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theutiarchives · 2 years

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Gut health and Bladder infections

❦ PART I of II:

Within the context of chronic or recurrent bladder infections, endometriosis, adenomyosis, or any chronic health issue actually, everyone at this point knows how important gut health is - at least theoretically. Even more with the frequent or long term intake of antibiotics. It gets critical. But putting into practice daily and sustained actions that actually support gut health, was the hardest part. Firstly, because at first I didn't realize how important it actually is, and secondly, because the maze of information and misinformation out there is crazy. I didn’t have a linear perfect path, at all. Also, everything surrounding gut health does depend quite a lot on where are you at right now. I think I could have avoided some of my gut issues if I had started sooner, when I had "no symtoms", if I had paid real attention to what I was eating daily. There are those who can take antibiotics, daily and long term, and don’t necessarily feel anything wrong with their guts (not that their microbiome is super healthy, it's just that they don’t feel it "directly"). And then there are those like me: it was just a matter of time. And when it gets to that stage, stuff gets a bit more tricky and harder to solve.

Firstly, because the digestive system begins in the mouth and ends...where it ends. And a lot can get affected along the way. So, symptoms, and treatment plans, will vary a lot from person to person - It’s an individual journey.

Starting right at the mouth, so many of us will not have healthy looking tongues with digestive issues or bacterial overgrowths; a compromised mouth environment right there starts to alter the digestion; Then the stomach: we can have low stomach acid, or ulcers, or develop H.Pylori, etc; Then the small intestine: bacterial overgrowths, like SIBO, damaged villi (takes months and months to recover), or impaired enzyme production to break down foods, etc; Then the liver (don’t forget antibiotics get filtered by the liver): bile production; synthesizing enzymes,etc. The liver, and pancreas, are incredibly important parts of the digestive health that are often forgotten, and often affected, and many times, silent sufferers. Then the large intestine. Where all the magic happens - 70% to 80% of the immune system happens right here - but it's also the place where the nightmares happen. Including antibiotic resistance. It develops here, not on the bladder. Now throw inflammatory foods and beverages on top, or just an overall poor diet, and hell can break loose.

With time, the gut barrier wall gets “nano” perforated (leaky gut); and toxins, that should end up on the toilet, re-enter the body through those "nano holes" in your intestines, and go to your blood - and your blood? Your blood goes everywhere. Even your urine is filtered through the kidneys, from blood. Cytokine storms happen, and drive inflammatory reactions through the roof; you get more "pains"; immune cells get hyperactive; auto-immune disorders flare; co-infections such as lyme, ureaplasma,or others, like HPV (viral), or fungal infections, have a green card to thrive/flare; the blood-brain barrier can also get compromised (“leaky”) and the famous "brain fog" happens (toxins enter the brain); mood, central nervous system, concentration, all get compromised. Anxiety and stress rise, along with cortisol, and constant high cortisol further shuts down immune function. Hormones get out of whack. Prostaglandins will increase more than usual (mastalgia and period pains can go through the roof for those with issues there). Malabsorption starts to happen as the villi and gut mucosal lining gets less effective and more inflamed due to the inferior colonies of beneficial gut bateria, because diversity decreased. Important vitamins and minerals aren’t properly absorbed, the very ones needed for quality cell renewal - including new bladder cells. Critical micronutrients can start to miss, nerves can get damaged; so many other conditions can get worse, like Endo or Adeno, etc. Allergic reactions can happen, skin issues, etc.; The immune system gets further depleted with time, pathogenic bacteria get stronger, and wherever an infection is happening in the body, whether it’s viral, bacterial, or fungal, embedded or not, can get worse, or persist for longer.

A quite horrible scenario, so why did I take antibiotics? - because I had no other choice at some point. Like so many others. Simple as this. It’s either that or risk kidney infection and then septicemia and die. It's not fair to vilify antibiotic therapy when it literally saves lives. Literally. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for them.

But they are a double-edged sword, and as I progressed on my journey (with many bumps on the way), I tried to learn as much as I could about the importance of diet and the digestive system, and how I could support it, precisely because my gut got worse and worse with time, and I knew this meant my immunity and overall health was declining (and it did in fact decline and I got new problems on top). So at the end of the day, strengthening the immune system (gut) with the right diet was(is!) the very least I felt I had to do to try to “hang in there” despite antibiotics. And to start to at least try to reverse damage - or avoid unecessary further damage.

PART II (continued):

Learning what I could and should eat, and what I shouldn’t, was, and still is, a very personal journey. This post isn't to tell anyone to follow a particular diet - who am I to say that. However I want to share that there are basic "gut-health parameters" that everyone benefits from, to reverse or minimize that cascade of issues above mentioned: by increasing the beneficial colonies of bacteria you have. The thousands you have, forget the "15 species that amazing probiotic has". We have trillions of microorganisms that are impossible to put on a pill. And not all of them are bacteria. Gut *diversity* is the key to gut health.

How? Choosing a high fiber, PREbiotic diet. Why? Beneficial flora thrive on it. It's their food. Hence the name "pre" (before). Because when *your own* beneficial bacteria and other microorganisms grow in numbers, and are diverse and well fed, daily, they release short-chain-fatty-acids (SCFAs). These, namely acetate, propionate and butyrate, are *the gold every single person wants in their gut, regardless of any condition they have*. There is no supplement for this. These are the Postbiotics, the most healing substances that benefitial flora release to fight inflammation, tighten and close loose gut junctions (aka heal leaky gut) - and those gates of hell start to close. They are "anti-inflammatory, antibacterial, immunomodulatory, anti-anerogenic, anti-carcinogenic, antioxidant, antihypertensive, anti-proliferative, and hypocholesterolemic (...) that enhance both the immune system and intestinal barrier function". As a result, with time, leaky gut gets repaired, toxins don't enter the bloodstream, the blood-brain barrier also gets restored, and everything else starts to calm down/reverse, including, of course, the dysbiosis in itself. It's a 2 in 1 process. Toxins are flushed out (as supposed to). Postbiotics like Butyrate raise T-Cells in your intestine, critical for whole body immune response (and response to infections). Pathogenic bacteria start to have a hard time thriving in greater numbers - and it's harder to develop resistances, although a lot can be sad about this, ofc. Inflammatory reactions decrease, micronutrients start to be better absorbed again, etc.

So, we can go all the way with a thousand supplements (some very needed!), but in the end we come back to the very basics: diet is key for (gut) health, with fiber/prebiotics (aka PLANTS) being paramount to achieve this. And there are many different types of fiber (soluble and insoluble and starches is an "oversimplification" of sorts) and different bugs have different preferences on what they like to eat to grow, just like us. *Variety* is key. There's no supplement to cover this diversity. Even a fiber supplement (avoid Inulin if you have gas) like Galacto-oligosaccharides (GOS), or partially hydrolyzed guar gum (PHGG) or physillum husk can help, but do not substitute a *varied* source of fibers/prebiotics and of course all the micronutrients from: a diet rich in a high *abundance* and *variety* of ... plants (all plants, legumes, fruits...diversity!). Aim for the rainbow in your plate: every day.

So, all fun and games - but for someone who has IBS-D, such as me, the tendency is to cut down fiber and resistant starches so the gut won’t flare/bloat/get gassy/have diarrhea. "Avoid the foods that cause the___ (bloating,constipation,diarrhea)". The worst (and old) misconception that still goes around - unless of course there's an actual allergy or severe lactose intolerance, or obviously you're temporarily on a Low FODMAP diet or any other temporary treatment plan, etc. Otherwise, that’s not healing the gut. On the contrary. It’s avoiding the problem and further depleting a diverse beneficial microbiome - precisely the one that everyone needs to reap immunity *gold*, SCFAs. Many food intolerances stem from an unbalanced gut flora/digestive issues/enzymes/liver issues, etc etc etc. Bloating is a sign of constipation/SIBO/slow motility; Allergy symptoms are also different from intolerance; If you find that anti-histamins help your bladder, follow a low-histamine diet, temporarily, while you recover your gut (because histamine issues, unless its an actual food allergy (like peanuts, common) - stem from...an unbalanced gut). With loose stools, diarrhea, etc - the idea isn’t to get rid of plants/fiber (vegetables, beans, etc) out for good. The idea is to temporarily reduce it, yes, but over the months and as the gut recolonizes, to gradually increase the amount of vegetables, legumes, herbs, and fruits. Cooked at first, raw after some balance is restored. Same goes with constipation, actually. Add fiber (aka plants) slowly, to avoid getting worse. Saccharomyces Boulardii is a lifesaver, I got plenty of support with it in the beggining (it reduces e.coli colonies in the gut, and yeast, also). But with time, months, I finally got there, without the Sacc. I still have some flares (way less/less violent), but I persist with the right foods. It took me around 4 months just to be able to add anything raw to a plate. Let alone a big salad with lentils! But I got there. And no more bloating. It's gone.

HOWEVER an individual assessment should be done: you can harm yourself thinking you're doing good. For example, by taking probiotics with SIBO - unless they're Spore based probiotics such as Megasporebiotic or Just Thrive. Or if you have any other number of digestive issues mentioned previously, or any other. In fact, on the subject of general probiotics (lactobacillus/bifidum), many gut-focused investigators conducting huge trials and world renowned gastroenterologists who are directly involved with these, and the latest microbiome findings, will not advise you on probiotics mindlessly (lactobacillus and bifidum bacteria). They will focus on *your* microbiome and how *your* unique gut map can be improved. A large study, conducted on humans, sort of recently, concluded that probiotic intake (of lactobacillus and bifidum bacteria) after antibiotics slowed down/ partially impared their gut recovery. oopsy. Probiotic supplement industry didn't like this. But I digress. And if they help you, great!

All this to say: there is no black and white answer to gut healing. It is an individual path. None of this is going to be explained by the urologist or GP. But at the end of the day, gut health and diet has a direct impact on any health issue. I won't stop eating healthy daily because I no longer have infections, the same way I wouldn't (and didn't) stop eating healthy because my bladder problems weren't improving. I do it because it is my responsability to provide the very basic foundation my body needs if it wants to fight anything and prevent further issues. And there is no supplement for this. It's a daily choice between inflammatory fuel, or anti-inflammatory fuel. Feed the pathogens, or feed beneficial microorganisms and diversity and let them "take care of me". Even my period pains reduced - and I am still healing from years of antibiotic damage, in my case.

There’s a lot to learn and explore. Try to do it from good sources and with the help of an actual and good professional with an actual degree(s)... No fad diets, gut healing myths, crazy paleo-keto-whatever diet someone vows for in a random Ig page or websites.

(as an European non-English native please feel free to correct me) Take care 🌿

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popi-the-fatui · 3 years

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CHILDE BF HCs

(that no one asked for but here they are anyways)

A/N: this man needs some luv. Long post, there is a whole iceberg under the “read more”. Also, I tried to keep a Gender Neutral reader so pls DM me if there are any mistakes!!

TW: DESCRIPTION OF AN ANXIETY ATTACK, SPOILERS FOR THE REX LAPIS QUEST AND CHILDE’S PAST, a little bit of angst

🐋 Let’s bust some myths first: contrary to popular belief, Childe has no experience at relationships or intimacy at all. Non. Cero. The Venn diagram of romantic/intimate stuff and things Childe has done is a void. But it’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just that he hasn’t had the time to experience any of these things because he is a busy man: between fighting, training and being a Harbinger, there is not a minute left for him to indulge in other things.

🐋 The problem with this is that Tartaglia is a people’s person. He WANTS to be able to have someone that he can do these things with. At the end of the day, when he comes home tired after a mission, all he wants is someone to be waiting for him with cuddles, hugs, kisses, reassurance, caresses, or just a simple “how did your day go?” Because of this, he has a lot of pent-up love that he has not been able to give.

🐋 In that note, he is also incredibly touch-starved: not only does he want someone to give that love to, but Childe also craves to receive it. When was the last time he was touched by someone in a context that was not a fight? He loves fighting, obviously: he has trained for a big part of his life to be able to defeat everything and everyone. But he is also just a human, and there are limits to how long a person can go without a loving touch.

🐋 So when he finally falls victim to the first signs of infatuation, this poor whale man will have an internal battle: do I reach for them? Would they be better off if they never meet me? Will they accept me? Has my reputation already ruined this for me before it even began? How do I approach them? Do I look presentable? Am I going to scare them away? Childe will be torn between wanting to protect you from himself (as the Fatui business is not an easy pill to swallow for everyone) and protect himself from you (his heart would not handle rejection/disgust very well), and wanting to KISS YOU AND HUG YOU AND KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU BECAUSE ARGH WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO ADORABLE.

🐋 So he finally decides to compromise between these two stances, and let YOU decide whether you want him as a friend, a lover or a stranger. He starts greeting you whenever he sees you in the streets, subtly asking if you would like him to join you in your commissions, inviting you for lunch/dinner after a mission so you can recharge your energy, asking if you want to go and share drinks with him and Zhongli. You know, friendly stuff friends do. And he doesn’t even try to hide the happy smile that escapes him whenever you say yes to him: when it comes to you, there is nothing he needs to hide. Well, except for that one thing.

🐋 He knows that you know he is somehow associated with the Fatui, if his constant trips to the Northland Bank aren’t enough to tell. Usually, Childe dislikes going around things as he much rather hit straight to the point (being the point a fight, a deal or just a simple conversation). But he has grown so addicted to the sensations you make him feel that he can’t help but to try to postpone that tiny little detail about himself for later. He has never had anyone who genuinely wants to spend time with him and that can keep up with him. Childe knows he can be quite intense and that rumors about him aren’t really rumors but WARNINGS, and to finally have someone, even if you’re just friends, that is actively trying to get to know the real him means so much, and he doesn’t want to let that go as selfish as he knows it is because there’s a chance you could get hurt (emotionally and physically).

🐋 Unfortunately for him, everything that goes up must go down, and that fateful day comes when his plans to take Rex Lapis’ Gnosis blows back to him. After that brief, tense conversation with La Signora and Zhongli, Childe’s ego can’t be any lower: it’s not often that he loses, and much less often that he loses while feeling like a fool. He wants to scream, fight, punch, kick. Anything to take out the impotence and anger he is feeling right now.

🐋 You found him in this state while you were looking for him to see if he was alright because a WHOLE ASS PALACE JUST FELL FROM THE SKY and you’re very concerned for him as you haven’t had any news directly from him and all you know is that apparently Childe was the cause of it?

🐋 As soon as he sees you, his blood-lust disappears and he no longer wants to fight something: he wants to cry from shame. Shame at being found in this state. Shame at failing. Shame at what you would think of him now that the cat’s out of the bag because from the look in your face is EVIDENT that now you know how far his relationship with the Fatui goes.

🐋 He falls to the ground, tears finally coming out and he is crying ugly sobs while hiccuping nonsense about how he is a weak, pathetic, disgusting failure and it’s not fair it’s not FAIR IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT-

🐋 “Look at me” you softly call to him, but he is panicking and hyperventilating and not responding to anything that’s outside of his head, so you decide to sit on your knees in front of him, gently cupping his face with your hands, caressing his tears away with your thumbs.

🐋 “Childe, look at me. Please?” You try again, carefulness in your tone as to not startle him. And when he finally reacts and looks up, you don’t see Tartaglia the 11th Harbinger, nor Childe the fatui flirt. All you see is a broken man that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, exhausted from constantly fighting against everything the world has thrown at him, and your heart aches for him and wonders how long this man has suffered alone, how long has he suffered in silence.

🐋 “It’s okay, Childe. You’re okay. Can you breathe for me?” You position yourself behind him and put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing circles with your fingers to further calm him. “Breath with me, yeah just like that. Now hold it for a bit and then release it. Keep going, I’ll do it with you. I’m here”

🐋 Childe finds himself finding it easier to breathe with each inhale and exhale, and when he is finally going down from his high, catharsis hits him HARD. Is this what he has been missing all of his life? Is releasing all that pent-up frustration supposed to feel this good? And he feels a little selfish, because he knows he doesn’t deserve your comfort after the stunt he pulled, but Childe can’t help but become putty under your tender touches and your soft words, and he wishes for a different context, for a different past in which he never fell into the abyss, never joined the Fatui, never felt that the only way to survive was to fight. Instead, he wishes for a past in which he is traveling because he wants to, and he meets you, and he courts you and makes your cheeks heat up at something he said. And you are not touching him because he had a panic crisis that he himself caused. No, he imagines the both of you after a dinner date in Liyue. The sky is dark and the stars are shining but the streets are still full of people laughing and talking and the light from the lamps are reflecting beautifully in your hair. You are walking near the harbor, and you are holding his hand and he is giving you a kiss on your forehead because he can’t help himself. In another life, he would have found you and loved you the way you deserve and the way he needs.

🐋 But he knows that now is too late, and all he has left is a mind full of regret because he did, in fact, hurt you. How could you trust him after this? How could you WANT him after this? So imagine his surprise when the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a soft “Are you ok now, Childe?”

🐋 “I- how- what?” He mutters in disbelief. Why are YOU asking HIM that? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

🐋 “You had me very worried back there. I thought you would stop breathing at any moment. You are not hurt, are you?”

🐋 And he laughs. A high-pitched, almost maniac laugh. “You know I was the cause of all of…” he says, moving his arms to signal, well, everywhere “...this, right? I believe you now must know what my real business in Liyue was, and that I’m not just some random Fatui officer”

🐋 “Well… I kind of suspected it? How many ‘random Fatui officers’ are carrying a Vision, huge amounts of Mora and have so many ‘meetings’ at the Northland Bank with the Qixing themselves? I mean, I didn’t know you were a Harbinger, but I did know that you were a higher up in the organization. I’m not dumb, you know?” you answer light-heartedly.

🐋 “Then why would you keep hanging out with me? If you knew all of that, then you for sure must have known that people tend to keep me in a ‘do not trust’ list. People are wary around me, and they should! If you knew of the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve DONE. The reputation surrounding the Fatui, especially the Harbingers, wasn’t built on nothing, you know?”

🐋 “Don’t get me wrong. I do have somewhat of an idea of the things you do for a living. And let me be clear: I certainly do not condone it. And to be honest, I know that things between us would be easier if you weren’t a Fatui and I actually wish you weren’t one” you can feel how his whole body deflated at that, and even if you are sitting behind him, you just know he has a pout on his face, so you resolve for hugging him from behind and rest the side of your face between his shoulder blades, and continue.

🐋 “But in the past weeks, I also had the opportunity to get to know you. Not Fatui you. But human you. I know that you have a family that you love very much and you do everything in your power to protect them. I know that you haven’t had it easy, and that some scars you have still hurt. I know that you absolutely can’t eat with chopsticks, but your pride refuses to give up and you try anyway. I know that you’re a passionate man that holds his dearest people close to his heart. I know that you hate when I’m sad so you’re willing to make a fool of yourself if that means I’ll end up laughing. I know how you wait outside of my building until my window lights up after you get me home so you are sure nothing happened to me. I know by the way you sometimes disassociate from the world around you that you are thinking of home and returning to your family” as you speak, you feel something wet falling on your upper arms, and realize that Childe is silently crying. You have half a mind to stop, but you also know that he needs to hear this, so you tighten your hug a little in reassurance.

🐋 “I also know that whenever I see you with a new wound, I can’t help but worry for you and my first instinct is to check if you are okay. I’m now familiar with the way my heart skips a beat whenever I get to see one of your genuine smiles, especially when the reason behind them is that you get to spend some time with me. I know my eyes soften when I see you talking about something you’re passionate about. The truth is, I care for you, Childe. I really do, Fatui or not. Harbinger or not. And yes, while I would rather you not be one, I still can’t help but long for your company because you make me happy. Because I love you. So don’t underestimate me. I’m strong and so are my feelings. You being a Fatui is not gonna change that”. After this, you two sit in silence for a few minutes, but it’s not an awkward one despite your confession. You know he is gathering his thoughts so you move one of your arms that is wrapped around Childe’s torso to card your fingers through his hair, mindful of the knots that had appeared after the battle. If he doesn’t believe your words, then you sure hope he trusts your actions.

🐋 Childe is the one who breaks the silence when he asks “How could you possibly love someone like me?”. If you weren’t sitting that close to him, you wouldn’t have heard it. He says this so softly, so gently, almost as if he was trying to convince himself and not you.

🐋 “Silly boy” you laugh warmly. “Did you hear anything I just said?” You ruffle his hair, and finally, FINALLY, you can hear him giggle a little. “You don’t get to decide who I love. That’s my choice, and I choose to love you”

🐋 No kisses were shared that day. No grand, magnificent romantic gestures were made. Only the silent promise of two young lovers to love and cherish each other as they were. And maybe, just maybe, you could work things out, together, to build yourselves a brighter future.

🐋 So after all has been said and done: congrats! You are now the proud s/o of Teyvat’s biggest simp.

🐋 Childe is your number one fan. Everything you do is carefully recorded in his mind for later use. He has to go on a mission away from you? Be prepared to be pampered and being taken on several dates the previous week so this clingy man has something to hold on to.

🐋 Also: he is shameless. He will not be afraid of making out with you in plain daylight on a busy street. But fear not! If you happen to not be a fan of PDA, he will try to be low-profile. You are, afterall, a person he treasures and can’t live without, so your comfort comes before his needs. Now, I say “try” because he will still demand to hold your hand and give you the random kiss on your cheek.

🐋 HUGS. FROM. BEHIND. Watch him giving you hugs like Oprah. You are buying something? Cooking? Chilling? Expect to feel a pair of long limbs wrapping from behind you in a tight hug like a koala. It’s his hourly vibe check.

🐋 Very jealous and protective of you. He is very afraid that one day you’ll realize there are plenty of people better than him and you’ll leave him, so please remind this simp that he is more than enough for you.

🐋 He also has nightmares from the time he spent in the abyss and will take sometime for him to realize that he is no longer there, so give him a few minutes for him to come to his senses and then please for the love of the Tsaritsa cuddle the life out of him. Also on this note, I have the headcanon that he prefers being the little spoon. That, or facing each other and he rests his face in the crook of your neck while leaving little pecks there.

🐋 Also you discover, to your surprise and as stated at the beginning , that this man has absolutely no idea how to do relationships. To compensate for this and to give you only the best of the best (as you deserve), he spends time in his travels to read romantic novels to have an idea of what to do, so don’t be surprised if he says or does something corny or cringey.

🐋 The most chaotic “meet the family” you’ll ever have. As soon as he takes you to Snezhnaya, you will have all of his siblings running and tackling you into a bear hug (he sends A LOT of letters to his family about you and if you read them you would not be sure if he is talking about you or a deity).

🐋 He also tries to keep you out of anything regarding the Fatui. It’s a relief that you finally know about how deep his person runs in the organization, but he also wants to spare you from the details of what he does unless something is really bothering him.

🐋 All in all, this golden retriever is your biggest hype man and the most loyal boyfriend. You will never get bored with Childe, as everyday is an adventure with him and he will make sure you to make you as happy and loved as you make him feel.

#childe #childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #mine #tw axiety #tw anxiety attack #genshin spoilers #genshin impact spoilers

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maijobi · 3 years

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back to you

dabi x reader

summary: when things don’t go well in your relationship, you find it best to end it...

a/n: it has a good ending I promise. I did kinda hurt myself writing this I don't even know why. but sad dabi really does make me feel things.

———————————————————————

your hands were in your hair, doing your best to not pull every strand out of your scalp. your eyes were closed and you were doing your best to calm yourself down, counting down from ten.

“dabi, we have had this conversation for over a hundred times. you can’t control me. and why can’t you just trust me for once?”, you said, finally opening your eyes and looking at dabi.

“fine”, he said clenching his jaw. “go. let all of those people see you. go. you know what, don’t come back tonight will you?”

“stop overreacting”, you said, breathing out heavily. “I'm sick and tired of you constantly telling me what to do. I'm your partner, not your child. I know my limits and I know what to look out for. and who are you to tell me to not come back tonight? this isn’t just your place. we live here with a bunch of losers, what makes you think you’re more special than them? what makes you think you overpower them? what makes you think you have more to say than us?”

he took a few steps closer to you and looked down at you with a wrinkled nose. “I just don’t like my partner going out where there are people that will look at them. I don’t like how you can’t keep your mouth shut around people and let them flirt with you. I can’t stand you going to places and not knowing your limit, when you claim you do.”

“just because I let people talk to me, doesn’t mean I'm letting them flirt with me?”, you confusedly said. “oh I apologize dabi. I apologize that I do not prefer to burn people to the ground when they give you a genuine smile. I apologize that I couldn’t become as great as you”, you sarcastically said while throwing your hands in the air and then dropping them. “do you hear how stupid you sound? we have this discussion almost every day, but I can’t seem to get some senses into you. I'm tired of this, dabi. I'm tired of having to explain myself every day when I know I'm not doing anything wrong. I can’t talk to anyone before I have you breathing against my neck telling me to stay away from that person.”

“sweetheart, dollface, sugar”, he said with gritted teeth, taking steps closer to you and holding on of your hand and placing it over his heart. “don’t make this harder for the both of us and just don’t go outside will you?”

you pulled your arm away from his grip. “not this time dabi. I'm sick of this. sick of you wanting to control everything I do. you wanting to have a dominant role in this relationship. why is that even needed? why can’t you treat me as an equal? can’t you for once just let me live? I'm tired, I'm tired of telling myself that you’ll change when you don’t”, you said, finally showing the frustration on your face.

“and you think I'm having fun?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “you think I enjoy seeing you having fun with someone else? it hurts you just as much as it does me doll”, he said, raising his voice. “it’s also hard for me to see you flirting back with other people! know your fucking limits”, he said placing his hand on your chin and pulling it up slightly.

“don’t act like you are right here”, you sat, pulling your chin away from his grip and taking a step back. “for once. for fucking once accept that you can’t control everything I do and that you can’t overpower me. respect goes both ways, but I'm not seeing any on your accord.”

“now you’re just talking bullshit”, he said in a loud voice, laughing to shake off his frustration. “what does this even mean?! what is it that you’re trying to accomplish here? what is it that you so desperately want, huh? attention from someone else? if you’re not even gonna listen to my feelings, how am I supposed to take yours in account? you only do as you please and where does that bring us, huh?! where the fuck-!”

“that maybe perhaps we’re not meant for each other”, you interrupted him. “that maybe we’re just not fit for each other.”

his face dropped and you saw every emotion pass on his face. he was confused. he was confused as to the words you had just dared to speak, something he didn’t even think about once. to him this was normal, to him this was behavior that should be present in a relationship. to him, fighting everyday seemed normal. but his motives for this relationship seemed to be totally different from yours.

“you must be kidding no”, you said with a distressed smile. “h-how can you just easily say something like that?”

“because you made sure I did. if you just for once tried to understand me, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.”

he walked closer to you and held your shouders. “you’re kidding right?”

“i’m not, dabi. I'm being very much serious right now. how can I continue this when my feelings are being invalidated on a daily basis? how am I supposed to respect you further when you literally treat me like your pet?”, you said a brushing off his grip on your shoulder. “I can’t do this when all of this only brings me anxiety and constant stress?”

he looked at you, lost in another world progressing what you had just said. it surely couldn’t have been true, you were joking right? but the expression on your face made him his eyes go larger and his mouth almost hung open. “y-you can’t be serious”, he said with a smile, but that soon dropped when he shook your head.

“i’m not”, you said turning around and walking to the door.

you didn’t turn around to look back at him, and he made no attempt to stop you. perhaps he hadn’t even believe that you actually left. or maybe he was just waiting for you to finally leave him. maybe this was for the better you thought, but for dabi this was a whole different experience.

he was convinced you were coming back that night, he convinced himself that you would. so when you didn’t he totally lost it. the person that barely texted you had spammed you with messages and missed calls, leaving behind various emotions. he didn't know what he was feeling. this was all new to him.

dollface, you’re not serious right?

you’re coming back tonight right?

I'm sure you are...

you didn’t take me seriously, did you?

please come back.

please look at your messages.

it’s past midnight, please come back.

don’t scare me like this. just come back already.

please...

you looked at your phone, tapping the corners or your phone. you decided to not answer, but that left you in a weird state of mind. you didn’t know what you were feeling. were you happy? sad? relieved? more stressed? you didn’t even know. you felt numb.

you found your way to an old friend, asking if you could stay over until you figured out what you would do to survive. you locked your phone and threw it next to you on the bed. you allowed yourself to fall with your back on the mattress. you’d feel better in the morning, is what you tried to convince yourself. but would you really?

you woke up with a heavy headache. it was hard to even sit upright. but when you opened your eyes it was still dark. there was heavy rain outside and falling back asleep seemed like an impossible thing right now.

you tapped on your phone letting it light up.

3 a.m.

you sighed. what were you gonna do now? you felt too stressed to even close an eye. you didn’t know what you were supposed to do. you loved him and he probably loved you too, but this couldn’t go on forever.

you looked at your screen again, not missing all the messages he had left behind.

please I know I fucked up, but please just come back.

you can’t be doing this.

and many more messages like that had filled your phone. you frustratingly brushed your hand through your hair and sighed loudly. it felt wrong. it felt wrong to have left like that in the middle of an argument. but at the same time this had happened so many times that you couldn’t just do nothing.

you rose from your bed, still not answering any of his messages. your phone rung every five minutes, but you just didn’t pick it up. you walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water only to leave it on the counter after seeing his new messages.

I really need you.

I don’t need anybody else.

just you. so please, please come back.

you blinked once, then twice and then many more times. dabi had really said he needed you. the independent guy, who would refuse help from anyone had said he needed you. you weren’t sure what to do. you paced around the kitchen, biting down on your nail. your phone made a sound again.

I just really... can’t live without you.

you sighed loudly and with a quick steps you walked to the door. you put on your shoes and ran out the door taking the keys with you. the rain splashed on your skin, clothes and hair, making you soaked in an instant as you ran down the street. but you didn’t care. the only thing that ran through your head was wanting to see dabi. wanting to see him share his feelings and wanting to see him need you.

even the bad memories had a good ending for you. every time you fought, you’d fix it together. so why couldn’t that be done now? why did you have to act so selfishly again? you knew you were partially right, but at the same time you knew this wasn’t right. all your memories with him flooded in your mind and it made you run faster.

your feet dragged you to the place you had thought he was, because you knew he wouldn’t be at the residence. he would be at the place that caused his trauma, but at the same time was his most visited place.

the forest were he had supposedly died. the forest where his dad had refused to come to. the forest with his last memories of home.

you stopped in track when you saw his figure. his back facing you and his head looking up. he was wearing a front zip hoodie with the cap over his head. allowing the droplets to hit his face. he had heard something so he turned around.

when he saw you standing there in the rain he took one step and reached out his hand, but stopped when you only stared at him. you were out of breath, breathing in and out heavily as your chest heaved.

you looked at him, seeing the sad expression on his face. you shook your head and started walking, but before you knew it you were running to him. you ran and when you reached him, you threw yourself on him, holding him like you never did before.

he was in shock, not being able to do anything, just allowing you to slowly pull him down for the hug. when you pulled away you held his face and searched it, but before he could say anything you crashed your lips against his, tasting the rain on them. it was still pouring and this might have been the closest thing to an actual romantic scene the two of you had.

your lips danced together and you melt in each others touch. he finally allowed himself to be embraced and snaked his arms around your back to deepen the kiss. he pushed you against him and moved his hands to your neck to pull you closer. your hands slid down and rested on his chest.

when he pulled away he looked you in your eyes. water droplets were falling on your face and he made an attempt to wipe them away though the rain hadn't stopped. you wanted to say something, but he shut you up by pulling you in once more and giving you a small, but soft kiss.

“i’m sorry”, he said, pulling you flush against him to hug you. “I'm sorry for always wanting to control you. I was just scared.”

you slid your arm around his waist and hugged him back. “scared of what?”

“of you leaving”, he whispered just loud enough to hear above the splashing raindrops. “I haven’t been open about my feelings. I just didn’t know how to. but I was raised with the thought of rejection and people leaving me behind. I wasn’t used to all of this. I wasn’t used to having all this affection, so I was scared you’d leave just like the rest.”

you tightened your grip on him. “I don’t have a reason to leave. I just need you to be open with me like just now. so we can work things out together”, you said, looking up so that you were facing him.

he looked down and a soft smile formed on his face. he kissed you again and again and again until completely devouring your lips on his, not giving you a chance to pull away. but that wasn’t needed. you had understood the whole situation and the both of you were able to figure it out together. many ways had opened for the two of you and the both of you have yet to learn so much about each other. but you were both willing to change yourself for each other. because even if things weren't always great, the two of you would find their ways back to each other.

#dabi #dabi mha #dabi bnha #dabi drabble #dabi angst #dabi fluff #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it. I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late. The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest. You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid. Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon. Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around. Where’s Din? “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare. The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here. Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something. Really… oddly far away. That’s fine. Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a. A shy bladder. Or something. You’re totally fine. The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father. You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him. That sounds like a better plan. Don’t panic, just trust him. Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty. It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky. The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers. Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep? No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory. Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night. There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory. If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t. It was unfocused, dim. Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest? But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it. You should… you should check the bag, right? Just in case… you don’t know. You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere. Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here. No tracking fob here. No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second. No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping. He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off. That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag. He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning. Right?

Cool. Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning. You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member. Party leader, arguably. He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this. Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here. You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe? Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first? Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever? Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again. You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere. Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting. What direction is the ship? Which way did you…? You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today. Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head. No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it. You don’t like this. It’s out of character for him. It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic. Din is a professional. He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange. Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.

Without waking you. Without telling you. Without bringing anything else with him. No armor. No guns. Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it. You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it? What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one. You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through. If he left… he’ll have gone that way. The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay. So there's a decision that needs to be made. You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then. Or… you could. Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that. Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque. Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding. This is an unfamiliar planet. You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but. He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait. Something catches in your peripheral. There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove. Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove. The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it. Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now. He left his emergency communicator. The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly. The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat. The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty. Conviction is key, you think. You made your decision. Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision. It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this. The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there. There’s no path, no trail, just nature. Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see. He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit. Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure. If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him. You tend to forget, most of the time. He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting. Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying? There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally. You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear. You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest. A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever. The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head. Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia. It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade. Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather. Just for a second. You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt. Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present. The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst. They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something. The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses. You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you. You almost wish it were quiet. You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing. The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there. The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So. You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea. Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but. Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit. What the fuck. That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure. You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea. You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat. None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar. Like… trees. And fucking rocks. Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay. That’s not good. Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good. It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem. You’ve never seen it before. Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again. Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning. The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away. Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something. Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be. It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still. It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you. It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback. Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does. Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic. The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards. Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight. Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you. But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again. He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long. As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks. Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe. You’re safe. Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time. The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes. It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done. Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor. You left your guns, you left everything. I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that? W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word. This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way. He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him. “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s the quarry? What’s—what’s making that sound? Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body. Little by little, he loosens his grip on you. Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks. They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening. “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that. Ever again. Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving. Is that what he thinks? That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face. “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—”

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones. “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…” The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone. “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest. “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary. He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count. One, two, three… Seven. Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead. The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there. “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice. Yet… calm. Certain, composed, and with purpose. Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you. “Both. Both of you. I’d—I’d never stop. I’d rain hell. Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word. His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do. Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does. It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space. He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere. Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance. You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand. “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace. More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while. “I’ve been doing this job for awhile. And there are things… things you learn. Quick. Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads. Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight. Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally. Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more. “Wasn’t trying to run. Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? Why’d you go in the middle of the night?” You whisper, not upset anymore. Just trying to understand. “You couldn’t have waited until morning?” But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.” His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force. He didn’t want to remind you. He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest. In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense. Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day. If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you. Fuck. Too much thinking. “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape. Nice guy. Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it. You’re starting to drag a little bit. You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep. The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him. You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him. In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else. Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it. Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine. Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable. As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out. He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?” He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?” You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too. “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper. “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words. “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down. “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?” You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking. “S’to your detriment. Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being. The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled. “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?” You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend. Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open. “Tell me how you knew. You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question. “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed. “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it. “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction. You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh. No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest. A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those. Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm. No, that was just—“ you shake your head. “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked? Math? That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier. Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much. “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field. I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like. A whole fucking hour? At least. And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path. You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it. “Thirty minutes? Or an hour round trip. Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered. Should you squeeze your legs around his middle? Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause. He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now. “In your own little… panicked way. How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut. Too much thinking, too much thinking. You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself. It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing. He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice. Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal. He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of. One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t. All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing. Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure. Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder. Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly. “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake. “Mm? Din? Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on? Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers. “We’re in the air. I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?” Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet. What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response. Maker, you want to go back to sleep. You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case. “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused. “Is this some kind of… power trip? Or something? Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath. “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes. “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought. “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?” You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously. “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too. You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?” You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation. “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing? Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?” He tries, and. Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does. You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time. Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question. “Oh. Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head. You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked. “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would. “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening. He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see? Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment. Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch. Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours. The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick. He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head. This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago. The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way. Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up. But Din has other plans, clearly. He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it. He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned. He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is. But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity. The jet pack? Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion. You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him. You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it. It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own. If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride. Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him. You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt. As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss. He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now. The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason. You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up. Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes. You just… listen to it. Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise. Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right. It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it. You don’t want one, not really. There isn’t a name that would be good enough. It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen. A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away. The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event. You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist. The sun is also beginning to come up. You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach. You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means. The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better. You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves. They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step. Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water. It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance. You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water. A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more. Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle. It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way. You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect. Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection. It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost. Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly. Nervous, for some reason. Feeling unsure of his place. The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?” You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough. “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear. You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch. “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted. It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it. Untouched by millennia of progress. Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it. The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?” You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new. He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely. Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell. All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes. He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it. You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure. Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light. You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t. Things you won’t ever see. But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty. Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you. This is thoughtful. It’s so fucking thoughtful of him. For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing. It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it. It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing. It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below. You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it. The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take. Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet. Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side. You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat. The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron. No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there. Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips. Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens. As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water. You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder. He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks. Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again. He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current. Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier. It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him. How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes. You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking. His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word. When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow. Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are. Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything. The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried. If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel. You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t. You don’t need to. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing. It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces. He could walk right by you and you’d never know. Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it. But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you. You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw. He never finds out.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader insert

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bunnykawa · 4 years

Text

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card.

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back.

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera.

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed?

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you.

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you.

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you.

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon."

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me."

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail.

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?"

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight.

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day.

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have.

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly.

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak.

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you.

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything.

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out.

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy.

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction.

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty.

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again.

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you.

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you.

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin.

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness.

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively.

I'm sorry, Osamu.

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far.

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?"

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you.

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing.

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here?

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak.

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically.

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly.

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices.

Holy shit, those are your juices.

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again.

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck.

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

2K notes · View notes

hongism · 3 years

Text

reciprocated - j.wy (ft. c.san) 18+

↦ pairing: san x fem!reader x wooyoung ↦ genre: pwp, smut, 18+, non idol au, friends with benefits au ↦ wc: 4.0k ↦ pt 2 to belated | ↦ warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, oral sex: f and m, voyeurism, exhibitionism, cum eating, masturbation, creampie

When you and San sent Wooyoung the less than appropriate for viewing video, you had half-expected an immediate response of an extended keyboard smash or just a series of emojis conveying his both panic and excitement to be receiving such a thing. What you got in reality was radio silence on his part, and that seems to have caught San off-guard as well because he can’t seem to figure out why Wooyoung wouldn’t respond. Granted, it’s only been around a week since you sent the damn thing, but Wooyoung is notorious for responding within a fraction of a second, so the mystery becomes why hasn’t Wooyoung responded or reacted. He texts you and San regularly, either through the group chat you have with the two men or just one on one, but he does not under any circumstances mention the email attachment you sent from San’s computer. Even when San directly asked him over text if he received his birthday gift, Wooyoung just neglected to respond entirely.

San could not be more unbothered by the fact that Wooyoung won’t respond. You on the other hand can’t help but feel like he has seen the video and was so disgusted and grossed out by it that he’s just counting down the days to end your friendship. It’s a constant and bubbling anxiety in your gut, and it’s one that heightens when Friday evening rolls around and Wooyoung comes by your apartment with San to watch a movie.

The latter arrives before Wooyoung does, pushing into the apartment like he owns in and immediately making himself comfortable beside you on the couch. Your nervous exterior must be evident to him because his cheerful attitude morphs into one of concern the second he sits down.

“What’s that expression for?”

“Do you think he’s… I don’t know, weirded out?”

“By the video?” You nod hastily, and San twists to look at the ceiling. “No way. He’s probably too shy to say anything. Full guarantee he’s been using it as jerk off material every day this week.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t he have said something by now? I think it’s—”

“I think you’re overthinking,” San states. An idle hand comes to rest on your thigh, skin bared by the shorts you’re wearing, and he mindlessly traces faint patterns there. “I have an idea. One that I’ll only do if you’re okay with it.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your gaze on San. The words are a bit suspicious, but San has never given you a reason not to trust him before, and you’re certain he wouldn’t do anything without your explicit permission and comfort.

“He’s too shy to talk about it, no?”

“I don’t know, San. That’s part of my concern,” you huff out in response.

“And I know him better than you do. Trust me when I say that he is merely too shy to say anything about the video.”

“So, the plan is…?”

“Threesome?”

“San!” The man all but cackles at your startled reaction and retracts his hand from your leg to clutch at his chest.

“I’m being completely serious.”

“You can’t be.” San deadpans, eyes searching yours with razor-sharp focus. “San.”

“Do you want to see how he really feels about it?”

“Of course I do but… I’m – I, well, I’m just shy about it!”

“And do you trust me to guide you through it and stop when you want to stop?” San leans towards you, and you find yourself moving with him, breaths intermingling as you get closer to each other.

“Yes, I always do, San.” He laughs under his breath once before letting his forehead fall against yours.

“And how do you feel about sex with Wooyoung?”

“I’m… I would like that a lot, I think. You aren’t gonna get jealous if Wooyoung fucks me, are you?”

“I can’t promise not to, but at the end of the day, I know—”

The thought is cut short thanks to the door popping open once more, and this time when you look up at it, it’s Wooyoung who steps through with his head tucked to his chest. You sink your teeth into your lower lip without thinking, letting San nudge you further down to the middle of the couch so he can better settle against your body. Wooyoung doesn’t even look up as he comes closer, phone in hand and screen flashing a bright light that keeps him preoccupied. That does absolutely nothing to ease your worries though, and his obvious avoidance of you and San’s forms causes an extra surge of panic to rush through you. San again detects your nerves and darts a hand out to clasp around your thigh just at the top of your knee, fingers massaging the bare skin there gently while Wooyoung positions himself on the other end of the couch. He doesn’t put a ton of distance between the two of you, which is a small reassurance, but he still won’t look up at you.

“Hey, Woo, did you–oof!” You send an elbow straight into San’s ribcage before he can finish the question. San squeezes hard at your leg and sends you a sharp and pointed glare. You return it with one of equal heat to no avail because San continues speaking, hand keeping you firmly in place. “Did you get my gift? For your birthday?”

Choi San is far too bold for your liking, you’ve decided that much.

“B-Birthday?” Wooyoung stutters. He glances up from his phone with cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and his gaze flicks between you and San for a few seconds. The silence drags. You can hardly breathe thanks to the lump in your throat. Wooyoung stares. San waits. And you are ready to burst. Then —

“For fuck’s sake, Wooyoung, do we need to reenact it on the couch for you?”

And in that moment, you truly do think you have died because there is no way in a million years that San really just said those words out loud. You jerk to bury your face against his shoulder – not helping your case since Wooyoung has most definitely seen the video and is most definitely thinking about the things you and San were doing in said video and any act of intimacy or closeness between the two of you is a dumpster fire just waiting to happen.

“No! No, no, no, no, no,” Wooyoung rambles so quickly that the words sound foreign against your ears. “You don’t – I wouldn’t – that’s too much to ask, I would never—”

“Well, you were obviously thinking about it!” San argues, not missing a beat in his remarks, and you really want nothing more than to completely disappear from existence entirely. “That boner isn’t exactly discreet!”

Whatever sound leaves your lips is nothing short of inhumane, most likely something close to a pig squealing, and San secures an arm around your waist when you throw yourself further against him. He releases a loud laugh that rings in your ear, squeezing you as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I’m sure we can work something out. You heard the way Y/N was screaming your name, didn’t you?” You’re thankful that Wooyoung can’t see your face because you are positive that your wide eyes make you look like a deer caught in headlights and he might take that as a sign of hesitance, when in reality you are already imagining Wooyoung fucking you raw while you’re bent over San’s lap. Instead, San stands up from the couch, keeping his hands on yours while he moves, and you blink up at him with the same wide eyes.

“I – I didn’t w-want to assume that she – I thought it was just… just because you were – yeah,” Wooyoung stammers. His voice grows more quiet with each passing word, and you can envision the way his chin drops to his chest as it normally does when he’s flustered.

“Didn’t want to assume that she wanted you just as badly as you want her?” San inquires, head tilting to the side as he asks the question. “Was the sight of her begging for your cock while my cum was dripping off her face not enough for you?” You need to make a mental note to beat the shit out of him after this, but you also don’t want to admit that the burning humiliation is actually causing your gut to twist with arousal. Your thighs press tightly together against the couch – a movement that doesn’t escape San’s notice. “She’s practically drooling from the thought already. Shouldn’t you give her something to do with that mouth?”

The words have their intended effect on you; they’re words San has spoken to you in less than appropriate situations time and time again, but now they seem even more filthy because Wooyoung is right there. Your lower lip trembles as a whimper slips out, and you hear Wooyoung inhale a sharp and painful breath of air.

“I won’t interrupt, don’t worry,” San murmurs, letting a finger trace over your chin. “I’ll just keep her fully occupied, yeah? How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“G-Good,” you hastily answer through a gasp.

“Mhm, then you can be good and sit still for him while I eat you out?”

“S-San.” The single word is spoken breathlessly, and you’re shocked that it even comes out with sound, to be honest. San just smirks in response, watching and waiting for you to indicate that you don’t want to do this. So when you provide a small nod of confirmation, he nudges you off the couch and onto the floor. Your knees hit the carpet painfully, but you take it in stride as best you can and move to a more comfortable position. Wooyoung remains in a state of shock, not budging one bit from his spot on the farthest cushion, and San has to lean over your kneeling form to catch hold of Wooyoung’s collar and yank him forward.

“Are you gonna make her do all the work?” He hums, pressing into Wooyoung’s personal space so much so that Wooyoung has to lean away from him.

“N-No, I’m – I’m just still a bit shocked.” He isn’t too shocked to finally sit on the center cushion and press his legs around your body, feet planted firmly on either side of your thighs. Now you can clearly see the growing erection tucked behind his jeans along with the hazy flush on his cheeks and neck that looks oh so pretty from this angle.

San moves away from the couch no doubt to make room for himself between your folds. It leaves you with the task of helping Wooyoung out of his pants, but without San’s endless confidence, you both fumble awkwardly around each other for too long before bonking heads when Wooyoung tries to tug his pants down for you. Ironically enough, the contact is all you needed to dispel the awkward energy between you two, and you share in a small laugh with hands still fumbling over each other.

“Do you… is he right?” Wooyoung asks once your hands hook around his underwear. You hesitate there, blinking up at the man in wonder for a few moments.

“Yeah, he – um, he didn’t really need to convince me to do the video,” you mumble back before embarrassment gets the better of you. “I was just worried that you wouldn’t see me like that.”

“Oh no, I definitely do! Not to, uh, sound too enthusiastic but yeah. I do.” You can only manage a tight-lipped grin in Wooyoung’s direction before taking hold of his underwear and yanking it down past his knees. A startled groan leaves him as cold air touches his stiff member, cock springing out to slap against the fabric of his shirt. The shirt doesn’t remain on for long as it is though, seeing as Wooyoung leans back and strips himself of the material without second thought. San makes a timely appearance behind you in that moment, hands running up your sides to tug your shirt off as he settles on the floor. You let him move your body into whatever position he wants while you keep your gaze firmly set on Wooyoung.

Wooyoung doesn’t maintain eye contact, however; he keeps his gaze firmly set on your body, trailing over the mounds of your breasts and the freshly exposed skin that’s left there now. His tongue pokes out to dart over his lips, and the hunger of lust gives him a newfound sense of confidence that has him leaning towards you. You sit up to meet him halfway — lips smash together in a clash of saliva and tongue, teeth clattering as they bump together. San works on pulling your pants away as well, leaving you full bare before both men, but he doesn’t give you time to be embarrassed or shy about the lack of clothes. He weasels his way between your legs and comes face to face with your now exposed cunt. A few strands of arousal are already present there just from the sight of Wooyoung’s hardened cock, which San laps up like a starved man.

The tiniest kitten lick has you whimpering, San’s hands latching around your hips and pulling you down to his chin. You brace yourself on Wooyoung’s muscled thighs. The skin is soft under your fingers, but the harsh touch has his muscles trembling and tensing under you. You dip closer to his crotch, eyes not leaving his for a second. He can only groan under his breath as you drag the flat of your tongue up his length. His cock is heavy against your tongue, a bit of saltiness lingering there thanks to the precum leaking from his tip, but you take it in stride and gulp the taste down as best you can. With a startled gasp, Wooyoung twitches in your mouth, and his hips buck up off the couch to thrust further into your wet heat.

“S-Shit,” Wooyoung mutters. He tries to still his hips to no avail because the more you move your tongue along his dick, the more he struggles to keep from jerking and writhing under your touch.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” San hums from between your legs. “Such a good little cock slut.” The words carry over your clit, sending rapid vibrations through you, and now it’s your turn to thrash from pleasure. You moan around Wooyoung’s length and squeeze his base a little tighter. Even though the ministrations from San are nothing short of amazing, you refuse to be outdone, especially when this is about Wooyoung and not you. Thus you choke back your moans and drop your mouth lower on Wooyoung’s dick, hollowing your cheeks as you bob along him.

He’s not exactly the largest – in girth or in length – but he’s most definitely a bit longer than San, as well as a tad slimmer. His cock has a slight curve to it, one that causes him to hit the back of your throat sooner than you expect, and it’s a struggle not to gag around him. Your throat does constrict a bit, but that only draws a moan from Wooyoung’s lips. He reaches up to cover the sound, clasping his fingers hard around his mouth, and you resist the urge to giggle at his flushed cheeks and embarrassment. Instead, you pull the flat of your tongue over him and explore the underside of his cock like that. You spend an ample amount of time just tracing each ridge and vein on him before pulling up to suck gently at his head. Wooyoung is especially sensitive there; he jerks and writhes the instant you start paying attention to the skin there, thighs quaking from the stimulation.

“A-Ah, wait, w-wait, I — fuck!” Wooyoung doesn’t get to finish his thought, and he reaches down to close his hand over yours, squeezing hard at the base of his cock until his member is flushed a deep red. The action catches you off-guard at first, but he doesn’t let you stay confused for long before he explains his reasoning. “D-Don’t wanna cum yet.”

“You won’t last long in me like this,” you counter through a smirk. Wooyoung’s cheeks bear a thin sheen of sweat now, which only enhances the blush across them.

“I c-can’t get it back up that quickly. If I’m gonna cum, then I want it to be in you.”

“Gosh, you’re such a smooth-talker,” you tease as you push your legs into a standing position. San doesn’t question it, merely slipping out from under you to move to another part of the room. You don’t bother to look back at him; Wooyoung holds all of your attention in the palm of his hand now. Confident hands fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulders, and you lower yourself onto his lap. A coy smirk plays at your lips, one that Wooyoung watches with rapt focus as you press his leaking erection flat against his stomach between your sweaty and naked bodies. “Makes me want you to fuck me, Wooyoungie.” You can’t keep from pushing your lips into a slight pout, hand snaking down to take hold of Wooyoung’s member again, and you jerk him with languid and deliberate strokes.

“Fu-uck, is she – is she always like this?”

“More often than not,” San chuckles from his new position off to the side, legs spread wide as he runs a hand over his own erection. “Just wait until you actually get your cock in her. Didn’t she sound so desperate and needy in the video?”

Wooyoung’s hands find your hips and grip the skin there so tightly that you can feel it bruising under his touch, but the slight sparks of pain it leaves you with are nothing short of delightful. It’s enough to cause you to let out a small whimper and clench your hand down hard on Wooyoung’s cock. That is all the incentive he needs to pull you up over his member. You guide him to your entrance without hesitation, moving as he does to meet his lips in a messy kiss. He pushes into you a bit then and exhales a small groan into your mouth that you eat up without hesitation.

“More,” you mumble against him and shove his hands out of the way. You push your hips body down as far as you can, taking his cock all the way into your tight heat. Wooyoung breaks the kiss to let out a choked gasp. He throws his head back, exposing the pretty tanned column of his neck, and you dive in without thought. Your teeth drag over the skin there with the intention to nip and bite at it, but Wooyoung runs a hair through your hair, gripping the base of your neck tight to tug you back and look you in the eye.

“Tell me how you want me to fuck you,” he all but growls, eliciting a sharp wave of arousal in your gut.

“Hard and fast like you fucking mean it,” you hiss. You grip his chin hard in your hand and pinch his cheeks together to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips.

Wooyoung takes your words in stride, securing your legs around him quickly before flipping you onto your back. A huff of air passes through your lips from the impact of hitting the couch cushions so hard, but Wooyoung doesn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath before he is pistoning his cock in and out of your cunt without any semblance of restraint or rhythm.

“Holy s-shit,” you exhale, biting back a moan just before it falls out. All you can do is secure your hands on the cushions beneath you as Wooyoung fucks you in a fit of passion and intensity. San must be enjoying the sight of you two based on the groans that slip out of his mouth, loud noises that accentuate your own and the lewd sounds coming from between your bodies. “Fuck me so good, Wooyoung, god, you feel so good in me. Want you to cum in me too, baby. Fill me up nicely, y-yeah?” It’s a miracle that you get any words out, let alone that many without endless stutters and gasps, but the effort it takes is more than worth it when you see the look in Wooyoung’s eyes. He doesn’t respond verbally; although he doesn’t particularly need to because his dick does all the talking for him in the way he fucks you deeper than before, searching for that treasured sweet spot of yours. It only takes a few thrusts for him to find it, and when he brushes over the sensitive area, you can’t contain your noises any longer.

You fling out a desperate hand in San’s direction, searching for some sort of contact from the man, but Wooyoung snatches up the limb instead. He tangles his fingers with yours as he fucks you, and it provides a delightful amount of intimacy that you were craving even when he pins that same hand behind your head to thrust into your tight walls at a different angle.

“You gonna cum, Y/N?” Wooyoung growls against the shell of your ear. He catches your lobe between his teeth, nipping at the skin in a way that has your back arching off the couch and into his body. It nearly tips you over the edge, but you hold on a little bit longer with sheer willpower to cum alongside him. “You’re so tight I can barely move.”

“Wooyoung,” you whine, writhing a bit under him as his thrusts slow down a bit. He shuts you up then and there with his lips and kisses you until you’re positively breathless.

“Cum for me, angel.” His gaze flits up to where San is sitting with cock in hand, eyes glinting dangerously for a moment. His lips touch the shell of your ear and fill it with soft pants that have you shivering. “And call out Sannie’s name for him since he’s being so good over there all on his own.”

It only takes one glance over to where San is perched for you to cum, the mere sight of him jerking his length with sweat on his brow and eyes firmly fixated on your body, and a hasty cry of his name tumbles from your lips. It must be enough to send him over the edge too because you hear him call out your name a moment later, then Wooyoung joins the two of you in sweet ecstasy, hips stuttering in their rhythm as warm cum fills your cunt. You’re so spent you can barely move or think straight in the blessed aftermath of your orgasm, but Wooyoung gets up rather quickly. He climbs off your body and steps over to where San is seated still. In the blink of an eye, he drops to his knees in front of the man – his best friend at that – and his mouth is on San’s softening cock, lapping up the evidence of his orgasm and the cum that splattered over his stomach. A giggle leaves Wooyoung’s lips as he pulls up again and swipes a finger over his mouth to collect any excess cum.

“That was fun,” he says with a smile. A straight row of glistening teeth sink into his lower lip. “And something we should do again sometime.”

“I doubt you’ll have to do much to convince us,” San mutters, eyes darting over to find yours. “Right, Y/N?”

“Sign me up.”

a/n: im sorry this took so lONG oidjfosij this was really hard to write for some reason so i hope it’s still good but yeet yes hello ;-;

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drxwsyni · 3 years

Text

doubts and desires︱albedo x f!reader

summary: letting go of the past is hard, but losing what you have now would be harder. leaving albedo is neither something you can do, or something you really want, it’s simply taken you a while to understand that. word count: 2k warnings: implied dubcon, stockholm syndrome, past kidnapping

Even with how Albedo had bundled you up in a hat, scarf, gloves, and coat―it still failed to ward off the chill that seemingly sucked the warmth right from your body. Yet you said nothing about it, the unwanted attention it would draw from him inevitable if you made your discomfort known. And, you were almost certain he would drag you back to the cabin if he knew how the cold was treating you.

You didn’t enjoy the biting temperatures, but you didn’t want leave. Not when it’s been so long since you descended the mountain, that you barely even remember the feeling of snowfall against your skin.

The whole situation he’s placed you in is really quite foreign―confusing.

In how he’s letting you accompany him in his research, not far from his―your home. A safe distance, so to speak. Or that’s what he said, at least.

You realized that the way he spoke of this outing, how it’d just be the two of you, and that you wouldn’t venture very far; they were words of comfort. Not said to reassure himself that things would go smoothly, but to calm the look of trepidation in your eyes from the mere suggestion of going outside.

Now, seeing Albedo’s nonchalant demeanour while he studies the petrification of a fallen tree, it puts your mind at ease. Sure, if you look closely you’ll be able to see the way his eyes flicker to your form every few seconds or so, making sure you were right where he left you, but generally the alchemist is calm.

It makes you calm, for a moment it feels like you’re able to settle down and appreciate the intricate beauty of the snow swept mountain you stand upon. Best to do so now, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he would lead you home, sheltered safely away from the danger of the mountain’s climate.

“Oh―I didn’t know you were to be researching today, Albedo sir.”

With your back turned to the newly appeared stranger behind you, the cold that had seeped into your bones no longer posed as the only thing holding you in place―it was also now an icy fear.

You watched unmoving from your spot as Albedo gave pause, a hint of contemplation flashing across his face before standing.

“Timaeus. I thought you were studying back in the city.”

The man, who you had yet to properly address, responded with a somewhat nervous laugh.

“Yes, well I was, but it led me to do my own research out in the field…”

Always in a strangely graceful manner, Albedo dusted off his pants and straightened his jacket. A look of unashamed disinterest painted his expression as Timaeus rambled on about his findings.

Truly, you don’t recall Albedo ever showing such emotions with you―a detail not necessarily heartwarming, but still reassuring in an indescribable way.

Perhaps it was due to you being so sure that he’d rid himself of you when you no longer proved useful. Which made the swirling of affection and enamour in his eyes when he gazed upon you settle your nerves, even in just the slightest.

“...which I unfortunately have yet to procure. But―ah, I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. My apologies, how is your research coming along. And...who might you be?”

If Albedo recognized the look of severe anxiety flashing across your face, he paid no mind. Instead giving you a small, somewhat warm smile. As if to say, “Go ahead.”

The few seconds that passed were done in silence, you desperately trying to read Albedo’s face for ulterior motives, and the man behind you shuffling awkwardly in place while he waited for a response.

By some miracle, your body moved on autopilot, turning around to finally acknowledge the cause of your newfound distress. Only, you couldn’t even look him in the face.

Your mouth was dry, mind foggy and unable to think of a response that was anywhere near being coherent.

“...I―uh…”

“This is my new assistant. Please do forgive her, she’s quite shy.”

A shaky breath escaped your rigid body at the sound of Albedo’s voice, and the feeling of his hand resting gently upon the small of your back.

The blatant lie that only you and him recognized echoed inside your head.

Timaeus had no clue who you were, or what you meant to Albedo. But if he did know, you wondered what he would do.

“...Ah, it’s strange we’ve never met before.”

You could tell without looking that Timaeus was studying your form. With the way his tone shifted to something a little more unsettled, a pit grew in your stomach knowing how he had picked up on your questionable nervousness.

The hand resting on your back felt a little more heavy.

Albedo showed no signs of botherment, “That’s likely because she’s not from here.”

For some ungodly reason, the less experienced alchemist took this as an opportunity. “Oh, if that’s the case then we should show her around. Sucrose could use someone like herself to―”

“Actually, we were just leaving. I’m afraid I’ve kept her out in the cold too long, and descending the mountain any further is quite a reckless task in this weather―” His head turned to look at you, no longer addressing his student, “―right?”

If Timaeus was told of what his teacher had done to you, would he help? Even if he looks up to Albedo, even if everyone does, surely they would step in.

Only, the issue remained that first you’d have to prove to them you were in danger.

...And really, you weren’t. Not anymore.

The tender bruises around your wrists and ankles had healed long ago. Your health was in near perfect condition, what with how Albedo saw to it that you never did anything to put it at risk. A single and quick glance would show that you were so pristinely taken care of, complexion shining now that you no longer spent nights sleepless from fear.

What were you to even say?

Moreso, it remained true that you didn’t quite want to say anything.

Timaeus wouldn’t believe your truth, and Albedo would likely spin the scenario so that your words weren’t reliable anyways.

It dawned on you that Albedo knew this fact well, why else would he bring you with him if he wouldn’t still be entirely in control of the situation?

A simple movement, his hand drifted to your hip and gripped it firmly, urging.

Your voice, barely a whisper met his ears.

“...Of course…”

That was all he needed, sending an impatient, yet still neutral glance towards Timaeus, the smallest hint of self-satisfaction lingering in it.

His student took the hint.

_____

“I have to say, bringing you with me was quite...productive.”

After dinner, Albedo has you keep him company in his study. You, occupied with a book in a chair across from his desk, while he goes over his findings from the day’s outing.

“Research wise, I was able to study you in a foreign situation.” He continued, conversation one-sided, “The results were to my liking…”

Although construed in his ever sophisticated manner, his words told you that you did something right. He was proud, and that notion made the swell of a strange warmth in your heart grow.

The alchemist’s gaze remained downcasted at the papers strewn about in front of him while he spoke. “...I suppose you should be rewarded for such good behaviour.”

Your eyes flitted up, the story on your lap abandoned completely.

Albedo has never spoken of such a thing, not once entertaining the idea of rewards when he saw no reason to ever extend such gratitude. Even after all this time.

He must be especially pleased, you thought.

Perhaps, enough to grant you back even a small semblance of independence...that would most certainly be your wish.

You’d long grown used to his suffocating personality, the intense interest he paid you often resulting in little to no alone time. Albedo made sure you stayed in eyeshot, and in those inevitable times he needed to leave, he made them quick, and you were to be safely tucked away in the bedroom, door locked from the outside. There wasn’t a single detail he missed, no stone left unturned when trying to improve your security.

Unfortunately for you, it left little autonomy.

Just the smallest taste of self-reliance would be fine. You’d love to cook a nice meal, like the ones you used to make. Or perhaps to pick your own outfit one morning, something more your style than the things he put together for you. Any break from his constant guidance, no matter what shape or form, you’d gladly take―

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up then, I’ll meet you upstairs soon.”

Albedo neglected to look up as he spoke, and so he missed how the glimmer of anticipation in your eyes faded away. The way your shoulders dropped slightly, the look of disappointment flashing across your features in understanding of his words.

What he had planned, it was a reward...of sorts.

An excuse, as far as you saw it.

Albedo was known for testing the limits of living beings after all, and in certain ways, such studies extended to how he treats you. It’s a win win for him―he thinks it’s a reward, since he knows he can make you feel good, and doing so just shows him all those little things he can’t learn through idle observation. What makes you squirm or shy away with innocent embarrassment―information just as important as everything else he knows about you.

It doesn’t dissuade Albedo when he finally glances up to see what his offer has done, though the sight does make him feel as though he’s deceived you.

Still, he remains unapologetic. “While you gave me some good insight on how far you’ve...adjusted, I still can’t completely trust you. This merely turned out to be a good opportunity for satisfying your other needs―nothing more.”

Flipping open a nearby textbook, Albedo conveys wordlessly, a difficult habit of his, that the conversation has ended.

You, however, have yet to heed his words. Still seated, the once flickering of hope subsiding with each passing second. Call it grief, but you were sincerely expecting a different outcome. Though, knowing Albedo, and his constant need to grow more knowledgeable, you should’ve seen this coming.

“...I’d rather not have to force your compliance tonight. So, please―” He gestured towards the door with a wave of his hand, focus trained and brows barely knitted while he skims over his readings on the desk.

Honestly speaking, you once thought Albedo was a deeply confusing man. So too was the life he’d meticulously prepared, and swiftly forced you into. Yet, looking back, things may have been more simple than you once perceived.

Your only real job is to exist and comply. And you both know you’re not going anywhere, not going to say no. Especially now, given how effortless it feels to fall into routine, going through the motions of his request and carrying yourself upstairs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s too late for you, what feels like an eternity spent at Albedo’s side having just about rendered your fighting spirit useless. It’s been long since replaced with what you’re coming to know as a certain fondness. You want to see the compassion in his eyes that’s sparked by your willing compliance.

It was a single, tangible goal. Not complex and unobtainable like those tasks of your past life. Attempts at obtaining those desires are futile, when today's events proved you genuinely no longer want them anymore.

It’s much easier to make Albedo proud. You don’t realize that you do it everyday, and that he’s just poor at conveying his own emotions...

Drawing yourself a bath, you wash away past doubts, settling with what your life has turned into.

Distantly, you hear Albedo make his way up the stairs and towards your bedroom. You like knowing what’s to come, which is always something you’ll have with him. You can’t say the same if you leave, and so you finally resolve that you never will.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere x you #albedo x you #tw dubcon

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