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no-droids · 3 years

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Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize. It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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hexisqueer · 3 years

Text

saudade

a/n: WELL. im back! *confetti pops out*. i mean, kinda hehe, apologies im absolutely swamped with school and my degrading mental health :). n e way, this is LONG, because i’ve missed writing a lot <3 wrote this for @sykuui, this is long overdue babe tw: verbal and (probably) physical abuse, kuroo just being a gigantic dick, dont come after me pls ily, cheating, swearing word count: 2K (word vomit ;-;) pairing: kuroo x gn!reader genre: angst (if it’s not very good, pls forgiveness, internet person)

What keeps you up at night?

Gentle snores, his soft hair brushing your arm, muffled breaths reminding you that the world knew not of the Kuroo that slept by you at night, unburdened by the worldly dilemmas. For just a few hours every night, he was yours, through and through, in your arms while the clouds drifted across the jet black sky with no destination, and the moment seemed to freeze.

Love, love for Tetsuro, is what kept you up, and it would never have once crossed your naïve mind that love is what would break you, keeping you up, not for the love you felt, but the love that was torn from you.

Simple signs would not tell you what happened, it came crashing down on you all too quick, for he was proficient at hiding it, behind his caring smiles and affectionate touches. His love wasn’t as pure as yours, he did not yearn for you as you did for him, and it showed, eventually enough. The cracks in the relationship built up gradually, slowly but prominently, too wide for either to bandage up alone, and that is how you found yourselves; alone.

He did try to provide for the both of you as best he could, being the sole income earner, and it didn’t always end well when you expressed that maybe he was too occupied by his office for your liking, unable to care for you as he once did throughout high school, when he was attentive to you no matter when you beckoned.

“Tetsuro, welcome home!” You’ve had a long day and not nearly enough time with your husband, deprived of his peppering kisses and gentle strokes of your hair. You get neither, receiving just a simple grunt, and it is clear he has had a grueling time as well. “Dinner is ready when you want it.” He nods slightly, not making eye contact with you yet, his hair appearing even less groomed than usual. You stand on your tip toes to kiss his forehead, but he shoves you away, harder than playful, glaring at you.

Maybe it’s just weariness, but he makes no attempt to apologize. You blink back the sting of tears, walking towards the kitchen to serve the food that you had learnt to make for him. He’s just tired. I’m sure he didn’t mean to push me away. That was the first tear, in the loosely woven fabric that was your relationship, that began as high school sweethearts but was now, you realized only later, becoming too stifling for Tetsuro.

The steam rose of the bowl of rice and curry, curling around your jawline as you carried it to the tall figure seated at the table, with his head in his palms. “Do you want to talk now, baby?” Your question is only answered with another sound of fatigue. You seat yourself beside him, curling your arms around his bicep, watching him lift the spoon to his mouth, trying to make him comfortable. You wanted to show him that you’d be there when he wanted to share his exhaustion with you, never occurring to you that maybe, it was exhaustion of you that plagued Tetsuro’s mind.

“Y/n, can you please be quiet for once?” It was barely a whisper; you weren’t sure if you heard him right.

“Huh?”

“Just shut up for once, god.” The tears stung again. What was with him today? He seemed genuinely mad, but you didn’t know what you had done to make him behave like this.

Little did you know, it wasn’t actually you, but the idea of you. Kuroo had grown to be frustrated with his daily routine, tired that every day was the same, that his life had lost that spark it had when he peaked in high school, your presence monotonous and the marriage empty. He didn’t want it.

“Tetsuro, why would you-?” His hand swiped out, knocking the bowl off the table, a gasp erupting from your mouth. In that moment, all you can think about is to get as far away from him as possible. There is an uncharacteristic bitterness in his eyes, directed towards you as you lie in his line of vision. You flinch as he raises his hand to run fingers through his hair. Without a second thought, he spits his frustration out at you.

“Y/n, I’ve had a long fucking day, and I don’t need you to make it even worse with your constant questioning.” The chair slides back with a scrape, not unlike the scrape of his words against your soul. There is, and always has been, an insecurity bubbling away in you that maybe you aren’t good enough for Tetsuro, maybe he deserves better, maybe you are too overwhelming for the calm male that now stands enraged in front of you.

“You need to learn to shut the fuck up sometimes, because no one wants to listen to your endless whining. I get it, you need constant reassurance that you’re the perfect partner, but I couldn’t be fucking bothered. And you sure aren’t perfect with how clingy you’re being right now. So shut up, and leave me alone.”

Kuroo knocks over a jug of water on his way out, slamming the door over the sound of it shattering as your sobs rack through your body, dry but hard enough to hurt.

Being furious wasn’t a thought that occurred to you, and whether this was his fault made no difference, because it was yourself you blamed when you found him the next day, with his secretary, the bento lunch you had packed him, to resolve the night’s arguments, spilled over the wooden floor, much like the shattered pieces of your heart.

What broke you, was that there was no chase; Tetsuro didn’t come after you, didn’t try to convince you to stay, didn’t try to explain that this was a mistake, didn’t even try to salvage a nine-year long relationship that he tossed out the window of his high-rise office building, not a single second glance back at the spouse that had supported him through his struggles, through thick and through thin, comforting him when things got tough, consoling him as he lost matches, lost money, lost old friends.

Gratitude wasn’t something he had ever considered. You were always there after all, there to ensure that he was happy, that he was content with his unchanging life, the responsibility of being his unpredictable little spark of excitement weighing down on you.

You were gone that night, with hurriedly packed bags, worn out spirit and tears streaming down your face, sparkling as they dripping onto the marbled floor, sparkling like the diamond of your wedding ring that you left behind on the counter top, with one last admiring glance. It was worth a lot, but not enough for what you were being put through. And recognition of that fact is what liberated you, to start your own life, without a Kuroo Tetsuro.

What keeps you up at night?

Y/n. Bubbling laughter and affectionate aura. Everything that was gone, that now made Kuroo’s life… empty; as empty as he had left the relationship, as empty as the void that was once filled with y/n’s warm smiles, that he now attempted to fill with anyone who would throw themselves at him.

A different face to wake up to everyday, but none of them yours, the only one he longed to see, heart aching as though it might burst out of his chest to find its rightful place with you.

The day after you left, he had had no idea that his life would crumble without you, the backbone around which he organized his life, the foundation for his happiness. He knew it was unfair to put the expectation of his functioning on you, but he did it anyway, and without you, he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept that was independence.

“Tetsuro”, his seventh secretary in two months waltzed into the room, carrying a stack of files, discovering him with his head in his hands, glaring up at the one who dared use the name that you had so loving adorned upon him, the word only perfect on your tongue. “Do you want me to spend the night again? You seem tense.”

Kuroo growled, at the audacity they had, suggesting that they were even worth attempting to comfort him like you did. With a swipe of his hands, he knocked the files off the table, standing up to spit his frustrations out at the secretary.

But one glance at the look of apprehension on their face made him buckle, reminding him of the very last night he spent with you, broken jug, bowl of curried rice upside down on the floor. You; cowering from him, frightened of what he would do to you, flinching as he raised his hand.

Dry choking sobs left his mouth, you were afraid of him, the person you had loved more than life itself, given up everything to make happy, and he had never even uttered a word of gratefulness.

Realization engulfed him, leaving him on his knees. He hadn’t shown you how much he loved you, forgetting or simply just ignoring you.

No wonder you were gone, because what was there to stay for, in the dead-end life that you lived, without a loving husband or self-contentment? What had he done? Why had you stayed for so long?

Why had you stayed up all those nights for him?

Tetsuro never could forget about you, the absence of you gnawing away at him, slowly taking over his life. The final straw that broke him irreparably was you, at the national volleyball match that you attended, not for him, but as a sports reporter, beaming in pride in your professional outfit.

Your independence is what did it, because if you could live without him, it mean you would never return. And why should you, after everything he had done, why should you when you had finally found yourself, why should you when there was nothing to return to?

His eyes followed you around, trying to take in as much of you as he could. Interviewing people, smiling at them, the warm smile that was once only for him. Suddenly, your eyes locked, and he froze, standing close enough to see the hurt swim in yours as you lay them upon him, and the moment was over just as quickly as it began.

“Hajime!” What? Why were you yelling out his name, jumping into his arms, fondly glancing up at him with that adoring look, completely forgetting about the one man that had been missing you for so long? Why weren’t you running back to him instantly? Did you not love him?

But Kuroo knew the truth.

You did love him, just, not anymore. He had lost you the second he took you for granted. And he wanted to yell that he would never do it again, come back to him, please just stay with him, he will always love you.

He couldn’t. The beam reaching from end to end of your glowing face, words bubbling over as Iwaizumi held you close, it was too bright to interrupt. The sparkle in your eyes not unlike the diamond that sparkled on your wedding ring, the one he still kept in his pocket, in hope that you would one day, return to him, forgive him, love him again. But-

Kuroo knew that he didn’t keep you up at night anymore.

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hitoshisbabygirl · 3 years

Text

Keys hit the table and the usual grunt of cuss words fill the living room of the shared apartment of Bakugou and his roommate [ ]. Hearing the angry blonde enter [ ] felt herself getting up as she entered into the shared living room of them “Bad day?” She asked as vermillion eyes glanced towards her concerned [ ] ones. “ ‘M fine'' The usual grunt filled the room as he pushed back past the worried girl. Frowning and used to this curt greeting of his from the last few days [ ] sighed and went back to their kitchen yelling to the blonde that she started a shower for him, getting no real response from him.

Bakugou and [ ] had an odd relationship. They started to live together because of the boys burning his kitchen on their day off when they all lived together. He told the others ‘She was the only smart one out of his dumbass friends and the only one he could trust to not burn his place down’ and with that the usual group of Sero, Denki and Kirishima moved out of his place and to the place beside him ,the group wanting to still be around the grumpy blonde. [ ] was used to coming over with Mina and the group being around before Bakugou asked her, quite aggressively one day ( Oi you're moving in with me, i'm tired of these dumbasses destroying my place on their days off of patrol) which is how they ended in this arrangement

Even with Bakugou being a handsome and very popular hero with ladies, he never had anyone over, no awkward run-ins with [ ] staying there, nothing at all. He rarely even left the house to visit the others unless he knew he had the time for it. Bakugou was dedicated , being the #2 hero he had little time for much outside of work. He refused to take brakes, no matter how much [ ] and the others tried to get him out hed huff and puff about work until he actually had fun at whatever function it was that he was dragged to so he could get fresh air

He'd been like this since highschool when she met him. Angry , confidence that was more like cockyness, a temper to be messed with, prideful and not afraid to speak his mind, good or bad. [ ] could remember from when she used to get paired with him how smart he actually was, but how he could also belittle you if you didn't realize he gave you backward compliments. She owns him over with taking him head to head on, in practice battles and in the work behind the scenes. Bakugou wouldn't admit it but [ ] kept him together, more than he let show on the outside. From bandaging him up after an intense fight, to letting him vent when he was angry ; [ ] was there for everything, his good , bad and ugly.

Hearing the showeer turn off [ ] continued to find them something to eat as the silence in the room was comforting. As dinner started she took his hero clothes to the washer, starting the load so he'd have a fresh outfit, even with him having multiples of the hero costume, he was quite fawn of the one that he had gotten during highschool, the measurements needing to be increased heavily for his now large size but that was nothing for [ ]. As a gift once he got his own agency she had repaired the old threads, even going far enough to bulking them up so they'd be less prone to ripping or shrinking. That was the one time [ ] had seen emotion flash through the stoic blonde before he thanked her, genuinely with a rare smile that blessed his face.

Soon though, she felt a presence in the room. Turing around she was met with those same vermillion eyes, this time the look in them unreadable as he stared his friend down “Yes Kasuki?” [ ] said as she turned back to the boiling pot of rice on the stove “What Are cooking?” He asked as he stood over the aisle to see what she was stirring. “Rice so far, do you want chicken, fish or beef to go with it?” She asked as she turned to the still staring blonde, his eyes wavering as she stared back at him “Are you okay Suki?” [ ] said again as he pushed himself up , crossing around the aisle before going to her side “You don't have to do this for me” He said as she ignored him “ So Chicken is fine?” “[ ], i'm not a child you don't have to keep treating me like one” Sighing the girl turned to him, seeing that he was hunched over the counter, stretching his back as she could see the pained expression as he pulled out the muscle “Sit down yeah? Consider this an early birthday present to you” [ ] said as he gave her a glare “That doesn't mean you have to constantly cook and do shit like this for me, I have two weeks before it anyway” “Katsuki, sit down and take the kindness i'm giving you and hush” Pointing with her stirring spoon [ ] shooed the now grumbling and fussing blonde away. Just a usual day in the apartment

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hearing a loud cuss from the living room [ ] got up to see her roommate slump against the door, face tensed in apin as he ganced to the concerned girl “Shit, fix your face princess ‘m fine, just a bit of - fuck…- jsut soem pain is all” Reaching for the blonde [ ] helped him in, the larger male trying to hold up his weight as much as he could as she helped him to their bigger bathroom, sitting him on the toilet “Do you have any cuts or anything? Should we go to the doctor?” [ ] asked as a large hand sat over hers that went for his shirt “Im okay [ ], just some bruising and some little cuts here and there okay? Don't worry your pretty head about me” Feeling her face heat up she ignored what he said and started to help him out of his clothes, showing her a dark and slightly bloody mess of his rib cage. Wincing from the sight alone she started to lightly clean around the open wounds and surface scrapes around them. As she did he told her about the recent building that was destroyed from him using his blast too intense in one area like the villains he fought wanted him to. Another bad habit of BAkugous was beating himself up when he felt like he did poorly, which took a lot of trying to get him to let out. He would just overwork himself instead of relaxing and taking time to cool off and realize he wasn't the issue. “Any pain when I push here?” with a slight push bakugou hissed, eyes closing as she pressed deeper on his rib cage “Sorry sorry” Wrapping him up as tight as he could take [ ] stooped to look over his injuries, a frown on her lips “Stop it” Bakugou said, causing the girl to blink at him “ Stop what?” She asked as he met her eyes in the mirror “You're pouting. I'm a big boy thats what me being a hero is for i can take it , don't baby me” Her frown now deeping [ ] pushed his shoulder “Well you need a break , last week you were babying your shoulder now your ribs, im calling you in sick” Growling Bakugou went to sat something until he saw her face ; fear. She was afraid one night he wouldn't come home, that it would be the others telling her he was gone permanently. With a deep sigh he reached for her hand, pulling her back to him as he gave her a hug. Concerned and trying to come to her racing heart she looked up to those deep eyes of his, the same concert starting to fill them “ [ ]...i'll take the week off it makes you happy and rest, I’ll be okay alright? Just...please..I dont want to disappoint the one person who helps me even when im stupid and tells me what i need to hear without just agreeing with me” Shocked at his words all [ ] could do was rub his arm and bury her face in his warm chest, inhaling the smell of smoke and burnt caramel from his skin “Oi princess..” He rasped out as she just hummed , not moving from her spot. With ease the still injured blonde picked her up effortlessly and placed her on the sink, causing her to cry out. Slowly he let his hands trace her face, their eyes studying the other as he pressed his forehead to hers “Thank you..for dealing with me” He whispered against her lips as they slowly closed the gap between them, lips sealing in a soft peck. As soon as it happened it was over, Bakugou pulled away before he got too invested. Biting his bottom lip he gave her a lopsided smile, heading to his bedroom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4/20, The day of the birthday boy Katsuki rolled in a lot faster than he thought it would. Sitting up slowly he looked around his dark room, the bright light of 2:00 am mocking him as he got up to go to his kitchen. Seeing [ ] humped over at the computer sparked the explosion heros curiosity. Finishing his glass of water she came over to her, seeing that she had one last piece of paper in her hands that strangely looked like….

“Are those my reports?” a deep voice rumbled out. Letting out a screech [ ] jumped, turning in the swiveling chair to an almost adorable sight. A shirtless and sleepy Bakugou was rubbing his eyes as he let himself focus on her “Uhm...well yeah they are. They're all done now!” [ ] said as she gave him a wide smile whined the blondes' frowns deeped “You did all of my paperwork?” He said in disbelief as she looked at her hands , picking at her hand “Well yeah...I wanted you to have a non stressful birthday” She admitted as he scoffed , getting closer to her as he wrapped his arms around her neck and the top of the chair “You're so sweet...too good for me….” He grumbled as he hid his face in the nervous girl's neck. Gasping as she felt his hot lips kiss the junction of her neck she couldn't help but lean over more . letting him absentmindedly kiss her all over her shoulder and neck, little ‘Thank yous’ spilling from the tired man's lips. Still following his same path he worked his way up to her cheek, basking in the little laugh she let out as he nuzzled under her chin. Slowly what happened a few days ago repeated itself, they were face to face as his still sleep swarming eyes stared back at her curious ones. Tapping her bare leg from her seat she moved as he took her by the arm to his room. Hearing her heart in her ears [ ] sucked in a breath as he flopped on his luxury bed, making grabby hands at the standing girl. Giggling [ ] crawled in the bed with him as he pulled her on top of him “[ ]....” He groaned as she looked at him. Licking his lips as whispering Bakugou spoke “ I really like you...You and shitty hair dont have to do much for me all i want is you…” He said as she gave him a wide eyed look, not sure she heard him right “Yeah im finally admitting it...ive had a crush on you for a while...i never noticed it until Shitty hair called me out for having a worse mood when that good for nothing vibrating little shit tried to steal you from me at the banquet” As the comfortable silence filled the room he spoke up again “ And i really...wanna kiss you….but im scared you wouldn't like me back...after all these years of dealing with my shit and how i can be...your like a godsend to me..” As he opened his eyes to her he was surprised to feel her lips press against his , full and warm. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in his lap as they kissed more and more, the kiss becoming deeper as she pulled away, whispering a soft ‘ I love you’ as he kissed her again until they drifted to sleep in eachothers arms.

#mha #bakugou katsuki #fluffy #ah domestic Bakugou #4/20 happy birthday Bakugou!#hbd baby #I love this man 🥺#my angry pompom #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #this was supposed to post yesterday but yknow it didn’t work 😀#i hate it here sometimes #ahem anyway #enjoy!#💕💕

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justcourttee · 4 years

Note

im not sure if youre taking asks but here goes: platonic jasonette, bc there isnt enough sibling jasonette in the world

We stan sibling Jasonette. It is literally my life as much as Daminette. Hope you like it! @sixtyeightdays

A Brother’s Love

If a year ago you had told Jason Todd that he would be smushed flat against the wall of a small coffee shop in Paris, France spying on his favorite designer’s first date, he would’ve laughed in your face. After all, nobody knew MDC’s secret identity and even if his jerk siblings found out, they wouldn't tell him anyway, just to torture him.

Yet somehow, he found himself in this exact situation, his anger rising with each passing minute that her date was late. He watched as Marinette picked up her phone for the hundredth time to check the time, check her messages, and sigh as she placed it face down once more, defeated. Part of him wanted to storm over to her table, scoop her up in the tightest hug and take her out for two scoops of ice cream from the best creamery in Paris.

But alas, if he even moved an inch, she would spot him and he’d never hear the end of him being an overprotective ass. The sound of her phone ringing caught his attention as he watched her fumble to try and answer.

“Hi! Yes, I’m at the coffee shop. - Have I been waiting long? No, no, not at all.”

Jason rolled his eyes. She was too kind for her own good. It was how she got into the Lila debacle. It was how she let her classmates walk all over her for too many years. It was why she was letting this Adrien kid treat her as a second rate now.

“The Louvre? I mean I guess I can close out here and meet you there.” There was a pause as her head dropped in disappointment.

Jason felt his blood boiling. Not only did this punk leave her waiting here for forty minutes without a signal message or call, but when he does decide to let her know he’s running late, he insists she comes to him? Jason didn’t care how well protected the model was, one way or another he deserved a black eye courtesy of Jason’s right fist.

He waited for Marinette to finish gathering her stuff. She laid a note onto the table, not bothering to ask for change, she never did, and exited the door, her face heavy. Laying a note of his own down, he raced after her, careful to keep a few hundred feet between them.

Jason felt as though he was beginning to break a sweat as he tried to keep up with her pace. As she turned down an alleyway, Jason broke into a sprint, trying not to lose her. As he turned the corner, a hand shot out toward his jacket, slamming him into the wall.

“I thought I told you my first date was off-limits.”

“Hi princess,” his voice was breathless as he tried to keep the pain from seeping in. “Just thought I’d stop in and say hi.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes at him before letting go, allowing him to readjust his jacket.

“Besides, doesn’t seem like much of a date. I haven’t seen the punk once.”

Her eyes seemed to blaze as they cut into his. Jason raised his hands in defense, but he refused to apologize. They seemed to be locked into a staredown, both standing in the alley, arms crossed, neither budging in their positions.

“He’s not a punk Jason, he just was running late on his photoshoot. They just finished up at the Louvre which is where he invited me to. We’re gonna walk the museum and try to find Andrè’s ice cream afterward.”

Her tone was so matter-of-fact, so confident that he wanted to believe her, but her eyes were broken. They seemed so tired as if she almost expected to be stood up at this point.

“Mari, I’ve been here a year now. This is the twelfth first date you and Adrien have attempted. Every month he gets your hopes up and every month something always comes up last minute. How do you know he really is at the Louvre?”

Her arms dropped as her hands curled into fists. Jason knew he hit a sensitive topic, but he couldn’t watch her break her own heart. Not again.

“He’ll be there. Now leave Jason, this doesn’t concern you.”

She turned on her heel, exiting the alleyway without another word.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jason huffed as he landed on the nearest roof with a view to the courtyard. Following on foot grew too hard as Marinette constantly kept looking back, checking to see if he was still there. Besides, she said it didn’t concern Jason but she said nothing about Red Hood.

He tapped the side of his helmet, enhancing the zoom, silently thanking Barbara a million times over. The courtyard was empty besides Marinette and a blonde boy sitting on a bench, neither looking particularly happy.

“Don’t fail me now helmet.”

Jason hesitantly reached up to tap the newest installment Barbara had insisted on; audio enhancement.

“-it’s just ridiculous Adrien! You can’t sit under her thumb forever!”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Marinette.

“Lila will turn my father on me Marinette, you have to understand. I really do like you and I would love to date you, but it’s a choice between you and freedom.”

For the third time that night, Jason felt his blood pressure rise from this punk kid. Before he realized what he was doing, the rush of air filled his ears as his grapple strained under the weight of him. His landing was rough as he tumbled less than ten feet from the bench, rolling to a stop right in front of the couple.

As he struggled to his feet, his eyes met Marinette’s. They were a mixture of anger and tears, fueling his rage.

“You.” His voice was menacing, all of his anger directed to the blonde sitting in front of him.

“Me?” Adrien seemed to shrink in on himself, his eyes widening as he took in the hero in front of him.

“You are a literal piece of scum. Do you understand what you’re losing here?”

“Hood, don’t-” Marinette tried to reach out, her voice begging, but he simply shrugged her off, grasping Adrien by the neck of his shirt.

“Marinette is an amazing girl. She’s absolutely brilliant, I mean have you seen her grades? They freaking fly off the charts. If you all had a GPA system, she would knock all of you out of the ballpark with no chance of recovery. Marinette is so talented. Her designs have so much potential to run an empire in the future. She already has multiple big-name clients and I know she’ll only expand from there.”

Adrien tried to object, but Jason didn’t give him the chance. His grip tightened as he lifted Adrien from the bench, his tiptoes barely scraping the courtyard stones.

“Marinette is daring, courageous, compassionate, and way too caring for her own good. None of you deserve her. Paris doesn’t deserve her.”

He felt two small hands wrap around his arm, attempting to pull him off of the boy but to no avail.

“Marinette do something! Tell your friend to stand down.”

Adrien struggled under the man’s grasp, his wild eyes begging the girl.

“You little punk, face me yourself. After tonight, you don’t have Marinette to hide behind anymore. If I even see you in a twenty-foot radius of her, you’re dead. Got it, kid?”

He dropped the blonde, watching as he stumbled backward before taking off into a sprint, never looking back.

Jason wanted to chase after him, finish teaching him a lesson, but the sound of soft sniffles from behind him required his immediate attention. His arms automatically pulled her into his chest, the sniffles muffled by his suit.

“Don’t worry Marinette, he’s never gonna hurt you again.”

She didn’t answer him as her sniffles slowly died out, her arms tightening around Jason’s waist.

“C’mon.” He slowly pulled back using his gloved hand to wipe a stray tear from her face. “Let’s go get some ice cream.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jason accepted his cone from André, attempting to hand the man a tip, but he simply blocked Jason, shaking his hand.

“Anything for Marinette. I could feel her broken heart before she even arrived. A girl like her doesn’t deserve to be so broken.”

Jason sighed in agreement as he returned to the bench she sat on, handing her one of the cones.

“Thanks, Jason. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier, I just really wanted to believe that Adrien would come through. That our love could outweigh any obstacle this world throws at us.”

“Princess, did I ever tell you the reason I came to Paris in the first place?”

Marinette shook her head as she took a timid bite from her cone.

“My brother’s had a competition with each other to see who could discover the identity of my favorite designer, MDC. It took a couple months, but low and behold, August 16th comes around and my youngest brother handed me a wrapped folder that contained a plane ticket for Paris and your parent’s address. He said it was my birthday gift and it was scheduled to leave in the morning.”

“You came all the way to Paris, from Gotham City, to meet me?”

Jason nodded, taking a bite from his cone as well, throwing an arm over Marinette's shoulders.

“I was never expecting a small child of only seventeen years to be my all-time favorite person in the world. I mean your leather jackets can hold through a lot of trauma, trust me, Roy and I tried.”

Marinette giggled, her face slowly relaxing into one of peace.

“If Adrien can’t see how amazing you are, amazing enough for some guy to fly half-way across the world to meet you, then I’m sorry but I don’t think he really loves you.”

“Did you mean every word you said to Adrien?”

Jason looked over at the smaller girl, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Every last one.”

Marinette nodded, a small ‘cool’ barely audible escaping from her lips. They sat in silence for a few moments before Marinette spoke again.

“I’m over Adrien Agreste. For good this time.”

“Finally.” Jason pumped his fist in the air earning another giggle from her.

As they finished up their cones, Jason helped her to her feet, a sly smile crossing his face.

“You know, you graduate in a couple months. Maybe you can come back to Gotham with me, meet my other family. I’m sure they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Maybe I can meet that little brother of yours. After all, anyone who can figure out my well-guarded secret sounds like a very intelligent person.”

Jason laughed, his mind tracing back to the image of Damian with a pot stuck on his head after pissing off Dick’s former teammate Raven.

“I don’t know about intelligence, but I would say he’s extremely devoted to the people he cares for.”

Marinette saw the wheels turning in Jason’s head as she tried to form a no before he could blurt out what she thought he was thinking.

“You two would be so great together! Oh God, I sound like circus boy. Anyways, it’s settled. As your honorary brother and full-time wingman, I am setting you up with Damian Wayne.”

Jason dipped down, snatched her phone off the bench, and took off in a sprint.

“Jason! JasoN I DON’T HAVE INTERNATIONAL DATA!”

The streets filled with the sounds of their laughter as both took off into the night, a bright future lying ahead, neither looking back on the events of the night.

After all, ice cream mends most broken hearts, but nothing fixes you quite like a brother’s love.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07

#maribat #jasonette #batfam

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yinses · 3 years

Text

salvation and redemption if you could only save one soul in this wretched world fyodor dostoevsky x reader rating: t a/n: interrupting our normal scheduled programming for this idea i couldn’t get out of my head after going through my 5th rerun of bsd. i’ve always found fyodor to be an interesting character and he remains as an enigma i can’t shake.

“you love me right, kroshka?”

your hand paused at the crown of his head, a lapse in both your thought and judgement. it should have been a practiced answer for you, with how often he asked it. your response should have been expected as well, certainly given how his arms-his hands warmed your body. being with him was like living with a bomb inside your chest, a timer with no limit as he teased your existence by his mere proximity.

everyone assumed you’d been numbed by experience. no one truly trusted a man like fyodor do. so of course you were simply submissive by defeat. you couldn’t escape if you wanted, so why not be pliant and just enjoy the life you were given until he deemed it time for your retribution.

but in truth, you never feared fyodor in the way others did.

you didn’t dread what he was, your trepidation stemmed from the person he once was. a child lost in his own ideals and thrown head first into a task bigger than himself.

for as long as you could remember, it had always been you telling him not to worry. that it would always work itself out somehow. and in the event it didn’t? you would be there to save the day.

in your youth, due to your ability, you likened yourself as a hero. not the super kind, with all the strength and posture. no, you were more comfortable behind the scenes, the afterthought once all the glory had dispersed.

everyone liked to think it all happened in a simple swoop. the champion would defeat the adversary, stop the chaos and life would go on. but only for those unaffected by the utter destruction left behind. crumbling infrastructure and a debilitated economy.

growing up in moscow was just another city under the predation of evils and conflict. it was easy for such a place to worship the one who could bring forth deliverance. yet in the overwhelming relief of the downfall of the perpetrator, they often forgot about the repentance of the souls and atmosphere that was distributed in the process.

truly what did grieving do for anyone but bandage cracks when they needed to be filled.

as a child you had more cracks than porcelain should have allowed, yet the integrity remained if only in name.

“watch out!”

“wait, fyodor don’t!”

but you were too late. with a sigh, you fell to your knees uncaring of the blood that stained your already soiled socks as you cradled the dead canine. it had been made feral by nature, instead of choice. starved due to the lack of substance in his environment and forced to turn on whatever viable option was left.

you were just children. fleshy but not overly meaty and certainly not part of its diet. he struck out of his own fears of humans, cruelty baring its vulnerability to the world. in search of your own next meal, you’d stumbled unknowingly into its territory.

already dirty from the streets, fyodor hadn’t seconded his thoughts when he’d darted for the nearest trash can in hopes of salvaging anything to appease your stomachs. he’d been a moment too late to see the dog hidden in the corner, already thrown back by a lunge before he could dare to evade. it had been instinct for him to strike first, a thoughtless punishment executed out of fright.

rubbing his freshly scraped palms against his ratty jacket, fyodor spared you a sour look. “yes, kroshka, im fine. thanks for asking.” his dry reply went unacknowledged as he rustled through the garbage.

in the changing seasons of russia, even the newly dead didn’t take long to scum to the cold. despite the insulation, it’s coat already had a chill as you ran your fingers through it’s fur.

“you’re not actually going to bring it back are you?”

uncaring of the way it stained your clothing, you drew the dog close to your chest as a dull light m encompasses your body. in that moment, time seemed to stop as if altered by a silent command before it backpedaled backwards without regard for reality. at the first shift of life, you carefully disentangle yourself and put distance between you as the animal slowly comes to terms with its restoration.

not even a drop of blood was present as evidence of its past demise. shaking it’s coat, it stood on unstable legs, gaze filled with trepidation without cognition. a good deed should bare fruits of gratitude.

so why were you suffering from the sharp pain of fangs tearing into the flesh of your shoulder? your cry was short lived, however, as fyodor jumped back into action, a quick touch of it palm undoing your works.

in his haste, he’d carelessly knocked over the metal trash bin causing the crash to echo through the night. coupled with your cry of pain and the wail of repeated death, it was no surprise that your commotion attracted attention.

“not every life deserves a second chance.”

you don’t fight it when his fingers close around your wrist and he promptly drags you out of sight. whether the police or less honorable citizens, it wouldn’t be good for the two of you to linger too long. your hand grips the curve of your shoulder where the attack had just missed your throat. a second light show reveals a dingy shirt but one without tatter or blood. the pain from the bite gone with it but the sting of your decision lingers.

“not every deed should be punished,” you whisper.

you expect for him to stop you then, overcome with the need to debate but he continues to drag you along, making up for your lack of speed with his strength.

“this world wouldn’t need either if it wasn’t so cruel. maybe then people like us could be happy for a change.”

for orphans, a strive for happiness was best waited out until you could age enough to properly take it from the world at will. eventually the two of you would be able to contribute to society and earn a decent living.

it was easier to dream of a house. not too big or small. one that sat comfortably on a plot of land away from the dirt and grime of the city. you’d live off your own crops and grow old by your own ambitions. these for the aspirations that manifested in your heart. leaving only room for emotions like acceptance and expectation.

but fyodor was already sowing the seeds of condemnation and reformation. tired of the mishandling of the world and the path it was on. as a child he promised you a life without faults. you couldn’t have imagined at that age, how many of his own would manifest in turn.

yet out of obligation- or perhaps maybe it was affection. you stayed with him. slowly the hero of your story became the villain and your backstage presence was pushed further and further out of your inherent role of retribution.

what good would punishment be if you unraveled the seams of disciple after all?

salvation and redemption.

that’s the name given to your ability.

the ability to reverse the wrongs of the world, at the price of your own soul. for as black as this reality was becoming, at your rate you would have long been swallowed up had it not been for his intervention.

gradually your hand picked back up its pace, fingers working their way under dark tresses as you scratched at the scalp. for some many years, you’d only known the body lain against you to be cold, shivering against the bricked walls of abandoned buildings. but because of his actions, his directive- now you were both warm, fed and properly housed.

no, you didn’t need to be the hero. they only ever perished in the end.

just his salvation.

his excuse for redemption while he scoured the world for crime and provided the diligent punishment.

dropping your head, you pressed your lips against the rise of his cheek.

“until the end, fyodor.”

#fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #.some queso

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milkacchan · 4 years

Text

Requesr for anon: Brother bkg being an ass to his sibling but they start ignoring him and he feels bad- not an rq but dam 😳

No fuck you im taking this as a request 😤😤😤

• Katsuki had always been a little harsh.

• His whole family had (except his dad). He had anger issues, his mom had anger issues, even you had them.

• So it wasn't exactly a surprise that Katsuki was being a douche

• You'd lived with him forever you knew how he was

• but sometimes he went too far

• Like he had been the last few days

• He was getting on your case for fucking /everything/

• Just existing? Why would you do that

• Come downstairs dressed in something other than your school uniform? He'd laugh and point out some flaw.

• Did your make up a little different? Yikes does that really look good to you?

• Trouble on a project? Frustration about academics? He'd just sneer.

• Frankly, you were fucking tired of it.

• the last straw was when he said something about you being the dumber one while you were minding your business one morning in the dorms

• Shit made your blood boil but you promised your dad that you were gonna work on your anger issues- and you know what? You sure as hell didn't want to be like /Katsuki/

• Your twin could go fuck himself.

• So you did what any logical sibling did, you ignored him.

• Now usually- there'd be an actual fistfight- someone would be genuinely hurt.

• There had been times when you'd knocked him out cold- there had been times he'd left bruises and scrapes.

• But again, promises- so ignoring it was the only thing you could do.

• you had a week off from school, a break of sorts- given by Mic, he said the classes were being overworked

• You come downstairs the next day, dressed to go out with some friends, not ones from /his/ class though (cue we're both in the same class you dumb fuck) and he snickers at what you're wearing, making some comment along the like of 'who dressed you this morning?'

• You keep your attention on the task at hand, making sure you're ready to go.

• You get water and some snacks, barely registering what exactly Katsuki was saying.

• The knock on the door brought a smile to your face.

• "Bye dad! I'll see you tonight for dinner!"

"Are they still eating with us?"

"Yeah, and we're taking Iwa's car since we took mine last time."

"Alright, love you," he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'll tell your mother."

• You gave him another wave before bounding out the door and Katsuki was left behind very fucking confused.

• And this continued

• When you got back that night, surrounded by friends, he one next to you he knew as Iwaizumi and the other Oikawa (? He wasn't sure) you didn't bother saying hi

• Your parents seemed happy enough to see them again and he ate in silence.

• You blew him off when he made some snide remark about your test scores

• You blew off eating lunch with him and his squad- opting to eat alone in the courtyard instead- facetiming a friend from another school

• You blew off his glances and you kept to yourself

• You ignored his input on the homework and you rejected his lunch the next day.

• He wasn't spoken to in the car while you were driving with his friends ("his" friends) home

• And it hits him in class- he starts to feel bad. /really bad/

• You're his sister and even though you can be annoying you've always loved him unconditionally

• You held him the night he got back from the LOV

• After his breakdown about Allmight

• You were honest and you were there.

• And he was just an asshole- for no reason

• and it wasn't everyone in awhile.

• it was all the fucking time

• and he missed you bullying him too

• it fucking eats away at him

• for the next two days the feeling just simmers

• so he makes the reluctant plan to apologize

• and he does- in his own way.

• First things first he makes you your favorite food, he won't let anyone else in the class even look at it- so much as touch it.

• and he packs that shit up in your favorite stupid cloth he makes fun of and leaves before you come downstairs

• Your class, unfortunately but obviously, had sensed the tension between the two of you and for the most part had steered clear.

• Mina and Denki bugged Bakugou to tell them what was wrong- after all it had been a week

• And Midoryia had bugged you.

• The three if you had been childhood friends (does that even count when its siblings???) and he was concerned!!

• You told him not to worry about it and continued your week of really keeping to yourself while you ignored your asshole of a brother

• So they really didn't tell you Bakugou had cooked something nor did they mention him leaving early

• So the day ci tinued as usual

• You'd made home in the corner of the courtyard, the one farther from the school building and you had your phone pulled out, playing a game-

• at least you were until /he/ plopped down next to you, alone.

• A box was placed under the hands holding your phone.

• You looked at it, puzzled, for a few moments before looking up.

• Your brother was looking away, his hands on his own bento box in his lap

• He held his breath- listening as you opened the box and waiting for you to take a bite.

• "Do you like it?" He asked quietly, "Does it taste fine?"

You nod, "Tastes good, not as good as moms, but its up there none the less."

He nods too. "I'm-"

"Don't say it, the foods enough. I don't want to see you getting mushy. Just stop being an asshole all the time."

He nodded again. "Yeah, whatever. You're not dumb, by the way."

"Didn't buy it when you said I was."

He grumbled something under his breath before looking at you again. "Next time just hit me- Don't ignore me."

"No, I think i'm definitely going to ignore you, that hurt worse didn't it."

"Fuck off."

"I did kind of miss fist fighting you though. Don't disrespect me again."

He rolled his eyes and opened his own bento.

"Wheres the squad?" You question, eyes scanning the surrounding.

"I told them to fuck off somewhere. I was eating lunch with you today."

"Aw Katsu, thats so sweet."

"Fuck off."

• And so the dynamic duo was back.

#Bakugou Katsuki #Katsuki Bakugou #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou x sister reader #Katsuki x reader #My hero academia #my hero academia x reader

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gallickingun · 4 years

Note

hiii im in love with your writing!! and i surprisingly fell hard for that little oneshot of kirishima arriving home and just snuggling SO i thought it was the most adorable thing. i was wondering if you could write another wholesome sweet moment, perhaps during an afterglow or during pregnancy or just another snuggle i dunno jaj sorry if it's not from a prompt list i couldnt find one PLEASE AND THANK YOU YOURE AWESOME BYE

a/n: omg thank you SO MUCH YOU ARE SO SWEET!!!!! i love love love kiri, and i love making him soft. he deserves a sweet lil SO who will love him and hold him tight! here we go!! 💕

ps, you got a pregnancy afterglow!!! hope that made you doubly happy! spicy, so below the cut!!

pps, we have.... daddy kiri here. in BOTH senses of the word. hope that’s cool with you!

“That okay?” Kiri asks, hands gentle around your waist as he shifts you on the mattress. His fingertips brush the slight swell of your belly, thumb finding your navel as his eyes wash over your full figure.

You nod, biting your lip as you gaze up at him. Really you want to beg him to go faster, your hands in his hair and his name on your lips, but you can’t help to keep yourself quiet when you see the way he’s looking down on you in pure adoration.

Kirishima’s mouth brushes over the highest part of your stomach, dragging his tongue and teeth up your sternum until he connects to the upward curve of your chest. He smirks up at you, “These are nice.”

“Kiri!”

“What?!”

You giggle, shaking your head as your hands drift into his hair, threading through the bright crimson strands. You tug a little to guide his mouth down to your chest and he takes the hint pretty quickly. He licks over your skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface as the air conditioning hits you from above.

“Gonna start movin’, ‘kay?” Kirishima mutters, teeth catching your nipple. You whine and whimper, trying to force your head to nod up and down. He must understand because he starts rolling his hips forward again, using your gathered slick to slide into you easily.

It’s not hard for him to work you over the edge, not at this point. He’s had you going for a little while now, sweat sticking to your temples and lower back from the effort. The tinge of red on his cheeks reminds you of the amount of effort he puts into loving you.

Kirishima pulls away from your chest with a pop, lips bright red as he meets your mouth in a kiss. One of his hands rests in your hair, the other drifting around your torso, indecisive in his desire to touch your belly or support your back. His tongue presses into the seam of your lips and you part for him willingly, keening into him.

“Shit, sweetheart, you feel good,” Kiri murmurs into your mouth, the stroke of his cock within you turning your head away in pleasure. You whine, jaw dropping to let your panting gasps fall free from your tongue.

Kiri takes advantage of your wanton state, mouth ravaging your throat. The sharp ends of his teeth make quick work of your thin skin, nipping until you’re crying out and then soothing with his tongue and lips afterward. It’s like he lights you on fire only to then calm the flame.

You palm over his back and shoulders, the rippling muscle underneath your fingertips doing little to quell the wetness gathering between your thighs, distributed as he ruts into you. Kirishima has sucked at least three hickeys into the curve of your neck but you have little mind to care. You’re overwhelmed by him; the scent that fills the room, the heat that radiates from his body, the calloused pads of his fingers.

“C’mon, baby girl, tighten up for me.” Kiri’s hand in your hair tightens, yanking at the base of your head. He smirks, that confident persona he puts on once the clothes come off becoming much more evident the longer his cock is in you.

You nod in acknowledgement before focusing as much as you can on clenching yourself around him. Kiri nods, chewing on his lower lip as he loiters above you, thumb traveling down the expanse of your thigh to eventually find your clit.

"Such a good girl," Kirishima kisses the top of your knee, using his thigh to prop you up, "You always come so good for me, yeah? So pretty."

You're a blubbering mess, words unable to form on your lips, catching on your teeth like a net. You push them out anyway because you think Kiri loves to get you flustered; the smirk on his face and the tensing of his shoulders only does more to confirm your suspicions, so you continue.

He twists so he can get your leg over his shoulder, penetrating you at a whole new angle. You cry out at the first thrust but your cheek is pressed into the pillow so it's muffled.

Kirishima chuckles, "You like moanin' for me, baby?"

"Y-Yes, Kir-"

He tuts his tongue against his teeth, mouth scraping over your knee cap, "What was that?"

It's a warning, a promise that there will be repercussions if you don't follow his lead.

You turn, blinking wide eyes up at him in an attempt to have him forgive you, "Yes daddy."

"Good girl."

Your hand wanders around in midair, something you can't see, in search of him to help him ground you, to anchor you to this world before your spirit flies too far away. He slips his knuckles between yours, effectively grounding you. His mouth pressed to each of your fingers, soothing the nonexistent pain of your bones.

"Tell me what you want, pretty girl," Kirishima mutters. You can barely hear him over the mixture of panting and blood pumping in your ears. You let out a wanton cry, eyes screwing shut as he drills into you mercilessly, hips slamming into you, surely leaving bruises.

You gulp, your throat sticky from whining into the open air, "Please, I-I want your come. I want you to come in me!"

He chuckles and the deep baritone sound rolls like a wave, the vibrato of his chest making you shiver. You only wish he were talking in your ear instead of so far away.

"I already gave you a baby, sweetheart, what else do you need my come for?" Kirishima snaps his hips particularly fast and you feel your cervix cry out from within you, a jolt forcing its way up your spine.

You whine once you realize what he's said, tears beginning to pin prick the corners of your eyes, "B-But, I-I wan'it."

"Yeah?"

He's mocking you, you know it. His tone is too patronizing, the glimmer in his eyes sarcastic. You pout, squeezing his hand, "Please, daddy. Please. Want you to co-come in me."

Kirishima has his thumb circling your clit, hardening the tip of his finger just enough to give you added friction. You grind your hips upward, chasing the high that will have you crying out his name and stuttering for moments after.

His free hand wraps around your neck from behind, pulling you forward so he can kiss you on the mouth, "Such a good girl," the words are mumbled into your lips, muffled and distorted by the skin, "takin' me like the perfect little slut you are, huh?"

You whine into his mouth, palming at his back as you buck along with him, but he's got you producing waves of slick already. Your eyes roll back in your head as he continues fucking you through the crescendo, his own release building and begging in the form of his cock twitching within your dense muscular center.

"Please daddy, please," you know your irises are swallowed by your pupils, eyes blown wide with serotonin. You whimper, sifting your fingers through his hair before digging your nails into the tops of his shoulders, "Wanna make you come, wanna make you feel good, please."

Kiri pushes both of your knees back so he can butterfly you open, your thighs pressing into your chest as he ruts into you sloppily. You can tell by his rhythm that he's nearing the edge of his resolve, his mouth twisted and his nose scrunched at the center.

Your begging for him pushes him over, beckoning a wave of pleasure for him to ride just as steady as he's riding you. Kirishima's hips stutter and his cock twitches from base to tip and you can't help the moan that parts your lips.

After he's come down from the aftershocks, Kiri nuzzles his face into your neck, tugging your legs just enough to help you lay flat on the mattress. He kisses your cheek, "Such a trooper, sweetheart."

"Worth it," you giggle as he blows raspberries against your throat.

His mouth trails, pert blushed lips tickling your body, from your collarbones to your belly. He laughs once he gets to your navel, his voice soft as he speaks, "Not givin' mama a hard time, are ya'?"

Your heart warms at the sight of Kirishima mumbling to your unborn child, his fingertips tracing patterns and names over the stretched skin. He never fails to make you feel beautiful and important, especially not now. Kiri is always telling you how amazing you look, even if it's in a pair of sweatpants and one of his tee shirts.

"You’re so perfect, you know that?” Kiri kisses the top of your belly before pushing himself closer to your face. He’s smiling as he kisses you gently, much in contrast to the past couple of hours you’ve spent between the sheets. He doesn’t mind, though, not right now when your hormones are raging and you want every bit of him that he has to offer.

Kirishima kisses your cheek before pulling away, tugging you close so you can curl up into him, “I don’t know who I had to bribe in another life to get lucky with someone like you, but thank goodness I did it.”

You lay your palms flat against his chest, the muscles of his pectorals flexing under your touch. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but overall your body is tired and slow to move. He notices, dipping his head down so he can kiss your forehead and temple.

“You’re gonna be such a good momma,” Kirishima murmurs against your cheek, voice a low rumble in his chest. “I can’t wait to put another baby in you, keep you full all the time, yeah?”

If you were being honest, you’d have as many children as Kiri wants you to have, so long as he’s willing and ready to help you take care of them. And you know he will; Kirishima has been fawning over being a dad since the day you got married a couple of months ago. You’d been together for too long for him not to know with his whole heart that you were to be the mother of his children.

Even so, you scrunch your nose and swat him away, “I’d need a break sometime, you goof.”

“There’s my girl,” he’s peppering kisses over your cheeks now, giggles passed between the two of you at the action, “I can’t wait to meet them. I hope they’re just like you.”

“Kiri,” you whine.

Another bout of laughter escapes his lips, the vibrations in his chest making you feel whole somehow. You never believed any of those sappy romance stories before Kiri; everyone else had played with your heart - toying with it like it was some sort of thing detached from you as a person. He had been the first to throw himself at you and be truly vulnerable, the kindest person you’d ever met.

“What?!” He has you caged into his body now, knees on either side of your waist and elbows by your shoulders. In every sense of the word, you should feel panicked, frightened by the proximity and your inability to escape it. However, the only things flooding through your system are comfort and safety.

Your hands float to meet his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the tops of his cheekbones, “I hope they have your heart. You have such a rare one.”

A blush paints over his cheeks, starting at the neck and making its way skyward. You smile at him, the hormones making a raging comeback as tears fill your vision, “I am such a lucky woman, a lucky wife. You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

Kirishima tucks his face into your neck, careful not to let his hips hover too close to your belly. You feel the wetness of tears on your neck so you drift one hand into his hair, soothing his scalp with your nails. His mouth presses openly to the column of your throat, nudging his nose over your jugular. You smile at the warmth that spreads throughout your body as he curls closer around your, tightening his grip.

“You’re amazing, Kiri,” you murmur into the darkness of the bedroom, “I love you.”

He kisses the juncture of your jaw and neck, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

The next few moments are spent in silence, hands finding different patches of warm skin and mouths touching over bones and muscle. His fingertips roam over your belly, hushed words whispered as he brushes his nose over your rib cage. You are sure to echo the same amount of kindness in return, your nails mapping out the dips of his muscles and your mouth littering kisses over the top of his head, planting seeds of kindness like flowers in a garden.

“Wanna take a shower?” Kiri asks after a particular lull in conversation.

You scrape your fingertips over his back, a shudder running down his shoulders at the motion. A hum from you tells him that you’re in agreement, so he shifts away from you, standing to his full height beside the bed. Kiri holds you by the hand, but you tuck your legs into yourself as a shiver racks your body.

“S’cold, Kiri,” you whine, pouting in hopes that he’ll pick you up like he always does.

The redhead chuckles before tucking his arms underneath your shoulders and knees, plucking you from the bed and cradling your body into his chest. You rest your head on his collarbone, nuzzling your nose into his pectoral, “You’re so warm, honey.”

Kirishima kisses the top of your head, turning his body as he walks through the bathroom doors. He sets you down on the counter, your legs swinging slightly while he starts up the shower. The mirror fogs at the top from the heat and you feel a little dizzy from the sudden amount of steam.

You blink when he comes to stand between your legs, hands brushing over your ribs and down over the growing swell of your belly. He’s smiling, a genuine grin that you can’t help but mimic. Kiri leans forward to kiss you on the mouth, hands palming at you to keep you close. He is slow but deliberate, melding his lips to the shape of yours, gently tugging you toward him.

He hums, disconnecting just enough to press warm kisses from the corner of your mouth to your ear. A sigh from his lips makes you shiver, your hands instinctively threading into his hair. Kirishima kisses the juncture of your jaw before pulling away, “Ready?”

You nod and he helps you down from the counter, holding your hand as you step into the shower. Kirishima is quick to pick up your shampoo from the corner shelf, lathering it in his hands while you dampen your hair. His hands are gentle, smooth, much in contrast to his quirk’s abilities. He slides his fingertips through your hair, building up the bubbles as he works the soap into every inch of your hair.

A gasp parts your lips when you feel him press up against you, his torso completely parallel with yours. Kirishima kisses your shoulder, hands slipping down over your body, settling at your hips. He chuckles, “Relax, angel, you’re so tense.”

Kiri’s hands continue to map out the planes of your body, soap trails in his wake. The water from the shower washes over your body, erasing the evidence of his touch. Kirishima helps you to wash the soap out of your hair, turning your body so you’re facing him now. He dips his head under the water to kiss you on the lips, hands still massaging in your hair to relieve it from shampoo and suds.

“You’re so pretty,” Kiri murmurs against your lips. He tugs you forward, rolling his hips up into you, “God, you’re so beautiful, I’m so glad that you’re mine.”

Your hands find his shoulders and you pull away so you can look up at him, stars in your eyes. Just as always, the truth in his gaze - the reality that he really does love you with his whole heart - turns your insides into hot lava, warmth licking at your ribs the longer you stand in front of him. You smile, leaning into him so your bodies are entangled.

You’re not sure when it happened, when you truly became one. But now, you’re satisfied with the idea that you can’t truly tell where you end and he begins.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

TAGLIST: @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @voiceofreader @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @bitchtrynafck @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @bratwritings @samanthaa-leanne @orokayagi @tumblingintothefeelstrain @sunbeamwrites @bnhawritten @bnhasidebin @lovekatsukibakugo @aizawamirite @plusultrawritings @bnha-violetnote @yuueimagines @suckersuki @heroes-landing @bnha-mha-imagines @heroesreverie @pink-imagines @brattyquirks @kazooli

#kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima smut #bnha smut #eijirou smut #kirishima eijirou smut #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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deadrobinthoughts · 4 years

Text

⤙ sober | jason todd

warnings: drunken stupidity, mild sexual content beta’d: nah request: nope! a/n: a re-write because i’m inactive im sorry part 48469 please mind typos

The drunk mind speaks the sober heart.

‘And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means you can’t go one second without flirting with someone!’

The exchange hadn’t begun until you were a couple drinks in and your boyfriend brought up how he didn’t like the way one of your friends spoke to you. It was a conversation that should have been had with ease and thought but turned into something nasty when alcohol was added to the mix. Two different people emerged at night when these things happened, leaving you both a mess and wanting nothing but to leave.

‘Do you just want me to get rid of all my friends then? What about all the people you hang around with? You aren’t innocent in this!’ You hissed, knocking one of the glass bottles off the table to shatter onto the ground and it had happened so many times in the past that neither of you flinched.

‘That’s not- I didn’t- Why are you even being like this?’ He was getting frustrated and it was obvious with how he pushed his hair back and clenched his jaw, ‘I’ve kind of got a real social job, do you expect me never to be around anyone? I have to be! But what the fuck have I ever done?’

He was right. That sober part of your mind told you that and anytime he was with people, he was moderately friendly and work was something you knew he had to do.. You, on the other hand, were scared. Just like him. Scared that one day this would all get old, that one day you’d both walk away and never come back.. scared, even, that the other would disappear off to someone else.

But it didn’t end there, the insecurities grew and came out the more you both drank to numb the previous battle. The night drew to an end as you disappeared to the bedroom and he disappeared to the spare, leaving that empty feeling of sleeping alone to settle within both of you.

When morning arrived and you stepped from the room, you were greeted with a nightmare. Bottles broken on the floor, the couch pushed crooked and even a lamp lay in a heap on the floor from where it had been thrown at the wall. Your head throbbed and you just sank down to the floor to sit, not wanting to risk getting glass in your feet. Everything was loud and annoying to the point your head didn’t even raise when you heard the familiar sounds of shuffling around the apartment.

Soon enough you felt a body next to yours and an arm go around your shoulders as a cold bottle was carefully fitted into your hand. ‘Drink,’ was all the latter said, hand moving to caress the skin beneath his thumb.

It was routine and it was getting tiring. You were both tired of promising the other things would change when you sobered up; promising to start over when you both had clear minds.

‘We can’t keep doing this,’ you mumbled, taking a sip from the bottle with a grimace, already past the point of crying over the situation. It had happened far too many times and you could no longer bring yourself to feel broken or give it the emotional outbreak it sought out.

Jason was quiet for a while, simply tilting his head to press a kiss to your shoulder, taking the time to look and scrape for the words to make things better; another, hopefully not empty, promise. ‘We say that yet it happens again,’ he began, a weak chuckle following, ‘I can’t.. say I love you when I’m sober then throw it all away when I’m not.. what’s the point of all of this..?’

‘Does that mean you don’t fully love me?’ you questioned and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes, ‘We need to.. figure something out. Learn to bring things up, communicate without the need to drink. A..are we so broken that we need alcohol to be honest with each other?’

‘We really suck, huh?’

Lifting your head to look at him, there was a deep frown on your lips and you had to resist the urge to push him off of you at the cheeky little grin you saw. ‘You suck,’ you muttered, leaning to nuzzle his cheek, ‘We need help.’

Knocking your foreheads together, he sighed and pulled you closer. ‘No shit, I thought we were perfectly fine,’ he answered, earning an elbow to the ribs that made him groan, ‘Therapy? Alcohols anonymous? What are we supposed to do? Just.. start over?’

‘Yeah. Let’s.. let’s just start over. No alcohol.. we have to talk.’

‘In our defense, we do talk.’

‘You throwing a lamp at the wall is not talking, mister.’

Silence fell over you both and you were glad neither of you often had company, meaning no one saw this little part of your relationship that stayed behind closed doors. Words didn’t come easily to either of you but emotions did and they came strong, resulting in far too many backfires in attempts to talk. It had crossed your mind to seek the attention of someone else and you knew he was the same as that had been one of your late night discussions, resulting in a lot of crying the morning after. ‘So.. are we going to at least continue the way this normally goes?’

The words were accompanied by a hand sliding around your thigh to dip between them and really, it took everything in you not to let your eyes roll to the back of your head in amusement and some annoyance. ‘Fucking hate you,’ you breathed out but didn’t stop him, just let your head tip back against the wall. Happy with your response and the lack of heat the words held, he was already shifting around to be in front of you, pulling your pajama shorts down with a faint smirk. ‘Just give me a few seconds, I’m sure you’ll be saying something different,’ he cooed softly, pulling you forward by your hips.

‘Just- shut up before I change my mind.. we’re still looking for a therapist later,’ you barely got through the sentence when lips met your inner thigh and your fingers were already sliding through his hair, ‘y-your mouth isn’t magic enough to just rid of us t-this fo– fuck!’ The words were cut and you ended up letting out a sharp whine, practically melting back into the wall. You didn’t get a verbal response from him but you didn’t need one, too long in how he worked you.

You both really hated being drunk but you weren’t complaining about the sober makeup sessions that followed.

#dc #Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd scenarios #red hood #red hood imagines #red hood x reader #batfam #batfam x reader

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bgyulix · 4 years

Text

— just another edgy teen rom com

-> pairing: min yoongi x reader

-> genre: bad boy!au, high school!au, slightly inspired by the end of the f***ing world

-> tags/warnings: domestic abuse, child abuse, underage drinking, implications of drug use, also they smoke some weed but only a little, smut in future chapters, suicidal thoughts, despite all these its rather soft and yoongi is whipped

-> word count: 2,896

-> summary: min yoongi is typically someone you’d avoid, and definitely not someone you’d want to run away from home with. OR: having an existential crisis together on a bus stop bench in the middle of the night was not exactly the meet-cute you’d always dreamed of.

-> a/n: here it is!! i hope you guys like it, and if you want to be on the tag list just ask! im thinking there’ll be three parts, but there might end up being four, we’ll see lmao

-> chapter: 1 | 2 | 3

You’d been hit one too many times that night. It was inevitable that it would happen eventually; that a perfectly angled slap or shove against the wall would knock something loose, and you’d end up lying on a bus stop bench like a homeless person letting your wounds fester in traffic fumes.

The cold metal of the dirty bench bit into your thighs and the part of your shoulders where your jacket had ridden down. It registered somewhere in the back of your mind that you could just adjust your jacket and maybe shimmy your shorts down a bit, but you ignored it. You were perfectly happy lying here freezing to death.

Somebody had stuck some gum in the corner of the roof. Maybe you should take it and chew it and get a disease or something. That might be interesting.

Two buses came and went. The night grew longer, and colder. Less and less cars went past. Your shitty little neighbourhood had never been the busiest, and eventually the streets fell quiet and empty, with only the sounds of traffic in the distance and a moth buzzing around a streetlight to keep you company.

The pain of the cut on your lip and your black eye dulled down to a steady throb. It almost felt separate from you, the part of you that cared and the part of you that didn’t two different people arguing with each other while you listened in.

You heard footsteps, trudging up the street through sludgy puddles. They reached the bus stop and hesitated, like everybody else had when they saw your depressed beat up ass suntanning in the dinky fluorescent light. The part of you that didn’t care won out yet again and you didn’t even bother to look up.

They came and sat at the other end of the bench, by your head. You could see a tuft of shaggy bleach blonde hair in your peripheral vision. They shifted and grunted, their voice surprisingly deep. A sigh, and then they simply sat next to you in silence, and you absently wondered if they were waiting for a bus, or if they were going to mug you, or if they were having as bad of a day as you were.

“Rough night?”

You finally managed to move, arching your neck and looking at them upside down. It was a guy, maybe your age, with a nasty scrape on his cheekbone, in a camo jacket smirking around a split lip. He looked vaguely familiar, like you’d seen him around before.

Stranger danger! the little voice in your head that was still sane yelled at you. You ignored it.

“Yep,” you said.

“Yeah,” the guy muttered, “me too.”

He thumbed at his lip. It was bleeding a little.

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

“I got punched, I guess. What happened to yours?”

He snorted. “I got punched, I guess.”

“Welcome to the club, then.”

You settled back down, staring at the roof again. Your butt hurt.

“So, what brings you to my bus stop?” he said, his voice smug. You prickled at his tone.

“Your bus stop? This is my bus stop.”

“Nope, sorry. Definitely mine.”

“I was here first!”

“I’ve been having mental breakdowns here long before you have, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, sitting up to glare at him, your cold, tired bones groaning in protest. You noticed now the bruises on his knuckles, and the dirt stains - or what you hoped were dirt stains - on his shirt. His eyes were dark and catlike, watching you intently with something like amusement.

“I am not…” you grumbled, feeling suddenly pinned down by his gaze, “I am not having a mental breakdown.”

He quirked a brow.

“You’re lying in a bus stop in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re sitting in a bus stop in the middle of the night. You can’t talk.”

He chuckled, pointing at you. “Touché.”

A car went past. You sat side by side, hyper aware of his presence and the way his choppy blond bangs fell across his face and the way he was twisting the ring on his finger in his lap.

“You come here often then?” you said, casually.

“Occasionally,” he replied, casually. Just like you were talking about the weather. “Yourself?”

“Nah. I was just walking past, thought I might go somewhere.”

“But… you didn’t?”

“Don’t have the guts, I guess.”

“I get it,” he rasped, nodding sagely, “I always come here thinking I’ll get on the bus, and then I don’t.”

He pursed his lips, looking away from your face and to the road, glistening with dew and oil slick and hazy streetlights.

“Where would you go?” you murmured.

He shrugged.

“Haven’t really thought about it. Just…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the street. “Away.”

Away. The dream of away was a fantasy, had always been a fantasy. One you consistently came back to after every fight, every hit, every curse. You rub at your eye, wincing when it stung. You wonder who hit him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Away.”

He sniffed, scratched his nose. Suddenly he shifted, straightening his back and his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little, any hint of vulnerability gone and replaced with smug cockiness.

“So you gonna tell me your name?” he smirked. You rolled your eyes at his obvious display.

“___,” you told him.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyes widened. So that’s how you recognised him. “Like Min Yoongi? The drug dealer?”

He scoffed. “I am not a drug dealer.”

You raised your brow the same way he had at you.

“I am not a drug dealer… during school hours,” he clarified. You snorted.

“Anyway, how would you know unless you’ve bought off me, huh?”

“We go to the same school. You’re a consistent source of locker room gossip. Everyone's scared of you.”

Min Yoongi rode a motorcycle and smoked under the bleachers and once told a teacher to fuck off. Min Yoongi could set you up with anything if you were willing to pay. Min Yoongi ran with gangs. Min Yoongi had fucked his way through practically the entire school. You either hated him, wanted him, or were scared of him. The rumours and chatter surrounding him was endless, and he did nothing to discourage it, getting into fights and into detention, showing up to every house party with arms full of weed and leaving one too many hickies on a girl’s neck.

And here he was in front of you, staring at his boots and shaking his head almost bashfully, you dare say.

“You don’t look so scared,” he huffed. You shrugged.

“I’m having a bad day.”

“Yeah, no shit. You look terrible.”

“Hey!” you cried indignantly, “speak for yourself, asshole!”

He laughed then, a deep, carefree rumble from deep in his chest. Your lips rose on their own accord, and you had to fight to keep the smile down.

He didn’t seem so scary. Apart from the blood, of course.

“You wanna get a milkshake?” he asked abruptly.

“A milkshake?”

“Yeah. I know a place that stays open late, not far from here.”

“Oh. Uh… yeah, okay. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

The place he led you to was a small, rundown building next to a service station, trash littering the footpath out in front, with a guy leaning against the wall puking on his shoes.

JO’S DINER, screamed the flickering neon sign. OPEN LATE!

You screwed up your nose and hesitated, eyeing the guy warily.

“That’s just Heegun,” Yoongi said, nudging you, “‘sup, Heegun!”

Heegun raised a hand, before he doubled over and continued to hack his guts up.

Yoongi barrelled through the door, gesturing for you to follow. You hurried in after him, giving Heegun a wide berth.

The inside of the diner was vintage 50’s style, with a checkered floor and red vinyl chairs, and records and pictures of old cars hanging on the walls. It smelt of motor oil and fries, and scratchy music was playing through the speakers. One of the lightbulbs above the counter was out, leaving a weird dark spot, and there was a puddle of… something collecting in a spot where the floor dipped. The waitress at the counter was chewing gum and scrolling through her phone, her classic white apron covered in grease stains.

“Jisoo,” Yoongi drawled, sidling up to the counter. Jisoo, an older woman with extremely thin, overdrawn eyebrows, sighed heavily.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. She had lipstick on her teeth.

“It’s me! How’s it going?”

Jisoo raised one of her fake eyebrows, very, very slowly.

“You two look like shit.”

“Yes, we know. Thank you. Could we get two milkshakes, if you please? ___, what flavour you want?”

You started. “Oh, uh, just chocolate.”

“Two chocolate milkshakes. And a large curly fries, I’m fucking hungry.”

Jisoo marked it down on a little notepad, and somehow even made that sarcastic.

“Sir, yes sir,” she grumbled, and pulled out her gum and stuck it behind her ear, “take a seat.”

Yoongi sat you down in a little booth by the window and slid in opposite you. The table was covered in crumbs and the vinyl stuck to your bare legs.

“You‘re a regular?” you asked.

“Well, they know me by name,” Yoongi replied. He leant back and rested his arm up on the top of his seat, a dark blot against the garishly bright diner, somehow more intimidating in decent lighting than he had been in the dark. It finally hit you; you were in a shitty restaurant with Min Yoongi. You were having milkshakes and curly fries with Min Yoongi.

Why not, you supposed, it’s not like your life wasn’t already a disaster. You put your elbows on the table, the crumbs digging into your skin. You didn’t have the energy to be disgusted.

“So…” you began, and then came up blank.

“So…?” Yoongi urged.

“Uh… how much were the milkshakes? Because I have like…” you fished around in your pocket, “two dollars. And five cents.”

He chuckled again, rich and gruff, and you swear you felt it in your bones.

“Relax, it’s on me. Like you said, you’re having a bad day.”

“And you’re not?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I’m used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He smirked.

“That’s life, doll.”

Life, indeed.

“So…” you said again.

“So…?” Yoongi urged, again.

“Is this what you do for fun? Come to…” you lowered your voice, just so Jisoo wouldn’t hear, “come to shitty diners in the middle of the night?”

He seemed amused, his smirk growing a little wider and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah. This is all I do. Just this, nothing else,” he teased.

“Well, what do you do then? Other than this. And drugs.”

He leaned forwards conspiratorially and cupped his hand around his mouth, like he was about to deliver a secret, and you found yourself leaning into him.

He opened his mouth and whispered, “sell drugs.”

You scoffed and sat back, brushing the crumbs off your elbow.

“Right, of course. Typical.”

Jisoo appeared, a cigarette hanging from her lips, balancing a tray with two milkshakes and a basket of curly fries on her hip. She brought it down on the table hard enough to make both milkshakes spill over the sides of the glass.

“There, you little shits,” she grated, her voice like sandpaper.

“Thanks, Jisoo,” said Yoongi, going straight for the fries. “Heegun’s throwing up out the front again, by the way.”

“WHAT?” Jisoo roared. You flinched. She stormed across the diner, her thunderous footsteps making the table rattle, and swung the door open with so much force it was a miracle it didn’t come flying off its hinges. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HEEGUN, YOU DICK, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!”

Yoongi chuckled at your shell shocked expression. “She’s a real piece of work, huh?”

You nodded mutely, and hid the way your hands shook by grasping your milkshake and bringing the straw to your lips. It was pretty good, all things considered.

The second the food hit your stomach, it rumbled audibly, and your head went light and frantic. You reached for the curly fries and shovelled the greasy things into your mouth like a starved man.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yoongi asked, eyeing you cautiously. You shrugged, which was a lie. You knew exactly when the last time you ate was; last night at 10:24 pm, sitting across from your father, listening to him rant about how much he hated his job. People yelling at mealtimes seemed to be a trend.

You both ate in silence for a moment, the sounds of Jisoo shooing Heegun away and an overhyped pop song in the background.

“We go to the same school, then?” Yoongi said, with a mouthful of food. You wrinkled your nose at him.

“We do. Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross.”

He snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

You elected to ignore him. “We have literature together.”

“Literature, huh? I’ve never noticed you before.”

“I try not to be noticed.”

“You some kind of social recluse or something?” said Yoongi, raising a brow.

“No, I just don’t like making a scene, unlike some people,” you told him. “Beside, I sit up the back, and Mr. Ahn makes you sit up the front, so.”

“Huh,” he hummed, tapping his ring against his glass. Jisoo came back inside muttering under her breath, huffing cigarette smoke everywhere. “It seems like you know plenty about me, but I know nothing about you.”

“Not much to know. I’m not nearly as interesting as you.”

“Oh, you think I’m interesting?” he drawled, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re always up to something.”

“What are you up to?” he asked, jabbing a finger at you.

“Me? Not much.”

“Aw, c’mon. You got no friends, no hobbies? Nothing?”

He was watching you in that peculiar way again, like you’d just said something funny but he couldn’t quite understand the joke. He looked… interested.

“Why do you care?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Pardon me if I wanna know a bit more about the random chic I found at my bus stop,” he exclaimed indignantly, gazing dangerously at you from under his bangs. You faltered and your cheeks heated, and he gave an amused little huff.

“Um… well…” you stammered, and sipped your milkshake to compose yourself. “I, uh… I like music.”

“Music, huh? What kind?”

“Uh… any kind, if it’s good.”

“You’re really not giving me much to work with here.”

“I’m… I’m in a choir?” you offered.

“Oh, you’re a choir girl,” Yoongi said, “that’s cute.”

You scoffed. “Cute? Excuse me, that shit is hard. Do you know how to tone deaf 70-year-old people are? Extremely. Painfully. And they pinch your cheeks after they subject you to their dying cat noises! Choir takes a lot of effort, thank you!”

Yoongi laughed and grinned, so boyishly that for a moment he almost looked like a different person.

“I’m more into rap myself.”

“You rap?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you any good?”

“Well, that’s - that depends.”

You snorted.

“Huh. I didn’t know you rapped,” you said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Yoongi told you, and wiggled his eyebrows at you. You choked on a fry with laughter.

“Ooh, mysterious. Let me guess, let me guess - you’re addicted to anime. No, no! You cry at cat videos.”

“I do not,” Yoongi grumbled, “I have not once - not once - cried at a cat video.”

“Bullshit, you have too. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jisoo, from her place back at the counter, coughed loudly and pointedly in your direction, and you realised you’d been raising your voice. You lowered yourself back into your seat sheepishly.

Yoongi was still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. He was handsome, you thought. You’d never quite understood why girls threw themselves at him despite knowing the extent of his shady business practices, but you understood now; his mouth was soft and his jaw was sharp and his aura, while commandeering and a little intimidating, was relaxed and calm and familiar. You were having the strangest urge to reach over the table and brush his hair from his face, or maybe tap his nose.

He was… oh, he was cute.

He was smirking at you again. You were staring. Fuck. You looked down at your milkshake.

“You’re cute,” he said, and the milkshake went down the wrong way.

“What?” you spluttered uselessly.

“You’re cute. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

“Well…” you began, pausing to collect yourself, “...we have now.”

He grinned. You grinned back.

Yoongi walked you back to the bus stop, and when he asked you if you wanted him to walk you home, too, you refused.

“You homeless?”

“Just for tonight.”

He didn’t push.

When the sun rose, and you finally slunk back home like a dog with its tail between its legs, your father rushed forwards and drew you into his arms and cried apologies into your shoulder, like he always did.

I’m so sorry, ___. I didn’t mean it. It’ll never happen again, I promise.

He even bought you pizza for dinner - but then he got drunk, and then he did it again. Like he always did.

#min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts smut #min yoongi #agust d #jaetrc

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jae-daddy · 4 years

Text

Chubby (14)

Jaebum AU Series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen

masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader genre: angst, romance, mature, drama plot: you are getting bullied and jaebum decides to help you a/n: i got too drunk and i have no idea what i’ve written. not edited. hope y’all like it.i was going to write another part, but i think i’d rather go cry

Everything is spinning when you wake up. Your head feels heavy, your throat so dry it hurts to swallow and a sour taste remains in your mouth. You felt your head hammer against your skull as your tummy unsettles uncomfortably as the urge to be sick threatens you.

But nothing happens. You don’t vomit, you don’t reach for the water bottle. You don’t even move your body as the uncomfortable position pushes against your spine. You lay on your bed, sideways, staring at the wall as your mind raced and blanked all at once.

You wished the memories of last night would have been erased. You wished you had experienced a blackout like everyone else in movies and books. But alas, you remembered everything, everything so clearly you would paint each and every second that happened.

Jaebum had kissed someone.

But then Jaebum was also there for you and got you home.

That was probably just him being a good friend.

A good friend; after all thats what you both were.

You groaned closing your eyes as your headache increased. You tried shutting your eyes and burying yourself beneath your blanket to hid from the pain and memories, but it didn’t help with both.

After a few minutes of defeat, you got up chugged a few gulps of water. You didn’t stop and kept moving because you knew once you stopped you’ll be filled with pain. Pain from the memories and from the spliting headache.

........................................................................

You stood outside Jaebum’s door. It was a bit past noon.

The pain in your head was refusing to go, and you couldn’t do much about it. But you could do something about the one you were pushing back.

You didn’t want to hide from Jaebum. You didn’t want to ruin this friendship between the two of you.

You love him; there is no denying that. You have loved him from the moment you had seen him. You continued to love him as your heart was yanked from your chest. And you love him now as you stand outside his door step with your bleeding heart.

But you didn’t want to lose him.

You wanted him in your life no matter what role he filled. He meant so much more than a simple crush to you. He meant so much that you could look past your aching heart and a blinded kiss.

You reached up and were about to knock on the door, but decided to ring the bell instead.

You heard heavy footsteps rush towards the door, before the door swang open revealing Jaebum.

He looked like a mess. Probably more than you even though you had a such a rough night.

He must’ve just stepped out of the shower, you guessed, as you took in his wet hair. It was slick back like last night, and it made your heart twist more.

It wrenched as you took in his puffy dark eyes, dim with dark circles surrounding them. His straightened shoulders slumping, as his whole body rigid posture melted away as he took you in. His lips parted in shock, his eyes widening and something glistened in them, but you didn’t try to read it.

Jaebum seemed relieved to have you at his door step, but shocked, at once.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it deciding against it. He stood there gaping and closing his lips unsurely like a fish making you chuckle.

You pushed away everything you felt from yesterday, and smiled at him shaking your head. Before wincing as the headache seemed to worsen by the movement.

“Do you have anything for a headache?” You walked into the apartment leaving him at the doorway. Jaebum’s body followed you like a magnet turning wherever you did; feet coming closer to you no matter which was you turned.

“Or should I say a hungover?” You gave him an excited look raising your eyebrows. “Damn, is this a hangover? This sucks.”

Jaebum continued to stare at you wide-eyed. He stood infront of you. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t do anything. He just kept his gaze on you, as you tried not to notice.

“Jae,” you shot him an impatient look, “I swear my head is going to explode. Please help me.”

You tried to keep light and friendly. Like none of last night happened. You wanted to move past it. You want to treat it all like a bad dream and pretend that it didn’t happen.

When Jaebum didn’t move, your voice softened as you focused on him. You didn’t want to say it out loud. It would make it all too real. it would be like you were back there; in that room with Jaebum under her, her lips on his.

“Jae,” you whispered. Please. I don’t want to do this. Please, let’s just move past this and pretend last night didn’t happen.

Jaebum sighed in defeat as if he could hear every word and went off into the kitchen. You settled onto the sofa, as Tuesday snuggled into your feet.

“Hi, Tee,” you cooed, lifting him up onto your lap. “How have you been?”

He didn’t reply. Instead he moved up and snuggled himself against your neck. He was hugging you.

You casted your eyes on the ceiling to stop the tears that threatened. You stroked his soft grey fur as you brought your face closer to him, snuggling back into him.

“Thank you, buddy,” you whispered.

It didn’t matter how okay you act. You still felt raw. You still felt like your heart hung bleeding out of your chest exposed to the whole world. You still felt stupid. You still felt so tired that you wanted to curl up into a ball and hide away from everything.

“Here,” Jaebum settled a tray infront of you. He sat beside you, as he picked up a tablet and a glass of water. “Have this, first. The tea is still hot.”

You removed yourself from Tuesday, as you held out your palm to him. He placed the tablet on it, his fingertips brushing your soft skin and you tried to ignore it.

But you failied.

Your tummy flipped, as your heart skipped a beat.

You took the glass, making sure you don’t touch him and gulped it down with the pills.

“What kind of tea is it?” You were talking more than normal, but you would rather talk about the colour of the wooden floor of his apartment then sit in silence and guess what’s going on in his mind.

“Lemon and honey,” he replied gently. His eyes looked at you, but they didn’t meet your eyes. They studyed your fidgetting hands on your lap, the puffiness of your cheeks. The reddness of your lips, nose and cheeks. The way your chest rose and fell, the movement of your neck as your nervously swallowed.

The messiness of your hair as you had pulled it into a bun away from your face. How that once strand of hair fell against your cheek, and how he wanted to tuck it behind your ear.

How he wanted to feel the softness of your skin. To run his fingertips over your velvetness. How he wanted to hold your nervous hands in his. How he wanted to look into your eyes. How he wanted to kiss you once to erase all the memories from last night, and then a thousand times more to create new ones. Good ones you both were proud and happy off.

His eyes landed on your knees, and his jaw hardened.

The scrapes from last night left your skin broken and red.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, keeping his eyes on your knees.

Your eyes snapped at him surprise. You didn’t know what he was talking about. Did he mean your heart? Why would he want to know? What to you say?

“No.” You lie, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaebum meets your gaze, but looks away instantly as if it burned him.

“It looks like it would hurt,” He pointed to your knees this time as he got up. “I’ll go get the first aid.”

You got up with him. You bit your nails into your palm.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you told him, “but, if you want to, I’ll come to the bathroom with you.”

Jaebum smiled at that.

“Right,” he tried holding it back, but couldn’t. He shook his head at you. “You and your proper locations.”

Jaebum had learned a pet-peeve of yours was doing activities in places where they did not need to happen. For example, dressing wounds in the living room; especially where you both ate. It made sense, but your rigidness and physicial pain on your face made Jaebum find it more adorable than logical.

Jaebum led you into the bathroom. You sat on the toilet after putting the cover down.

He pulled out the box and turned towards you.

“I can do it myself,” you held out your hand. You didn’t know if you could handle caring Jaebum. “I can reach it.”

Jaebum hesitated. And then he held out the box.

Just as you were about to grab it he pulled it away.

“Let me do this,” he said softly, as he bent down infront of you. “Let me do something for you.”

“You do so much for me already,” you whispered, just as soft. You winced as Jaebum rubbed alcohol on the broken skin.

Jaebum looked up at you, before blowing on your knees softly as he continued.

He shook his head after as he reached for the ointment.

“It’s not enough,” Jaebum said, his jaw hard but his words so faint it almost disappeared. “It’s nothing compared to what you do for me.”

You shook your head as you felt them begin to burn and water.

“I’ve done nothing for you, Jaebum,” you told him, your voice harder, stronger making him stop and look at you. “I haven’t done a single thing for you. But you have. You’ve done so much for me.

“You helped me. You reached out. You made me happy. You adopted a kitten because I asked. You let me cook and eat with you. You became my friend. You tried to help me at school. You cheered me up. You took care of me. You took me to my first party-”

You stopped, and bit your lip at that. Jaebum looked away, and cast his eyes on the ground ashamed.

“The point is,” you sighed as you put your hands on the sides of his face and turned him to look at you. “Im Jaebum, you have done so much for me. So don’t ever feel like that.”

You felt Jaebum’s jaw harden, as removed himself from your hold.

“But I hurt you.”

“Jae,” you sighed.

Jaebum angrily ripped out two bandages from its wrapper before placing them on your knees.

“I hurt you. I made you cry.”

“Jaebum, I-”

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” he cut you off curtly. “I hurt you, and no matter how many things you think I may have done for you; none of them can make up for the tears I’ve caused you.”

You stared at Jaebum as you sat unmoving. Your heart shivered as emotions ran vivid through your veins. Your mind with a million thoughts as you looked at Jaebum. Your felt your heart crack a little more as you took in his defeated stance.

“Jaebum,” you whispered, as your hands gently fell onto your lap. Jaebum didn’t look at you. HIs hard eyes continue to be focused somewhere beyond the four walls of the bathroom.

You weren’t really sure what to say to him. You didn’t know what to tell him that would erase his guilt, and take away last nights memory like a magical spell. You didn’t know what you could do to make this moment, and the moments to come worth more than the bad ones that haunting loomed over you both.

“Jae,” you called again softer. Jaebum turned his head, his tortured gaze meeting your confused ones. You didn’t know what to feel. You didn’t know how to deal with your emotions from last night. You didn’t know how to balance your feelings against Jaebum’s guilt. Jaebum’s eyes reddened with anger; and your heart clenched.

Jaebum was so angry with himself. He was beating himself so much. No matter what you said could take away what he felt. It would remain with him. It was more than just guilt, it was something you didn’t want to understand. It was something that frightened you.

“Jaebum, tell me, and be honest,” you told him. Your hands clenched your skirts nervously. You wanted to hold his face, and look into his eyes and tell him it’s all going to be okay. That you would be okay, so he doesn’t need to feel this way. “Did you mean to hurt me?”

Jaebum’s took a sharp breath as his sharp eyes widened in surprise.

“Did you do it to hurt me?” You asked.

Jaebum shook his head.

“No.” His voice was low and heavy, but it was certain. He didn’t do it to hurt you.

“Was I on your mind when it happened?” You asked, and the image of her lips on Jaebum burned your mind.

“No.” Jaebum shook his head, casting his head down. “There was nothing in my mind.”

Except her. Except lust.

“I didn’t even know it was happening. One moment she was telling me about her parent’s divorce and the next she was on top of me. Before I could do anything, you opened the door and saw everything.”

You froze.

“I won’t lie to you. We used to do things back in the day. Maybe I gave her the wrong idea. I don’t know.” Jaebum sighed frustratedly. as he ran a hand through his dark locks. His jaw clenched as he looked pained. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.

“But all I know is that I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you if I can help you.”

You stared at Jaebum as his dark eyes looked into yours. The golden flakes in his dark brown eyes swirled as it glistened with desperateness as he peered into your eyes to make you understand. But he didn’t have to tell you. You knew he would never do anything to hurt you.

You knew that much. You had just thought that him kissing her was something that didn’t relate to you; and thats why it hurt. Because you didn’t mean anything to him. Nothing more than a friend.

But friends don’t do this.

They don’t stare at eachother, begging for them to understand. Begging for them to not misunderstand. They don’t make eachother’s heart ache and race as Jaebum made yours.

You casted your gaze down from his searching eyes.

“Then it’s settled,” you lifted your eyes to meet his with a small smile. “What happened last night doesn’t matter. You didn’t mean it, and I well...” You cast your eyes away, as your cheeks tinted red. “It doesn’t affect me.”

Jaebum nodded his head, falling back. But you could see something inside him sink at your words. You could see him falling down, deeper inside his head. You wanted to grab on to him. You wanted to hold him, and make him believe that it was all going to be okay.

But you sat there. You didn’t know what anything of this meant. None of it meant sense to you. Not even your heart as it ached. It didn’t help that Jaebum didn’t kiss her. It didn’t matter that it was her who misunderstood things. It didn’t matter what Jaebum’s past or actions were.

All that mattered was the now. The now where Jaebum was still not in love with you as much as you were in love with him. All that mattered that even in a small four walled room, it felt like there was a lifetime between you both.

Jaebum could never love you, at least not in the way you did. The only thing you both had in common was that neither could let go of eachother. While your reason was laid out infront of the world, bleeding red as every beat of heart sang Jaebum’s name. Jaebum’s reason remained closed and hidden away from everyone.

As Jaebum’s warm hands gently held your face, your body melted, but your heart tightened. As his lips softly touched your forhead, lingeringly, your heart ached.

You didn’t know what all of this meant.

#jaebum #jaebum angst #got7 #angst #fluff #chubby #bullying #jaedaddy #hope y'all like it #not edited #im jaebum #series #I have no idea what I wrote

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Tale as Old As Time - Chapter 5

Rami!Prince Adam x Reader

Summary: A prince cursed. A young woman aching for adventure. The classic tale of seeing beauty within.

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @xviiarez, @rogerina-owns-me, @brianssixpence, @mirkwoodshewolf, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye, @queenmylovely, @queen-paladin, @hah0106

A/N: The grand finale! Thanks to everyone who has supported and loved this story!

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of violence

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

When you arrived home, the windows of the house were dark, save your father’s bedroom. You released Dotty into the pasture and flew inside. You already heard your father coughing.

“Papa!” you cried as you burst into his room.

Your father was lying in bed, barely conscious. He didn’t acknowledge your entrance. You went to his side and took his hand. His skin was as cold as ice.

“Papa?” you whispered, looking desperately at his tired face. “Papa, it’s me. I’m home.”

“Y/N?” came a voice from the doorway.

You looked up and saw Lyle standing there. He had a bowl of something steaming on a tray, but he nearly dropped it upon seeing you.

“Lyle!” you sighed gratefully. “Please, tell me what’s going on with my father.”

“I’m afraid it’s taken a turn for the worse,” he said. “It’s odd, since his sickness isn’t very aggressive. But it could be the stress of losing you and his confrontation with Victor.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

Lyle explained to you that after you left, and Paul returned, he had gone straight to the village, looking frantic. He ran into Victor, who decided at that moment to talk to Paul about the marriage. He gathered the whole town into the square and announced your engagement. But Paul retaliated. He publicly stated that he had not given his blessing to the marriage and did not approve of the match. Then he said you had been taken captive by some monster living in the old palace. He asked all the men to gather their weapons and follow him there to rescue you. Unfortunately, no one believed the story.

“No one believed him?” you questioned.

Lyle raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, it’s not true, is it?”

“It is true!” you insisted. “Only, he’s not really a monster. He may look frightening, but he’d never hurt anybody.”

The pharmacist’s eyes went wide. “Y/N, you can’t be serious! You must realize how this sounds -”

“Well, then what do people think happened to me?” you wondered.

“They just thought you’d gotten lost,” he explained. “Victor told us you had gone to the big city. He led a search party for you, and they looked for weeks, but eventually, most of them assumed the worst. However, Victor has continued to look daily.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you really going to marry him?” Lyle asked.

You shook your head. “No, I couldn’t now. Not when I…” you trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love Victor and I’ve decided to end our engagement.”

“That’s a relief,” Lyle said. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You smiled at him. Afterward, Lyle told you to get some rest after your journey, and that he would keep an eye on your father. As you crawled into your bed, the difference was clear. This didn’t really feel like home anymore. You missed Rami and the castle now just as much as you’d missed your father when you were there. Your heart was torn in two.

Rami had given up on sleep. He remained sadly next to the rose, watching as the petals wilted and fell. He let out a soft whimper. He missed you so much already and it had only been a day. How did he expect to go on with his life now that he had known you? Now that he had lost you? It seemed impossible.

The next day, you woke and went to make yourself some breakfast. You opted for your preserves. Lyle emerged from your father’s room.

“How is he today?” you asked.

“Much the same,” Lyle said. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news, Y/N.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed, though you knew it was a lie. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

You opened the jar. Your father had already been into it, apparently, but you stopped and stared at it. They were grossly discolored.

“That’s odd,” you said. “I made these to last all winter. This is a relatively fresh jar. How could it be spoiled already?”

Lyle shrugged. “It was your first try at it. Don’t be too upset you got one wrong.”

“I didn’t get it wrong,” you insisted. “I know I did everything right.”

“Y/N, don’t be stubborn, anyone could have made a mistake,” he replied.

You frowned at him, but he ignored you. You went to get a new jar and you used that instead.

You and Lyle cared for your father all day. There was no improvement. You were suspicious of this rapid development of new symptoms. Symptoms he had never shown before. Fever, chills, nausea, and delirium. Paul would call for you as you stood beside him, completely unaware that you were home. He hardly noticed Lyle either. Another hopeless feeling came over you. For a distraction, you went to begin dinner. Lyle agreed to stay for the meal, since you were certain your father had no more money to pay him.

Just as you were placing the soup in front of Lyle, the front door opened. There stood Victor, who was taken aback by the sight of you.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, putting your hands on your hips.

“Y/N!” Victor cried, shifting into his normal, annoying disposition. “I’m so happy you’re safe and home! I was just coming to check on Paul.”

He started to cross the room - arms open - but you dodged the embrace. You doubted every word he said. Victor was vain and proud, and he would have no kindness toward someone who had humiliated him.

“Victor, we need to talk,” you said. “I heard about what happened with my father, and I think we should clarify some things.”

His brow furrowed. “I...alright.”

You led him outside to spare Lyle the discomfort of having to witness your break up. Victor seemed agitated, like you’d just caught him in the middle of something. You pushed this observation to the back of your mind. Victor was almost always up to something.

“I agree that our engagement needs clarification, Y/N,” he began, resuming his usual air of arrogance. “Your father had everyone confused. Especially with all that talk of a beast.”

“Well, whether or not you believe in the beast doesn’t bother me,” you said. “My father was right. I’m not going to marry you.”

His eyes went wide. Something flashed behind them, so quickly you almost missed it. His whole face shifted. He looked dangerous.

“What?” he returned.

“I’m taking back my acceptance,” you said. “What I’ve learned these last few months being away is that I need to live my life for me. I won’t imprison myself by becoming your wife.”

He scowled. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said assuredly, trying to conceal how frightened you were.

He looked sharply away, releasing a low breath, before facing you again.

“Who is he?” he questioned.

“Who is who?” you shot back.

“The other man, Y/N!” he shouted. “There’s someone else, I know it!”

“It’s no longer your concern, Victor!” you returned.

A beat passed and you collected yourself.

“Good day,” you said calmly, and started back inside.

You didn’t get very far. Victor snatched your wrist and yanked you back toward him. You yelped in surprise and the sudden pain from his twisting your arm. He grabbed a fistful of your hair with his free hand, and his nails scraped your scalp. You winced as he forced your face within inches of his own.

“You really were at the palace, weren’t you?” he said. “The beast your father spoke of is real, isn’t it?”

“Let me go,” you replied, struggling against his grip.

“Isn’t it?!” he demanded.

Fear struck your heart. You had never seen such a wild, inhuman look in Victor’s eyes before. He was crazed.

“I - it’s true,” you admitted.

He laughed a mirthless, empty laugh. “You are just pathetic. Don’t tell me you love this beast!”

“He’s not a beast, Victor!” you snapped, gaining courage for Rami. “He’s a prince!”

“A prince, is he?” he mocked. “Don’t be ridiculous. The prince was killed by the same monster that killed the king and queen.”

“The only monster I see is you!”

He glowered at you and brought your face close to his again.

“I’ll have you for my wife, Y/N,” he spat. “And I will eliminate anyone who gets in my way.”

You felt his breath hot on your face.

“By the way, how’s your father been enjoying his breakfast?” he sneered.

Your eyes went wide as a chill ran up your spine.

“You poisoned him?!” you gasped.

“I will eliminate anyone who gets in my way,” he repeated. “But I can see my methods with your father are far too time consuming. I will remove the beast much faster.”

He glanced at his sword.

“I won’t let you!” you cried, and tried once again to wrench yourself free. You could only wince as his grip tightened.

“You can’t stop me,” he said.

With that, he began to drag you toward the cellar. You fought fiercely against him, but he was too strong. He hurled you down into the darkness. You scrambled to your feet and tried to charge back up the stairs, but the cellar doors were slammed in your face. You heard him slide the wood through the handles to lock it.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you’ll live in the palace again when I buy it,” he said. “And you’ll remember who you really belong to with the beast’s head mounted on our wall.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. As Victor’s evil laughter died down and you heard him gallop away on his horse, your mind began working on ways to get out. You could call for help, but Lyle would not be able to hear you from the house. Your father made the cellar soundproof years ago so he would not disturb you while you read. This was the first time you had ever regretted it.

You put your hands in front of you and began to make your way slowly through the darkness. It was pitch black in the cellar, which only heightened your panic. You had to do something to get out. You had to reach Rami before Victor did.

Rami left his room for the first time since you left, that evening. He had no real destination in mind, but the sight of the rose was beginning to make him ill. It felt like looking at his own doom.

He found that a stroll around the castle didn’t help his gloomy mood. Everything now reminded him of you. He passed the library and peeked through the doors, half expecting to see you asleep at one of the tables. Only, it was empty. He went to the dining room and recalled the first time you had dined together after learning his name. It felt so quiet now without your voice. As he went past the ballroom where he had danced with you, just nights ago, a sharp pang hit his heart. With a low growl, he slammed the doors shut.

“Prince Rami?” asked Mrs. Carson. “I know you’re not alright, so I won’t ask that. But I will ask this - is there anything we can do for you?”

Rami shook his head. “Nothing matters now.”

She sighed and watched him walk on, heading back toward the west wing.

“Would you like to take a turn around the garden, sir?” she called after him, but he didn’t answer. “Prince Rami?”

He ignored her again and then disappeared down the corridor. She shook her head. As she turned to go back to her own room, she saw Daisy coming down the hall.

“Mrs. Carson, would it be alright if I went down to the village once a week?” she asked. “I know Y/N had to go, but I’d really like to continue my lessons with her. D’you think she’ll still have me?”

Mrs. Carson smiled. “Of course she would, Daisy. I think we can spare you once a week.”

“You don’t think the master will mind?” she wondered.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Carson assured her. “He wants you to learn, and he can eat sandwiches for his meals one day out of seven.”

Daisy beamed. “Could I go down to the village tonight? To check with Y/N?”

“Sure,” Mrs. Carson said. “You may take the guest horse down. But I’d suggest staying the night with Y/N if you can. It’ll be late by the time you get there.”

“Alright,” Daisy agreed. “Will you tell the master?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Carson!”

She took off down the hall. Mrs. Carson chuckled to herself. Perhaps Daisy would be a reason for you to return, if Rami was not enough.

The housekeeper continued her rounds. She was putting some linens away when she heard a scream from the main entrance of the castle. She jumped, dropping the linens, but took off in the direction of the cry. She was not far, and when she arrived moments later, she understood. Thomas was sprawled out by the front door, bleeding from his head. Anna was beside him, in tears.

“Oh, Mrs. Carson, look!” she cried. “Something awful has happened!”

Mrs. Carson knelt down and patted Thomas’s cheek.

“Thomas!” she said desperately. “Thomas, are you alright?”

Anna put her fingers to his neck.

“He has a pulse,” she said. “So he’s alive, just knocked out.”

“But who would have done this?” Mrs. Carson wondered.

“Look!” Anna gasped, and pointed to the tile floor.

Mrs. Carson followed her finger and then she saw it. Large, dusty boot prints.

“Someone’s here,” Mrs. Carson said grimly.

Anna gulped.

Rami was in his room when he heard Anna scream. He left there and headed toward the stairs to investigate. Only, he was brought to a halt when he saw someone he did not recognize standing in the hallway. His hackles rose and he started to growl.

“Who are you?” Rami demanded. “You’re not welcome here!”

The man was tall and handsome. And his clothes indicated he had some money. Not royalty money, but enough to afford finer fabrics. He swiftly unsheathed his sword and brandished it.

“I’m Y/N’s fiance,” the man said. “You will no longer terrorize this palace.”

Rami froze. Fiance? You had never mentioned a fiance - or any other man in your life besides your father. Since when were you engaged?

“Fiance?” he questioned.

The man began to laugh. “My name is Victor Prouvaire, foul beast. For my dear Y/N’s honor….”

The man continued to speak, but Rami didn’t hear him. All he could feel was that his heart was impossibly more broken than when you left. He was suffocating all of a sudden. His eyes stung with fresh tears. You were engaged. To a handsome, strong, rich man.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t catch Victor charging at him. Rami quickly dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the stroke of Victor’s sword. Rami turned and ran back toward his room.

Meanwhile, you were still locked in the cellar. The only thing you had managed to find was your father’s rubber mallet. You were whacking away at the doors, but the block holding them shut was stronger than the swing of your arm. You were already out of breath and sweating.

“Come on!” you shouted as you gave it one more thwack.

Nothing happened. Exhausted you sank to your knees.

“Oh, no,” you whispered to yourself. “Rami, I’m so sorry.”

You sat still for a moment, trying to think of any other solution or way out. Then you heard a slow clip clop of horses hooves. You thought at first that it was Victor, but the horse’s steps weren’t heavy enough to be his.

You only had one shot. You banged your fists against the door as hard as you could.

“HEEEEEEELP!” you screamed. “HELP ME, PLEASE!”

“Y/N?”

The voice you heard could have knocked you off your feet with the relief it brought.

“Daisy!” you cried. “Daisy, hurry, unlock the door!”

You heard the block slide out and then she tugged the doors up and open. You ran up the stairs and pulled her into the tightest hug you’d ever given anyone.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” she wondered. “Why were you locked in there?!”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “But we’ve got to get back to the palace as quick as we can, Rami’s in trouble.”

“W - what?!” she stammered.

“There’s no time to explain, we’ve got to go now!”

You quickly mounted her horse and helped her up behind you. She put her arms around your waist and you urged the horse forward. You galloped back into the woods with only one goal in mind - save Rami.

Rami was struggling to keep avoiding the swipe of Victor’s sword. He didn’t want to hurt Victor if he was someone you cared about, no matter how much it hurt Rami to think it.

Rami wanted to avoid his own room, so he led Victor into a guest room. There the struggle continued. Rami was dodging every stroke until he was backed against the window. Victor moved to lop Rami’s head off, but the prince ducked. Victor shattered the glass window, and Rami quickly jumped through it onto the balcony.

“What’s the matter, beast?” Victor taunted. “Too heartbroken to fight back?”

Rami didn’t answer. Mostly because it was true. He had no heart to fight. His heart was with you in the village. It would remain with you until his dying days.

“Did you really think she would love you?” Victor continued. “What woman could ever love you, when she could have me?”

Finally, Rami was backed up onto the railing of the balcony. He growled nervously. He had to make a move or risk falling to his death. With a snarl, he struck out with his paw. Victor had been drawing his sword back, so Rami hit him square in the jaw. Victor reeled back, and Rami moved to run past him back inside, but there was a crack of thunder. The sound caused Rami to lose his balance and he tumbled off the rail.

He reacted quickly. He twisted around and snatched the rail in his paw. His hind legs just barely touched the roof of the room below. But rain began to spill from the heavy clouds above, making his grip on both things slippery.

Victor got to his feet, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Oh, I’ve got you right where I want you now, beast,” he said. “Y/N is mine!”

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, lighting up Victor’s deranged face. He raised his sword over his head, preparing to deliver a devastating and deadly blow. Rami squeezed his eyes shut and thought only of you. If these were to be his last moments, he would remind himself of his dearest friend, and the only woman he ever loved.

“NO!” someone screamed.

Rami opened his eyes and looked up through the rain. You had cast yourself between him and Victor’s sword, and you were struggling with the man, pushing him back away from the balcony.

Rami took this moment to heave himself up. He was astonished to see you, but pleased. He was even more grateful that you were there to protect him. Victor dislodged himself from you and shoved you hard to the ground. Rami saw red and let out a roar as he threw himself at Victor.

Victor, caught unaware by Rami, dropped his sword. You grabbed it and walked over to where Rami had Victor pinned to the floor. You pointed the sword at Victor’s throat.

“Get out,” you said. “You are never to come near me or Rami again, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Victor said reluctantly.

You glanced at Rami. He met your gaze and nodded. He released Victor, who got to his feet. You hurled the sword over the balcony. Victor gasped when you did.

“You can’t use it to threaten anyone else,” you said. “Now leave us alone.”

Victor looked between you and Rami and with a huff, started to walk away. You and Rami only had eyes for each other.

“He said he was your fiance,” Rami began.

“He was,” you admitted. “But I called off the engagement.”

Rami took your hands in his paws and pressed them to his face. His warm, soft face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Is your father alright?”

“He will be,” you said. “Once I tell the pharmacist to treat him for poisoning.”

“Y/N, are you seri -”

He was cut short when Victor appeared again, this time with a dagger, which he plunged right into Rami’s side. You let out a scream of horror as he howled and reared back, inadvertently taking Victor with him. Victor stumbled when Rami thrashed, and then the former hit the balcony rail. Fearing Rami would topple over it, you grabbed his arm and pulled him toward you.

Victor, however, was not so fortunate. He slipped on the wet stones, went over the railing, and was not long or quick enough to recover and grab on to something. You heard his yell fade as he fell into the darkness.

You eased Rami down to the ground, cradling his head in your lap. His labored breathing frightened you.

“Easy, Rami,” you said soothingly.

“I - I’m so happy you came back,” he panted.

“Don’t talk now,” you replied gently. “Just hold on while I get you some help.”

You started to get up.

“No!” he protested, keeping you to him. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

You turned your head and shouted for Mrs. Carson, hoping she could hear you.

“Just hold on, Rami,” you went on.

“Y/N, I need to...I nee...there’s something I must tell you,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” you returned, adjusting his jacket to cover him tighter. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me.”

He shook his head. A lump appeared in your throat as your lower lip quivered.

“Rami, please,” you whimpered. “Don’t leave me. Please…”

He offered a weak, shaky smile. “I’m j-just happy I could see you...one more time…”

“Rami…” his name fell feebly from your lips.

“Y/N…” he breathed.

His eyes closed softly. His head slumped to his right. His chest stilled.

“Rami,” you said, clutching handfuls of his shirt. Tears slid down your cheeks. “Rami, don’t leave me.”

You became frantic. “Rami, please! Please!”

You tried to shake him, but he was too large and too far gone. You didn’t hear Mrs. Carson, Anna, and Daisy approach - they had put Thomas to bed - and they watched you call for their master. Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth. Anna looked away. Mrs. Carson had tears down her own cheeks.

“Rami,” you sobbed. “I love you.”

You rested your head on his chest and wept openly. It seemed impossible that you should lose him now when you had come so far. Rami had become your best friend and the love of your life. He saw you for who you were - as more than a pretty face. And you saw him for who he was - a kind, gentle, and generous prince. It couldn’t be true that he was gone.

“Girl,” said a smooth, sultry voice from above you.

You looked up and saw the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. She was gold and glowing. You might have mistaken her for an angel if the air around her didn’t suddenly feel dangerous.

“Do you speak truly when you say you love this creature?” she asked.

“He’s not a creature,” you returned defensively. “He’s a prince.” You paused to take a deep breath. “And the love of my life.”

The woman opened her hands and between them appeared the rose from Rami’s room. It had just one more petal. You watched with bated breath as it came loose and flitted down. The rose lost the pink hue around it.

“The curse is broken,” she said. “Just in time.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, realizing who she was. The enchantress who had done this to Rami in the first place.

“You’re horrible,” you spat. “It’s not just in time. It’s much too late.”

She smirked at you and it sent a chill up your spine.

“Not quite, girl.”

The rose stem turned to bright pink dust in her hands. Then it all turned gold. The particles fell over Rami like fresh snow. They then sank into his fur. A soft glow began peeking through, as if coming from inside him, and his body began to rise off the ground.

“Stand back,” the enchantress instructed you.

You hesitantly released your hold on Rami and got to your feet. Mrs. Carson took your arm and pulled you over to them. All eyes were fixed on Rami’s slowly ascending form. The glow inside him grew brighter, and then beams of light emerged from all over him - his mouth, his eyes, the tips of his fingers and toes. You gasped as you watched his body contort and change with the movement of the light. His paws turned into human hands, his back legs turned to human ones, his shoulders shrunk and lost the hair, his face was completely engulfed in light. The wind picked up and then Rami was returning to the ground. He was smaller than before, and had lost his coat. He was a fully formed man.

He lay still for a moment on the ground, and you feared that it hadn’t worked. You were too frightened to approach. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he finally stirred, pushed himself onto his knees, and then rose to his full height. He examined himself and a smile formed over his lips. He whipped around to face you.

“Y/N?” he questioned.

He was so handsome. He had smooth skin. A strong jaw. Thick, curly, dark hair that reminded you a lot of the fur you had become so familiar with. His body was lean and healthy. He looked like a hero to you.

Mrs. Carson gave you a nudge toward him. You inched over.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he said, holding out his hand.

With a full stride, you came closer, reaching out for him as well. When your hands clasped, you felt his warm skin for the first time. He pulled you slowly forward until you were face to face.

“Rami?”

He looked deeply into your eyes and nodded. Those beautiful eyes you had come to know were there. You saw behind them the Rami you loved.

“It really is you!” you cried.

You threw yourself into his arms. He spun you around and you laughed together in celebration. Your heart felt so light, it could have floated right out of your chest. When he set you down, he cupped your face in his hands.

“I love you,” you said again.

“I love you more,” he returned.

With that, he kissed you. A passionate, jubilant, true love’s kiss. Neither of you noticed the enchantress disappear from the balcony. Daisy, Anna, and Mrs. Carson were all dabbing their eyes.

“Mrs. Carson, are they going to live happily ever after?” Daisy asked.

“I believe so,” Mrs. Carson sniffled.

You and Rami giggled at each other, cheeks aching from all the smiling. Then, you kissed your handsome prince once more. As you would do for the rest of your days.

***

With Rami returned to himself, you went to the village to get your father. Rami paid for him to be treated, and cured, with a doctor coming to check on him periodically to be sure. The villagers were thrilled to have their prince. Many people came to work at the palace, including Elaine, who had taken to Daisy. You and Rami married as soon as you could. It was a grand and beautiful affair. And Daisy was right. You lived happily ever after.

~The End~

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