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?" 

You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."

"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around." 

You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor." 

"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."

He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom. 

"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set. 

You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got." 

"Travel light, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz." 

"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."

“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving. 

“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”

"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap. 

"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do." 

"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant. 

"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."

You smiled downwards. "Thank you." 

"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside." 

You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do. 

“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.” 

"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."

Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.