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#maybe have like…a street in between them
localbookshop · 2 days ago
Honestly, I love how a simple shared experience can turn the smallest of things into something special between people, into something meaningful to them. It’s like, you used to go to that little coffeeshop down the street with your mom and now whenever you come back to town you always go there because it brings a smile to your face. Or maybe you have this favorite mug that it’s even chipped in the edges but it was a birthday gift from someone you love. There’s also probably that song you listened on the radio when you were traveling with your friends, and now every time you hear it again it warms your heart.
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Your Daddy Don't Know 9
Not really a full series, more a little drabbling here and there ft. dilf!Frank Castle. Leave a comment or some feedback if you like! <3
Warnings: age gap, dubcon and noncon, fucking, smut, choking.
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You still feel the crush of Frank's hand on your throat. Your eyes wander to his muscled arms, his thick middle snug beneath the ribbed cotton as sweat thin the fabric. Your fear for him used to be childish but now it's all too real.
You walk at his side as you cross the palatial suburban street, the storybook backdrop venomously ironic given the horror of the trap you've fallen into. Your father's on the front porch as your mother's down in her garden, pulling at deep-rooted weeds. You can't look at either of them. 
"Frank, want a beer?" Your dad kicks the side of his cooler.
"Nah, think it's early for me," Frank climbs the steps and stands against the pillar, arms crossed, "me and your girl got something to chat with you about."
"Uh, okay," your father sits up and puts down his can as your mother looks up from the dirt.
"Well, ya know, with her workin' with my crew like she's been doin' and all that, I feel I've become a bit of a mentor to her, at least a…" Frank pauses and rubs his chin, "a guiding hand, ya know?"
"Sure, I mean, you're used to whippin' youngs punks into shape," you dad kids, "don't think she'd make much of a marine though."
"Yeah, well, you know I've been wanting to convert that old space over my garage, and I thought I got the room and she could help me with it, nice project to keep her outta trouble," Frank says coolly, "she can help me get the drywall in place and all that and I'll take the rent outta her check. Get her a bit of a foot out the door too. Some real responsibility on her shoulders."
"Ah, oh," you father sips from his weeping beer, "that's awfully generous, Frank."
"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. The girl and me, we been talkin', we think it's best until she can get enough for a real place. She too old to be living under your roof and I ain't got no kids to bother me… I don't know, just wanted to put it out there."
You stare at Frank. Oh he is sly. 
"I mean, you're right, she's all grown up, I'd say it's up to her," your dad shrugs, "sure she's dying for an escape from us."
You look between the two men then peek over at your mother. She gives a brief glance as she yanks on a stubborn root. You take a breath, knowing what Frank wants and slightly put off by your father's expectant gaze. 
Maybe Frank is right. You're a burden, a disappointment. Your parents are just too kind to say it. And you can't say they're wrong. You are a failure. You're absolutely pathetic.
"I think it's a good idea," you muster your voice, "to get out of the house. Now that I'm not in college, I should figure out what to do. How to… be on my own."
"Well," your dad leans back and tilts his head, "guess if Frank's offering…"
"Gotta get the place built first," Frank intones, "so you'll have her a little longer."
"Sure," your father nods, "sure you don't want a beer?"
"Nah, but your girl might need some hair of the dog," he kids and he peers back across the street, "got some things that needa be done and think the girl's suffered enough."
"Oh don't worry, we got lots to keep her busy," your dad chirps, "all nice and ready to go to bed early and start the week right."
You frown and cross your arms. Your dad has no idea what he just agreed too. Neither really do you. It's only the twinkle in Frank's eye that assures you it's not good.
Monday morning. For once you're up before your alarm. You stare out the window in the hallway, dressed in the straight-legged jeans and loose shirt already stained from your first week of work. Your bag is stuffed with a granola snack and cup of yogurt, you doubt you'll have much appetite as the alcohol lingers in your gut.
You see your neighbour, your biggest mistake, as he hops down his front steps. For a grumbly old man he sure is chipper at the crack of dawn. You get up, knowing it's better not to poke an already grumpy bear.
You drag your feet downstairs and head out the door. You cross the street as Frank gets to the bed of his truck. Your shadow skews before him as he looks up.
"Sugar," he greets with a wink, "up and at 'em."
"Sure," you murmur as you hold one strap of your bag over your shoulder, "get it over with."
"Ah, come on, you're really gonna be a brat?" He closed the back of his truck and stood straight, "don't think I won't spank you some more."
"Gross," you sidestep him and he catches your arm, swinging you back so fast your bag falls to the ground.
"Now, don't do that," he growls, "you were the one who sucked me off behind that shed and came over in those shorts like you were lookin' for trouble. This isn't on me."
"Oh, so I'm asking for it? That's disgust‐"
"What you are asking for is what you're gettin', sugar. A space of your own and I won't even take it off your check. You got other ways to make it up, huh?"
"Get off of me," you push against his burly chest, "I'd rather live in my parent's backyard--"
"If they even take ya back," he turns you and pushes you against the truck, "sugar, I'm offering you more than a room above my garage. You don't even gotta keep up this whole work thing. I'll take care of ya. Like the pretty little thing you are."
"You're not that old, don't be ridiculous," you try to shove him away, "I don't wanna be… whatever it is you're thinking."
"Too late for all that, isn't it?" He hums and kisses your forehead, "so be good for me, sugar, and I'll make it easy for you."
"Whatever," you utter, "let's just go."
He hesitates. His large hand frames your chin and he forces your head up, kissing you roughly as he grinds against you. He draws away and chuckles darkly.
"Sugar, best hope this day goes fast, all the things I got in mind for you, I dunno if I'll be able to hold out," he slowly drops his hand from your chin, "damn, you look fine in just about everything, huh?"
You say nothing, not wanting to provoke him further. He's right. It's too late. You agreed to it like the weak girl you are. You couldn't cut it in school so maybe this is what you get. The only prospect is that old man. 
Plaster dust sticks to your sweaty skin as you head back down to the basement, ready to haul up another bin of scraps from the torn out walls. The task is heavy and dirty and uncomfortable but distracting. You keep on as you hear the men above, arguing about the countertops and hinges.
You're the grunt, you don't have the skill so you do the cleaning up, the things anyone could do but no one wants to. You toss down the empty bin and start throwing armfuls of drywall into it, wiping your damp forehead with the back of your grimy hand.
You bend down and hear what can only be described as a growl. You stand and drop another pile into the bin. You turn as Frank tramps down the last stair.
"Mm mm mm, sugar, if you don't look delicious," he leers as he gets closer, his grey tee showing signs of his own work, "and you're down here all alone."
"Doing my job," you shrug and stumble back as he comes closer.
He marches you back and you nearly trip on the stray pieces. You hit the barren interior of the wall as he stretches his arms to grip the uprights on either side of you. You blink at him and try to see around him to the stairs. 
"No one coming down," he grasps your hips and spins you so that you yelp in surprise, "told you I couldn't wait."
His arms entrap you as he fumbles with your fly then wrenches down your jeans and panties. Your body jerks as you slap the wall and he blocks you from sidling away. His fingers spread over your skull and he pushes your head against the naked wood.
"I'll be quick, sug," he says as he wiggles and picks at his filthy jeans. 
You smell his sweat, feel the heat of his body as ice trickles through your veins, hear the subtle inhale as his breath picks up with anticipation. His hard tip brushes your ass and he pulls your hip back, square nails bearing into you.
"Be nice and quiet for me, sugar," he says as he thrusts into you from below, lifting you to your toes, "or someone might just wander down here after all."
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saltymongoose · a day ago
Can you do Yandere 2bhank?
Hey Luna! Got some hcs here for ya, hope you like 'em:
General Yan!2BHank Headcanons
(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Violence, Manipulation, Mentioned Drugging)
Generally speaking, Hank and 2BDamned are the most terrifying duo for anyone in your life but are sweet as can be to you (in their own ways).
They probably fall for you after you do something that you thought was just common courtesy. In this case, it was your instinct to help that got you into this situation.
2BDamned first thought you were a fool for fetching him bandages and other medical supplies when you found him patching up Hank in an alley. People rarely helped each other out of the goodness of their own hearts, that’s just the way Nevada is. He tried to reject them, but you only insisted.
Honestly, the two of them were baffled. Judging by the wanted posters on every street corner, you must’ve known who they are, right?
It was your stubborn kindness that first caught their attention, and their liking for you only grew when you decided to actively stay and help them, following Doc’s strict instructions to the T while he stitched up his partner.
Hank was pretty out of it at the time, but he could distinctly remember just how good you looked with your hands covered in crimson and a determined look in your eyes.
After this event, the two had tried to go back to business as usual, but they couldn’t get you out of their heads. 2BDamned found himself lost in thought more than he would’ve liked, thoughts filled with questions and musings about the attractive stranger he and Hank had encountered. (“Attractive?” When did he start thinking you were attractive?)
On the other hand, Hank was infatuated the moment he felt your hands on him, gingerly wiping away the blood that gushed from the deep wounds on his chest. Would you touch him again if he showed up at your house with an injury? Knife wounds don’t really hurt that much, now that he thought about it.
The two quickly realize how deep they've fallen for you after that first meeting, even if it is a little irrational. Love at first sight must be a trope for a reason, right?
They're very impatient after this realization. They don't want to wait to see you again or have you with them. Hank was probably on the verge of outright murdering everybody that stood between you and them, but Doc held him back on that. He was convinced that the easiest way to win your affections would be through two methods: isolation and causing you some slight trauma.
Don’t get them wrong, both of them would die before letting anyone else harm you. But maybe you needed a little scaring to see just how good they would be for you.
It was all too easy for Doc to assign some grunts to conveniently attack your workplace. It was even easier for Hank to come to your rescue, slaughtering them just before they could get to you. (But not after the unfortunate deaths of everyone else in the workplace. Guess you were lucky he came just in time.)
Was it perhaps unethical for 2B to knowingly send some of the S.Q.'s own men to their deaths in order to secure your relationship? Absolutely, but as long as nobody found out about it, it didn’t matter. He had even made sure they wore AAHW uniforms while raiding the facility, so there was no doubt in your mind about how safe you’d be with them instead of on your own.
It was easy for them to convince you that you’d be safest at the base with them. Their enemies were lurking around your city, after all.
They disguised their true intentions at first, simply masking it as paying you back for that day in the alley. It was odd that 2B insisted that you stayed in his private room and never left his office without supervision, but the mercenaries he hired couldn’t be trusted all the time. It was even weirder to have Hank shadow you whenever he wasn’t on a mission, a hulking figure that pressed uncomfortably close on all occasions.
Then they started being affectionate with you. 2B always has a hand pressed to your lower back or your hip when close by. His tone of voice is also noticeably softer when he speaks to you. Hank had always been unnervingly close, but now he wasted no time on pulling you into his lap and nuzzling you, loud purrs echoing throughout Doc's office. (2B would only chuckle when he saw this happen. The way you squirmed was so cute.)
Neither of them are the wordiest when it comes to displays of love; they show you their dedication through other ways. They would never want you to think that they don't care after all. If smothering you with more physical affection than you could ever want is necessary to convey just how much they love you, it's what they'll do. (And they'll do it quite happily at that.)
They really enjoy cuddling with you at night, when they have fewer outside matters to attend to. It gets cold enough that there's no way you would try to push them and their warmth away.
Unfortunately, they also have wildly different schedules, so they both can’t sleep beside you all the time. It’s typically Hank who accompanies you after he gets back, locking you into a tight embrace after removing his coat, mask, and goggles. To be honest, it’s oddly comforting to be enveloped by him entirely. (Disregarding the fact that you could barely move.)
The noisy, repetitive rumbling of his purring and the vibrations of his broad chest against your back effectively drown out your thoughts, leading you to night of deep sleep faster than you’ve ever experienced before.
2B found the sight of you two adorable, often looking over from his desk to see you just barely peeking out from Hank’s large arms. This is the way it always should be. Just the three of you, unbothered by anyone or anything else in Nevada.
On rare occasions the two actually have spare time together, they always spend it with you. You’ll find yourself squished between them in some way, whether it be them crowding up on your sides when you eat in the cafeteria, or you waking up from a nap to find yourself sandwiched tightly between them, 2B lulling you back to sleep as he stroked your hair.
In hindsight, he should’ve known the small prick of the needle would wake you. He just wanted a few more hours alone with you and Hank, even if he had to use a sedative to get them.
The other mercs are extremely weirded out by their behavior but don’t dare say a thing. They might be exceedingly gentle around you, sure. But they’ll save their wrath until they're sure you won’t know about what they do to those unfortunate enough to have interrupted their precious time with you. (They wouldn't want you to be afraid of them.)
Have you ever had a mop and bucket shoved into your hands and been ordered to clean up the bloody remains of your brothers in arms? Having to see what remained of their faces frozen in a permanent scream? It’s not fun.
The two are extremely protective over you. If you so much as scrunch your face up in slight distaste at what one of the mercs say, they won’t be seen again. Any and all threats against you, no matter how small, are eliminated to the best of their abilities. This could include Hank shooting them on a whim, or Doc deciding to conduct an impromptu experiment (specifically on how receptive they are to different forms of torture). Sure, their numbers might suffer, but it’s worth it so long as you feel safe.
You wonder why everybody avoids eye contact with you, some even turning back the way they came just to avoid your presence. Did you do something to offend them or something?
You ask Hank, who just shrugs and hugs you tighter to him. (You've long since given up on trying to shove him off at this point. That just makes his grip tighter and you had the bruises to prove it.)
Deimos and Sanford have a rough idea of who you are, but they don’t know a thing about your unique connection to them. As far as they knew, you acted as some kind of assistant to Doc, mainly helping with inventory and chemical synthesis for medicines.
(The latter was a lie, 2B had no idea if you knew anything about chemistry. Not that he would ask you to do that anyway, you could damage your hands.)
The only other detail they have is that apparently you aren't allowed to leave the base for whatever reason. Not like knowing that was worth anything, 2B and Hank never let you out of their sights anyway.
Any and all questions about you are quickly shut down, Doc making it clear that this was a boundary they should not cross. On the rare occasion either of them catches you outside the Medbay, Hank's leering was a good enough indicator that it would be unwise to talk to you.
It’s not like they wanted you to be lonely, but they were really all you need anyway. While they might be busy, at least one of them is always there to give you attention. Plus, they love you. Nobody else is more deserving of your company.
They have you right where they want you. And you'll stay there, right beside them where you belong. They won't accept anything less.
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6 and 23 for the spotify wrapped ask? 👀🤲🏼
6) driver's licence // olivia rodrigo
ronan bennett
“why are you doing this to me,” he asks and oh, your heart breaks. it aches from the unbearable crack that threatens to pull you down to your knees and tell him that you didn't mean any of it.
but you have to do this. you have to keep ronan safe, and unfortunately that includes breaking his heart. yours is just one of the casualties in the process too.
“i know i haven't been the perfect partner for you, but please give me a chance again. what did i do wrong?” he pleads, doe eyes on the verge of tears.
‘nothing,’ you want to tell him. ‘you did nothing wrong, my love.’
but you can't tell him that, can't tell him that you're only doing this for his own good. you shake your head silently for the last time and ronan's desperate hands try to hold you close, just a sense of security to know that you aren't leaving. that maybe this is all just a bad dream.
but you've already left the car, and ronan is left staring at the place where you once sat and broke it off with him. the red lights and stop signs do a show of mocking him. he can't even close his eyes without seeing your somber face as you tell him that you've fell out of love.
his friends always told him that you weren't right for him, too secretive and moody. but none of them knew you like ronan did. they wouldn't have understood.
how is he supposed to move on from this now? you said ‘forever’, but it all seems like empty promises now that he drives alone through the streets where you used to walk together. where you laughed at each other's jokes and first held hands.
“i guess you didn't mean what you wrote in those poems about me,” he smiles bitterly.
23) traitor // olivia rodrigo
i tachibana
their eyes flicker between you and the person you were just in the diner with, all smiles and lingering touches. {$I_name} knew that it was a bad idea to eavesdrop on you two. They were just supposed to grab something to eat and leave before their commander found out that they'd sneaked off.
when they saw you sitting alone, they'd psyched themself up and nonchalantly try to greet you. maybe even try to sit next to you. but they had to stop when a person came into the diner and greeted you with an enthusiasm of an old friend. their pointy ears aren't hard to miss for {$I_name}'s eyes, probably an elf.
okay great, so you were just here to meet with one of your supernatural friends. big deal! they roll their eyes to themself, and yet can't seem to squash down the insecure whispers in the back of their head as they stare at you two.
the person with you laughs especially hard when you tell them a corny joke and {$I_name) almost crushes the glass of dr. pepper in their hand. you weren't that funny.
then it happens. the person leans in towards you, as if to steal a kiss. a kiss that {$I_name} had frustratingly dreamt of stealing for themself. this time they do crush the can of soda in their hands and everyone in the restaurant turns to look at them.
but {$I_name} could care less about all of them. they're only looking at you, as your eyes widen in surprise and quickly the expression turns into guilt. glancing between them and the elf you were talking to, you stand up to move towards them.
{$I_name} decides they've had enough of the shit show they had just witnessed. it was their fault for being too nosy anyway. and why does it hurt so much? you weren't theirs to begin with. you could kiss anyone you'd like. be with anyone you wish.
they ignore the way their heart clenches painfully at the thought of you and someone else together.
“you didn't even cheat in any way, vampyr. but oh, why do i feel like you betrayed me.” they clutch their heart, laughing mournfully at their own pathetic self.
“god i wish i would've thought this through, before i fell in love with you.”
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birthdaysentiment · 15 hours ago
What do you think Robbe and Sander did after the dinsdag clip where Sander picks up Robbe from school? Did they go to Robbe's right away or maybe stop at a cute coffee place first? Would love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ :)
aww anon, you're so sweet! it's actually a good question, because later that day we got another clip, so what happened in-between those clips. when the clip ended sander was pretty upset after what happened with britt, and you could see how comforting robbe was being, with the hand on his back. i think sander picked robbe up from school with the intention of spending the day with him, but when the thing with britt happened things kinds shifted, not in a bad way, but I think it threw him off a bit. so maybe they walked around a bit, so sander could calm down and get some of his frustrations out, and robbe was being so understanding and gentle with him, and of course that made sander's heart melt. i can imagine sander just stopping in the middle of the street to kiss robbe for being so soft and just be there in a way no one else has
on their way to the flatshare, they dropped by a small coffee shop to get something to warm them up (even if they had been holding hands whenever no one was around), and then they just walked around, talking about their day, sander asking about robbe's exam, robbe asking about the art project he knew sander was working on. when they reached the flatshare, robbe thought that was the end of their little "date" (yes, it was a date), and he also had to study for his next exams, and he knew that he would never be able to do that with sander in the room with him. but sander gave him those eyes, with his signature pout, and how could robbe say no to that
as they reached the apartment, robbe was happy to see that no one was home, which meant they could be alone, just the two of them in his room. sander had promised he would be good, since robbe had insisted that he needed to study, so they couldn't just lay on the bed and kiss (even though that's what they did for the half an hour or so). after a couple of hours, they were able to separate themselves, so robbe was at his desk, styling for his upcoming biology exam, while sander was sitting in his bed, working on that art project, robbe thought. but later, after sander had said goodbye and left (because he had promised his mom to help her with something), robbe found a drawing of him lying on his bedside table of him studying; the concentrated look on his face while reading, his hand holding the pencil, the smile he had on his face when he looked over at sander. it was obvious that sander had been drawing robbe, and not worked on his art project, and that left robbe with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside (... and he wished sander was there with him, so he could give him the sweetest kiss and the biggest hug, but instead he sent a message to sander, thanking him for the drawing and maybe too many red heart, but robbe didn't care. he was in love, and he was so happy!
then later we got a clip with robbe sitting in the kitchen alone, eating his noodles hehe, and doing some more studying, because he hadn't been able to do quite as much as he would have liked, since sander kept distracting him with kisses and hugs, but if you asked sander, he would probably deny this. so yeah... idk maybe this is what happened, or maybe something similar <333
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idontwantofly · 2 days ago
• Female reader, SFW
• This was originally written in Portuguese, so it may contain some English mistakes.
• It'll be a better experience if you read it slowly, calmly.
• Have you ever felt like running away from it all?
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Leaving the house behind, you walk along the trail. And you go on, aimless, meaningless, with nothing, until the trail disappears among the trees. You continue even so. After a few hours, you're facing the sea. Were you going in its direction, unsubconsciously, or was it just the waves calling all the time? Away from everything, everyone, with only the indomitable sea as company? In one way or another, now you're admiring the waves, listening to the natural music they formed, with an empty mind.
Far away a ship was sailing in your direction. Behind the boat, far far away, the sun touched the sea. They came to pick me up, you thought. Innocent. Incoherent. Foolish. But you know they're coming for the village. Years ago it was for you an amusement park, a happy place. It was never anything more than narrow streets full of small houses, but you were sure that everything was more colorful when you were little. It must have lost its color over the years. A lie.
You're infinitely there, facing the blue sea. A very short infinity, but enough for the ship to reach the shore and the crew to disembark. Enough for the sun to say goodbye, I'll see you tomorrow. They landed not far from where you're standing, the perfect distance to observe them unseen, hidden among the living green of the plants.
The redhead, who seams to be the captain, sat on the small strip of sand, squeezed between the jungle and the sea. He was tall, had hair as lively as blood-red, and was wearing a ridiculous pair of pants printed with flowers, but you thought it matched him.
He looks around, and for a moment your heart speeds up. But his eyes stop at the little bar, which was located right between the forest and the beach. You had long forgotten the existence of that place, and it's surprising that it still open until today. It was small, and some tables were outside the small establishment, right on the sand.
Another man, with long black hair, approaches the captain with a rifle at his waist. "There is a village right behind this forest, Yasopp and I are going to buy groceries. Will you come? Maybe there's a bigger bar there." He asks.
The red haired denies with his head and says "No, I'm gonna stay. Sake tastes different when you drink with your feet in the sand."
Some of the men enter the forest, while the others are distributed among the small tables in a noisy mess. It wasn't a large crew, but their presence was undeniable. Many of them bore scars, and they sure had a dangerous aura, hidden by a variety of smiles. They were all very cheerful.
Without even consulting you, your feet moved, on their own, taking you to the bar. When you realized, you were already facing them. They barely notice your presence, lost in their own joy, only the red man realized that you had approached them. And he faced you, not in a threatening way, but in a curious way.
You could finally see his face: he had a poor beard and three scars in his left eye, making it look like a cat had scratched his face too deeply. You, however, were sure that no cat in the world would be able to cause such a deep and striking wound. His red hair gave him a sexy appearance, something his playful smile confirmed very well. But what most caught your attention was his eyes. They were the deepest and most mysterious you had ever seen, as if they were hiding something much deeper than one could imagine.
Before you had said anything, the owner of the bar called you. "Y/n? Is that you? Haha, you've grown up a lot, you're a woman now. How are your parents doing?" You had a vague memory of the man, now old, giving you free candy whenever you came to the beach. It seemed it was decades ago, or worse, another reality.
You tried, in vain, to contain your face by answering. "They're healthy."
"That bad huh? Well, you can always run away and come here. Took you long enough to come visit." The old man said, affection printed on his whole face. You felt your chest squeeze, and offered him a apologetic smile. "You'll always be welcome, my dear! I'm missing tables, but," he took a chair and put it on the reddish side, "I don't think Shanks will mind sitting with you?" The old man said, asking and affirming simultaneously.
"Not at all." So the sexy red haired man's name was Shanks. You kept your composure, even though being so close to him made your stomach turn. You sat down, took off your shoes to feel the sand under your feet, and took a sip of the drink that the old man had brought you. And he was right, the sake really tasted extraordinary.
"So... Shanks, what brings you to such a remote island?" You ask, happy to have something else in mind, something other than books and constant unhappiness.
"I go where the wind takes me. And he brought me here." He replied, squandering a serene smile. You laughed softly. Impossible, no one just lives life that way. No worries, no consequences, no regrets.
And then he fixed his gaze on yours, his eyes rising to an even more intense depth than the one you had seen minutes ago. "You don't believe me," he said," and you probably think I'm joking."
"But you are." You answered.
"No, I'm not. I'm more serious than you can imagine."
"So you're telling me that you're completely free. Living as you wish, no worries, no regrets." You state, full of disdain. "I'm sorry but that's just impossible."
He doesn't contain his laughter, which by the way is very loud and, ina way, contagious. "Yes, it's possible, and you know why?" He asks, just before you shake your head. "Because I'm a pirate."
"No. That's just ridiculous."
He approaches you and, in a slightly hoarse voice, whispers in your ear: "Your lips say no, doll, but I can see your eyes telling me yes." You feel your face warm, and wonder for a second if you're not dreaming. But you don't move away. Before you could stop, your mouth expose a deep desire, which for a long time has been locked away.
"So that's what he's hiding?"
"The sea? Yes, all the freedom of the world is hidden in the midst of its waves. But the sea has many secrets beyond that." He responds, and you feel like you've gone mad. All that talk was just irrational. But if it was all just a delusion, why couldn't your heart calm down? What if...
He turns away, like someone who has just told a secret, and says, "Why don't you find out for yourself? Come with me."
This time you laughed loudly. Yes, I am either dreaming or delirious. "You don't even know my name and you're inviting me to join your crew? Leave everything behind and simply... Go wherever the wind takes me?"
"Yes." It would be impossible for his voice to sound more serious than how it sounded now. The smile that had never left his face was now long gone, and he faced you, waiting for an answer. You felt a shiver in your spine, and even though you try to control it, your hands tremble gently. Now, whether it was because of fear or excitement, you couldn't tell.
You never wanted something as much as this. Running away for god knows how long, leaving everything, everyone, behind. And he made it impossible to say no. Everything was so... tempting, he was tempting, and so seductive. Would you be brave enough to leave? Would you be brave enough to call a complete stranger of captain? Yes, I would even call him a lover. Maybe you did gone mad, maybe you're tired of it all, maybe you've always been selfish, maybe it's these irresistible red wicks seducing you. But it doesn't matter as you say,
"My name is Y/n."
And then it was back to that beautiful face, the bright smile. "I'll take that as a yes."
It looks like they really came to pick you up after all.
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ask-the-riders · a day ago
More music that my brain 1000% wants to imagine a bunch of super awesome fight scenes and stuff with
Like,, I'm just picturing the riders in full on combat with someone, with some of this stuff playing in the background
I even have one for Nightmare and his gang, or even Othni with his. Maybe it could be part of the villains arc or something
And then of course, we can't forget about Othni and his weird borderline yandere thing that he's got going on 👀
Rambles under the cut, since I couldn't help myself
*coughs* the Tetris one also kinda makes me think about Fresh showing up and backing War a little on the battlefield. Like for once in his life, there's nothing holding him back, and he's actually giving his 110% out there with her. It's horrifying because she's never actually seen him get serious and go all out before. If he wasn't her family, she might just be a bit afraid of him. I'm also kinda getting images of Pest witnessing all of it too and looking at War like ".....holy shit, you're related to that thing."
Then for Land of Confusion, I'm seeing the riders in the human world, during the apocalypse. They're standing on this empty street with chaos everywhere around them, and rather than ending all of humanity, they're actually there to save it. Death and Pest get to use their respective weapons more, Fam gets to go full beast mode, and then War, Ret, and Connie are using their own weapons and kicking some serious ass. Then meanwhile, Abrael's out there summoning all these magic cutlass attacks. They're using so much more magic than before, since by then, Death finally removed the restrictions on it and gave them complete access to their magic supply
For Be Prepared, I'm seeing both Nightmare and Othni scheming with their own respective teams. Since Othni's already a kitty boy, he's absolutely rocking the role of Scar. His whole thing would be plotting revenge on Ret for always coming between him and Dream/Connie. If this was happening with Nightmare, it'd be him planning to attack the Star Sanses again, not counting on the fact that Necro and Zerif would likely be there to provide backup for the Stars (since the two occasionally work with them anyway). War hears that her dad's locked in battle with one of them, and she gets so worried that she ends up going to help him, completely disregarding the effect her aura has on people outside the group of riders. Connie and Ret are sent out to do damage control and bring her back, since she refuses to leave Necro in such a potentially bad situation (despite knowing how strong he is)
For Animal, I'm imagining Othni in his little secret room (no I will not disclose the location yet), looking at the freakish, highly concerning amount of pictures that he's got pinned to every wall. They're all of different Dream AU variants, and most of them have big Xs over their faces. There's a flashback to him pursuing Shattered Dream, even, and the flashback ends with Shattered, beaten horribly and noticably weaker than before. He refuses to surrender or to willingly leave with Othni, so Othni simply... Got rid of him. He's scheming, trying to plot out how he wants to proceed with going after Connie
Can't Get You Out Of My Head also happens in that little secret room, except it also comes with these images of him quietly stalking Connie and hiding in the shadows. He watches her every move, getting as close to her as he possibly can. Whenever she uses her aura, he basks in it, and it only makes him even more obsessed with her. He stalks Ret and kinda creeps on him a little too, but he knows better than to try getting close to him, and he's much more careful about staying hidden. While his obsession is mostly centered on Connie, there's a part of him that'd love to have Ret too, since that'd imply that he won against him, and he'd get to see the ever prideful former prince submitting completely and quit ruining his plans and interfering with things. He'd love to see Ret cowering in fear, beaten to within an inch of his life and obeying his every command, but taking possession of Connie and keeping the effects of her aura all to himself is his primary goal
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modelbuses · a day ago
There’s this market place, more medieval than modern and very fantastical, with potions on shelves, and bright coloured quilts, and leather bound books containing everything from fiction stories to war strategies to crash courses on the world’s magic. Some shops are more permanent, actual buildings with tall windows and unlocked doors with displays meant to beckon. Others are stands, less permanent, some seasonal, some just made to be temporary. Maybe a traveling merchant, or someone with limited stock. They all stand on cobbled stones, which shine ever so slightly in iridescence, and they appear almost wet, enough to reflect some of the lights from the shops around them.
Then, there’s a little shop, tall and thin, wedged between two others (a bakery on one side, an apothecary on the other). It’s one of the permanent ones, it looks like its seen better days but it holds a certain charm to it. Leading up to the first step is a small red carpet, with potted plants on either side. Shelves line the walls inside, one by the door is broken, others have thins layers of dust settling on them. There’s only ever one employee present, not unusual as most shop keeps run their own store alone, but the employee is uncharacteristically young, just appearing to be a teenager. And he’s been working there for years. With not another soul around.
The shop keep’s (for that’s what he is despite his age) name is Wilbur, he never gives a last name, no one has tried to ask in years after his initial deflections. They don’t, however, stop trying to ask about his parents. He always finds a way to dodge around those questions too.
Wilbur never sells the same items, it’s a new experience every time you enter, it seems he likes to bounce around inventory just as much as he enjoys bouncing around certain conversation topics.
Maybe this description holds a bit of a lie too, because the shop isn’t as permanent as one might think. Because sometimes the space between the bakery and the apothecary is blank, nothing but another cobbled walkway to a bustling marketplace street. 
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chipster-321 · 5 months ago
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Someone PLEASE draw Eda and Stan just screaming at each other from their respective House’s/Shack’s/absolute death traps. It’s canon now.
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ko-eko-ev-go-ms · a year ago
Have a random personal vent lol
Ik I gotta work on shit and have a whole convo but like how tho???? Like???? I’m so mad???? And I’m probably just gonna get madder???? And like they aren’t doing anything so like???? And like you can’t just message someone out the blue and be like “hey I’m mad so fuck you actually”, like that’s so shitty???? Hhhhh. It is difficult to have a reasonable and healthy confrontation when you have no models for what that looks like, especially when upset and like???? It’s not like I’m gonna stop being upset so it’s not like I can just leave convo to cool off bc I’m just gonna be mad????
#thoughts#oni talks#oni vents#also why tf do i have to do so much work on this shit and like ive tried to express and just nothing happens#and like ik its on me to communicate and use my words and shit like thts part of my upsetness at them#and obviously im also my own person responsible for my own decisions on how ive been handling things#but also???? that doesnt absolve them either tho?????#and its like how many times do i have to say something like jst idk ik its a 2 way street and i need to do shit and hold myself accountable#but also so do they tho???? and im just???? so mad abt everything????#and i cant tell anymore if its like ok bc im so mad and resentful i wonder if im just being petty#but also maybe im so angry for a fucking reason????#idk im also rereading old convos and its just making me angrier#like ik i gotta do something but idk wtf tht something is#i also feel shitty bc i feel like a huge hypocrite but at the same time tht makes me more mad#bc ik i have problems and shit and ive been working on it so like??? maybe also do tht???#but also once again hypocritical just a little but just???? HHHHHHG#and im so mad tht i feel like my previous apologies were bad bc actually fuck you#once again im starting to have trouble distinguishing between am i just too mad or am i just finally realizing how fucked shit was#also @ past me u wrong ffs#also tbh its been harder to be nice and friendly and check in bc i feel dishonest bc im so mad but then that makes me feel bad#its hard to be nice and patient w someone when you are actively mad at them
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yoshinoritagi · 2 years ago
(seeing all these 'new' theories about Shigaraki's childhood come out when I've been known his family is messed up and his childhood is equally messed up since I first started up in this fandom, like seriously I've known these things I'm sorry y'all were just oblivious af)
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#and also hate Chisaki for having a hinted similar backstory)#like seriously the parallels between Eri/Chisaki/Shigaraki are so fucking cool#yall just like to focus on Eri and Shiggy because yall want every touse every excuse to make them not villains#when Eri's quirk is super dangerous and so is Shigaraki's#theyre both dangerous and Chisakis is as well (though its controlled much like how Shiggys was when he was a kid: both had gloves)#It's almost like.... yall dont see Shigaraki as a real villain or something: especially considering all the murder child abduction assault#and even more! like wow Shigaraki is fucled up and yes: hes a product of hatred#and clearly some people sympathsize with him because of it: he cpuldnt contrpl his quirk and hurt his family#Eri is much the same and so is Chisaki (though his is much more subtle: its obvious he was neglected and dare i say it: abused as a kid)#yall just hate Chisaki because hes conventionally pretty: Shiggy is deemed 'ugly' so yall defend him to the ground#eri is cute (a dibby really: her only appeal is cute and maybe heartthrob factor) so yall immediately want to defend her as well#but where is the sympathy yall give to Shigaraki#for Kai? a man hurt as a child: wound up in the streets (just like Shiggy!) and was found by a villain (just like Shiggy!)#and also raised to be a villain (well Yakuza) as well!#Shigaraki was taught to drive his anger towards the world: Chisaki was taught to fight for everything he loved:#and Eri.... shes the only one to ever get any sort of actual help: something they all so desperately need#i get that theyre villains: dont even want this redemption: and they also couldn't care less about the cost it takes to achieve their goals#Chisaki and Shigaraki havent cared about losing members: both get motivation from AFO and want to follow his ideals: and most importantly#Theyre both so complex#though some of yall have been ignorant to the complexity of Shigaraki apparently
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tokkiotears · 19 days ago
Angsty unrequited love with Druig? Reader has had enough of seeing him with Makkari so she runs away and no one can find her for like a thousand years and it breaks their heart until it’s time for them to reunite? Reader doesn’t talk to him at all because he makes her anxious. Any time the others ask why she left she avoids answering until one day it causes an argument and she admits she loves him and he’s like “makkari and I haven’t been together in ages, it didn’t work out because I loved YOU”
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note: omfg here were are. i need to work on college so bad but this request was heavy on my mind. i didnt rly include that they were all reuniting but more just that he was looking for her
pairing: druig x (f)eternal!reader
summary: youve been tormented by unrequited love for thousands of years and though you never expected it , one day druig shows up at your doorstep
warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol, not proofread
wc: 1.7k
Fall always felt so lonely. It didn’t help that you had completely isolated yourself from everyone that you knew. It had been at least two hundred years since you had seen any of the other Eternals - and even then it was a five-minute chance encounter with Ikaris and Sersi. Sersi tried to keep you for conversation, but even seeing the two together was a bitter reminder of your misfortune.
Nowadays, you didn’t go out much. A historical library in Edinburgh needed an expert to take care of the most fragile and valuable books, so there you were. A picture-perfect candidate for the job. They didn’t know you were there when the books were written, but that was on a need-to-know basis (which they did not). You had a small apartment that looked out into the gorgeous old gothic architecture of the city.
About once a week, you’d walk to the local grocer and pick up food. The owner was a sweet lady named Marie, who you had watched grow since she was a young girl. Occasionally, she would bring you fresh baked goods and the two of you would catch up. She knew about your one and only love. Whose name you hadn’t spoken in decades. Some days you thought you were over him or at least getting there. Those days were always quickly crushed when you’d have reminiscent dreams where he’d visit you. When it was really bad, you’d go weeks without sleep - avoiding him and his blue eyes.
That’s what was happening now. The night was escaping between your fingertips, the city still murmuring with life below. Rain pattered on the window panes, blurring the city lights into little droplets. You push your hair out of your face, letting out an exasperated sigh. There was no possibility of you falling back asleep, so you decided to drag yourself out of bed and to the window seat in your living room.
You drape a blanket over your legs, leaning your head against the cold glass.
There is a pub, just a few doors down across the street that you watch. The way that the people mingle, walk, flirt, argue, it is all you can focus on. Just watching how the humans act. On more than one occasion, your brain tries convincing you that a gentleman on the street looks awfully similar to him - or that maybe it is.
A small piece of white paper catches your eye. It is tucked between the cushion you’re sitting on and the windowsill. You tug on it, revealing a worn envelope. The corners were bent and browned with age.
Your name is written in ancient roman on the front, an indicator of age. You must have stashed it here when you first arrived because you didn’t remember what it was.
Gently, you unfold it. There is faded ink on it - a message you can only decipher bits of.
‘Tried reaching you’
‘I wish to speak’
‘Makkari and I’
Your fingers fold the paper up, a wave of numbness washing over your skin. It escapes your fingers, falling to the floor.
You let out a grim laugh. It was always just your luck. To have everything kicked up in your face. The universe really didn’t want you to be happy. To fall in love with someone who loved you the same.
There weren’t even tears left inside of you to cry.
What was the point of all this? Why were you sent here? Why did you fall for him?
Was there even a purpose?
“Ugh,” You drawl, rubbing your face with your palms, “Enough moping for one day.”
Throwing the blanket onto the couch, you stand up, pull on the university sweater you had worn to death, and throw on a cap. You snatch your purse, slip on your boots, and make your way to the 24-hour mart.
The rain is suddenly refreshing, occasionally landing on your knuckles, giving you sweet kisses.
You spot the little neon sign and the glow of fluorescent lights. You approach, making sure to wipe your feet well, then beelined for the cheap Peach Prosecco and microwave lasagna that you love so much.
The cashier looks as if he’s slowly dozing off, so you just place a large bill on the counter (enough to pay your tab twice times over), and head back home.
The rain beings to come down harder, slowly wetting the ends of your hair.
“Shit,” You mutter, picking up your pace. You shove the lobby doors open with your shoulder and walk carefully not to slip and smack onto the concrete floor. The clock reads 2:46AM. The door chimes behind you though, making you wonder: Who the hell else is up at this hour?
“You meeting someone?”
“Pardon me?” You turn to the stranger, who is dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket. It takes a second to register his face.
Those eyes.
“I asked if you’re meeting someone,” The man nods at the bottle of wine in your hand. You hadn’t seen him in gods know how long. Your heart was fluttering at a pace that scientifically must be impossible.
You stammer a moment, “Uh - um, no.”
Not knowing where the hell to look, you glance at your shoes, and then the elevator arrow light behind you. It was almost to your floor. You turn back to him.
“It’s nice to see you, Y/N.” He says. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, strands of wet hair shining under the yellow lights.
“What are you doing here?” You question, fingers gripping the neck of the wine bottle with the type of strength that would normally crush the glass.
The blue-eye man ignored your question, “You are a very hard woman to find.”
He approaches, keeping his eyes on yours. You furrow your brows.
“That was on purpose.” You mutter, turning your back to him and watching the bronze elevator doors instead. A moment later, he is next to you mimicking your choice to watch the door.
“Let me help.” Before you can protest, you feel his fingers graze over yours, taking the bottle of wine, “Before you shatter the poor thing.”
God, why was he so charming? You close your eyes, sighing. Luckily, the elevator dings just then.
You rush in, suddenly feeling cold in your damp sweater.
“What floor?”
“You know you won’t die if you look at me,” He teases. You feel your cheeks get hot, but your fight or flight is starting to kick in.
“Why are you here?” Your tone is very clearly short, warning him to not string you along any further. There is a brief silence before he sighs.
“Because I’m in love with you Y/N.”
No, no, no, no, no. Not this. The false hope is boiling in your blood. But you shut it down.
“What is wrong with you?” You spit. The elevator dings letting you know that you’ve arrived. There is a look of confusion on his face as you march towards your door. The steaming rage inside you nearly doesn’t allow you to fit the key into the lock but eventually, you get there.
“Y/N!” He calls after you, jogging to match your pace.
You thrust the door open. Why you?
You turn to him, eyes brimming with tears. “I won’t be the one that you settle for. Or have on the side - or whatever kind of sick prank this is. If Sprite put you up to this, just tell her it worked.”
Snatching the wine bottle, you slam the door on him. Except you can’t, because he’s stopped it with his shoulder. “Y/N, just listen to me please!”
The strength is quickly diminishing from your body, not the physical - but the emotional. Your knees are wavering, hands trembling. You walk away from the door, letting a sob out. You hear the door latch into place. From across the room, you plead, just above a whisper, “Please. Please, leave me be.”
His eyes look glossy. Sad. “Y/N…”
“I’ve been tormented enough. For thousands of years. Isn’t that enough?” Your voice is weak, cracking, “No matter what I do, where I go - you’re there. In my mind, in my heart, in my dreams. I can’t escape you, Druig. The least you could do is not force me to watch you love someone else and choose me as your backup plan.”
It is something like a wave of warmth, the feeling that he gets after finally hearing you speak his name. He wishes he heard it sooner.
“I never loved her.” Druig says, and it sounds cruel, but it was true, “At least not how I loved you.”
You sigh with exasperation, wiping the never-ending flow of tears.
“I was trying anything I possibly could to avoid facing the truth. I knew that the way I loved you was dangerous. If I let myself, not even Arishem could separate me from you.” Druig rubbed his brow, “Makkari was the one who snapped me out of it. I kissed her once. Once. She helped me realize that trying to ignore the feeling I had for you by drowning it with others would never work.”
You sat on the sofa, head in your hands. This couldn’t be real. Your heart couldn’t tell whether to be sad or to have hope.
You could hear Druig’s steps get closer and the floor in front of you creak. He had kneeled in front of you, his soft hands grabbing either side of your face, guiding you to look at him. “I’m sorry doesn’t even begin to cover how much remorse I feel. I kick myself every day for all the time we could’ve had if I had just been honest with myself and you.”
You refused to make eye contact with him, this was so overwhelming you could collapse.
“Hey,” He called for your attention. Hesitantly you looked at him, “You loved me?”
You sniffle, a few tears falling, “Literally this entire time.”
“Well, in that case, we only have about - say, seven thousand years - to make up for.” Druig looked at you expectantly, “If you’ll have me.”
As much as you wanted to pretend there was a decision to be made, your heart knew the answer. Yes, a thousand times over, yes. If you had to wait seven thousand years, maybe it was worth it to get an eternity with him.
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no-droids · 8 months ago
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gif credit: @javier-pena
Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 19.5K
Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!
A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕
Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!
Day 5–11:13am:
You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.
Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.
It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.
“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”
Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.
“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”
Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”
The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.
Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.
Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.
It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.
About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.
Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.
At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.
A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…
Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.
Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?
For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.
Day 5—5:04pm:
It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.
More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.
“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”
She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  
“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”
Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.
“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”
You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.
Day 5–5:17pm:
“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.
Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.
“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.
“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”
“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.
“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”
You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.
The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—
He’s here… isn’t he?
Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.
It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.
This… this is a taunt.  
The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.
“You okay, Nerida?”
The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.
“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.
“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”
Day 5–5:32pm:
Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.
Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.
Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.
Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.
Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.
“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.
“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”
“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”
Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”
Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  
Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.
And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.
And that’s when you see him.
But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.
You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.
You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.
Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?
No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.
Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.
You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.
Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.
You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—
A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.
Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.
You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.
“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.
Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.
Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.
Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.
“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”
They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.
“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.
You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.
“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”
There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”
You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.
Day 5–5:24pm:
Din is fucking furious.
He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.
But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.
He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.
Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 
No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.
But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.
Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.
Day 5–6:59pm:
This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.
It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.
That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.
You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.
Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—
It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.
As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.
Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.
You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”
It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”
The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.
“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?
“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”
For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”
He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”
So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.
“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”
The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.
“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.
“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”
“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.
“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.
“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.
“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”
It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.
But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.
“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.
It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.
Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.
“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”
Day 5–7:37pm:
After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.
Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.
“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”
“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.
“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”
You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.
But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?
There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.
It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.
“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.
“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”
Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”
Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.
Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.
You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.
Day 5–11:32pm:
You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.
The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.
It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.
When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.
“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”
You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”
She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.
Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.
Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.
A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?
You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?
Something catches your eye.
Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.
But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?
Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—
—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.
Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?
Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.
You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.
As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.
Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.
You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.
You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?
Behind you.
There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.
Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.
But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—
Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.
Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.
But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.
Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.
The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.
Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.
He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.
“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.
“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.
“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”
“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—
Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 
…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.
There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.
One o’clock.
You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.
But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.
Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.
Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.
But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.
You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.
“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.
Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.
Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—
Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  
“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?
Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.
“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.
Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.
When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.
“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—
Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.
This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.
You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.
You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.
Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.
“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”
“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”
“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”
“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”
You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.
“—ve you—I l-love y—”
He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  
When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  
Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—
The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.
You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—
Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.
Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.
How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.
Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.
Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.
“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”
You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”
“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”
It takes you a second.
“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”
He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.
“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.
You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”
“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”
You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”
“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”
And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?
“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”
His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.
“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”
Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.
“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”
Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.
“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.
After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.
Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.
When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.
Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.
It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.
“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”
The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.
“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”
Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”
You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.
“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”
He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?
“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”
Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.
Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.
You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.
Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.
So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.
“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”
It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.
Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.
You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.
About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.
“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”
“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.
“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”
Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”
He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”
If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.
“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.
“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?
“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”
Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.
Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.
You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.
The crib—he forgot the crib—
“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.
You raise your voice.  “Din?!”
“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.
“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.
“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.
Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.
Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.
What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.
Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.
“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”
Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.
“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”
The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.
You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.
“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.
Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.
“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.
“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”
He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.
So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.
“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”
“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.
“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”
From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.
“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”
Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.
“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”
So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.
You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.
“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”
After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.
You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.
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@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!
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husbandohunter · 7 months ago
A Small Predicament [Baby Genshin x Reader]
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Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo
Synopsis: Cursed for a week, the boys either have to live with it or find a cure as soon as possible. You on the otherhand hoped otherwise.
(A/n): It only takes ONE glance for me to start having ideas. It was twelve in the morning yall, enjoy~
Oh here's part 2
• "Oh you shrank? I couldn't tell-"
• Threatens that he will murder you to pieces and burn your remains but his voice was so squeaky and high pitched (voice crack) that you couldn't help but burst into a tearful laughter. 
• Its payback time  Bully him, take his hat and hover it above his head. Truthfully, without his hat Scaramouche looks like a little schoolboy. Overall less intimidating.
• Tries glaring. Cute. He's really bratty as a kid, sitting on a high chair (which you had to help him get on) and demanding his servants to do his bidding. In reality, his personality never changed. You realized that even as a grown up he still acts like this (bratty kid in a grown man body).
• The curse made his week a living hell. Signora had the audacity to pull his ear when he misbehaves. Childe constantly messes with his hair while giving head pats and the WORST of all, pinching his cheeks. Scaramouche never wanted to commit arson so bad in his life.
• Eventually finds a cure so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore and orders everyone to never speak of it again. Though, he's plotting how he'll get revenge on everyone who made fun of him using the very same curse (You better run).
• "Oh…Oh my! Diluc you're just so cute!" 
• Diluc grimaces as you glomp him in this state. How can you help it? With his head so small it makes his hair all the more fluffier! His coat no longer fits him to the point the sleeves had made past his fingertips. He tried wielding his claymore again, only to lose balance and fall flat onto his bum
• (insert kid voice "Retribution!") Did I mention the babyface?
• Diluc tries to act as if everything was normal, acting like the Darknight hero and Mondstadt's Tycoon but fun-sized. He couldn't. There was no way people would take him seriously in business meetings. Same with fighting abyss mages, his smaller form was too much of a disadvantage. Thus you ended up doing most of his paperwork.
• One time you caught him sitting on the floor couldn't reach his office desk  while reading away the various books for a cure. It was three in the morning. You told him it was way past his bedtime and he argues saying when did he ever have a curfew schedule. In the end you managed to convince him and he begrudgingly obliges.
• The type to NOT ask for help even when it's obvious that he really needs it. Before he was the one who helped you reach things from the top shelves, oh how the tables have turned. He avoids Kaeya like a plague unless he was in it for another round of funny remarks. When he wanted to go out and get some fresh air, you insisted on accompanying him. Worst mistake in his life. A travelling merchant bumps into you and commented that you had a very cute son. Diluc was mortified.
• The day ended up with him sulking in his room. Although it was tempting, you resisted from cooing over his adorable form after days of treating him like a child. It wasn't because you were teasing him, Diluc just works so hard that you wanted to spoil him a bit. At least he could still play a game of chess with you.
• When things went back to normal, Diluc ensures that you will NOT see him as your son.
• "Well look who it is, my little Prince Kaeya~"
• Tries really hard not be bothered by it at all. Kaeya still maintains his suave facade, throwing in a couple of flirting lines here and there (and forcing his voice to go a few octaves too low in which puberty has yet to occur HA). Though no matter what approach, he couldn't ignore the sparkling mischievious glint in your eye. You were obviously not taking him seriously.
• Things couldn't get any worse. He lost his masculine physique and boob window, he wasn't able to go to certain places without supervision. But the worst thing of all was that he was underaged. Kaeya hated the fact he couldn't drink anymore, he even insisted you to sneak him a few bottles (which you refused) and had to settle with plain beverages such as fruit juice (what an insult). He was never really grounded since his childhood days but he certainly felt like he was grounded now. 
• Kaeya still kisses you on the lips whether you like it or not. If you ask him to sit on your lap, he will find a way to turn the position into his favour such as resting his face between your breasts. You're not gonna treat him like a kid, nuh-uh, he actively avoids it.
• Since his personality still remains, Kaeya is a naughty child. He will use his innocent appearance to sway people (even you) to get what he wants. That was how he was able to take a sip of the wine he stole somewhere (he wouldn't tell you). Diluc scolded him heavily and threatened to ban him from drinking from his Tavern for a week (they ended up arguing, Kaeya being the passive aggressive little shit he is).
• He was extremely relieved to return back to his normal form again. He has so much to catch up (specifically his bedtime activities with you *wink wonk*)
• "Hmmm to be honest, this actually suits you very much."
• Unlike the other boys, Childe was completely okay with it. Turns out that YOU were the one who was not going to be okay. If you thought taking care of Teucer was energy-draining then expect Childe to take that tenfold and beyond.
• You've officially became his full-time babysitter who is in desperate need of a raise (and rest). You can't take your eyes off of him and archons forbid that he will ever meet Klee. One point he'll be running ahead by your side and the next you'll find him getting himself in a 1vs7 situation with some shady looking treasure hoarders. Childe genuinely thinks he could take them on but the curse downgraded his abilities. You carried him and barely made out of it alive. (This made you ponder whether the best solution would be to strap him against a chair for the time being…)
• Childe being a child will eat all the candies and ice cream he pleases. You wonder if the curse also turned him a few years back or was it that he acts like this simply because he wanted to (it was the latter). He loves being spoiled, spoiled by you! Childe demands your full attention, spoon-feeding his meals, back rubs and head pats. Yep, he's definitely doing this on purpose.
• Did he just call you 'mommy'? (Childe has mommy kink confirmed).  He has so much energy that it was exhausting, you literally had to drag him away from what ever he was doing in order to get him to bed. "No Childe, your sleeping time is 9p.m stop whining." He bargained that he'll sleep if you sleep beside him (you didn't get any sleep. You knew what he was planning. In the end, you tried to make sure he didn't sneak out behind your back.)
• Finally you were able to get out of that hell-hole. Childe promised to make it up to you, you deserve it after all~
Small (aka Xiao)
• "Did you know in the Liyuean language, Xiao translates to small?" You didn't say that out loud. Not when he's this angry (this angy)
• He just stands there, crossing his arms and grumbling. You were hesitant to touch him in case he might hiss at you. Xiao has always been short, maybe an inch taller than you, but seeing him like this made you think 'my almighty yaksha can't be this cute♡'
• He gets mad when you no longer call his name for help. How could you? He's just so precious~ Xiao makes it clear that no matter what form he takes, it doesn't make him weak ("Adepti and you mortals are nothing alike." Or so he says but you could tell he wasn't running as fast as he used to because…small legs). You may not comment on it aloud but he can tell just by the look on your face and it irritates him.
• Also the type to not ask for help but worse. Xiao is an agressive little kid, he seems as if he'll be willing to bite someone's finger off if they try to pet him (He gives strong cat vibes, so thats understandable). His spear was too big for him to wield so he often has to put it away or else he might knock someone over with it. Xiao hates being short so you'll be hearing him complain alot.
• Since he was an adepti, he didn't need to sleep however, the curse must have brought down his power by a significant amount to the point you DID catch him napping. You almost swooned out loud just by taking a glance upon his face. For once he didn't wear his signature grumpy look. Xiao appears like a normal child, one full of innocence. His snoring was soft and breathly but that just meant he was deep asleep. (You wished to take a picture). 
• Of course, everything had to come to an end (much to your disappointment), he still complains about the incident to this day.
• How is it possible for a baby to still look so handsome? (Must be his godly abilities)
• Zhongli is unfazed by this 'curse' since his past lives have already taken many forms. Though for some reason whenever he walks down the streets of Liyue, young girls, mothers, ladies all come him was and start complimenting him and gushing over him (he was suffocating). They'd squeeze him tight or squish his cheeks, it only takes once glance before the little girls start blushing and hiding behind their moms.
• Needless to say, despite what form he is in, Zhongli is still able to get free stuff. He got some free candies and some free kites to play with. You had to help him carry his items. Zhongli ends up tripping too much because his tailcoat reached his feet (he decided to just take it off. You had to hold that too). Seems like he can have anyone do things for him in the end HA.
• He still got that drippy voice and you're just like ???? "What on Teyvat Zhongli, you're a kid." This is why you can't see him as one, its nearly impossible.
• Actively avoids Hu Tao and Childe. Once Hu Tao caught sight of him and chased him for hours, he couldn't stay in one spot knowing that she might just pop out of no where. Childe still spoils him, however Zhongli feels irritated by the fact the only things Childe buys him toys (its different when other people do it.)
• Everytime you guys go back strolling through Liyue, you had to hold his hand in case more women come swarming hin again. You swear that at this rate he might get kidnapped because hes just such a beautiful baby.
• Zhongli learned an important lesson after his curse was lifted: no matter how many years he lives throughout  never take a form of a child.
• You find him buried beneath a pile of books and had to dig him out before he suffocates.
• Albedo has the cutest eyes, they're big and round full of curiosity and they sparkle too (he has the prettiest eyes out of everyone tbh). He is the only person who is fascinated by this outcome and immediately goes in the wild to test out his new physique. 
• He was always curious why Klee T-poses when she runs so he decided to try it out himself. She was thrilled to find out that she now has a little brother to play with. In the end, Albedo indulges in the games she always wanted to play but couldn't because he was too old: princess dress up tea parties.
• You felt many things when you saw Albedo wearing a frilly gown and a plastic tiara tucked on his head. Deep down you knew regardless of what gender Albedo was still pretty. Klee even had the guts to redo his hair and hardly anyone was able to recognize it was him at all. He has pigtails, PIGTAILS! You made sure to burn that image into the very depths of your mind forever.
• The only advantage was the he was ablw to fit through small spaces, other than that, being small was way too inconvenient. He knocked down a few of his potion bottles which damaged the floor (thankfully not him) because they were lethal (he wonders how Klee was able to not injure herself when using bombs). You carried him and lifted him to alot of places such as trudging through the snow because Albedo would surely fall on his face due to his small form.
• Enough was enough, he only lasted a day with this and decided to just make a potion and put an end to the curse once and for all. 
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angrythingstarlight · 6 months ago
ok so I walked past road maintenance today and saw the broadest worker I've ever seen, like biceps bigger than my head and sleeve tattoos, like so beefy I choked and went jesus christ on a stick. thank god for masks bc my mouth was open like a fool.
basically here's an award 🏆💕 for your beautiful writing that's trained my brain to immediately think about beefy construction worker!Bucky
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Imagine: Beefy construction worker Bucky asking you out.
You hated the noise outside your place. The constant drilling, banging, and the loud, obnoxious chatter from men across the street. Maybe if they shut up for five minutes, they could actually get some work done. At this rate, they’re going to be here all summer.
Until a few days ago, you naively believed that construction men catcalling women was a joke, some stereotype blown out of proportion.
You were very mistaken.
The things they yelled at you as you crossed the street had you almost jogging to your car, your face burning from embarrassment.  Hands shaking from anger. You wish you could say something but you're outnumbered.
Each day it happened, you could never get used to it. Dread filled your stomach like lead, and you started walking with your head down, avoiding eye contact.
You were hastily making your way to your car when you bumped into a brick wall. A warm, breathing brick wall. You stumbled back, losing your balance. The wall grasped your arm, keeping you from falling back into the dew covered grass.
“Sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s okay.” Your voice trails off when you connect with a pair of stunning blue eyes. His dark, damp hair hanging in clumps over his forehead.
“No, it’s my fault-“ You apologize, losing yourself in his kind eyes. The spell broken when you hear a low whistle and a vulgar insult is lobbed at you from an older balding man across the street. He's one of the worst, the sound of his grating voice makes you feel nauseated.
You turn back man in front of you. Looking past his tan tattooed biceps, you see the familiar set of construction pants. He's one of them. You're upset and mortified, picturing them having a laugh at your expense later.
"Why can't you guys just leave me alone? Yanking your arm out of his loose grip, you flee to your car. 
“Wait! Hold up, what’s wrong?” He asks, stopping when he hears the jeers from across the street. He watches your hands tremble as you turn the steering wheel.
The next day, you steel yourself to face another round of insults but when you pass the site, a whole new crew is working. 
Mostly new. You spot a large familiar figure leaning against a pile of wood, tossing his hard hat between his hands, stopping every few seconds to look around the street. 
He combed his hair back today, you like it. You blink at that thought, mentally shaking it off.
You’re almost in your car when you hear the sounds of boots hitting the pavement. A rush of nerves swoops through you and you almost drop your keys when you hear his deep, smooth voice.
“Good morning.” 
“Morning.” You reply curtly, your tone sharper than you intended. If he notices, he doesn’t react. 
“I want to apologize for those idiots if I had known, I would have put an end to it weeks ago.” He apologizes, his eyes never leaving your face.
Bucky had lost his shit yesterday when he found out what they had been saying to and about you.
Bucky wipes his forehead off with his arm, you notice the black and white trees inked into bicep. An army tattoo across his forearm.
He’s panting from the jog across the street, dog tags visible under his thin white cotton shirt sticking to his chest.
“I was thinking that maybe I could take you out sometime?” 
 His hopeful blue eyes are warm and inviting. Still. You’re wary and he could be playing you. . And you refuse to get hurt again.
 “I don’t go out with strangers.” You retort, ignoring the pang in your heart when his face drops.
“Oh, okay.” Disappointment clear in his softening tone, the corner of his lip lifting briefly.
You drive away, watching him walk back to his crew, his steps slower, his head bowed. 
The next morning, he greets you from across the street. “Do you go out with people you do know?”
“I- Maybe.”
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, everyone calls me Bucky. You can call me whatever you like-.”
Slamming your door shut, you see him clutch his hand to his chest. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” He shouts before you turn the corner. 
Each morning, he tells you a new fact about himself. Occasionally one or two of his crew chimes in with embarrassing stories that have Bucky grumbling under his breath with a quaint blush on his cheeks. 
You’re really trying to not fall for this man. 
But he’s not playing fair. 
A few days later.
“I read a lot, I’m not great with computers, and I can play-” You pretend that you’re looking for something in your glove box but crack your window to hear him talk about the rest of his interests. 
He calls out, “I know you can hear me, what else do you want to know? Oh c’mon-”  You pulled out, tires screeching. He waves at you as you turn the corner. 
The next morning.
“I have a cat named Alpine.” Bucky holds up his phone, showing off dozens of pictures of his cat. Most of them of the fluffy white fur ball sleeping. Your resolve almost breaks then and there. 
One cloudy afternoon.
“I can cook.” He turned at the scoffing behind him. Hissing shut up before veering back to you. “I can cook two things but I do it so good you’ll never want to eat anything else.” 
Two days later.
“One date.” You turned him down so quickly, his friends laughed, the one Steve you think he’s called almost choked on his turkey club.
“Half a date.” He never explained what half a date was, you were close to asking, but you held back.
A week later.
“A coffee, you like coffee?” You shrugged, and he pumped his fist, muttering progess. 
“How about I put a cup of coffee on your car, I sit all the way over here and we talk?” You didn’t respond, pulling your seatbelt over your chest. “Is that a maybe?”
The next day.
A cup of coffee with a poorly drawn heart sits on the roof of your car, wisps of steam floating from the top. You wipe your hand down your face in a bid to hide your smile.
The street is eerily quiet, the men all staring at you. It’s unnerving and you duck your head.
Heading to your car, you stop wheen you see it.
You pivot on your heel, arms folded across your chest. Bucky’s standing on the corner with a matching cup in his hand. 
“Look, one chance and if you really don’t like me, I’ll leave you alone.” 
“One date.” You break into giggles when the men cheer, shouting finally and about damn time in between clapping Bucky on the back. 
Buckys face glows, his smile making your heart flutter. "You won't regret this. I swear."
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jaemericano · 13 days ago
shortcake | na jaemin (m)
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genre: smut, fwb dynamic, porn w/ a mini plot , minor fluff at the end 😐
prompt: virgin!reader (f) x experienced!jaemin
word count: 5.2k
⚠ smut warnings: unprotected sex (don’t follow them, practice safe sex), size kink (petite mc), mirror sex fingering, mention of masturbation (sex toys), like one instance of edging, virgin kink (?), blowjob, mention of exhibitionism
a/n: this is my first work ever, and it took way too long to finish and make decent enough to publish. so yeah, DON’T JUDGE! i may or may not make edits afterwards. also i wrote mc as petite bc im really just writing her as myself lmfao
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The sun has fallen asleep, leaving nothing but pitch-blackness for you to gaze at through the window of a bedroom that isn’t yours. The absence of noisy streets and sidewalks make the world appear empty and the black sky like a stage curtain that’s been drawn between the bedroom and the rest of the world— the sense of privacy only enhancing the scandalous situation you’ve put yourself in tonight.
But you know that tonight wasn’t a rash decision. You’re not yearning to lose your first time for the sake of being able to say that you finally did it. You’re not seeking to experience just pleasure. If that was the case, you would be back home in your own bed, performing the same routine of yours from any other restless night. Virginity has never equated to innocence, and you are the prime example of that.
Though you pride yourself in your independence and stress that you don’t need a relationship, you’ve grown tired of pretending your own touch was that of a man and keeping your erotic moments to yourself. You want someone to see you fucked out, to hear your lewd noises, to touch every inch of your body, to taste you.
The desperation has built up so much that you’ve resorted to asking your coworker to take your virginity.
Jaemin lies perfectly in the middle between a close friend and a stranger. You often close the store together and got along just fine, but that’s all there was to it. You might’ve thought he was cute when he first joined the crew, but so did everyone. High school girls visit often, only to order a free water and watch him from a distance while giggling and blushing among themselves. Of course, he pays no attention to them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes at the girls anyways. Sometimes, you like to entertain yourself by making him laugh or subtly placing your hand on his shoulder in front of them and seeing their reactions afterwards. It warms your heart knowing that you have a closer relationship with Jaemin than they do, even if the extent of it is just chatting with him during slow hours.
When he’s not nagging you about how to clean the store properly or teasing you for your height, his company is quite pleasant. You might even dare to say he’s your favorite coworker, just never to him. You like to think that you’re both past the stage of being acquaintances, but you’ve also never felt the need to extend the friendliness after you’ve clocked out. And it seemed that neither did he.
“You sure you wanna do this?” His question tears you away from being lost in your own thoughts. He locks the door behind him and joins you on his bed.
You nod in response, lowering your eyes to look at anything but him, “I just have expectations.” You admit it. You feel doubtful about Jaemin, or any man, being able to make you feel as good as you do by yourself. Maybe it’s your fault for indulging too much in fictional sex and recreating them in your fantasies. It would be foolish of you to think that it can actually be that good.
“Of?” He slightly leans back with the support of his arms behind him.
You almost scoff at his response, the answer being so obvious to you, “Having a good time? It would be disappointing if it turns out that I should’ve just stuck to my own hands.”
Almost at a loss of words, Jaemin sits up straight from his relaxed position with disbelief etched across his face. Maybe it’s the innocent look or the loneliness you seem to exude every shift, but he’s always had the impression that you're a virgin. But he just couldn't wrap his head around the idea of you touching yourself, even less so at your shamelessness to reveal it. He stares at you, letting his mind slip to images of you sprawled out on your bed, one hand finding home between your legs, face contorted with pleasure. The only thing he's left to wonder is the kind of sounds you make.
Snapping back to reality, he feels his cock twitch at his simple, short-lived imagination. “You touch yourself?” he manages to say without sputtering his words.
You look back at him with a slight roll of your eyes, “Who doesn't?”
Right then, something snaps in Jaemin. An immense urge to know more, to expand on this new image of you.
“Tell me how.”
It’s a demand. You’ve never heard his stern tone before, not even when customers throw a fit over a wrong order. Your shamelessness vanishes upon hearing the three words and the dominance behind the way they were said, while the shyness that Jaemin actually associates you with takes over. You couldn’t say anything. Describing your personal routine to him would feel embarrassing, putting you in a more vulnerable position that concerns you more than the fact that you’re about to have sex with him.
“Tell me how you touch yourself,” he repeats, just before he's struck by another idea, “Better yet, show me.”
You feel your eyes widen but immediately soften at a realization, “I can’t show you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I can’t,” you argue firmly, “I use a vibrator, and I don't suppose you have one lying around here.”
A pause, then an exhale. He mutters some curse word to himself in frustration of the way his dick hardens with every new thing he’s learned about you. It’s already difficult for him to process that you regularly get yourself off. But now? He thinks you’re so, so dirty for going out of your way to purchase a sex toy for that. Were your fingers not enough? How needy could you be?
You, on the other hand, are trying to justify the small part of you that wishes there was a vibrator in the room. Isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you want to be seen in your dirtiest state? You could put on a little show for him to jack off to, exaggerating your moans and cumming right in front of him.
He clicks his tongue to imitate disappointment, “Is that what you’re spending your paychecks on? That doesn’t even count as touching yourself.”
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Of course it does! What do you mean?” you protest, “I make myself feel good, don’t I?”
“You said you use your hands, pretty girl. And a toy…” he trails off with a taunting voice. Pretty girl? Your heart skips a beat at the pet name, but you ignore it and cross your arms in annoyance. Well, if he’s going to be technical about it…
“I use my hands to hold the toy,” you say matter-of-factly, to which Jaemin lets out a laugh, finding your lame argument cute.
“Do you finger yourself?” he asks abruptly, a smile still lingering from his laugh.
You feel your face heat up and you shift uncomfortably on the bed. You could only bring yourself to shake your head in embarrassment. Discovering that his previous assumption was incorrect, he’s shocked but intrigued, “You use a toy before your own fingers? Such a dirty-”
“It's easier!” you huff, interrupting him. You glance at the window again and mumble, “My fingers don’t even feel good. I can barely fit two of them in.”
Jesus, Jaemin thinks to himself, letting his mind picture how tight you could possibly be. Your hands and fingers are already so dainty, and you can’t even take them? God, you are going to be the death of him. You feel the bed space next to you rise, then sink in a different area. You turn your head to see that Jaemin has maneuvered himself to the opposite side of the bed, his back facing you.
“C’mere. Stand in front of me.”
You quirk an eyebrow at his request but still make your way around the bed. As soon as you face him, he grabs your hips, twirls you around, and plops you down on the bed between his thighs. It all happens so fast, you gasp and your stomach flutters at the simple touch. Only then do you notice the skinny, full-length mirror across from you. It perfectly captures you nestled under Jaemin’s larger frame.
“I want you to keep your eyes on the mirror. Think you can do that for me?” he rasps in your ear, burying his face in the crook of your neck and planting gentle kisses. Lips so soft, they resemble the way that silk sheets feel on skin. The way that you never want to leave them in the morning. A mousy “okay” slips out of your lips between shallow breaths.
You feel him smile in satisfaction against your neck, “Spread your legs, baby.”
You comply, but it apparently wasn’t enough. He places his hands on your inner thighs and separates them further. “Cute dress. Wore this for me?” he asks while reaching for the hem of your babydoll dress, which ran much shorter because you adjusted the straps. You nod your head, unabashed of admitting you wanted to look nice just for him.
He chuckles in response and bunches the dress up around your torso, revealing pink cotton panties with a dark patch right at the center where your pussy would be. He marvels at the sight through the mirror, running his middle finger down your slit over the underwear and its damp spot.
“Is this for me, too?”
You whimper under his touch, seeing his touch right in front of you. The mirror gives you a different point of view that drives you wild. This is what it would look like if someone were to walk in right now. Jaemin shoves his hand down your underwear, entirely feeling your wet cunt. He groans as he lets his fingers get soaked in your arousal, slipping them between your folds.
“Jaem...” you breathe, your hand automatically grabbing at his wrist. Not to stop him, of course. You’re just not used to being completely under someone’s physical control. But the sensation of another person’s hands becomes both unfamiliar and familiar. Like it feels so right, well-deserved, and meant-to-be. Like the feeling of finally achieving something you’ve been longing for years.
You cry out as a finger finds its way to your core, while Jaemin’s breath hitches at how tight you squeeze around just a single digit. The feeling went straight to his dick as he thinks about what your pussy would feel like around it instead.
“Oh, baby… What am I gonna do with you? How are you even gonna take me?” he groans, not making a single movement with his finger, almost like he’s relishing the feeling, “I guess everything about you is so small, Shortcake.” He laughs to himself and places a kiss to your shoulder.
The height comment doesn’t even phase you in this moment, not when he has his hand in between your legs. Not when he’s questioning the same thing you’ve been worrying over, how were you going to take him?
“If you put another one in, it’ll hurt,” you warn once he begins to gently move his finger in and out. You already know it. The most you’ve gone was two of your own fingers, and even then, it didn’t do anything for you but hurt. Jaemin’s fingers are thicker, longer, able to reach deeper but stretch you out further. His middle finger alone has you writhing in his hold, needing more but also fearing it.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises but completely removes his finger, immediately causing you to whine. Laughing at your reaction, he lightly slaps your inner thigh, “Be a little more patient, will you?” Before you could protest, his finger travels upward to rub your clit in small circles— a stimulation you’re too familiar with, but nevertheless makes you instantly buck your hips in pleasure. The sudden jolt of your body tells you, this is not slow at all. But it feels too good to argue with him.
“J-Jaemin…” You feel yourself gush out more juices onto your panties and his hand, “Faster, p-please.”
As soon as he picks up the pace, your moans get louder, your body squirms in bigger movements, a knot forms in your stomach and tightens by the second. The lewd image of yourself in front of you only pulls the cord harder. You could cum just like this, you think. And for a second, you wonder if Jaemin could read your mind because he suddenly stops. You let out another whine at the emptiness, and you almost feel like crying, “No, no, no, no, no… Why would you do that?”
“Can’t have you cum like this. It’s too easy,” he answers.
“I like easy.”
“I know you do. It’s why you never give that goddamn vibrator a break,” he sasses, his tone reminding you of his nagging habit at work, “Just needed to prep you. Make you all needy so you can cum around my fingers instead.”
The idea is far-fetched to you, but seeing how confident he is about accomplishing it, you couldn’t say no.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers on the waistband of your underwear, “As cute as these are, they’re too constricting. I wanna see you.” He drags them down and swallows hard upon seeing a string of arousal connecting from your core to your panties, stretching longer and thinner the farther down he pulls. After discarding them to the side, he takes two fingers in the shape of a “V” and spreads your lips to really see all of you. He licks his lips and stares in admiration through the mirror. So pink and glistening in your wetness.
“Didn’t know you had such a pretty pussy, baby.”
“Jaem! Shh,” you scold in embarrassment of his comment.
“Your words are so… vulgar,” you reply with a slight pout. He can’t help but smile, amused by your innocence. You might have had orgasms by yourself, learned about a variety of kinks, watched and read filthy content to get yourself off, but physical intimacy is an entirely different field that you have no experience in. Dirty remarks aren’t new to you, but them being made towards you is different.
Jaemin would be lying if he says that he doesn’t find it cute. The way you’re already corrupted with salacious thoughts— Hell, you corrupted yourself— but the smallest touches and the simplest of words dazes you. He leaves you breathless, clingy, putty in his hands. And knowing that he’s the first person to have you like this excites him even more. He wants your first memory of sex to be of him. To make you feel so good that you’ll be constantly comparing your future sexual partners to your first one.
“What word? Pretty?” he teases, his middle finger sneaking between your folds again, “Or pussy?” He dips it in your core just like he did moments ago. You moan when he curls it to hit that sweet spot you were never able to reach and stimulates it by using the “come here” gesture. He inhales deeply at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. So soft, warm, wet, tight. So perfect.
He realizes that he has yet to receive some kind of stimulation too because his focus has been all on you. But he has to spoil you for your first time, doesn’t he? He starts grinding his clothed dick against your ass, cursing at the much needed sensation. His other hand reaches for one of your dress straps, sliding it off your shoulder. Even in the midst of the pleasure, you notice what he’s trying to do and assist him by taking your arms out from under both straps. He pushes the top part of your dress down, just underneath your bare breasts. Cold air sweeps across them, nipples perking up instantly. You watch him in the mirror as he cups and squeezes your left breast, in awe of him multitasking between fingering your pussy, groping your chest, and rubbing himself against you. But you want to add a little more to his plate. As tight as you already are around his finger, you still feel like you have room for him to fill you up even more.
“A-Another one, please?” you beg, placing your hand over his, almost to guide him into adding another finger. But you don’t have to.
“Sure thing, baby.”
You cry out at the stretch and the sight through the mirror of your pussy sucking his fingers in. It doesn’t hurt like you expected. You don’t know how, but it’s different from the times you tried to do it by yourself. You’re euphoric. It finally feels good.
“Hurt?” Jaemin asks, checking to make sure your whines were of pleasure and not pain. You shake your head vigorously, afraid he would stop if he mistakenly found a sign of discomfort. He smiles, almost like he’s proud of you— and himself, of course— and immediately moves his fingers faster in the same motion as before.
You gasps and moans become irregular as both of your hands grip the bedsheets on either side of you. Jaemin is knuckles-deep, pace never faltering. The knot from before ties itself again, and you can’t seem to take your eyes off the mirror. Off of yourself. Your mouth slightly agape, eyelids fluttering, the mess between your legs, arousal covering your inner thighs and dripping into Jaemin’s hand and bedding. A visible wet patch forms beneath you.
“Jaemin!” you yelp, squirming more in his hold as you inch closer and closer to your climax, not taking a second to breathe, “I’mcummingI’mcummingI’mcummingI’m-!” The knot snaps and your body stiffens, eyes squeeze shut on their own, thighs violently shake, pussy tensing around his fingers.
It only lasts for a second or two. But as your body relaxes, you gently roll your hips to ride it out, sighing and moaning softly in satisfaction. Once you stop, you slowly open your eyes to see Jaemin gaping at you in the mirror with his fingers still deep inside of you. God, did he need to fuck you right now.
“Jaemin?” you say, turning your head up at him to get his attention.
“Hm?” He removes his digits, now coated in a white-tinted, sticky substance. He holds them up to your mouth, urging you to taste yourself. You scrunch up your nose, disgusted at the idea of tasting something that came out of your body. He shrugs at your decline and nonchalantly sticks his own fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean with no hesitation. It’s like he’s done it a million times, and you wouldn’t doubt it if that’s the case.
Taking notice of your vacant stare towards him, he laughs as he pushes away stray hairs from your face, “Hellooo? Shortcake? Came so hard you’re blanking?”
You blink, searching for the lost thought before shyly asking, “Can I suck you off?” Your voice is so tiny and sweet; it contrasts with the way you use it to make such dirty requests. Jaemin loves it.
You were never actually planning to perform oral sex, as it’s not something you want to do with just anyone. You consider it a very intimate (almost romantic) act, to give pleasure but not receive any back. Something only people who love each other do, you thought. But isn’t that what Jaemin’s been doing all night with you? Perhaps you were wrong because you, yourself, found a craving to do the same. Neither one of you could tell if you just wanted the experience or if you genuinely would get off on making him feel good. Either way, how can Jaemin say no? Sure, he wants to fuck you, but he couldn’t turn down the chance to see your mouth stuffed with his cock. To see you look up at him with doe eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and smudged mascara. To feel your warm, wet mouth around him. A similar, but not close enough, feeling to your pussy.
Without saying a word, he unbuckles his belt while you sink down to the floor on your knees. He scoots himself closer to the edge of the bed before tossing his pants away. His length— now hard and angry like it’s been waiting too long for a release— slaps up against his stomach as soon as he removes his underwear. Precum leaking from the tip. A prominent vein running down from the tip to the base. You moan softly just from seeing it.
“It’s pretty,” you whisper, gazing in awe.
Jaemin chuckles like it was a ridiculous thing for you to say, even though you were basically reciprocating his compliment from earlier. “I think it would look a lot prettier in your mouth.”
You giggle like the high school girls who frequently come to see him at work, and the fluttery stomach makes an appearance again.
“Can I touch?”
“Don’t have to ask,” he mutters, spreading his legs wider. Your nervous hand ever so slowly reaches for the base of his cock, gently closing a fist around it. You hear a grunt from above you, and you smirk at the power you’re holding over him in this moment. A soft palm caressing the rest of his length when you move it upwards to rub your thumb over the head, smearing the precum in the process.
“Fuck,” Jaemin croaks, bending his neck back and closing his eyes, “Do something.”
You cutely plant a quick kiss on the tip with a smile, “Teach me?”
Jaemin is undeniably a patient person. If he wasn’t, he would not be spending his time with a virgin, and he most definitely wouldn’t be getting off on having to teach you. Though he’s not sure how well he’ll be able to do that while watching you in the position that you’re in.
“Y-Yeah, fuck. Yeah, of course.”
He instructs you to spit on it first. The messier and wetter, the better. Obediently, you gather as much saliva as you can in your mouth and hover over his dick to let it drop in a long string. Jaemin grabs your hand and places it around himself, guiding it as he pumps himself before letting your hand continue on its own.
A groan emerges from the back of his throat, followed by a line of curses when you finally wrap your lips around him. You bob your head up and down, you gather more saliva to let seep onto his shaft. Whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth you pump with your hands, mimicking what you’ve seen in porn.
“Hollow your cheeks. Use your tongue,” he directs, panting heavily. You do as he says, pulling back a little to suck on the sensitive tip and swirling your tongue on the underside of it. He hisses and holds onto the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. But you pull away for a second to tease him.
“Like that?” you ask innocently.
Eyes still shut, his heart does somersaults at your voice and words, “S-Shit, yeah. Just like that. Keep going.” He loves how much of an effort you’re putting in to please him. Following his instructions, making sure you’re doing everything to his taste, trusting him to do whatever he wants with you. Completely on your hands and knees for him.
Once you continue, he drops his head to glance down at you and almost cums on the spot. Plump, velvety lips in a perfect ring around his cock. Saliva dribbling down from both corners of your mouth. Muffled moans sending vibrations up his length. Big, innocent eyes staring right back at him, occasionally closing when you struggle to take him deeper. You manage to let him hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag, but it doesn’t stop you.
“Oh G-God… F-Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, baby-”
His groans get throatier, breathing turns quicker, curses spew out more frequently. He’s so, so close, and he knows it— which also means that he knows he has to stop you before it happens. It takes everything in him to lightly push you off his cock, leaving it throbbing and glazed with your saliva. Despite denying his own release, he smiles to himself as he just sits there, out of breath.
“You’re too good enough for your first time, you know that?” he praises, tilting your head up by holding your chin between his fingers. He swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping off any drool.
You pout, resting your hands on his knees, “If I’m so good, why’d you make me stop?”
“Because I’d rather cum in your pussy,” he tells you with a grin. He peels off his T-shirt, exposing a set of abs you did not expect. God, you want to touch his body so badly. Mirroring his actions, you start to remove your dress completely, but he stops you.
“Leave it. Wanna fuck you with it on.”
He picks you up from the floor with ease to lay you down on his bed, making sure the dress is bunched up around your stomach. He positions himself between your legs, pumping his cock a few times before lining it up with your hole.
“It won’t fit,” you remind him while he lifts your legs up in the air.
“I’ll make it fit,” he counters with confidence, but then he drops his voice to a whisper, “Just tell me if it hurts.”
You nod your head, close your eyes, and wait for the pain like you usually do whenever you receive a shot at the Doctor’s. As soon as you feel the tip push in, your eyes shoot open and you gasp. The stretch burns, you admit, but the feeling of his fleshy member grazing your walls is pleasing enough to cover it. Jaemin stills to give you a moment to adjust, but to his surprise, you buck your hips up as an attempt to make him sink in deeper. He moans at the sudden force and the fact that you just tried to take some control. He wants to pound into you, really, but you’re just so fragile to him. Delicate and tiny, like a single petal that’s been torn away from a flower.
“Fuck, what happened to going slow?”
“Need you now,” you say breathlessly, “Please.”
The squelching noise of your juices emanates throughout the room as Jaemin begins to thrust in and out. Discomfort gradually diminishes, and you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in closer.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he sighs, bringing his left hand up to hold onto the headboard behind you. You mewl in response, indicating that the feeling is mutual. He lifts your hips slightly higher off the bed, angling his cock to hit the same spot from earlier before speeding up his movements. You squeal at the change, as the stimulation intensifies and builds up faster. Your high-pitched moans mix in with his deep grunts.
His eyes fixate on the way your breasts bounce in synchronicity with his thrusts, while you look down to watch his cock bury inside you over and over again. Your arms previously sprawled above you, you take both of them and grip onto his biceps for dear life while he pounds into you. The bed beneath the two of you creaks so loudly, you’re sure anyone else in the house could hear. You shut your eyes, partly as an attempt to block out any idea that challenges your privacy with Jaemin, and partly because it just feels so fucking good. You couldn’t help it.
“You’re so cute like this,” he whispers, almost inaudible, “Feels good, yeah?”
“Mmhm…” You suddenly become incapable of producing words, only noises of pleasure. You open your eyes, making eye contact with Jaemin as your sweaty bodies slap against each other and your moans overlap. It almost feels like a game to see which one would be the first to break it, and you want to win it.
“Jaemin,” you breathe, “I thought about you… whenever I touched myself.”
You wait for a reaction as he registers your words. He couldn’t believe his ears. He wants to halt his thrusts, but he doesn’t dare. All this time? After every closing shift together, you go home and touch yourself to him? Moaning out his name? Yearning for this exact moment with him? Cumming from the thought of him? You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? Your neediness almost makes him laugh.
“Always knew you had a little crush on me, Shortcake,” he taunts, smacking your ass.
Crush? To shut him up, you squeeze around him, and he lets out a louder groan. His eyebrows furrow and his eyelids turn heavy until they completely close. He’s not stupid. He knows you did it intentionally. Unexpectedly, he grabs your hips and relentlessly slams into you. His actions so forceful you think the bed might actually break.
You begin wailing out his name in between broken moans, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure. You grasp the pillow your head is resting on for support, but the thrusts are so hard, you have a hard time trying to hold on for more than a few seconds. That all-too-familiar feeling in your stomach reappears for the third time tonight, but it seems more intense now than any other time.
You babble that you’re about to cum while Jaemin tries his hardest to hold his release until you have yours. But you involuntarily squeeze around him over and over again, causing him to stutter his movements. Reasonably, he thinks you’re doing it on purpose again, “Stop doing that.”
“Jaem, I can’t help it,” you whimper just as you feel your climax approaching closer, “Y-You’re gonna make me-”
You cut yourself off when your spine arches and your head throws back, scalp digging into the plush pillow as deep as possible. The feeling washes over you, traveling up to every part of your body. The sight sparks something in Jaemin. His eyes so full of lust, as he savors the moment in front of him. He’s the first person to give you an orgasm (besides yourself, of course), and he tells himself that he will never let go of that.
You don’t even make a sound aside from the heavy breathing that follows your orgasm and the sloppy, wet thrusts as Jaemin chases his own. Your body trembles, too sensitive from your climax.
“Jaem…” you squeak, breath quickening again after you just calmed down.
“I know, I know. Just hold out for me a little longer, okay? ‘M almost there,” he reassures, kissing your collarbone. His irregular pace indicates that he’s nearing. You feel his dick twitch inside you before a loud groan erupts from him, “Fuuck.”
You softly moan with him as he empties himself inside you, his body going limp. He rolls beside you, resting a hand behind his head while he catches his breath. You shift onto your side to face him, tracing your finger along the grooves of his abs. He truly looks like a beauty, despite the disheveled hair and sweatiness.
“Hey, Jaemin?”
“Mm?” He looks at you with glazed eyes.
“Thank you,” you whisper, nuzzling your face in his naked chest.
He smiles at your gratitude, even though he feels like he should be the one thanking you. He wraps an arm around you, fingertips brushing against your hot skin.
“Anytime, Shortcake.”
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