#if i catch anyone tagging this as a ship i will gut you like a fucking fish.
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SIGHHHH BSD REREAD…................I MISS THEM SO MUCH :(((
#if i catch anyone tagging this as a ship i will gut you like a fucking fish.#HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO DAZAI AND DAZAI ONLY. BTW#sorry for the inactivity i was busy flopping my ap’s🥰#no skk art from tumblr user lotus-pear after two weeks of not posting get PRANKED#anyway i was rereading the manga and i was struck once again by how father and son they are 😭😭😭😭😭#dazai calls him “kiddo” and “my boy” in the translation i was reading and it actually made me keel over and sob like he’s so sweet 🥺🥺🥺😭😭#actual crime they haven’t been reunited yet#switched up my coloring style a little bit bc why not#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#nakajima atsushi#atsushi nakajima#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bsd#lotus draws
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Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 18
Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader
Words: 5041
The two of you are irresponsible. Things end up fine, anyways.
Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, Race To Fireworm Island, unedited, part one
<Previous - Next>
“Yak dung, if ye brew’t ri’gh, yae can-”
You stared out at sea, legs stood apart, fur boots planted firmly against the wooden deck, fists on your hips and smelt the sea, which was a lot less fishy and foul than it had been by the docks, where stall owners tended to drop their fish guts.
Listening to the other two sailors talk was kind of boring. Apparently Yaks weren’t native to this part of the world. They were a far off import from a long time ago, which explained why Gobber and the other Vikings treated them like they were the ultimate cure-all.
“Aye, how abou’ we talk about something besides yak dung, you old frigate? I ‘prom I can’ ‘nit bear one more momen’ of- of-” The younger man spoke, voice tinged with a bit of roboticism and a definite note of disinterest.
The last you checked, he was quite gruffly doing his best to untangle the knotted fronts of an old, frayed net, probably rife with holes.
Everyone was a warrior, few got to be nothing besides that.
Berk’s close knit community kept anyone from really falling into poverty unless they sucked or were new, but the few fishermen here on Berk that were unlucky enough to end up poor tended to have heavier accents than everyone else, spending most of their pay on their dying ships, in contrast to some of the other boats, with hardy shiphands and large decorated, painted sides.
This one, the one you were on, was old and small but incredibly hardy, though it felt like it might sink down in still waters. As you heard, it did surprisingly well during a storm.
Family boats died hard, it seemed. And he was very insistent that that boat ran in his family.
It took a while for you to ascertain the knowledge that here, you were actually supposed to poop on a poop deck, not that you wanted to. It was more like you’d been shown how they did it which was very similar to just leaning their butt over the side railing and roughing it in front of everyone.
You did not enjoy that show.
You didn’t think anyone here was there for that boat trip. You found that very good.
You were at sea with two other sailors, an old man, large but frail as his boat, and a younger middle aged man who had very little interest in anything but the nets.
The sea was oddly still though still windy as you felt through your very casual tunic and trousers. You figured it would be a waste to wear more.
A thick pouch attached to your hip bounced against your waist as the ship rocked.
Today, you were a fisherman’s hired helping hand. It was a while since you’d helped on a ship. It was usually the poorer ones who couldn’t afford anyone hardier who pulled you up.
You were slightly pleased with it, though, as you raked across the sky with your eyes. Lunch was cheaper when you were part of the team catching it.
In the sky, you spotted the few birds brave enough to squeak and squeal and flip with dragons lurking around the clouds.
With a burst of enthusiasm, you waved up at them as they dotted the sky.
There were a few groups, not all clear enough for you to make out any more than a dot. And a little further back… There were what looked like the Riders.
You could make out the bright blur form of Stormfly and Astrid’s blonde head of hair on top. Behind her is who you thought were the twins.
You wondered where they were off to.
You eep-ed as a dot separated from the flock.
As the dot grew larger on the horizon, as you recognized the dark, swooping wings of the Night Fury and as it came closer, you realized, of course, that it was Hiccup and Toothless.
“Alr’gh, lass, You grab one end of the net and I’ll-” The old fisherman grumbled from behind, before cutting himself off, “By jove, what’s he want from ‘ere?”
His long, gray beard and ponytail shifted with the wind, and bald spot, which you presumed was caused prematurely a long time ago, half marred by a barely noticeable burn scar, slightly reflected the glare of the sun.
“Speak not of the Romans here, ol’ man,” The younger fisherman grumbled as you glanced back, his unevenly chopped, short brown hair blowing wildly as he limped and dragging his feet up behind him.
The old fishermen’s thin, threadbare brown fur tunic bollywood in the wind. It was patchy, something most Vikings on Berk could relate to but none would be bothered by besides the poorer, without the coin or resources to procure a new bit of fabric to replace.
Your own clothes were thin and not enough during the best of times.
You turned back up to the sky, nearly startled to see how far both Hiccup and Toothless had traveled in such little time, then backed up as they got nearer and nearer, quickly moving to compensate as they pul;led right up to the side.
The ship rocked dangerously as Toothless landed against the side, this fishing boat being a bit smaller than was typical, also positioned dangerously close to a set of rocks just barely peeking out of the water.
“Oi!” The old fisherman shouted angrily, as a spray of water rained down on them from above, just barely missing you, “Watch it, you-!”
“You watch i’, yae old man,” The brown haired fisherman said abruptly, scowling and fixing his accent and twisting his torso, sort of lanky but not nearly enough to be ousted from viking hood, dropping his net and coming over to cover the old man’s mouth, “Tha’s the Chief’s son.”
You winced, imagining his fishy breath over your own fingers, holding some pity for him though he didn’t look like he wanted or needed it.
Hiccup laughed awkwardly and winced, peering back at the rocks as Toothless sniffed around disinterestedly.
“We go’ no fish for ye, beast!” The old man yowled raspily, throwing off the younger man’s hand and shaking his fist.
Hiccup looked at the fisherman with a slight grimace though he didn’t say anything.
You blew a puff of air out into the ether, looking to the side and inhaling a new, fresh breath and feeling the lungs in your chest expand as you did.
These kinds of spats were not something you had a particular interest in.
Hiccup neither, it seemed.
“Hi?” He asked awkwardly, turning his attention away from them and looking down at you from where he was seated on Toothless, whose claws were digging into the railing, which you were sure was going to give the old fisherman an ulcer later.
“Hello,” You responded. You supposed that by now you should be feeling at least a little bit of Deja Vu but you really did not at all, “Where are you off to?”
“So, ah, how’s…?” Hiccup asked awkwardly, “Is now a bad time?”
You both stared back at the older fisherman who was now squabbling with the brown haired guy, who was busy holding him back, his arms hooked under the back of the old fisherman’s.
“It’s been… fine,” You said, “He’s kind of crazy, I think. Don’t mind it much.”
“Right…”
You heard a loud sniff as what must’ve been Toothless knocked over a small barrel on the other end of the ship, causing some weird-smelling liquid to spill over onto the deck.
“Shouldn’t they be doing better, with all the dragons nearby? You know…” Hiccup gentured down towards the head of his dragon, sniffing at a few closed baskets by the side of the boat, “...Fish?”
“No, ah,” You hummed, nodding to the dingy floorboards and the frayed everything; this vessel wasn’t even painted, a great deal smaller than the other ships, “There’s more fish now because of the dragons doing less hunting, which means an easier catch, food has to cost less in order to feed more and to sell and because most people can probably catch their own fish, and also this boat is kind of…”
You cleared your throat, shaking off the remnants of the fisherman’s accent, lingering along the edges of your voice.
You didn’t pick up on the whole thing until very, very recently but on the regular, you spoke in a way that was more formal than the rest of Berk.Of course, you knew you had an accent, but often you found that as you spent more time with the villagers, in an effort to be more polite, you tried to adapt the accents of the people you were speaking to in order to mask your own foreign one.
It helped, some.
“Right,” Hiccup said again, “We’re- we’re looking for Fireworms. The others and I. I should probably…”
“For Snotlout?” You asked.
You looked back and then up towards Hiccup again. They usually managed just fine without you, and it was an awfully calm day.
Would you leave them behind?
To be fair, if you stayed, you were sure to get an earful. So you didn’t feel bad about it at all.
“How did you know?” Hiccup asked.
You squinted.
Hiccup was positioned just so that the sun glared down from around him, which was a bit painful to your eyes.
“Well…” You started.
There wasn’t much the Riders did that had anything to do with the Jorgensons when Snotlout wasn’t involved and the ‘Louts had been particularly grabby recently. What wasn’t for them?
They took the island very seriously and themselves even more so as the ‘protectors of the island.’
From your interactions with the rest of the Jorgenson house and, more importantly, the head, you knew Spitelout was very rough on Snotlout.
Depending on the Jorgenson, they were either sort of wasteful or wasteless to an unreasonable degree, throwing things out before they could be fixed and using old, broken tools even after it became incredibly dangerous to do so, but they were also very rich compared to some of the other families on Berk so it didn’t really matter.
They had to have the best of everything in people and things, or something like that. Which usually left only crumbs for the rest of everybody.
You’d heard some of the women by the square complaining as you scoured over their crumbs and dry pickings.
You didn’t mind it. Berk was pretty first-come first-serve, anyways.
Until it came to dragons.
Everyone on Berk stuck to the typical types of dragons whenever they were forced to find a mount, not because they preferred it that way, though it wasn’t something you found to cause any dissent in particular.
“Gut feeling,” You shrugged, going with the easy explanation, “Do you need any help?”
It was difficult to find any type outside of a Dragon Training course, of course, those being a roster of the most common native dragons. The other kinds were a bit harder to stumble across. Any of the ‘exotic’ types of dragon mounts were something to be proud of, and proud of them they were, the few Vikings who had the time and resources to expend.
There were a few squabbles about it but nothing too major. Most Vikings were still a little dragon shy anyhow. The whole argument was kind of silly.
Having a dragon was about more than the type of dragon, anyways.
It didn’t matter much to you, a person without a dragon.
There was a fisherman who was quite proud of his exotic dragon- a Scauldron. He’d picked it up a little bit after the incident with the purple flowers.
It helped a lot with fishing.
“Well… Are you busy?” Hiccup asked, albeit a tad unsurely.
“Not particularly,” You said, staring back at the old fisherman, also a bit unsure.
Adventuring with Hiccup would make it easier to avoid the old fisherman, who, now that you thought about it, was a bit off and who you imagined was very close to blowing his top.
“Really?” Hiccup asked, looking a little guilty, eyes darting back towards the fishermen behind you.
He pointed a shaking hand towards you, spluttering messily as the brown haired Viking guy scrambled for some of the ropes along one of the poles along the back end of the ship, still not letting go of his arm.
“Yeah,” You said, beaming as Hiccup scooted forward, urging Toothless to turn around with his foot, causing the boat to rock a bit and you to back up, adjusting to the dragon as he swung wide.
Hiccup made a sheepish smile and offered you the space behind him on his saddle, though he kept his eyes on the fisherman behind.
You pretended you saw nothing. You thought the scene they were making resembled something out of the world’s blandest comedy show, or an old cartoon.
He paid pennies, anyway.
“Someone should be by with a Scauldron in case you need help,” You called back, “I heard the rainbow big ship was out today.”
“Not tha’ barrel! The other! Can’t you see the difference?” The old fisherman made a rude gesture and shouted as Toothless took the initiative to do a bit more exploring.
He shook free enough to grab something thick, dark and viscous from a wooden tankard to the side and throw it towards Toothless.
Hiccup shifted awkwardly as he responded, “I don't see the difference…?”
You yelped and jumped back and scrambled up on Toothless behind him as the glob landed right by your feet.
Looked like your refreshing day out at sea was over. You could always go fishing another day.
You tossed the fisherman back his coin, holding it between your fingers and flipping it to him with your thumb before he could say anything, shooting off a quick, “I’m sorry!”
He jumped down and grabbed for it, though the brown haired fisherman caught it with some minor exhaustion.
You turned away and lightly nudged Hiccup’s arm, hurting before the old fisherman could do something more crass. Like his bare bottom over the railing. Sure, you may have had to know the sight once, but it was still irritating. And gross.
Hiccup kicked Toothless quickly off and up into the sky. You could feel the wind bursting past your face, much more biting now that you were once again without your coat.
You rotated your shoulder slightly after you slipped into the saddle behind Hiccup, arms sore from all the rowing you did earlier, which was difficult considered your arms were clenched around his waist.
“Fireworm island?” You asked, “Which ones are Fireworms, again?”
“They’re the small orange glowy ones,” Hiccup spoke past the rushing wind, though it didn’t seem like he was particularly rushed, bumping your shoulder with his as he glanced back.
“I don’t think I’ve seen those yet,” You said as you locked your arms around his waist, Toothless moving at rocketing speeds.
“We’re heading back towards Berk?” You asked.
“Yeah. We were just- Well-” Hiccup struggled, “Recouping. Navigating. Splitting ground.”
“Splitting? What’s your-? You know.”
“I’m not- I left too early,” Hiccup said, embarrassedly at nearly a shout, “I was hoping you might know- Ah– But the- I know some of the fishermen used to use Fireworms as bait.”
He cut off then, but you got the gist of it.
“Why don’t we try a different island?” You asked, fighting against the wind as Hiccup and Toothless reoriented them all, nearly flipping over.
You imagined what Fishlegs would say; ‘There’s an island for that!’
It seemed like there was an island for everything. Was there one for Fireworms?
You wondered what Berk was the island for.
You didn’t need to be close friends to know for sure.
It was bare.
You pushed through another set of ferns, following quickly behind Hiccup as the two of you trudged through a thick set of trees.
You really hoped you hadn’t messed up and someone ended up dead, or something.
People would riot. Chase you off for sure.
You heard people talking about moving more into the forests where there were more resources and privacy, the only thing having kept them in the village being the dragons.
You’d have to take refuge.
Another dock would be nice, you thought.
You wondered if the volcano on Dragon island was still active. That would make for a good second island, if the dragons didn’t mind a few human visitors. Roommates. Exile-ees.
You figured they’d probably rather they be left alone, though.
“Would using Gel from another Nightmare work? Or is it like blood transfusions?” You asked as you ducked under another low-hanging branch.
You stepped over the gnarled roots of this tree quickly afterwards, the soles of your boots making an odd wet noise as it hit the damp undergrowth.
The two of you had just hit a pretty soggy spot in the undergrowth and you knew Hiccup was worried it might turn into peat.
You were close to suggesting that you head back and try another direction in the forest.
Said Hiccup looked at you oddly, brows cinched and raised as he tried to repeat your foreign modern words, “Blood transfusions?”
You puzzled over it for a moment, “Blood… exchange? Blood giving?”
“That…” Hiccup cringed, but he had the shadows of his idea face ghosting the corners of his expression. He was, also, probably wondering if it was just as unsanitary as it seemed, as a normally adjusted person should.
“It’s not as gross as it sounds, I promise.”
“Really?”
“I mean, everyone has different blood types, and you- Shouldn’t try it. Please don’t try it,” You said a bit quickly.
He didn’t have the medical equipment, at least not for blood.
It probably wasn’t safe anyways.
You hadn’t talked since before his Dad started asking you questions you didn’t want to think about. You refused to let it get awkward. Still, you hoped to find some Fireworms soon.
Toothless had run off earlier, chasing the likeness of a work into the trees. Hope was nearly lost.
Catching the worms was sort of difficult and the Fireworms had been sparse. You’d been out for what, thirty minutes? An hour?
You winced.
It was like trying to catch frogs with tweezers. How you imagined it, anyways.
You wondered if there were frogs here and if that was something Vikings did. You thought you saw a kid with a frog once. You wondered if Hiccup wanted to go catch frogs, and if he was the type of kid to have tried to do that.
Maybe with friends? You weren’t sure.
He seemed a little solitary before the Red Death, though not by choice or any sort of personality quirk, at least nothing you would clock from the modern day.
You were afraid, though, that his only friend was Gobber which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, in and of itself.
“Toothless!” Hiccup tried then, calling again, cupping his hands around his mouth.
You glanced down at his leg, which you noticed just then had sunk a bit deep into the mud. It was going to get caked later.
“No dice?” You asked, pulling yourself up a step.
“No dice,” Hiccup shook his head. He tried to hide it, but he was looking kind of glum. Which was understandable.
You squinted ahead as the way forward got lighter, blinking placidly into the treeline.
Maybe you wouldn't have to turn back after all.
You kept moving forwards.
Hiccup had a sort of stormy, contemplative expression on his face a for a while, and so you’d given him the space to think.
You weren’t particularly pressed to speak yourself, in a mood that made you just as happy with silence as exercising your vocal cords.
“Spitelout… Snotlout hadn’t said anything but I’m sure he wants him to- …” Hiccup spoke, after a while.
“Kill Hookfang?” You asked.
You likened it -the idea- to euthanasia for older animals or animals that were too sick to function anymore. But you had the inkling that that’s not exactly the type of person Spitelout was.
It was still unreasonable, though. You hadn’t exhausted half your resources yet, you thought. If there was still a chance you’d be able to save Snotlout’s dragon…
You felt sort of bad for Hiccup.
Dragons were his thing, after all.
“I should have told the others where I was going,” Hiccup sighed, gesturing with his hands as he stopped suddenly, then letting them fall until they slapped soundlessly against his legs, “I can’t believe I messed up this bad.”
You moved up beside him to see his face, lips pursed into a thin line as he looked exhaustively up into the thin pin-ey canopy above, “It’s not that bad.”
He looked at you guiltily then, though you had the feeling he wasn’t looking at you with guilt any more than you being the cause of it. Did he regret stopping by to pick you up? Coming to another island?
“It’s fine,” You tried, before adding hopefully, comforting yourself a little bit, “We don’t know if it’s a mistake, yet. These things happen, and you never know.”
“My Dad is going to kick me out and I’m going to have to spend every night from now on until I die eating alone.” Hiccup spoke dryly.
“I’ll be here,” You suggested helpfully, “And if you get kicked off I promise I’ll visit with things. So you don’t drop. Like fresh water and probably beads, maybe.”
“Well, thanks, I bet they’ll taste great mixed up with a plate of loneliness and self-loathing,” Hiccup said sarcastically, waving his hands at his sides, before pausing, as if remembering who he was talking to.
You snorted, a little bit surprised.
He’d not spent so much time being any more sarcastic than awkward whenever you were together.
You thought it was a little bit funny and a little bit worrying. If things went wrong it was probably your fault, anyways. For messing with the plot.
Had you really, though? The thought came unbidden. What had you done besides just existing? That was a guiltless action.
Had that been all you had been doing?
You internally shook, brushing thoughts of those things away.
You didn’t want to do any pondering.
“You’d be fine, minus the indigestion, probably. You have a lot of things going for you,” You nodded.
“My sharp intellect and dashing charm,” Hiccup said, keeping his elbows close to his sides and gesturing to himself emphatically in a way that was incredibly sarcastic and slightly gawky.
“Yes,” You said firmly as you nodded besides, your side brushing fully past another fern as you went, “I mean, you’re a good inventor. I can’t name another one on the island- really, I’m sure I heard your Dad talking about it the other day- ‘I could leave that boy alone for a week and he’d have me a city built on a whole other island by the time I got back.’”
You didn’t talk to many people so you mostly kept that bit to yourself.
“Wow, that’s…”
“A bit crazy?” You hummed, lifting your boot and jumping back slightly as you stepped into a particularly wet, boggy patch of grass.
“A lot of pressure,” Hiccup gestured aimlessly with his hands again, the glass beads threaded into the twine around his wrists twinkling slightly as he rotated them.
He seemed kind of crushed, suddenly.
“I’m really not that good at… Prioritizing, I guess. Anything. All of this.”
They were yellow today. Yellow and light green. You hadn’t noticed, too focused on staying atop Toothless in the sky earlier and on the fauna after you’d landed.
You looked down as you stepped up onto a short dry patch, kicking aside a few pebbles with your muddied boot toes and grabbing a hold of a thin branch, sticking up out of a log as you pulled yourself over.
“I hope he didn’t mean it literally,” You said, shrugging. But then you immediately felt guilty for it, glancing up from your feet back to Hiccup, “It’s- I mean, things happen-And- You don’t have to be good at it. I mean, you’re doing it. Who else is going to?”
You stopped for a moment and took that time to let out a large exhale.
You felt like you fumbled the conversation before you even moved your mouth again.
“Right,” Hiccup looked at you unsurely before peering around the underbrush, “I guess. But everyone expects me to. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I don’t- …know how.”
Hiccup grimaced, looking like he had a heavy set of weights on his shoulders. Which, he might’ve.
You hadn’t had any in a while besides the need for food and board.
It made you wonder. Did you expect anything from Hiccup?
“Can you…? Gods, do you even know what I’m talking about?” Hiccup continued, burying his face in his hands, throwing his head up exaggeratedly as he rubbed his face, one hand lingering longer than the other.
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as he did, “I didn’t mean-...”
He sighed heavily, defeated.
You looked at him for a moment, halted.
You ignored how your feet were sore and your back was starting to hurt from spending the whole day on your feet. This was no place to sit and rest, however, not even for a minute. You wouldn’t stop for more than a minute.
Unless you wanted to be wet, that was. And froggy.
Way back on Berk, you were expected to take on responsibility a lot earlier than you were expected to in modern times so you guessed, in a way, you got it. And you wanted to tell him so.
You felt kind of odd about it all.
Any direction you had you’d surely misplaced. Any path you knew was probably derailed- even this conversation you were sure wasn’t supposed to have happened.
“I kind of know?” You said, “I get it, I mean. I haven’t been here for everything, but, you know, I’ve seen a lot. I don’t really have any good advice for you, though.”
You watched Hiccup slump slightly, grimacing as you spoke, feeling as if you’d failed some sort of test.
Who were you to ask for anything, really?
There was one thing you could give him, though. But similar to your own sleeves and patchy boots, which you liked a lot, you weren’t sure if it would count for much.
“-And I’m sorry,” You said, before shrugging, not giving Hiccup a moment to think before you spoke again, “But I don’t expect anything you don’t want to give. Maybe, it would be hypocritical of me to ask for anything more than you are- I mean, I’m a delivery girl. I guess you know all that already, though, right? That you’re nice all on your own?”
You ended in a question, watching Hiccup as he watched you, searching for any more reaction. His reaction. Had you missed the mark? Was there even a mark to miss?
You hoped not.
“Am I?” Hiccup asked, looking at you incredulously.
He gave you a wide-eyed look, some emotion you couldn’t name plastered all across his face.
You weren’t exactly an authority on the subject. You had been here, in the Archipelago, for a long while, but there were still many, many things you weren’t privy to.
“I think you are?” You took the lead by a few feet, urging Hiccup to subconsciously follow you forwards, hurrying the both of you up, “I don’t know what-I mean… Are you? I can’t really say. I’m not- the judge of- I think, honestly, the only one who can say what you are is- well. You? And you’d know better than me what you can handle. I don’t mind it, whatever it is you can or can’t do, I guess.”
You gestured back towards him as you glanced and turned away without actually looking, face heating up with an extra amount of embarrassment.
You didn’t want to consider the idea that maybe you’d messed up, so you opted to ignore all of it. The idea that the whole conversation had happened in the first place.
Really, he was the main character. Why wouldn’t he know?
“I- ah, ph-what? I mean… Yeah?” Hiccup sputtered, following you as you through the forest around you, trying not to flinch as the water seeped through the bottom of your boots.
You shrug-nodded awkwardly, still staring ahead.
Thankfully, the damp earth began to grow firmer and the ferns grew thicker as you spoke until just by what you assumed to be the end of the treeline, where the sun shone brightest.
You pointed ahead, “I think there’s an opening up there.”
As you got closer, hurriedly trudging along though not too fast for Hiccup to keep up, you felt the beginnings and wisps of sea in the air.
You felt the beginnings of a rumble in your stomach as your anticipation grew.
So you had a little bit of an ulterior motive too, for rushing the two of you along. You were a little bit hungry, and you also had had no breakfast at all. A break would do Hiccup well too, you were sure.
You kept moving, the two of you in silence, until, finally, stepping past a particularly large front, framed by light that was almost glaring, considerably brighter than the kind you’d been subjected to in the smoggy underbrush-
The two of you had just broken out of the forest into a clear cliffside.
It was probably not too far away from where you’d initially landed. Geometric rock columns lined the cliffs’ edge, making the ground look almost like tiles, though some bits were slightly elevated over others.
You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.
“Look, how about we take a break? I have to… I have to figure out how we’re going to get back,” Hiccup looked back, in a way you imagined was exhaustive, into the trees, most likely thinking of Toothless. Yeah, that was a problem.
You were glad he said it first.
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#toothless#fem reader#female reader
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I don't want to worry you (BSD Fanfic)
I think bramran is a fitting way to end the year, don't you?
I do believe that this will be my last fic of 2023 unless I can finish the other one that I'm working on, but uhhhhh, I don't think I will, so yeah, here we are!
I am so in love with this ship, and playing around with their dynamic is fun, and something I'm enjoying a lot!! And this was my first time writing from Bram's POV, so I think I did okay.
So without further ado, I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! Leave a kudos or a comment or both as well!!!!
Bram stares at his phone with such an intense look that it’s a surprise that the device doesn’t catch on fire. He knows that staring at it won’t do anything, that it won’t make a new message appear on the screen no matter how desperately he wishes for it. He eyes the read nine days ago tag attached to the last message he’d sent, and tries not to worry. After all, his lover works hard at his job, and often forgets to reply when he gets focused, and normally Bram wouldn’t worry, but normally, Ranpo doesn’t send him one worded answers, or brush him off when he tries to organise a date, but recently, that’s what he’s been doing, and as such, Bram worries.
There are few things that he actually does worry about, mostly because it takes a lot to make him worry in the first place, but his lovers wellbeing is one thing that makes him worry a lot, hence why he’s been staring at his phone all day in the hopes of getting a response to the last message he sent: Ranpo, are you okay?
Bram tries not to worry, telling himself that Ranpo is fine, and that he’ll simply message him when he gets time; he remembers Ranpo telling him about a big case that’d come through, and that it was all hands on deck—even his. But it’s been nine days, and no matter how difficult a case is, Ranpo has never needed more than three to solve one. And sure, Bram could reach out to Ranpo’s friends and co-workers, but he doesn’t want to distract them from their work, doesn’t want to make them worry either since they already worry enough about their head detective.
He sighs, and checks his messages again, even though he knows that no new ones have come through, and his gut churns as he, once again, focuses on that nine day old tag, because it’s not normal, and although nothing about him and Ranpo is normal to begin with, their communication is the most normal thing about them, which is why Bram knows that something is up, and that perhaps, he shouldn’t wait any longer this time, that maybe he should be the one to take initiative this time.
It’s decided. He’ll go to the Agency and check to see if Ranpo is there, and if he isn’t, then he’ll stop by Ranpo’s home and check there.
Bram stands up, swipes his phone off the counter and strides over to the coatrack he’d been gifted by… someone—Dazai he thinks, but to be honest he isn’t sure, since it just turned up in his apartment one day without his knowledge—and pulls his coat off of it, and then tugs it on. Once he makes sure he has his keys, he leaves his apartment behind and sets off down the street. He has a vague idea of how to get to the Agency without using his phone as a navigation aid, no thanks to said Agency making him study the maps of Yokohama since he made the decision to stay.
A decision he was still adjusting to, but so far, hadn’t regretted it.
The walk to the Agency is peaceful, and gives Bram a chance to think over what he plans to do. His main goal of course, is to find out where Ranpo is and why he’s been ghosting him this entire time, but he also wants to do so in a way that doesn’t worry anyone else. Because if there’s one thing that Bram’s learnt since meeting Ranpo, it’s that the genius detective doesn’t like being fussed over, no matter what. Ranpo could be bleeding out, or suffering from some kind of plague, yet he would still insist that he’s fine—thankfully, his fellow detectives were on top of things, and did their best to stop Ranpo brushing them off, but sometimes, he did manage to fool them.
Before he knows it, he’s at the Agency, and climbing the stairs, only to run into the Agency’s doctor halfway up. Bram stops and stares at her, eyes widening just a little, and Yosano’s mouth drops open a little bit at the sight of him. “Bram, what brings you here? Is Ranpo alright?”
Yosano’s words cause Bram’s own question to die before he can even voice it, and he frowns, because why is she asking him about Ranpo? Ranpo’s been at work, hasn’t he? Bram thinks, and then elects to just speak the truth. “I haven’t seen Ranpo in two weeks, and I haven’t heard from him in nine days. He told me he had a case, so I assumed he would be here, working.”
Now it’s Yosano’s turn to frown, and she shakes her head slowly. “No… Ranpo called out sick a couple of weeks ago, said he’d be back once he felt better. We simply assumed he was staying with you while he got better.”
So Ranpo had lied to both Bram and his co-workers… but why? Were they in danger from a new threat, and Ranpo was trying to protect them? Was there something going on with Ranpo that he didn’t want those closest to him to know about? There were so many possibilities, and Bram couldn’t stop running through them in his head, trying to figure out which one is the most plausible. But not one possibility calls to him, which makes him think he’s wrong, but the churning in his gut makes him think he’s also on the right track.
“Is… there someone closer to Ranpo than either of us?” Bram asks after a moment of silence. He knows that Ranpo has people closer to him than just Bram—he knows that Yosano is one of them, and that the president of the Agency is another, but other than that, he has no clue. He in Ranpo are still in the ‘learning about each other’ stage of their relationship after all, it makes sense for him to not know everything yet.
“Well, there’s Fukuzawa—he’s known Ranpo since he was young after all.” Yosano brings a hand up to scratch at her chin in, deep in thought. “And well, me and the rest of the Agency, but we already established that that’s not helpful… maybe Poe? He’s a friend of Ranpo’s, and I know that Ranpo sometimes visits him.”
Bram nods, and files away the information for later. He feels like he’s been told this before, since the names feel familiar, and then a bit of guilt wells up inside him that he should already know this, but he squashes it down and blames it on the worry he’s feeling. “Would it be possible to speak to Fukuzawa?”
“Sure, he’s in his office. First door once you get up the stairs.” Yosano points behind her and then steps past him, calling over her shoulder. “Good luck, Bram!”
Her abrupt departure leaves Bram alone on the stairs, and he watches after the doctor until she disappears from sight, just blinking from how short and simple the conversation was. Usually conversations with any of the Agency members took several minutes—sometimes hours if stuck with certain members—and not… a minute. But no matter, the conversation had given him a starting point, and that was what mattered, so he turned on his heel and made his way up the stairs, spotting the office he was supposed to enter the moment he got to the top.
Bram paused outside the door, wondering for a moment if he was being too forward, and that he’s bothering someone who is busy just because he’s just a little worried, but once again, he squashes that feeling down, knocking on the door.
The door swings open after a few seconds, and reveals the man at the head of the Agency—and a man that Bram realises is familiar, and that he’s met before at a recent dinner that Ranpo had dragged him to; some kind of family dinner that Bram vaguely recalled as also serving as an introduction between him and one Fukuzawa Yukichi.
Fukuzawa is shorter than Bram, so he has to look down to meet the older mans eyes, and for minutes, the two stare at each other, with no words being spoken.
Bram is the one to break the silence, giving a polite bow as he’d been taught was custom. “I do not mean to disturb you, Fukuzawa, but I have come to ask you of something.”
“You wish to know of Ranpo’s whereabouts.” It’s not a question, but a statement, and Bram blinks, surprised that Fukuzawa is aware of what he’s after—which means the man also has the answer he’s seeking.
“I am. I haven’t heard from him in several days, and I am growing worried.”
Fukuzawa hums, his eyes closing as he thinks.
Bram simply waits patiently while he does.
After a while, Fukuzawa opens his eyes again. “He’s currently staying with me. He’s been… unwell lately, so I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“But you are here.” Bram says.
Fukuzawa nods. “Ranpo insisted I still come to work because he did not wish to worry anyone. I was about to leave to go and check on him, but I won’t begrudge you from going in my place if you would like to soothe your worry.”
“That would be much appreciated, thank you.”
Fukuzawa gives another nod before reaching into his sleeve to pull out a key and his phone. He holds out the key towards Bram, and taps away at his phone. “This is the key to my apartment, and I will text you the address—Ranpo gave me your number after dinner.”
Bram nods, and pulls his own phone out of his pocket once the message tone goes off. “Thank you. I will do my best.”
“I know you will, Bram.” Fukuzawa gives him a soft smile, one that makes Bram feel warm inside. “You care for Ranpo deeply, and that is something I appreciate.”
Bram didn’t know what he was expecting when he steps into Fukuzawa’s apartment, but total silence isn’t it. Fukuzawa had said that Ranpo was unwell, and Bram distinctly remembers the last time that Ranpo was sick; he’d laid on the couch, filled with complaints and glasses of juice, watching whatever was on the television at the time. And yet, here, there is no Ranpo in sight, no mess to even indicate that he’s even here in the first place. But he has to be, because that is what the Agency president had said, so Ranpo simply must be elsewhere in the apartment.
With that in mind, Bram steps further into the apartment, barely remembering to pull of his boots in time, and looks around. The apartment is neat and tidy, freshly cleaned from the looks of it, although there is a bottle of water, and a couple of what looks to be medicinal pills next to it. Underneath the bottle is a note that must’ve been written by Fukuzawa before he’d left that morning:
Take your medication please, Ranpo. You know it helps. I’ll be by to check on you at lunch.
- Fukuzawa
Bram studies the note, and then eyes off the water and medication, before grabbing both and continuing on his search for Ranpo.
It doesn’t take long to figure out where Ranpo is, since there are only two other rooms in the apartment, and only one of the doors is closed, which means that the younger detective must be there. First, Bram knocks on the door, but when he doesn’t get a response, he quietly opens it and steps into the darkened room, closing the door behind him with a click.
It takes a moment for Bram’s eyes to adjust to the darkness—not total darkness, because even though the curtains are drawn, there’s a light plugged into the wall, providing a glow that allows some visibility—but once they do, his attention is drawn immediately to the lump in the bed, currently drowning in blankets. Bram steps closer to the lump, making sure that he can be heard so as not to spook Ranpo when he sits on the edge of the bed. “Ranpo?”
The lump under the blanket jerks, and then shifts before a head slowly appears with tangled hair, and eyebags so heavy that it makes Ranpo look like someone has punched him in the face. Even his eyes, which are normally so green and bright, and full of life, look nothing more than decaying herbs as they seem to stare right through Bram, unblinking, until Ranpo lets out a sigh and drags the blankets back over his head. “Go away…”
Ranpo’s reaction stumps Bram, who has never seen his lover as anything other than cheerful and energetic, so he’s not entirely sure what he’s meant to do here.
But then Bram remembers Fukuzawa’s faith in him, and his determination returns full force—he needs to do good; he needs to be helpful; he needs to take care of Ranpo.
“I will not.” Bram says, reaching over to tug the blankets down until Ranpo’s face is visible again. “It’s been nine days since I last heard from you, so I got worried, and it seems like I was right to worry in the first place.”
Ranpo grunts, refusing to look his way again. “How did you even get in? Fukuzawa isn’t home.”
“I went to the Agency to see if you were there, because you told me you had a case.” Bram said, watching Ranpo’s head turn the tiniest bit to look at him. “I ran into Yosano, who directed me to Fukuzawa, who told me you were unwell, and then he gave me a key.”
“Of course he did.” Ranpo sighs, eyes disappearing from view again. “Well, you’ve seen me, so you can go now.”
“No, because something is wrong and I want to help.” Bram says and places the water on the bedside table next to an empty cup, and grabs the medicine from his pocket. He taps Ranpo on the shoulder, until Ranpo groans and just rolls over to face him. “These were on the kitchen bench when I got here, you should probably take them.”
Ranpo eyes the pills, and Bram turns to grab the water, holding both out to his lover. He watches the younger’s eyes flit from his hands to his face, a variety of emotions crossing it before resignation settles there, and he pushes himself onto his elbow to take them from Bram’s hands. Ranpo throws the medicine into his mouth, and swallows the pills with a mouthful of water; then the water is being pressed into Bram’s hands again, and Ranpo turns back to face the wall.
A silence falls between them, Bram using that moment to study Ranpo carefully. Aside from the bags under his eyes, and a pale complexion, there isn’t really anything that says Ranpo is sick; he’s not coughing and his skin is free of fever-sweat. Which leads him to think that whatever’s going on, it’s something else and being sick is just the coverup excuse. Injured? No, I’d smell blood if he was wounded. Maybe the illness is something else…?
In the end, Bram just decides to ask. “What’s wrong with you?”
Silence, and then a huff that could have been a laugh. “That’s a bit of a blunt question.”
“You told me you preferred me being blunt.” Bram shrugs.
Ranpo hums, but doesn’t say anything more, not even to answer Bram’s question, which he thinks means that he can continue with his observations.
“You do not seem to be sick in the way that you were the last time you were sick—”
“That’s because it’s not your usual sickness.” Ranpo interrupts, and then curls up into a tiny ball. “’m just a little bit sad, that’s all you need to know.”
“Ah, I understand.” And Bram did understand. After all, one doesn’t exactly handle just being a head and a body for so many years by being happy, and even before that, when the people of his homeland turned against him and called him a monster, no matter how many times he tried to tell them that he wasn’t the one responsible for their people dying, one wasn’t exactly happy about that, especially when it ended in your near death. And those were just the ones with reason; there’d also been times where, seemingly for no reason, he’d felt less inclined to getting out of bed that day.
So he did understand.
And it tugs at his heart that someone important to him is going through such a thing.
Bram stands from the bed, and in no more than a few seconds, he’s pulling all the blankets off of Ranpo and lifting him from the bed.
“Wha—hey! Put me down!” Despite his protests, Ranpo doesn’t try to fight him.
“No.” Bram says, adjusting his grip on Ranpo so he can carry Ranpo easier. The moment he does, arms come to wrap around his shoulders, and Ranpo hides his face into the crook of Bram’s neck.
“Please put me down.”
“No. You are suffering from… I think they call it depression now, so I will do what I can to help you deal with it easier, and that means taking care of your physical needs so you can fight the demons in your mind.”
Ranpo sighs and tightens his hold, but he doesn’t say anything as Bram carries him from the room, which is fine with him, since he would much rather Ranpo not fight him as he tries to help.
It’s silent between the two of them as Bram carries Ranpo into the bathroom—not after struggling to find it in the first place—and seats him on the edge of the toilet seat so that he can get the shower ready. Ranpo’s head droops where he sits, his hair hiding his face from view as the rest of his body trembles; it looks like it’s taking all the energy that Ranpo has left to stay upright, and it tugs at Bram. He steps away long enough to turn the shower on before returning to kneel in front of Ranpo, raising a hand to cup his lovers cheek, running a thumb over Ranpo’s cheek.
Ranpo’s eyes flit to him.
“You don’t need to do anything, alright?” Bram reassures, leaning up to press their foreheads together. “Just let me take care of you, and I’ll do the rest.”
For a moment, Ranpo stares at him, and then drops his head to rest on Bram’s shoulder. “… okay.”
Bram nods, pleased with Ranpo’s answer, and sets about doing as he said he would; helping. He pulls away slowly, and stands, gripping Ranpo’s arms with his own and guiding his lover to his feet. He continues to hold Ranpo up with one arm, and with the other, he unbuttons Ranpo’s shirt, and tugs it off the others body. Next come the pants, and it’s the only time Bram asks Ranpo to help, continuing to hold his love upright as he shrugs off his pants and the underwear underneath, and then, it’s time for the shower.
He doesn’t hesitate to step under the spray, ignoring how his clothes become soaked in an instant and stick to his skin because it’s not important. It’s much more important for him to take care of Ranpo right now, since his love has been struggling to take care of himself if the state of him is anything to go by. It makes Bram wonder what exactly Fukuzawa has been doing to try and help the situation, but he tries not to judge—in situations such as these where the person important to you is suffering, you simply do the best that you can, and sometimes that means taking each day as it comes. Depression is ugly at times, he knows this from experience, which is why he’s determined to try and help. Bram doesn’t expect to magically fix how Ranpo is feeling right now, but he hopes to make him feel a little better at least.
With that in mind, Bram guides Ranpo to sit on the floor of the shower, following him down to kneel behind him. He reaches behind him, grabbing blindly for the shampoo until his hands knock into the bottle and that of the conditioner beside it. It only takes him a second to decide on grabbing both, and brings them into his view; he elects to just squirt the shampoo straight onto Ranpo’s head, and begins to drag his nails through tangled black hair, taking care to get the tangles out in a way that won’t cause Ranpo any pain.
Ranpo lets out a sigh, and shifts to rest his head on his knees, eyes closed as he gives in to Bram’s ministrations. It’s hard to see his expression from here, but Bram imagines it to be a little content, but emotionless all the same.
“Tilt your head back.” Bram says once he’s finished, and places a hand on Ranpo’s forehead to encourage him into following his words. Then, he rinses out the shampoo and starts the process over again the conditioner.
Once that’s done, Bram stands and turns the water off before guiding Ranpo up again and helping him out of the shower. And like before, it’s done in silence, and Bram doesn’t break that silence as he grabs a towel and drapes it over Ranpo’s head. He starts to dry it, only to have Ranpo’s hands come up to grasp at his own.
“I can do this…” Ranpo says, looking up into Bram’s eyes. “You go get changed. Fukuzawa has spare yukata’s; he won’t mind if you borrow one.”
“You are sure?”
Ranpo nods.
“Alright.” Bram leaves Ranpo to finish off, going to hunt down a yukata and get out of his wet clothes. In hindsight, getting into the shower without getting undressed first was a poor decision, but Bram hadn’t exactly been thinking when he’d done it. But what’s done is done, and now all that’s left to do is get Ranpo fed, a task that seems simple enough considering how much the detective likes to eat on a daily basis, even if it is mostly sweets.
But that was when Ranpo was feeling good.
Because right now, Ranpo is refusing to eat anything that Bram offers him.
“Why not just some toast?” Bram suggests after having yet another meal shot down, now dressed in a fresh yukata that’s a tad too short for him, and he’s pulled his damp hair into a bun.
Ranpo pulls a face and shakes his head. “I’m not hungry…”
Bram hums, worried, because he’s pretty sure that Ranpo hasn’t eaten anything in recent days—it doesn’t take a genius to see that his love has lost weight since he last saw him—and while he’s resigned himself to not getting Ranpo to eat an actual meal when he feels as terrible as he does, he refuses to let Ranpo eat nothing. “What does Fukuzawa usually do when you aren’t hungry?”
The expression on Ranpo’s face tightens even more before it just disappears entirely and is replaced with defeat. Ranpo stretches out across the table. “He usually cuts up an apple… or any kind of fruit, really…”
“Apple it is then.” Bram moves towards the fridge, quickly finding the apples, and from there it only takes him a couple of minutes to slice it up and put it on a plate. He slides into the seat next to Ranpo and picks up one of the slices and holds it out. “Can I ask a question?”
“Yeah.” Ranpo shrugs, and after eyeing the slice of apple carefully, takes it and nibbles on it.
“You could have stayed with me if you were feeling like this, I would not have judged you, so why did you not tell me?”
For a while, Ranpo is silent, and Bram thinks that he’s not going to get an answer, but then Ranpo shrugs and begins to speak. “I don’t know. Didn’t want to burden you or worry you, I guess, so I just lied and hid.” Ranpo gives an empty laugh. “But I failed anyways.”
“I care about you.” Bram argues gently, choosing to be soft instead of blunt for a change. “So of course I was bound to worry when you stopped talking to me.”
Ranpo hums, and picks up another apple slice. “You don’t need to worry, I’ll be fine. I’m safe here.”
Bram understands the implication of the words without having to question them, and it makes sense why Ranpo chose to come to Fukuzawa rather than himself. Fukuzawa has known Ranpo for years after all, has probably seen this side of Ranpo many times over and knows exactly how to handle it, unlike Bram who is witnessing this side of the person he’s chosen to love, for the first time. And while he trusts Ranpo’s words when he says that he will be fine, Bram also wished that Ranpo would accept help just a little bit more; it might make these days more bearable.
“I understand that you come to Fukuzawa because he is familiar, and understands you best,” Bram begins to say, reaching over to draw Ranpo into a one-armed embrace, pressing his lips to Ranpo’s crown, “but I ask that the next time you feel this way, that you let me know. I want to help you when you cannot help yourself.”
Ranpo flushes, and turns to bury his face into Bram’s chest, hands coming up to clutch at the yukata he’s wearing. He makes a noise like he wants to say something, but then falls silent.
Bram doesn’t hesitate to wrap his other arm around Ranpo and draw him closer. “You don’t need to answer. I don’t expect one. Taking in what I say is enough.”
“… thank you.”
When Fukuzawa steps into the apartment late in the evening, he certainly didn’t expect it to be silent—well, he did, because his apartment’s been silent for the past two weeks—but somehow, the silence seems different this time, and he’s almost certain it’s because of Bram. He’s not sure what Ranpo’s boyfriend… partner… lover—he’s not entirely sure what the two have labelled themselves with if he’s being honest—has done since he sent him over, but he knows that something occurred here.
If not for the apple scraps on the bench, and the fact that Ranpo’s meds are gone from where he’d left them on his way out of the apartment that morning, then it would be the sheets that Fukuzawa had been trying to change for days, hanging on a rack, freshly washed along with two towels, that gave it away.
Quietly, he makes a beeline for Ranpo’s room, since neither he nor Bram are within his sights, and he’s rewarded when he opens the door and sees the two of them crammed into Ranpo’s too small bed, asleep. Fukuzawa’s lips twitch into a smile as he observes the way that Ranpo is curled against Bram’s chest whilst Bram holds him protectively; Ranpo’s head is tucked underneath Bram’s chin, and Fukuzawa can see from his spot that Ranpo’s hair has been washed, and he gives Bram a silent thanks.
Getting Ranpo into the shower when he was in the midst of a depressive episode was a battle that Fukuzawa seldom won, so he’s grateful that Bram’s somehow achieved that.
A noise from Ranpo catches his attention, and it sounds like he’s about to wake up, but then Bram’s arm moves to run up and down his back in a soothing manner, as if he’s had to do this before, and Ranpo falls silent, face softening back into sleep. Bram’s hand slows until it stops, but not before he tightens his grip on Ranpo.
Fukuzawa’s smile widens a little, and he carefully shuts the door as he leaves the two to sleep.
Love doesn’t cure all, but it can certainly help ease one’s pain, and that is what Fukuzawa clings to as he goes to make himself some tea.
Tea for three.
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd fanfic#hurt/comfort#light angst#comfort#bramran#bram stoker#edogawa ranpo#writing#fanfic#depression
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Pandemonium
The Edge of the World: Chapter 19
Perfect Match AU - Damien x MC
Supporting lyrics are from Within Temptation’s song- Dangerous.
Rating: M, Word Count: ~ 1780
Summary: Backed into a corner, there is a nasty surprise in store . . . but for who?
For more content/to catch up, see my Masterlist! And if you’d like to be tagged in anything, let me know
It's dangerous to sacrifice,
It makes your blood run to throw the dice
It's dangerous, it's what you like
It's what you'll fight for to live this life
As soon as Harley grabbed Maya, everyone sprung to action. Damien had pursued them, but before anyone else could follow, Cecile's guards charged at them from all sides. In spite of that, the group was holding their own surprisingly well.
Hayden, Dames, and Steve formed a protective ring around their friends, taking the brunt of the guards swarming them, and tasing whoever they could. With their superior strength as their biggest advantage, they stood their ground and flanked the guards at their respective sides. Sometimes they switched to grabbing at any that tried to sneak up on their friends, tossing them into the walls of nearby cargo containers.
Sloane hung back with Nadia, clutching Dipper as she looked for some means of escape. "They're coming in from all sides!" Sloane exclaimed. "There has to be something we can do!"
There was a grunt nearby as Alana tossed a guard into a pile of boxes. She stood in front of them, knocking down any who got too close. "Yeah," She panted, maintaining her defensive posture. "Any chance you can convert your friend's arm into a sonic cannon or something?"
"No, Matches aren't designed for that!"
"Well we need one!"
A large foghorn sounded from a distance. Sloane looked in the direction it came from and felt her heart sink.
A moderately sized boat was approaching the docks. Not too far behind was a larger ship, floating further out. "Oh no," she said. “The ship’s here." That got everyone else's attention and they began to falter. Was this it for them?
Noticing their deflated expressions, the guards slowly stopped their assault and looked in the same direction. A smirk appeared on the face of one of the more aggressive guards. "Perfect timing. Surround them, now!" At his command, the guards began to group up, closing in on them.
Sloane and Nadia were holding each other's hands, shrinking back behind Steve as they tried to quell the fear rising in them. Steve grabbed a pallet and lashed out, knocking a few of the guards away. "Back off!" He snarled. "I won't let you hurt them!"
Suddenly, Dames doubled over, a pained gasp escaping him.
Hayden caught him before he could fall. "Dames?! What happened?" He watched in alarm as Dames clutched at his chest, groaning as his eyes glossed over.
"No, Dames! Not now, please not now!" Nadia shook him roughly despite his taller build. "We need- hey, get off me!" She recoiled from a guard reaching to grip her arm. Steve lunged at the guard manhandling his girlfriend, but several tasers were already pointed at him before he could get close. Hayden tried to balance between supporting Dames and swinging at anyone coming near him, but it was futile.
Sloane rushed to help, only to be stopped by a pair of arms grabbing hers and locking them behind. She looked around, panicked, as the crowd parted for Cecile.
Cecile strode towards the struggling group. "You’ve got guts, Sloane. I’ll give you that.” The sarcasm was evident in her tone. "But you've lost. You're outnumbered. Now give up, before I consider adding to the list of charges I have against you. It already looks like a novel as is." She took another two steps forward, sneering. "If it’s any consolation, there’s someone I plan for you to meet. You’re in for quite the reunion."
Sloane knew exactly who she was referring to and a sense of deja vu overcame her - a terrible memory that was stirring an unusual anger within her - all it took was that condescending tone and now in lieu of fear, she was seeing red.
Four years she'd worked under her, went along with policies that defied everything she believed in - a fact that was more apparent with everything new she'd been discovering about Eros lately - all because she'd been too scared to stand up for what she believed in.
Clenching her fists, Sloane glared fiercely at Cecile. "So charge me," she hissed.
Cecile smug expression froze for a second. “Excuse me?”
"You're a terrible boss and a terrible person, Cecile! At this point, jail is better than ever working with you again!"
"Hmph. You're really not the same person I recruited four years ago.” She cocked her head to the side, smiling thoughtfully. “Rowan wasn't kidding when he praised Match #109's success." Then she nodded to the guards. "Cuff them and get them to the boat. I bet Harley’s rounding up the others right now."
Everyone braced themselves for the inevitable . . . a pin drop silence followed.
When nothing happened, she whirled around to face the head guard. "Do I need to repeat myself? Get them!"
And then to everyone’s shock, he twitched in place and slumped to the floor.
BANG! And another guard went down.
Cecile nearly dropped her tablet as she looked around wildly. "What the hell?!" The guards manning the docks were gone. One of them was being tossed overboard by a young blonde woman.
The woman turned in their direction, locking eyes with Cecile, then with Hayden. "Now!" She yelled, without missing a beat.
And just like that, the docks erupted into pandemonium. Out of nowhere, several other people jumped out from behind the surrounding cargo containers and charged towards Cecile’s battalion.
The group watched, flabbergasted, as guards were picked up and tossed aside with impressive strength. Any blows coming their way were blocked and countered with ease while also protecting their comrades in an obviously coordinated effort.
Hayden looked between the newcomers and Cecile as he tried to remember if he’d seen them before. The young woman who'd ordered the attack came into view and he felt a peculiar twitching sensation in his head.
"Is it just me or do some of them look familiar?" Sloane piped in.
Hayden watched the woman closely, more curious now. “I don’t know, where could-" Suddenly, the woman appeared in front of him.
"Hayden Young?"
He perked up at that. She mentioned my name first, not my serial number. "Um . . . yes?"
"My name is Hailey." She said, "We're here to help you."
He felt Nadia move beside him, but then held out his arm, stopping her as he watched the woman hesitantly. From the way they'd first targeted the docks and were now making their way through the quagmire of guards, it was clear that this planned attack was against Eros.
What wasn’t clear was the who or why of this scenario.
Or whether this was all another trick.
"Prove it."
The woman reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. Hayden noticed a haze of white in the corner of his vision and before he knew it, an image of a control room flashed before his eyes.
The light blue computer lights gave the area a futuristic glow. In the middle was a flat table with metal straps hanging down the sides; human figures lined the walls of the room. Their closed eyes then opened one by one.
"Intruder . . . Intruder."
There was another flash of white and then-
“Go, Maya! Take the others and run! We’ll hold them off! Once you’re clear, we’ll head to the generators and give Eros your regards.”
Hayden blinked rapidly as his vision cleared. When he looked back up, the blonde woman was still standing there, smiling at him.
"Remember me, now?"
"Wait, what?!" Hayden blinked in surprise. The woman hadn’t moved her mouth but he’d heard her voice nonetheless. "What- how are you doing that?"
"Sloane linked our minds so we’d stop doing Eros’ bidding remember?" The woman actually spoke out loud this time.
"Oh . . . I see. We did something similar with Dames. So you can see everything I see."
"Kind of. But more of that, later. We have to get moving."
Just hearing that felt like a huge weight was being lifted off his chest. Then he turned to his friends who were still watching, confused.
"They’re the Matches we freed from the Arctic!" Hayden exclaimed. "The army Eros tried to turn on us."
Nadia let out a cry of relief. "Well what are we waiting for?! Haul ass everyone! We have to find Damien and Maya!"
At that, Dames tugged at Hayden's shirt, having managed to recover from his episode. "I'll go, I know where they are." He said, still clutching at his chest. "The rest of you go with Hailey. You'll be safe with her people."
"By yourself?" Hayden looked to his friends, then back at Dames again and shook his head. "No, I'm coming with you. If Harley tries to pull another fast one, you'll need backup."
"Whatever you do, make it quick." Hailey said curtly. She pointed in the direction of several other Matches that passed by, carrying heavy crates. "We can't stick around here for long."
Hayden glanced at the crates and had a slight idea of what they were planning to do. "Got it. Just focus on getting everyone else out of here."
Not needing to be told twice, Alana rushed ahead with Steve, Nadia and Sloane following closely behind her. Hailey led them along, quickly dispatching anyone who tried to flank them. Soon enough, they got closer to the edge where a small lifeboat was waiting for them . . . as was a very furious Cecile.
She had barely recovered from her shock and was looking wildly between her guards and these newcomers; her hair and clothes now frazzled from being caught up in the chaos around her. She began typing frantically into her tablet, simultaneously yelling orders and demanding to know what was going on. It was honestly comical to see someone who was usually so put-together falling completely apart.
At least it would be more-so if Sloane wasn’t equally angry at her for everything that had happened.
Cecile noticed them approaching and rounded on them. "You!" she pointed aggressively, shoulders quaking in rage. "You just wait, I'm gonna ruin your pathetic-"
Without a word, Sloane yanked the tablet from her hands and swung it back around, smacking it square across Cecile's face.
Everyone watched, astonished, as Cecile lost her balance and tipped over the edge of the docks, landing unceremoniously in the murky waters below where she was soon entangled by the vines and algae.
"Jesus, Sloane . . ." Nadia gaped at Sloane, who shared her expression.
A slight smirk spread on Alana's face. "You really are full of surprises, Glasses."
"I . . . don't know where that came from." Sloane said shakily. "But it felt good."
Hailey looked like she was about to say something else, but then just smiled and gestured to the boat. "After you . . ."
We're going on and we'll never stop
We're going on till the worlds collide
It’s dangerous, dangerous, so dangerous
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@darley1101 @burnsoslow @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @flowerpowell @queenbirbs @sfb123 @choicesfanaf @park-nazario @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @missameliep @moonlightgem7 @my-glitter-heart @princess-geek @rookiemartin @rainbowsinthestorm @xantheaugustine @squid-princess-teach-swallow @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations
#perfect match#damien x mc#damien nazario#sloane washington#cecile contreras#hayden young#nadia park#pm dames#playchoices fanfic#mrsnazariowrites fics
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18 - Princesses Rescue
Part 19
Yoda's New Padawan
Tag list - @tyrionsprincess30 @nanagoswife @lycaonpictusphotography @bigbendyhorns
Pulling my robe hood up I take his freehand and intertwined it with his whispering. "For Kiera and Leia." He nodded with a nervous smile watching the ship lifting off the ground through the window. "For Kiera and Leia."
Keeping my head down I walk through the crowds of people with Obi-wan behind me. We had passed a homeless clone trooper that nearly make me sob uncontrollably but I thankfully shook past it. It's safer to assume there's someone watching us, that at any minute someone could turn us in. I'm still going on to get my daughter back and my niece. Entering a dark light room there's a rumor that this man is a Jedi so I hide behind the wall lisening in. I catch a glimpse of a wire up his sleeve and scoffed drawing my lightsaber against Obi-Wan's protest. "Y/n!" He whispered as I grab the guy by his shirt reveling the green light of the weapon. "This is the weapon of a real Jedi. You liar, praying on the innocent. It's pathetic." Obi-wan draws a gun shoving me behind his back glaring down at me.
"Lisen girl, I'll show you some tricks of my own if I can maybe hold the blade." The guy spoke nervous having a gun pointed at him he dared to ask my husband. "What do you know of the Force?" Obi removed his wire breaking it with a scoff. "Just that's it's a lot of remotes and magnetics. You're going to help us find these girls were looking for." The guy nods hus head letting him lower the gun while I closed my lightsaber. "What were you thinking back there drawing it out so easily. You've exposed yourself." Obi-wan grumbled to me right before we caused an explosion in the place we were given direction too. "I'm not losing our daughter while there are people on the street pretending to be us. It's just sickening so I won't apologize." Tapping buttons on the keypad to the door it opens and Obi walks in first getting hit in the gut with something. "That's my daddy." Kiera cried running towards him. I glanced down to Leia grabbing her as she tried to run, blocking her way out. "It's okay. We're friends of your father, Leia."
Leia stepped back away unsure of us until Kiera offers her hand to her saying. "It's okay, Leia. My parents won't hurt you.." She takes her hand and I take Kiera's other hand following Obi-wan out the door quickly. We stopped at a clothes stand where I pull one shirt over my head dropping my grey cloak and putting on another one. Leia noticed Obi's lightsaber on his belt when he removed his cloak once we gave the girls different cloaks. "Is that a...You're a Jedi?" Obi shushed her out of fear glancing around at people. "It's just, you seem kinda old and beat up...both of you do." Leia puts her hand in mine letting me drag her along with Kiera near her father. Obi-wan pulled us towards another table selling clothes where I see our pictures on screens everywhere which isn't good.
Leia grabbed some gloves putting them on while Kiera clipped a red cloak on. I pull the hood over her head picking her up and carrying her. Obi-wan bends down to the little princess telling her our lie. "Now, if anyone asks we're farmers from Tawl. And you're my daughter." Leia mumbled under her breath. "Granddaughter, maybe." He whipped his head around confused. "What?" I mouthed the word "Uncle" to him after she said quickly. "Nothing, let's go." Kiera grips my cloak and I hide her head against my chest hoping that we can get to the ship without being spotted. Leia moves her head looking everywhere around where Obi grabbed her shoulders moving her along, getting annoyed that she's more stubborn than his own daughter. "Don't smell, look or touch anything." The princess whined. "You sound like my parents...maybe you two aren't really Jedi."
"We are - it's just not safe right now.. " I try explaining to her hoping she'll stop talking. Kiera climbed down quickly telling Leia. "It's true my mommy can make things float." Slapping a hand over my face I keep walking grumbling at my daughter. Really Kiera not helping. "Make me float." Leia asked with Kiera leaning into her. "Make us float, daddy." Obi moved his head down shaking his head no at them. Leia crossed her arms over her chest. "What's your name anyway?" I quickly replied to the princess pushing our way through the crowd. "I'm May and this is my husband Ben. Kiera is our daughter." Kiera and Leia walked together and I have to fight crying at how cute they are together. She tilts her head up judging Obi who keeps pulling us away from people. "You're hiding something...the less you say the less you give away. It's the opposite." Obi-wan and I blinked down to her when he questioned. "How old are you?" Leia grinned answering. "10." He mumbled under his breath to me. "You don't sound like you're ten." I squeeze his hand mumbling back. "She's an impressive ten year old."
The four of us take a seat trying to rest for a few. Kiera leans back against the wall by Leia. Obi-wan gets up opening a tracker from the bounty hunter he knocked out. A picture of me and him flashes before Leia points towards us. "You did lie. They took me and Kiera to get to you." She sniffs through tears running away and stupidity Kiera runs after her. Picking up my boots we raced after them. "Leia, Kiera!" He called out trying to reach them. "She never does this at home." I call back to him pushing threw people and climbing up onto a roof. "Leia is becoming just like her father." Obi-wan reached her when a bounty hunter stopped Leia until he shot the man. Kiera grabbed Leia's hand dragging her away. The pair run and I almost can reach Kiera until someone starts shooting at me. I get hit in the arm screaming. "Agh - Leia - Kiera!" Obi-wan draws his gun pulling us behind a metal box shooting back. Drawing my gun I blasted towards the bounty hunter glancing over my shoulder seeing the girls jump off the edge grabbing the rope with one hand. "Kiera - Leia!" Obi-wan and I rushed forward dropping on our knees crying out.
Comments really appreciated ❤️
#yoda's new padawan#obi wan kenobi x reader fanfiction#obi wan kenobi#obi wan x reader#obi wan kenobi x reader#ewan mcgregor#stars wars yoda#yoda x reader#master yoda#star wars x reader#star wars#padme anidala#padme amidala x sister reader#jedi#padawan#leia organa#kenobi show#kenobi series#ben kenobi#kenobi spoilers#wattpad fanfiction#comments really appreciated#kiera kenobi
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WAS TAGGED A WHILE AGO BY @nsfwitchy I DIDNT FORGET TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS I PROMMY <3 TY <3
Rules: Tag (9) people you want to know better and or catch up w, then answer these questions below!
Three Ships: my gut reaction was to try to put different things to what i put last time i did one of these, however, i do Not remember what i put last time and theres so few things i Actively consider myself shipping (outside of selfships) im so sorry im not creative xD
Rufus x Goal - Deponia
Crichton x Aeryn - Farscape
Chidi x Eleanor - The Good Place
Song: song i like? song i want to torment you with? song i last listened to? actually i cant answer that last one i dont remember, probably somethin lana del rey tho.
lets pick a random one from my youtube playlist lets see......
LMAO something about the fact it spat out "Miley Cyrus - Party In The U.S.A." is VERY funny to me. Haven't listened to that in YEARS. its a bop tho.
Currently Reading: I failed. I tried to relearn reading, and I have yet again hit a wall and just Cant. 😔one day reading will return to me i swear it...
Last Movie: god fuck me i dunno i dont tend to watch movies..... it was either el dorado or when i watched that musketeers film, i couldnt tell you which, my gut says el dorado though
im sorry im still not good at tagging people in things without feeling like im an annoying fuck, so anyone who wants to do it, consider this a tag from me
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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din
Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)
Word count: 3.4k~
Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.
Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry
Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨
Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )
Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!
The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.
It wasn’t always this way.
They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.
But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.
Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.
Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—
It’s different. It feels different. Something is...
off.
You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.
Killing you.
There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.
Was that a shadow? No.
Is someone there? It’s just you.
There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.
Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has
changed.
The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.
You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.
When this Other became.
On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.
“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.
A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.
“No.”
Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”
“Come here, mesh’la.”
And you did. You always do.
The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.
By you, too.
Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man.
And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.
To inhabit.
The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.
For all of you.
Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.
You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.
Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.
And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.
But— you aren’t.
You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,
lower.
It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.
You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.
You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.
“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."
Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.
“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.
“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”
Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.
“I’m-"
I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.
Your brow wavers. “I-"
He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.
“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.
“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”
Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.
“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.
“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.
Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.
He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.
“How much?”
For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.
“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”
Your cunt bottoms out.
He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”
Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.
“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."
Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.
You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.
“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.
“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”
Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.
He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.
You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.
Beg for more.
“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”
Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.
“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”
Fuck.
Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”
He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”
He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.
“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.
A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.
You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”
Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.
“Din-”
You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.
“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”
It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.
And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.
No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.
You want to be possessed by him.
“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”
Be good be good be good
He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.
A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.
Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.
“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”
You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.
He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.
“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.
“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”
Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.
“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.
Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.
When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.
Undetected.
It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.
Breeding there.
“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”
You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.
It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.
“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.
Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”
You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.
/
Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—
until you don’t.
Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—
A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.
No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-
You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.
Inside you.
The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.
‘Wake up, sweet girl.’
/
Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec
#darksaber!din#dark!din#dark!din x reader#dark!din x you#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#mando fanfiction#mando x you#mando x reader#the mandalorian#star wars#sw fanfic#darksaber#Im so sorry#dom!din#haunted!din
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Well, here it is! The final part of my first ever fic/smutfic. Originally, this chapter was only 2800 words, but I blinked during proofreading and oops, now it’s around 4300. I’d like to thank @madameminor @kaminocasey and anyone else I can’t tag for encouraging me through this. Thank you guys for the support, and thanks to all of you for reading.
AO3 Link
Rating: M Explicit, grapefruit, minors be gone!
Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, Dom reader, sub Crosshair, teasing, begging, masturbation, oral sex (both receiving), edging, kneeling, vibrators, safeword, restraints, biting, cum eating, unprotected PiV sex, aftercare, sorry Hunter, cross may be ooc in this one
Word Count: 4,272
Orders, part 3 (final)
Crosshair/F! Reader
Armed with your new purchases, you’re ready to teach Crosshair a lesson about obedience.
You make your way back to the ship, humming, and feeling a tight ball of excitement and nerves settle into your gut. You had a feeling Crosshair would not be happy with you. As you turn a corner and see him sitting on the ramp of The Marauder, head in his hands and a single knee bouncing rapidly, it occurs to you that the rest of the squad could walk in on whatever was about to happen at any time. You surprise yourself when the thought of getting caught sends a rush of heat into your core. That was new, you thought. You would have to explore that later, however, as you were now within Crosshairs line of vision. You walk just a little bit faster, exaggerating the sway of your hips again.
Crosshair, dressed down to just his body glove, hears your footsteps, and takes a deep breath before moving himself into a standing position, blocking the entry to the ship. He catches your eye, and oh yes, he was seething. Your heart beats faster as you stride towards him, a falsely innocent look on your face, hoping you look more at ease than you feel. Once you're about a foot apart again, he doesn’t move out of the way, so you stop, and raise an eyebrow at him.
“Problem?” You ask. Crosshair practically snarls at you.
“What the hell were you doing?” He says, barely restraining himself from shouting. Ooh, this was going to be fun, you thought, feigning a look of confusion.
“Uh, shopping? I ran out of soap,” you say, holding up the bags in your hand.
“You know damn well that is not what I meant.” He growls, stepping closer. You stand your ground, but still pretend to be confused.
“What then?” You ask, and you could swear steam was coming out of Crosshair's ears.
“At the debriefing!” He says, red in the face. You suppress a giggle, and step closer to him, the distance between you two shrinking until your chests are almost pressed together.
“You still look feverish,” you say, before softly placing your palm against his forehead again. Despite his anger, you catch him leaning into your touch. “You’re still warm! I thought I told you to get some rest?” You say, stern.
“Like I’d even be able to after all of that,” he says, voice lowered, and looking at the ground. You both realize you're still touching him, and he backs off as you pull your hand away.
“All I’m hearing,” you say, still serious, “is that you disobeyed an order again. Am I mistaken or aren’t good soldiers supposed to follow orders?” Crosshair scoffs at you, but you don't miss the way his eyes darken.
“Fine. Yes I did. What does it matter?” He says, with an edge to his voice and finally looking back at you. “What are you going to do about it?” He challenges you, looking smug.
“What was it you told me earlier? That someone who disobeys orders should be disciplined?” You respond, taking a step forward, your chests now pressed firmly together. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, see the poorly hidden lust in his eyes, you can hear his ragged breathing. And you love it. His breath catches in his throat when he tries to speak. Smirking, you stretch your face upward, only a breath away from his own again.
“Stand aside, soldier. Or do you actually want me to teach you a lesson on obedience?” You whisper, voice husky with lust. Much to the surprise of both of you, Crosshair says nothing, and moves out of your way. Once you’ve moved up the ramp and are standing slightly higher than him, you cup a hand to his cheek, lean in towards his ear, and whisper, “There’s a good boy,” before abruptly walking away again. The needy, wanting moan that leaves his throat is music to your ears as you quickly put your supplies away.
You hear him scrambling again as he follows you, punching the control pad to withdraw and lock the ramp as he does. You pay him no mind as you casually strip down to your bra and panties. They were old and worn, and not sexy in the slightest, but you wouldn’t have known by the way Crosshair is practically drooling over you when you turn around to face him.
“Oh,” you say, as if you forgot he was there. “You like these?” You continue, watching his eyes hungrily look you up and down, over and over. You give him five seconds to respond, but when he does not, you snap your fingers at him, redirecting his attention to your face.
“I asked you a question, soldier,” you say, your tone shifting from husky and lustful into stern and commanding. Crosshair mumbles something you can’t hear.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” you say, staring him down. Unlike earlier, you notice the difference in tone between then and now. Before, you were annoying him. Now, however…
“Y-yes, dank ferrik,” he says, stumbling over the words, breaking your train of thought. Maker, this was going to be a good night.
“Yes, what?” You say, stepping confidently over towards him.
“Ma’am,” he says as you saunter over to him. You can almost see his stubborn pride collapsing. “Yes, yes ma’am, I do!” He says. He is quiet, almost soft spoken, and you can see him tremble slightly. You almost feel sorry for him, but instead all you feel is power. You grip his shoulder, firmly pushing him onto his knees, and he looks up at you in awe.
“That’s better,” you say, tone softening. “Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to go put this on,” you say before pausing to dangle one of your unplanned purchases at him. “And you’re going to wait here while I do. Don’t move. Can you be a good boy for me and do that?” Crosshair swallows loudly, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.
“Yes, yes my lady,” he whispers. You don’t know where the title came from, but you decide you like it.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” you purr, cupping his cheek and softly tracing your thumb across his lips. You bend down, eye level with him. “Think of a safe word,” you tell him, then stand back up, remove your bra, throw it at him, and retreat to the refresher before he fully processes what’s happening.
When the door slides closed behind you, you let out a massive, shaky exhale. The anticipation is almost too much to bear as you quickly whip off your drab underwear and change into the lacy, strappy black lingerie you’d seen in the window of that shop. Redressed, you take a moment to look yourself over in the mirror. The lace panties sit low, hugging your hips. The bra you picked out is more like a body cage, the delicate lace doing very little to actually support your breasts. The thin black straps are criss crossing over your sternum, creating what looks like an inverted star. And to top it all off, you impulsively find your supply bag in the refresher, then grab the reddest lipstick you have, hastily applying it to your lips. You stand back again, and nod at your reflection. Perfect. You take a deep breath, and open the refresher door.
—
You’re almost shocked by what you find. Crosshair is still on his knees, but has removed his upper body glove, and freed his cock, rubbing at the head desperately with one hand, the other tightly holding your bra to his nose. His eyes are closed, and he is slightly panting. He doesn’t realize you’ve returned until he hears you loudly clear your throat. He opens his eyes and lets out a startled yelp when your face is inches from his for the third time that day. He drops the bra and releases his dick as you frown and tut at him.
“My my, disobeying again?” You say, straightening up to your full height. “Well, I just can’t allow that. On your feet,” you say. The thrill that rocks through you when he immediately complies is addicting. You scan him up and down, lips pursed. You curl your finger at him, prompting him to follow you into the bunks.
“Sit,” you command, and he settles, fidgeting, onto a bed. You don’t know whose bunk it is, but that doesn’t matter. “I’m going to go get something,” you say, “and you're going to stay here while I do. You will not touch yourself, understand?” Crosshair whines, hips jerking involuntarily, but he agrees.
“Yes, my lady,” he says. You hum in approval before returning to where you left the last shopping bag. You fish out the small box and open it, nodding to yourself, then take a few steps back towards the bunks, but pause, listening carefully. The distinct sound of skin on skin reaches you, and you sigh, returning to the bag again and grabbing something else.
This time, Crosshair notices your return immediately, but not soon enough to jerk his hands away from himself. You shake your head, huff in disappointment, and walk over to kneel in front of him. “You really can’t listen can you?” you say.
“M-my lady, please, I,” he starts to speak, not looking at you, but you cut him off, gripping his chin and forcing his gaze back to your face.
“I was hoping I wouldn't need these, but it seems you've given me no choice,” you say. You set the small box down, then hold the binders you also purchased in one hand where he can see them. You can practically taste the desire coming out of him, and hum again. Releasing his chin, you stand once more.
“Before this goes any further, I need your safe word. You can stop this at any time with it.” you say, seriously, looking him in the eyes. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He swallows, hard, before answering you.
“Tooka,” he says clearly. You repeat the word, and he nods at you.
“Very well then,” you say, your voice smoothly changing into a purr again.
Back to business, you lean down and push his arms behind his back, clicking the binders into place. You pause to check on him, and he nods. “So,” you say, retrieving the small box and opening it, “disobedience must be punished.” He whines again, but you pay it no mind.
“You did this to yourself, you know,” you say, holding the box’s contents, a fingertip vibrator, up where he can see it. He moans and shifts desperately toward you, but you back away.
“Since you can’t keep your hands off yourself,” you say, “we’re going to see how long my hands can stay on.” You see the ‘how’ on Crosshair's face, but he doesn't get the chance to ask out loud before you’re nudging his legs apart. You look up at him through your lashes, silently waiting for permission. He nods and then practically shrieks when you, lightning quick, take all of his cock into your mouth at once.
You close your eyes for the first few seconds, savoring the musky taste of him, the velvety texture of his cock head against your throat. You open your jaw a little more, taking more of him until your nose meets his pelvis. You open your eyes and look directly into his; Crosshair moans, his hips involuntarily thrusting, pushing his cock even further down your throat. You fight off your gag reflex, eyes filling with tears, and swallow around him. He keens, folding in half at the waist, his erratic breaths puffing hotly against your ear.
“P-please my lady, I’m so close, I’m gonna,” he says, starting to beg. He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before you abruptly pull back, his length sliding out of your mouth.
He whines at the sudden loss of contact, cock weeping. You pause, giving him the opportunity to stop this, but he nods again. With that, you move up onto the bed, settling behind him in a kneeling position.
“Oh, I’m just getting started with you, baby,” you purr into his ear. You snake your arms around his waist, tentatively pawing at the taut muscles of Crosshair's thighs, touching him everywhere but where he wants it. You rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing softly into his ear. You slip the fingertip vibrator you had almost forgotten about onto your right index finger and activate it. A soft buzzing fills the space as you ask “Are you ready baby?” His cock twitches upward, and he responds with
“Yes, yes my lady, please, I” before you cut him off by ghosting your equipped finger up his shaft towards the head.
He groans, and you can feel it in your chest, pressed tightly against his back.
“You’re so tense,” you muse, starting to plant open mouthed kisses to his neck, shoulders, wherever you could reach without moving too far. He moans in response, and you drag the vibrator up and down his cock at a consistent pace and pressure, always pulling your hands away at the very last second before you send Crosshair over the edge. He’s nearly sobbing at this point, but still hasn’t given you any indication to stop. Just to be safe, you pause and ask if he wants to continue.
“Fuck, yes, please!” He shouts. You slowly bring your hands to his groin as you say “I think you’ve forgotten something,” softly into his ear.
“My lady!” He hollers. “Please my lady, please let me cum!”
You plant a soft kiss on his cheek and say “That’s my good boy,” while running your finger with the vibrator along the underside of his dick.
That’s all it took. A second later, you feel his cock spasming as he cries out, painting the bunk and his chest with the thick white ropes of his release. You coo and praise him the entire time, making absolutely sure he knows how pleased you are. Crosshair eventually falls to his side on the mattress, then turns to lie on his back, albeit somewhat awkwardly, as his wrists are still bound. You make a soothing, ‘hush’ type of sound as you maneuver in the small space to straddle his thighs. You look down at the thoroughly debauched soldier beneath you and speak without realizing, saying “Good Maker, you're gorgeous. Such a good boy for me.”
He whines again, and you take that opportunity to lean forward. Crosshair lifts his head to meet you. You give him a soft kiss, barely touching his lips, before looking him in the eye, bending down, and licking up the streaks of cum from his chest. You feel him shiver as you glide your tongue across his nipples, before making your way back up to his neck. Leaning forward, almost laying on top of him, you’re amazed when you feel him getting hard beneath you again. Deciding he’s had enough, you click the vibrator off and carelessly toss it over your shoulder before taking his cock into your hand, making him gasp.
“You’ve been so good tonight for me baby, do you need anything?” You ask, keeping your voice soft. Still not quite in control of his breathing, it takes a moment or two before Crosshair can answer you verbally.
“You,” he says, so quietly you had to ask him to say it again. “You my lady, please, I want to taste you so badly,” he says, his cheeks flushing again. You’re taken aback, not expecting that answer. You release his dick and run a hand up his sternum while the other cups his cheek, saying “anything for you baby, you’ve earned it. Such a good boy for me.”
You feel his cock twitch again and stifle a giggle. Clearly, he liked being called that. You help him sit upright, then attempt to remove the complicated mess of straps and clasps across your front. Getting nowhere, you huff and simply tear it away from your body, throwing the remains onto the floor. It wasn’t that expensive anyway, you reason with yourself. Besides, this night was worth every single credit you had.
You remember that Crosshair's wrists are still bound, but when you ask, he insists that he's okay before quietly begging to taste you again. With a hum, you stretch and arch your back so that your breasts are level with his face. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he looks, pleading, at you. As soon as you nod, he dips forward and latches on to your left nipple. His hot tongue on your cool flesh is heavenly, and you moan when he takes the soft bud into his teeth and bites enough for you to feel pressure, but no real pain. If you were wet before, you’re positively -dripping- now, and you can feel your slick smearing across your inner thighs.
With a gasp, you pull away, Crosshairs mouth leaving your skin with a soft ‘pop’. He looks concerned, as if he's done something wrong, but relaxes when you cup his face with both hands and peck his lips. With little preamble, you sit back and eventually lie down, legs spreading to reveal that the panties had no crotch. You slide a finger up and down your folds, gasping at just how wet you are. Crosshair gapes at you, eyes darkening with renewed arousal. You give the go-ahead and he dives into you, eating you out like a man starved.
Your back arches, your legs quiver, and you moan unrestrained as his strong tongue pushes into you, his nose bumping your swollen clit as he does so. He must have noted how you responded to him nipping at you moments ago, now withdrawing his tongue and moving to focus solely on your clit. He wraps his lips around it and just barely nips at the head, and your world goes completely white. You can barely register that someone is screaming, then realize that it's you as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life, squirting and soaking Crosshairs face and the sheets below you. You take a moment to return to reality, then pause, looking at the wreck of a man before you.
His face is dripping with your juices, his breathing labored, and an intense desperation in his eyes. He whines a little before eventually saying, ��M-my lady, please, I,” he pauses to curse before continuing. “I need you, I need to feel you, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll never disobey again!” he begs. You hum in thought, pretending to think it over as if the decision wasn’t made as soon as he spoke. Dragging it out just a little longer you sit up, take his face into your hands, and kiss him deeply. You swallow up his moans and pleas as your tongues dance. You taste your own sweet tang on his lips and you feel dizzy.
You pull away, noting how your lipstick has smeared across his mouth. “Have you learned your lesson?” you ask.
“Yes my lady, I have. Ill, I’ll be,” he stops for a second to catch his breath. “I’ll be your good boy, I promise,” he eventually says in a whisper. The way he says those words sends a rocket of heat back into your cunt, and you feel yourself throb. You clench your thighs together for a moment before suddenly pushing him backwards and straddling him.
Without hesitating, you grasp his cock, warm enough to almost feel like a burn, guide him to you, and sink down onto him in one fluid motion. Sheathed completely inside you, you both moan at the same time. You pull him up into a sitting position, wrap your legs around his waist, and begin to move, grinding your hips against his. It’s slow at first, the both of you savoring the new sensations, before you pick up speed. You grip his shoulders and pull Crosshair in for another frenzied kiss. As you do, you slip your hands behind his back and finally unlock the binders on his wrists. The next thing you know, you are flat on your back, fingernails digging into his back deep enough to leave marks, and holding on for dear life as he fucks you into your second orgasm.
You practically scream his name, clenching as hard as you can. You don’t think it could possibly be better than this, but he proves you wrong, lunging at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and biting hard as he cums, filling you up entirely and intensifying your own climax exponentially. He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, not as desperate, but just as intensely as you milk every last drop out of him. He pulls out and collapses on top of you, gasping for air, clutching onto your body like a lifeline. After the world stops spinning, you sit up just enough for Crosshair to lie his head onto your chest, still out of breath as he clings to you.
You hold one hand to the back of his head while the other trails up and down his sweat-soaked body in a soothing motion. Breathless, it takes a few tries for you to find your voice again. Once you do, you whisper soft praises to him, telling him how well he did and how proud of him you are. He shuffles up toward you, resting his head in the hollow of your shoulder as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair with one hand, holding him close with the other. After a shudder, Crosshair looks up at you, his face completely vulnerable and unguarded, making your heart swell. “I,” he starts to say, between breaths, “I’m your good boy, right?”
“Of course baby,” you say, softly kissing his forehead. “You were so good for me, I’m so proud of you.”
Crosshair drops his head back down with a soft “thank you. Thank you my lady,” and you can’t help the urge to hold him even closer.
After a minute or so, once the two of you catch your breath, you cup his face in one of your hands and look softly into his eyes. “Do you need anything? Should I get you something?” you ask. He swallows, his dry throat making an odd clicking sound.
“I’d do unspeakable things for water,” he says. You nod and move to stand, but he still clings to you. His head is now in your lap, and you smile softly down at him.
“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his temple before standing. Your legs are like jelly and barely functioning, you feel Crosshairs release running down your thighs, but you're somehow able to grab a canteen and fill it from the sink in the refresher. You take a long pull from the canteen and fill it again, then stop to look at yourself.
You’ve never looked so disheveled in your life; your hair is sticking out in random directions, there’s red lipstick smeared all across your lower jaw, and, most noticeably, a deep, dark bruise blooming on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh a little at how fucked-out you look. You take a moment to smooth out your hair and wash your face, wipe your thighs clean, then grab the full canteen and return to the bunks with it and a cool, damp towel. As you return, you bump into Crosshair, who had followed you. You squeeze past him and realize, oh shit, that’s not your bunk you’ve made a mess of. Still coming down from your high, you decide to worry about it later. Crosshair is now in the bunk opposite the one you’ve soiled, staring up at you. You shrug and softly push his arm, and he scoots over against the wall to make room for you.
Once you join him, Crosshair takes the canteen from you gratefully, taking small sips as you pat away the sweat and lipstick on his face and back. He sets the canteen aside, and you both lay flat. He has his head on your shoulder again, and falls asleep after only a few minutes. You tenderly kiss his forehead before drawing the bunks privacy curtain, not far from sleep yourself.
—
You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but it’s still dark outside when the two of you are startled awake by Hunter, who yells“ Damn those two, I knew it!” And at that moment you realize that the ship must absolutely -reek- of sex. Still hidden behind the bunks privacy curtain, you and Crosshair make eye contact and both stifle a laugh when Hunter yells again; “And all over MY karking bed?!” You hold a finger to your lips, the universal signal to be quiet, and he rolls his eyes with a smirk. Cursing, Hunter storms back out of the ship while the others laugh at him.
Quietly, so only the two of you can hear, Crosshair whispers your name, getting your attention. “I know they’re going to ask, but when they do, can you um,” he starts. You chuckle softly.
“I’ll spare the details and your pride,” you say.
In a low growl, he says “You’d better.”
You giggle and kiss him again before saying “is that an order?” He simply shakes his head in disbelief before settling back down and you both pretend to be asleep to delay facing the Sargents wrath a little while longer.
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Chapter 13 - Spinning
Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Angst
Summary: You and Gojo are caught up in your feelings and he unintentionally breaks another rule.
A/N: (18+ / minors and ageless blogs dni) New chapter! This is a bit of a filler chapter but I am working up to some dramatic things (smut and angst coming up!) plus revealing some of the secrets that happened in the timeline 👀 I hope you enjoy it! And as always comments are appreciated ☺️
- - -
Sitting cross legged on your bedroom floor, you proceeded to fold the fresh laundry into perfectly neat piles. Music enveloped your room, the bass from your speaker bouncing off the walls as you mindlessly hummed along to the track that was playing. This is how you were choosing to unwind after a long work week, by organizing and cleaning up your apartment. There was something completely cathartic about resetting your space and you found yourself having plenty of free time on your hands recently.
Gojo has been exceptionally busy. At first there was an itch when you began seeing less of him, the two of you would plan to get together but that consistently kept getting cancelled. Eventually those plans transitioned to you agreeing on catching up with one another once things settled. Now it seems the only time you managed to hear from your friend was with sporadic phone calls and random text messages that he would send you at weird hours. The itch slowly turned into an ache, that familiar knot in your stomach making its presence known more often than usual.
There was something about the way he managed to fill the silence. You always gave him a hard time about talking your ear off but realised that he actually entertained you with some great conversations.
Even though half the time he was talking about ridiculous subject matters…
You had to hand it to Satoru though, he always spoke with such enthusiasm he would make the concept of paint drying seem fascinating.
He was fascinating.
Eight years of friendship have taught you that but you were smart enough not to feed his ego. Despite the two of you being close, Gojo still never fully let you in. You couldn’t deny that you were intrigued by him, curious to know more about the strongest sorcerer who seemed totally unphased by his own title whenever he was around you. You wanted to know more about how he fought off curses and protected people from the evils that seemed to be invisible in your eyes. Although he consistently evaded your questions, he did slowly open up about other things. You particularly loved the way his face let up when he talked about his students and it made you realise that if there was anything Gojo Satoru had committed himself to, it was his role as an instructor to the next generation of sorcerers.
Still, you usually tried to pry information out of him when the two of you would get lost in deep conversation, noticing the way Gojo would drift in his own thoughts whenever the subject seemed to focus on him.
Clearly there was an extent to which the man loved talking about himself.
There was a point when he spoke where you saw his face grow pensive as he brought up an old friend. He referenced him in passing but the way his mouth fell pained you just as much as it seemed to hurt him. Your question was on the tip of your tongue, eager to learn more about the people within his own circle, but Satoru immediately shifted the conversation onto something else.
That wall, much like his infinity, is impenetrable.
Unfortunately, the dynamics were in his favor. You wished that you could conceal your own emotions as easily around him but it was impossible. Gojo had the capability of knowing exactly how you were thinking and feeling at any given second. His incredible perception was his advantage, that’s why he is able to gauge your reactions so well.
You smiled subconsciously to yourself, goosebumps floating up to your shoulders when you realised how much you wanted your arms wrapped around his neck, your body pressing into his chest while breathing that spicy, sweet cologne…
Stop it.
You paused your action, the jeans on your lap in a mid-fold as you froze in place and your brain instantly turned off those dangerous ideas.
You swallowed your own emotions, your abdomen tight when you realised that you had just spent the last ten minutes having intimate thoughts about Gojo.
You really shouldn’t but there was something about the way he acts around you that made you the slightest bit curious as to what he was thinking and how he was feeling.
How often did you cross his mind and did he even miss you as much as you did him?
At some point the two of you were going to have to stop this little game you were playing. Even though you weren’t seeking it out at the moment, you do want to settle down eventually with somebody you love. Satoru made it perfectly clear where he stood on relationships. He had no desire to get involved with anybody and the concept of marriage was something he completely rejected.
You recalled having a conversation with him about:
“Are you really telling me that you’re okay living as a bachelor for the rest of your life?”
“Happily, actually…” Gojo replied, while you both continued your heated debate on the prospects of love.
“But why are you so against it?”
"I have my reasons,” he replied with a shrug.
Satoru always seemed to have a reason for everything but he was not willing to share it with you, leaving you in moments like this to analyze the little things he says to try and put the pieces together yourself.
Truthfully, you don’t want to stop as you found yourself fixated on this new…friends with benefits-ship…
Everything about it felt so good that you couldn’t even remember what things were like before you started hooking up.
How could you go back to just being friends after he’s seen you in your most vulnerable state? How were you supposed to pretend that his hands haven’t unraveled you into submission time and time again? How could you sit next to him without thinking about kissing him for hours on end? How were you supposed to listen to him talk without remembering the moments where he would whisper angel in your ear?
How the hell did you manage to keep your hands off him before this even started?
There was always the unspoken fact that you found each other attractive but since this new dynamic has started the two of you were like magnets whenever you were in close proximity to one another.
Well, you were able to keep the barrier because you were in a happily committed relationship with Haru, you interjected and suddenly you found yourself slumping your shoulders.
Haru was in love with you. He gave you the companionship you needed, he filled the silence with mindless conversations and was the one who held you when you needed him. He was the one to swallow your cries with soft kisses, that made you laugh in hysterics when you needed to boost your mood…
Your heart stopped, realizing that you were seeking out what Haru gave you with Gojo. Your gut wrenching at the idea of you using your friend to fill the emotional gap that Haru left. This ache that knotted your insides meant nothing and you were letting your thoughts confuse you into thinking that you were missing Gojo.
All you needed was to get your distraction back.
After all, Gojo is just your friend.
You had no reason to think anything else could come of this and burned any other thought about Satoru from crossing your mind for the rest of the evening.
If you even thought for a second that you might be falling for him, you would cut ties immediately. You weren’t going to put a strain on your friendship because you’re silly ideals were getting in the way of your agreement.
The two of you were just fucking.
Nothing more, nothing less.
***
Gojo studied the woman before him, acknowledging the fact that she is one of the most stunning individuals he had ever laid his eyes on. She was older than him by ten years but if it wasn’t for the age on her online profile, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.
She was tall, meeting his own towering height, give or take a few inches. Her long, pin straight hair flowed to her hips, accentuating her curves and covering her supple breasts. Her face could strike down any man that looked at her with those deep eyes and he was tempted to nibble on her full lips. Seeing her in person made Gojo realize that her price was high for a reason and totally justifiable.
Anyone would pay extra to fuck a goddess.
Somehow, he wound up here thanks to his own frustrations. His desire for you was driving him wild and his own hands weren’t enough to solve this problem. He still respected the rules that were unbroken and knew that as long as he didn’t go too far with Ami, he was fine. He wasn’t going to have sex with her but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t help him out with his current predicament in other ways.
Besides, you did tell him that he was allowed to see other people. However, that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting at the thought of climbing into bed with someone other than you. He couldn’t quite figure out what this awkward sensation was or why he was bothered by his own decision to meet up with Ami in the first place.
Gojo stripped down to his boxers before sitting on the edge of her satin covered mattress. She was admiring him with amusement, the tempting smile on her lips telling him that she was also enjoying what she was seeing.
“You paid for a full hour but said that you might not be here for that long. Did something urgent come up?” she questioned, her voice sensually low and sending a shiver up Gojo’s spine.
My she is dangerous, he thought to himself, knowing full well how this entire experience would go under different circumstances.
The circumstances being, well, you.
“I don’t plan on sticking around too long...” he explained.
“I’ll have to adjust your pay accordingly then,” she replied, taking a few steps forward until she was standing in front of him.
“I don’t mind paying for the full hour,” Gojo teased with a grin, his free hand moving to touch her silky hair as he rubbed it between his fingers.
She smiled, nearly taking his breath away as she brought her finger to the blindfold covering his eyes.
“I don’t like accepting money for free,” she stated, tracing her touch down his chiseled jawline. “I bet you’re handsome but I am guessing you don’t plan on taking this thing off to show me what you really look like.”
“Yep,” Gojo smiled as Ami proceeded to slide across her bed next to him. "And you guessed right, I’ve got an exceptionally pretty face.”
“Cocky too,” she purred, “there’s a special way I treat guys like you…”
Gojo hummed, switching his position so he was lying back against her pillows. Ami crawled her body over his lean torso, her hands rubbing up and down his thigh as she glanced in his direction.
“Oh, yeah? I would love to see how...” Gojo insisted, his breath growing heavy as she guided her hand all the way to his mouth.
She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, a devious mask highlighting her stunning features as she spoke, “Be a good boy and lie back while I take care of you…”
He fully caved, allowing this sultry siren to take control by touching and teasing his body however she pleased. Gojo usually enjoyed relinquishing his power every now and then but for whatever reason it was taking some effort for him to fully immerse himself with what was happening. Ami straddled his cock, before proceeding to press her mouth against his. Her lips were working fervently over his own as she deepened the kiss, but the spark that he needed just wasn’t igniting.
When Ami flicked her tongue over his, he would only think about the sensation of yours. The taste of you in his mouth lingered like an addictive poison. One that he craved every single time you crossed his mind. The sound of your moans played in his ear and the sweet way you called out his name when he touched you between your legs filtered his brain. He was only brought back to the reality that it wasn’t you pushing your body against his, when Ami wrapped her fingers around his throat. He tried to erase you and focus on the woman before him but was persistently failing.
She could see that something was off from how he was responding to her caresses. “Are you sure you're up for this tonight, baby?” Ami teased, whispering into his mouth as she snagged his bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t seem ready for me...”
“Fuck…” Gojo grunted out of frustration, knocking his head back as he pressed his fingers to his temple. “It’s not you, I’m just distracted…”
“What’s on your mind?” she continued, stroking his broad chest lovingly to try and coax him out of the daze he was in.
“Not what...who…” he responded shyly, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly by his admittance.
“I see…” she cooed, “Wife? Girlfriend?”
Gojo scoffed, a comical laugh escaping him as he shook his head.
“Definitely not.”
Ami pressed her lips together, her nail doodling along his upper body with random figures as she continued to question her intriguing client.
“Tell me about her…”
Gojo froze, his hands digging into Ami’s thighs upon hearing her bold question, “she’s just a friend. There’s nothing to say...”
“Is she beautiful?”
“She’s gorgeous,” Gojo exhaled, his words passing his lips faster than he could process what he had just said. Ami tracked her hands down between her legs, stroking his boxers as she massaged his length.
“Tell me what she looks like…”
He described you in detail, from your sinfully sweet lips to the beautiful sound of your laughter and how soft your skin felt in his hands. She continued tricking him into revealing the intimate thoughts that swirled in his mind when he thought about you. She heard the way Gojo’s voice wavered as he swelled between her hands, the tip of his cock poking through his underwear as the pre-cum stained the material of his boxers. Ami pulled the clothing away from his hips, hands returning to grip his member as she continued stroking up and down his shaft.
“Do you think about fucking her with the other women you meet?”
“Yes,” Gojo revealed through gritted teeth, swallowing hard as she played with his tip by circling his thumb over the slit of his cock.
“How often?”
“Too often,” the sorcerer hissed, his hips bucking into her hands.
“I bet you wish you were fucking her right now, don’t you?”
She saw how turned on he is and how easily the thought of you brought him close to his release. Ami spread her legs, adjusting her stance until she brought the tip of his cock to her entrance. Gojo hesitated, knowing that he needed to stop what was about to happen. This wasn’t supposed to go this far. He was only here for a quick hand job or blowjob, but he couldn’t suppress a satisfied moan as she slid down to take in his length.
“F-fuck, wai-...”
“Shh, baby, close your eyes and think of your sweet angel…” Ami whispered in his ear, making Gojo roll his blue irises to the back of his head as he relaxed into her touch.
She didn’t speak after that, fulfilling her promise of taking care of him but also ensuring that his focus was solely on the mental image of you. The sound of her skin bouncing up and down his length took over the entire room. The way Ami stated that you were his was enough to send him over the edge and it didn’t take long until he climaxed at the thought, quickly pulling out of her and releasing hot ropes of cum all over her stomach but imagining that it was you the entire time. She immediately cleaned herself up after they finished, before giving Gojo some privacy and allowing him to get himself together.
After he got dressed, he pulled out his phone to transfer the payment. He doubled the amount he was supposed to give, totally aware that she didn’t reach her own release and was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t pleasure the remarkable temptress before him.
He slipped on his boots, his mind racing as the guilt rushed right through him. He hated that broke another rule, especially since this particular one was a boundary you set for your own comfort. He was angry at himself that he disrespected that and was annoyed for crossing the line in the first place.
What the fuck is wrong with me?, he thought to himself.
“I told you I don’t get paid for doing nothing. I don't accept money like that, not even from spoiled rich boys like you,” Ami stated, her words stung but she spoke in such a gentle tone that didn’t offend the sorcerer. She was leaning against the wall as she appeared before him, her body now covered with just a pink robe.
“You got me off but I did nothing to reciprocate. I tell all the other girls to charge double if that happens.”
“How considerate,” she mused before arching her brow in delight at him, “but for the sake of my own conscience I feel like I need to give you something in return…”
Gojo stood up from his seat, smoothing out his clothes before approaching her slowly. Even though he got what he wanted out of this arrangement, he was feeling worse about himself the longer he stayed in this room.
“How about a piece of advice before you leave and we can call it even?” Ami questioned.
“What is it?” the sorcerer wondered, hearing her feet patter against the carpet as she followed his footsteps to her front door.
She paused when she reached for the handle, before tilting her face and directing her full attention towards his covered eyes.
“Tell your friend how you feel or cut off whatever it is you’re doing. If you don’t tell her then you’re fucked, plain and simple.”
“Look, what happened just now doesn’t mean anything…”
She raised her fingers to his lips, stopping him from even attempting to defend what transpired.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re easy to read. I have had clients come here trying to forget their lovers and those who come to see me because they can’t resist their own primative urges. I see the ones who are lonely, who only visit me for companionship and nothing more. Then there are the ones who are like you, who will bury themselves in any cunt they see just to pretend that they aren’t in love with somebody else…”
Gojo clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands together as the heat rose up to his face.
“You don't know what you're talking about. Besides, wanting to fuck somebody and being in love are two very different things.”
“True, except those two things are tangled up in one person when it comes to you…”
Gojo pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure as to why her accusation made him so irritated.
“Awww, don’t get angry, pretty boy. It’s unbecoming for somebody as handsome as you are…” Ami whispered, before kissing him on the cheek as she said her goodbye. “It’s okay, I promise that your secret is safe with me…”
***
CHAPTER 14: JEALOUSY
#Gojo Satoru#Gojo Satoru x female reader#Gojo Satoru x reader#gojo x female reader#Gojo Satoru x female reader#Gojo Satoru x you#gojo x you#gojo smut#gojo fluff#gojo angst#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanficiton#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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that’s all {din djarin x reader}
(i’m reposting this bc it wasn’t showing up in the tags and it was stressing me out)
summary: you’d saved din djarin from himself before. now, with the pain of losing his kid, you’re about to do it all over again. (kinda based on find me here by hayley williams)
warnings: this is...flangst. fluff and angst. swearing. mentions of depression but it’s also a bit ✨positive✨
this is just me trying to be the emotional janitor to...that. i’ve tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but some of the conversation might imply an afab reader but hopefully it’s vague to be completely objective!!
- jazz
anyways i know i already said it but !! spoilers !! spoilers !! spoilers !!
p.s spot the titanic reference
Grogu was tiny but the whole he left in your lives was massive.
You always knew you were going to have to give him up - hell, that had been the job in the first place - but you hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. He wasn’t your kid but at the same he completely and entirely was. You��d never expected your first parenting experience to be with a tiny green Jedi but at the same time, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The next few months were going to be hard; accepting that he wasn’t yours to keep and that he was in a better place was guaranteed to be a long process. It would be worth it in the end but the initial pain was bordering on unbearable.
Din was better at hiding it than you. Admittedly, he did have a thick beskar layer to shield his emotions and pain from the outside world but he couldn’t hide it from you; never from you. Even behind the metal, you could read him like a book. It was a product of spending every waking minute together (his overprotective doing, not yours) and in return, he had learnt every habit and every quirk of yours. He sometimes cursed your ability to read him, especially when it lead to you saying things like you did not just tilt your helmet at me like that, Din Djarin.
He’d been quieter in the days since Luke Skywalker had taken the kid - quieter than usual, at least. Din was already a pretty taciturn person; compared to how he was with other people, he practically spoke your ear off but since you’d landed back on Nevarro, he’d completely kept to himself. It was painful to watch, seeing him rise at the crack of dawn to take a bounty, only to return in the evening with a few more bruises than he’d had that morning. You wanted to say something to do something that would make him snap back to reality, but this was probably his grieving process and you had to respect that. Or, you had to at least try to.
That was, until, it felt like Din was killing both you and him; working himself to the point of exhaustion, barely sleeping and refusing to even acknowledge Greef or Cara. You could deal with him being angsty. You could deal with him grieving. You couldn’t, however, deal with him ignoring you. You had literally vowed to go through all your bad times together and Din Djarin was nothing if not a man of his word. He knew it. You knew it too - and you’d be damned if you’d let him forget it.
It was on a cold - at least by Nevarro standards - morning that you decided it was time to show him some tough love. The Mandalorian had decided to hole out on one of Karga’s old ships that morning, claiming that he wanted to fix it. You were no engineering genius, but given that the old jet’s wings had fallen off, you could see it was past the point of no return and that Din had just been looking for an excuse. He was good at that these days.
‘Din!’ You called. The bay doors were open, but the ship itself was dark and dusty. Tinkering, my ass. As expected, there was no reply. ‘Din! Don’t ignore me.’
Silence.
‘Please?’
You grumbled to yourself, walking further inside the dimly lit ship. Tiny specs of dust were floating in the streams of thin light, leading your path further and further towards the cockpit. Who ever it had belonged it, it pre-dated the Republic, let alone the Empire or new order. You tried to resist the urge to cough, instead choosing to focus on your mission: hunting down the Mandalorian. The tables really had turned, considering he was very rarely the prey.
‘I was talking to Karga.’ You continued - as far as you knew, you were talking to thin air, but you liked your chances. ‘He offered me a bounty puck for...Corellia, is it? For that big, bad guy we didn’t catch last year. You know the one that nearly killed me?’
There was a crash from the cockpit, and you grinned to yourself. It was a little unethical to scare the man out of hiding with your bullshit, but you were getting desperate.
‘I figured it would be good to get out a bit, try and distract myself, you know?’ You continued. ‘So I was gonna borrow a ship and head out there tomorrow-’
‘- like hell you’re doing that on your own.’
A six foot mountain of beskar suddenly stepped out from the darkness. Normally, that would have been enough to scare anyone, but not you. You’d married that six foot mountain of beskar. That probably gave you more guts than anyone in the damn galaxy -- until they found out he wasn’t actually that terrifying. Not many people would have taken the Mandalorian seriously if they knew he enjoyed having his hair played with.
You held your hands up in the air, stretching out your fingers to show that there was no puck in sight.
‘You lied.’ Din grunted.
‘And you were ignoring me.’ You shot back. ‘’S going on?’
‘I told you. I was working on the ship-’
‘- nope.’ You cut him off. ‘Try again.’
‘Karga asked me to fix it-’
‘- Still no!’ You snapped. ‘We gonna go three for three or are you gonna finally pull your head out your ass and stop lying to me, Din?’
There wasn’t a single person in the galaxy who dared speak back to the Mandalorian - except you. That was what had made him fall for you in the first place. It was like you couldn’t even see the beskar. You’d always seen him as Din, and never as the Mandalorian, or a warrior. You’d made it clear from the day you met that you wouldn’t take any bullshit from anyone, him included, and he’d always respected that.
‘You have been holing yourself away for weeks.’ You continued. ‘I know it’s hard but you have to accept it. Grogu wasn’t ours to keep - he never was.’
Din didn’t response, instead dropping his gaze down to the floor.’
‘Hey.’ You put a finger at the base of the helmet, tilting his head back up to look at you. ‘Look at me. Talk to me.’
‘I miss him.’ He stated; short and blunt. Fitting, really. ‘And it hurts.’
‘I get that.’ You gently placed your hands on either side of his helmet, fingers splaying out over the cold metal. ‘But it’s better to hurt together. Can I?’
Din nodded, signalling that it was okay for you to take it off. You gently tugged at the helmet, momentarily breaking away from him to place it beside you. It was a relief to see his face after so many weeks of having the beskar between you; the soft brown eyes and slightly crooked smile that met you on the other side felt like home. You could have stared at him forever if the galaxy wasn’t so fucking demanding of your presence.
You’d spent far too long on the other side of the beskar, waiting for him to let you in. And now that you’d got him, now that you’d promised yourselves to one another forever? You weren’t going to let it happen again.
You gently pushed back a few tufts of brown hair, offering him a sad smile. ‘You know we made the right decision, yeah?’
He nodded, leaning into your touch as your hands carded through his hair. ‘I know.’
‘So you gotta stop beating yourself up, baby.’ You stressed. ‘Stop shutting people out - stop shutting me out. I know we don’t have the kid anymore but we are still a family.’
‘I lost the ship. I lost the kid.’ Din quietly spoke. ‘I’m just worried that-’
‘- I’m not going anywhere.’ You shook your head, knowing what he was going to say before the words even left his mouth. ‘Even if you paid me. You are stuck with me, okay? Cursed with me till the day I keel over and die.’
Finally, Din smiled. He looked you dead in the eye and he smiled, eyes creasing at the side as he peered down at you, eventually tightening his arms around your waist. He held your head to his chest, ungloved hand gently clutching you as he rested his chin on your hair. The first time he’d clung onto you like this had been after a rough mission; neither of you had been sure if he was going to make it back and when he did, the first thing he did was pull you into his arms and you stayed there for what felt like hours. That was when Din realised for the first time that he loved you - and now, after weeks of isolating himself and shutting you out, this didn’t feel completely different from that. It was just that this time, it was less of a realisation of more of a reminder.
‘I didn’t expect it to be this bad.’ Din quietly admitted.
‘I know.’ You whispered back, voice slightly muffled by his chest. ‘But pain is only temporary. Dark times pass and we’ll learn to look back on this and enjoy the memories. They won’t always be tainted.’
He’d been in a dark place when he’d met you. It was like he’d been treading water, waiting for the riptides to take him, to stake their claim and remind him of his mortality, to remind him that not even the bravest people can forfeit their ability to hurt. He tried. Maker, he had tried. The icy and emotionless impression he gave to strangers wasn’t an accident. It was a survival mechanism; a defense mechanism. One that you’d chosen to ignore. You’d saved him in every way a person could be saved.
Just as the waves were pulling him under, you’d dragged him out; dragged him to the shore and reminded him that pain was merely part of being human. Most importantly, you’d called his attention to the fact that no matter how much beskar he wore or how impenetrable he acted, that he couldn’t avoid being one. He could run away from bounty hunters and Imperials and the thousands of enemies he’d made but the fact of mortality was always hot on his tail.
Now, you were pulling him up for air all over again.
Eventually, pain stopped being a reminder of his humanity and instead, it was replaced by his love for you. His ability to feel things for you. You’d saved him then and now, you were helping him come up for air all over again. Being human didn’t always mean to hurt - it could just as much mean to love.
‘I’ve got you, okay?’ You tightened your grip on him, eyes meeting his. ‘Whatever you need.’
‘You.’ Din replied. ‘I need you. That’s all.’
a/n: ok i realised i published an identical but slightly different imagine to this in october but...clearly i have a type and that type is imagines where the mandalorian confesses that you’re the only thing he needs because i eat that shit up. consume it whole. i am telling you. i have no regrets. my content might is predictable but HELL at least u can rely on something in these wild times❤️
#din djarin x reader#din djarin imagine#din djarin x you#mandalorian x you#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian imagine#mandalorian fan fiction#din djarin fan fiction#star wars x reader#star wars x you#star wars fluff#din djarin fluff#mandalorian fluff#mandalorian spoilers#mandalorian season 2 spoilers
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Sorry to just jump in here and drop this on you, but i saw a blog once call percabeth an abusive relationship???? and i was like ?????? but none of my friends read pjo so i cant ask them for thoughts, how about you?
Oh boy anon so this is a thing.
Percabeth is abusive is a common thing those that hate percabeth or ship something else and want to validate it say, and why I have the “anti-percabeth” tag blocked.
I’ve seen people say Annabeth just giving him a dirty look was abuse, people will reach for anything done between them that isn’t perfect, usually to justify why their ship is better.
Honestly, I’m open to most ships. Percabeth is my main but if you ship things that’s totally fine, even if I don’t like it I won’t say you shouldn’t ship it. I read non-Percabeth ships, but a lot of people feel a strong need to insist a ship is abusive if they don’t like it.
It’s fine to just not like a ship.
First off lets preface all of this with a warning that I’ll be discussing abuse here so if that’s upsetting skip it.
It got long, like very long (word count is nearly 3k), so it’s all under the Read More, there’s a TLDR at the very bottom.
Now then, what is abuse?
There are two definitions that pop up with a quick google search
Use (something) to bad effect or for a bad purpose; misuse.
Treat (a person or an animal) with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly.
If you look up the legal definition (law.cornell) used to define abuse there are more options, but I’m leaving out 2, 3, and 4 cause 3 and 4 def have nothing to do with this and definition 2 is in regards to child abuse.
Abuse, generally: physically, sexually, or mentally injuring a person.
Now if we want to go deeper in lets define physical and mental abuse. I’ll be leaving out sexual as that has no bearing on this particular situation.
Physical abuse is defined by healthyplace.com as
Non-accidental use of force that results in bodily injury, pain, or impairment. This includes, but is not limited to, being slapped, burned, cut, bruised or improperly physically restrained.
Now lets expand on this.
Something that is pointed to specifically is the mentioned intent. “Non-accidental”. It must be purposeful harm.
Now, I will also point out that Physical abuse doesn’t necessarily say the intent needs to be abuse, but as my lawyer parents state it simply needs to be “intent to harm” and it gets labeled abuse. The legal definition (given above) agrees, it is simply that it needs to be purposeful harm. But then we need to define this harm, especially the bodily injury, pain, or impairment.
Bodily injury is defined by Merriam Webster as
any damage to a person's physical condition including pain or illness
Now what is damage?
loss or harm resulting from injury to person, property, or reputation
So then harm is defined as... damage, so the definition I prescribe to (and I asked my lawyer parents to confirm, unfortunately I have no link for that).
Causes pain (pain defined as suffering)
Pain is defined by Merriam Webster as
a localized or generalized unpleasant bodily sensation or complex of sensations that causes mild to severe physical discomfort and emotional distress and typically results from bodily disorder (such as injury or disease)
a basic bodily sensation that is induced by a noxious stimulus, is received by naked nerve endings, is associated with actual or potential tissue damage, is characterized by physical discomfort (such as pricking, throbbing, or aching), and typically leads to evasive action
mental or emotional distress or suffering
Finally impairment is
diminishment or loss of function or ability
(all of the above definitions except harm are pulled from Merriam Webster linked with Bodily Injury)
Okay, so now lets consider it, physical abuse needs to cause damage to someone, it must be purposeful damage though the intent to abuse does not necessarily need to be the intent. So if your actions do not intend physical harm then it is not physical abuse.
So then, do Percy and Annabeth have a physically abusive relationship?
Lets start with the classic one that everyone likes to bring up, the Judo Flip.
First off, do Judo Flips hurt? [sourcing (1) (2) (3)]
They CAN hurt if done with that intent, but if your intent is to not harm and you are trained properly, No Judo should not hurt. Anyone properly trained in Judo should know how to prevent harm. (1, 2)
On top of that, the first thing anyone learning Judo is taught is how to fall.
All judoka learn to fall safely, by rolling and breaking their fall with Ukemi. This breakfall absorbs the impact of the throw. (3)
Percy should have the basics of this down seeing how he was already in matches (mentioned in book one prior him being claimed) in his first summer at camp, after four years he’s definitely got the basics down.
Therefore, the Judo flip did not intend to cause harm, nor did it appear to. Despite that it was on stone, and Annabeth had him pinned, Percy didn’t even show discomfort. He laughed.
On top of that, when Annabeth last saw Percy he had the Curse of Achilles. As far as she was aware, he still had it. A requirement of Physical Abuse is the intent to cause harm, every factor here shows that there was no intent to cause harm.
This scene was not physical abuse, it was just bad writing.
I can think of other scenes, only a few, before they were actually in a relationship. In book three Annabeth punched Percy in the stomach when he didn’t catch her hint that he should ask her to dance
She punched me in the gut. ‘Me, Seaweed Brain.’
‘Oh. Oh, right.’ (TTC, chapter 1, page 8 of book on my copy)
There doesn’t seem to have been any harm done as he doesn’t even mention it hurting, not even a pause, just went “oh yeah her”. So it was likely a light punch, the kind friends do that don’t hurt just catch attention. Annabeth has been trained since she was 7, she should know how to throw a punch without actually causing harm.
If anyone wants to bring up other examples, feel free, I’m not combing the books right now for examples but I will reply to them (preferably in asks so this post doesn’t get super long...)
I cannot think of any examples of Percy hitting/punching Annabeth nor any other kind of physical interaction, if someone wishes to bring one of those up feel free.
Does this mean that I think they should be hitting each other despite the fact that it’s clear there is no intent to harm?
No, I don’t really think they should be hitting each other.
But! An important thing there is their own boundaries, not mine. I would not be up for being hit but I do share friendly punches with my friends, which is similar in intent. It’s simply that they’ve been trained to fight and have to a lot to survive so their boundaries for what is “harmful” are different.
But that’s a whole different issue and a different academic essay :)
I don’t believe there is any physical abuse in Percabeth.
Moving on, Emotional abuse (which Psychological and Verbal added as they all connect).
Emotional abuse is defined by helathyplace.com as
Any act including confinement, isolation, verbal assault, humiliation, intimidation, infantilization, or any other treatment which may diminish the sense of identity, dignity, and self-worth.
It also covers Psychological abuse and verbal abuse. Psychological abuse does not have a definition available on the site I’m using but it does have a description. If you’d like to read the description go (here). I will add a detail of how it works though
Psychological abuse signs and symptoms may start small at first as the abuser "tests the waters" to see what the other person will accept, but before long the psychological abuse builds into something that can be frightening and threatening.
Verbal abuse definition defined by healthyplace.com is
Any language or behavior that seeks to coerce its victim to doubt their perceptions or their abilities and subjugate themselves to the abuser.
So considering that, we note another important factor here, they also have intent involved. “Test the waters” and “seek to coerce” for Psychological and Verbal abuse.
Emotional abuse is different in that it does not specify intent, except every item mentioned is purposeful. If you’re confining someone then you’re doing that on purpose, you cannot easily accidentally do most of that. Those actions carry intent, even if the intent is not abuse.
Now then, is percabeth emotionally abusive?
Once again I’ll start with the big thing people point out, the Judo Flip.
I’ve seen it point out that it could be seen as humiliation.
Annabeth grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder. He slammed into the stone pavement. Romans cried out. Some surged forward, but Reyna shouted, “Hold! Stand down!”
Annabeth put her knee on Percy’s chest. She pushed her forearm against his throat. She didn’t care what the Romans thought. A white-hot lump of anger expanded in her chest—a tumor of worry and bitterness that she’d been carrying around since last autumn.
“If you ever leave me again,” she said, her eyes stinging, “I swear to all the gods—”
Percy had the nerve to laugh. Suddenly the lump of heated emotions melted inside Annabeth.
“Consider me warned,” Percy said. “I missed you, too.” (MOA, chapter 2, page 19 of my copy)
If you look at the scene itself you’ll see that Annabeth is very emotional right then, she just got her boyfriend back, she’s exhausted from months of worrying, she’s emotionally very strained, and she judo flips him as all her pain just fills her.
A lot of people with anxiety or high stress or similar issues have times when the anxiety doesn’t affect them during the time they’re stressed, but right after the stressors are gone.
It’s clear that’s what happened here, all her feelings that she’d been burying to work just filled her.
And Percy smiles up at her and says he missed her.
It’s clear from her own comment that she didn’t care what the Romans thought (said right after they almost attacked her) that her thoughts were not on how this looked for Percy, but for her. She knew it looked bad for her to attack him.
She wasn’t trying to embarrass or humiliate Percy, she was trying to get all that pain and stress and anger out. I don’t like how it was done, but it did not physically harm him (nor did she expect it to) and it clearly did not humiliate him.
He smiled and said he missed her.
He understood what she was going through, and made it clear he loved her.
I still think it was bad writing, but it’s not humiliation, nor is it emotional abuse.
Another thing I’ve seen pointed out is Annabeth’s nickname for Percy.
Seaweed Brain.
I will start this with a reminder that both of their nicknames for each other were originally meant as insults.
Wise Girl was first used by Clarisse and it clearly upset Annabeth, it is used twice by Clarisse actually.
Once in TLT, when she and Percy first meet, and once in SOM when they’re attacking Charybdis.
Percy in comparison uses Wise Girl twice as well, both in TLT, once when he was mocking her at her coming along on the quest and once when they were saying goodbye. It’s also used once in HOO, in BOO.
Honestly it’s not much a nickname... only used by Percy 3 times in all the (main) books. There are like 3 other cases in all the side stories and MCGA combined.
Annabeth uses seaweed brain a total of 41 times in all the books combined, in PJO it’s used 25 times, 22 by Annabeth, and HOO it’s used outloud 9 times, all by Annabeth. On top of this, while the PJO cases were all outloud, the HOO cases were not, with 2 (making the total 11) used only in Annabeth’s thoughts.
Seaweed brain is used in TLT 6 times, 5 times by Annabeth.
The first time is when Annabeth is joining the quest, then when he says things are going fine so far when they start the quest, then when at the Ride of Love, then when Annabeth calls him her friend, then when they’re saying goodbye.
If you watch the progression of it it’s the same as with Wise Girl, though used more often. It starts as an insult, and then becomes fond and a term for her friend by the end of it.
I don’t particularly want to label every single instance, but a quick overview of all the PJO books is that it’s used by Annabeth in annoyance a total of 4 times, in fondness/exasperation/worry 18 times. Those times of annoyance were all in books 1 and 2, the time of exasperation (1 of the 18) was in book 2.
The vast majority were done out of worry, and the rest when she was being soft.
It’s not meant to diminish his intelligence, nor is intended as an insult beyond book 1 and 1 instance of book 2. It is rarely used because he’s being ignorant either. You can make an argument for the first case in book 3 being done because he wasn’t catching her hint to dance and thus was mocking his inability to catch a hint, but it was mixed with fondness from my read.
Overall the nickname is not intended as an insult anymore, it has become a friendly name for Percy that shows how fond Annabeth is of him. She does not have nicknames for anyone else.
In HOO all the cases were relatively fond, with one that she didn’t say outloud being used when she was cheering Hazel up by telling stories about Percy (ah the benefits of long time friendships, you get to tell all the good stories).
In the end I think that it’s cute that they have a nickname for each other, and though there could be more flattering ones, the intent that Percy understands from it and the intent Annabeth uses it with clearly show that it is meant in fondness and was a gradual change from a name that was meant to poke at him. It’s meaning is is fond and loving and it was only used 3 times prior with any other (negative) intent.
Also friends give each other nicknames, and commonly they are meant to be teasing.
There is one other thing I’ve seen brought up, being Annabeth thinking that she needs to keep Percy on his toes (specifically about Rachel in this case) when they’re in Tartarus.
‘Rachel?’ Percy asked. ‘You mean our Rachel? Oracle of Delphi Rachel?’
‘That’s the one.’ Annabeth suppressed a smile.
Whenever she brought up Rachel’s name, Percy got nervous. At one point, Rachel had been interested in dating Percy. That was ancient history. Rachel and Annabeth were good friends now. But Annabeth didn’t mind making Percy a little uneasy. You had to keep your boyfriend on his toes. (HOH, didn’t bother to check chapter number, page 109 of my copy)
So here we see that Annabeth is “keeping him on his toes” but in context, they’re sending a note to Rachel through the Hermes temple in Tartarus. It was not Annabeth bringing it up to mess with him, it was her smiling at the little moment where he was thrown off about Rachel.
Frankly, in general Annabeth doesn’t do anything like that. She occasionally teases Percy but he always teases back. After the Rachel stuff in book 5 things were chill with all of them. We’ve seen no evidence of Percy being uncomfortable with Rachel being brought up, nor Annabeth thinking that it should be brought up for that purpose.
If anything Annabeth has shown some serious abandonment issues in fearing that Percy would leave her over other girls (she needs some therapy after that mess of a childhood but Khiron apparenlty doesn’t think so).
I see this as a case of bad writing with nothing else supporting it, including the scene it happens in.
Even had it actually been something supported by other instances, in the context she says it in it seems more like teasing over an ex where the break was amicable and everyone is still friends, which isn’t abusive or manipulative.
It’s just that Rick is tasteless.
So is Percabeth emotionally/psychologically/verbally abusive? No.
If someone wishes to bring up other instances shoot me an ask.
So in conclusion,
I do not see how it is abusive. There are elements I do not like, and some parts that in my own relationship I wouldn’t be okay with. But in Percy and Annabeth’s relationship they have clear boundaries, they are both more than capable of stopping the other if they do something that upsets them. They have both shown fondness towards the others actions even if it is something that we don’t approve of in our relationships.
If Percy showed upset at her actions that would be different. But we literally see into his mind and he shows no upset at her words or actions. He is fond, he is understanding, and he responds to each instance of teasing with teasing of his own.
Notably I never see people saying Percy is abusive, only Annabeth.
I get a feel that people ask for flawed characters then crucify them if they’re not flawed in easily likeable ways. Annabeth is not a perfect character, I don’t like everything she does, but she is a realistic character and should not be demonized.
TDLR: Annabeth has never purposefully harmed Percy, and Percy has never purposefully harmed her. Neither have verbally/emotionally/psychological taken actions with the intent of harming the other when in their relationship or since becoming friends. There have been instances of upsetting the other but they talked and it clearly was not meant to hurt the other but because they themselves were hurting
Percabeth is not abusive
#pjo#hoo#anon asks#life answers#percabeth#pjo meta#pjo analysis#percy jackson#annabeth chase#abuse tw#tw abuse#if you guys have other thoughts feel free to shoot me an ask#I cited everything#TDLR at the bottom#rachel elizabeth dare#I have so many tabs open#like 20 on abuse and definitions of terms#stars I need to close some tags#life analyses#I spent 2 hours on this
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Fic Recs (cause it's always nice to give a shout out and get people into things I'm into rn)
[The Magnus Archives] (I recently finished the podcast and I fell into a hole for a while so here you go)
Sing a Song of Sixpence by Kaiel
Ship: Jon/Martin
In which Jonathan Sims is a Siren, and he fails to notice any new abilities granted to him by the position of Archivist. Or really anything about the Entities at all.
Takes place in season 1 featuring Jonah Magnus’s slow decent into madness
(The new mythology interwoven with tma's worldbuilding is so freaking good and I love how all the characters change and develop because of these changes. Also, f you Elias)
Along Came a Spider by Dribbledscribbles
Ship: implied Jon/Martin
Sasha James is the Archivist, as expected. Martin Blackwood is menaced by Jane Prentiss, as expected. Elias Bouchard weaves his web, as expected.
All goes as it should.
At least until something calling itself Jonathan Sims steps in.
(Web!Jon in this makes me want to weep, it's so freaking good. A pretty long, very excellent oneshot on what could've happened if Jon got taken by the web when he was a kid. And Sasha as the Archivist is ALWAYS so cool, we love her in this house.)
A Break in the Clouds by Ash_Rabbit
“I’m eight.” the kid sniffs as if eight was any different from four, maybe not an unspeakable horror then, just a regular horror. “And I heard that the Magnus Institute deals with-” his little nose scrunches, cute. “-spooky things.”
“Do you have a-” he cracks a grin, and then rethinks it as small hands tighten against their burden.”-spooky thing to deliver?” gods he hopes not, it’s bad enough when adults walk in and lay out all of their baggage, but for a child-
“There’s a spider in this book.” the kid says solemnly, raising his textbook sized parcel. “It ate Evan Pritchard.” a bloody fucking Leitner. Of course an eight year old would find a murder spider book. “This seemed like the best place to bring it.”
(I never thought about what the Original Elias could've been like AND NOW I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE OF THIS FIC. I LOVE HIM, HE'S COMPLEX AND HE CARES AND JON CARES AND THEY BOTH CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER. THIS IS THE CONTENT I WANT, OMG. Also, Jon being even smaller than usual is adorable, so cute. No wonder Elias wants to hug him, a LOT.)
See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World
Ship: Jon/Martin, Jon/Oliver Banks
When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.
(One of my all time fave fics in this fandom, no questions asked. I have reread this three times and am open to doing it again, god. Vast!Jon, such a concept. It's written so beautifully and the relationships Jon develops, so good. ugh. My heart. Please please read.)
Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing
Ship: Jon/Martin
“Come in, Martin,” he says, not looking up from his notes.
“Hi, Jon,” he says, and Jon stops writing at the sound of his voice. “We’re out of the green tea, but we’ve got lemon?”
Jon looks at him. Martin smiles at him in his usual tentative way as he sets the mug of tea down on Jon’s desk. Heat spikes so sharply in his gut that he twitches with it.
“Thank you, Martin,” he says, mouth dry, and he stands up.
“Oh,” he says, sounding almost surprised. He smiles again. “No-- no problem-- um, what are you--”
Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.
(You have no idea how much I howled through this fic, my god. *buries face in hands* The number of times I wanted to cry from sheer hilarity and horror reading this good lord.)
Things Could Always Be Worse by theOestofOCs
Ship: Jon/Martin, Georgie/Melanie
Sometimes, the most horrifying thing of all is what might have been.
Somewhere, Jon could swear he heard a crowd laughing.
Or: in which Jonathan Sims is forced to swap places with his alternate self—a tall, chivalrous hero extraordinaire, who knows neither fear nor nuance—and is sent to the aggressively straight alternate universe the Magnus Archives was never meant to be.
“Whatever place this is,” Jon announced, “I just want to be sure it knows I hate it.”
(I will say this once, THIS IS THE MOST CURSED THING IVE EVER READ EVER. Like holy hell. I can't believe this thing exists. please read it oh please please please)
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[Supernatural]
heard from your mother (she don't recognize you) by Schmuzz
Ship: Dean/Cas, Jessica/Sam
A man named Cas wakes up in 2003 with no memories, but he's able to piece together a few things:
1. Supernatural creatures exist, and most of them will hurt innocent civilians if he doesn't stop them;
2. He has abilities that no human hunter should have, but he knows enough about human hunters to keep that to himself, and finally;
3. He keeps running into another hunter named Dean Winchester, who seems to be about as lonely as he is if he's willing to put up with those former facts long enough to help Cas unravel the mystery of who (or what) he really is.
For his part, Dean's still (not) dealing with Sam's departure to Stanford, and figures distracting himself with a bit of mystery and intrigue is as harmless as it gets, right? Right.
(THE fic I'm most into right now, been following this from the very start and it's AMAZING. Cas has agency and is making friends and S1 Dean is growing out of John's influence and is becoming a Person and the both of them first being friends then more. The slow burn as their relationship develops, SO GOOD. SO SO DAMN GOOD. *screams* Seriously one of the best spn fics I've read in a long, long time.)
anamnesis by cenotaphy
Ships: Castiel/Dean, Sam/Eileen
Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be.
*
Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19.
(THIS IS THE FIC THAT GOT ME THROUGH THE FINALE OKAY. WHY COULDN'T THIS HAVE BEEN CANON. It's Disturbing and honestly plot-wise this makes more sense. Why couldn't we have had this. *screams*)
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[Avatar: The Last Airbender]
where the stars do not take sides by WitchofEndor
Ship: Sokka/Zuko
When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them.
Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.
(The fact one of the tags in this fic is, "Sibling Dynamic: Fucked Up But Wholesome" should give you an idea what this fic is like. Chaotic as HELL and I just love Azula here, she loves Zuko so much in her messed up way and Zuko loves her back in the exact same way lol. It's batshit and I am Here For This.)
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[Naruto]
Eclipse by AislingRoisin (JayBird345) for HybrisAnaideia
Ship: Nara Shikaku/OFC
"In life, it's easier to remain stagnant and wallow in your troubles. But life isn't merely about continued existence, nor is it meant to be gone through alone."
(This is a fic that's slept on and I NEED people to read this. A self-insert fic that I find really interesting in its approach and the worldbuilding for the post-third war shinobi world is fantastic. I feel like there's a certain pattern with self-insert fics, not that is a detriment in any way to how much I enjoy them, so this fic feels fresh to me in a way I haven't read in a while. I am waiting eagerly for this to get updated! Please read!)
On Freedom and Other Formalities by iaso
Ship: Kakashi/Genma/OFC
When push comes to shove, Hiwa Inuzuka doesn't go down easy. Reborn into a new, dangerous world? She puts her past life as a spy to work. Thrown into a war? Hiwa does her duty, for Konoha. And when she's forced into an arranged marriage? All there is to do is beat them to the punch and get married first. Thankfully, Genma Shiranui is willing to lend a hand. Literally. SI/OC
(Listen, LISTEN, it's about the slow burn, the longing, the communication (it both has and hasn't and isn't THAT great??), the messy way you fit three very different people together, it's so freaking good! Also, Kakashi is so Chaotic here this is my fave characterization of him, you can't change my mind. And Genma is a Good Boi who is Doing His Best, along with the Self-insert character who I LOVE SO MUCH, SHE'S FANTASTIC FNEIWOPAF. Sped past this fic in the speed of light, I could not stop reading!)(Honestly, read all of the author's fics, they're all really REALLY good!)
Building a Castle by WhisperingDarkness
Without needing anyone to tell her, Sakura knew that talking to someone no-one else could see or hear would make her weird. It would draw the bad kind of attention to her, something people could make fun of her for.
She didn’t like being weird, but she did like the voice. Her inner voice was helpful and it was a part of her that had always been there. The idea of it not being there would have been so much weirder than anything else.
It was during her first year at the Academy that Sakura realised the voice was not in her head at all, but that it came from a cloudy shape floating next to her.
(Basically a short-ish retelling of Hikaru no Go. Only with more Shogi and Nara and Ninja's)
(Sakura can see ghosts (I'm noticing this is a popular trope for her) and it's really cute haha! Her relationship with Tobirama is sweet and I just enjoyed reading this so much.)
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[The Magicians]
So Long (And Thanks For All The Books) by IncompleteSentanc (Erava)
Ships: Quentin/Eliot, James/Julia, Quentin/Margo/Eliot
When Quentin is told Julia wasn't admitted to Brakebills, he realizes he has a drastic decision in front of him. If he tells Julia about magic, he'll have his mind wiped as well as hers. But he can't just leave her behind, either. He can't lose his best friend, and he can't let her life a life with her magical potential stolen away from her.
So he makes a third choice.
(Really, and I mean REALLY well-done canon divergent fic, this is the Quentin & Julia friendship fic I have been looking for forever. It explores so much of what could've happened and I just love Quentin here, I really really do. Characterization done so right. I also recommend the author's other works too. Been a follower of them for a long time, they're great.)
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[Game of Thrones]
The Road to Victory by writing_as_tracey
Too late in preparing for the Night King and the Long Night, the last stand at Winterfell is close to falling. Bran takes desperate measures to ensure victory, and Jon, Sansa, and Arya pay the price for it in a time unfamiliar to them, on the cusp of another war. [GoT, time-travel fix it]
(I swear, this fic made me laugh so many times, all the Stark are BAMF and fantastic, and Rhaegar gets Wrecked lol. It's crack btw, and the plot goes in directions you'll never guess and it's amazing hahaha!)
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[Haikyuu!!] (I am very very late to the fandom but here I am)
Ballare (To Dance) by MidnightSparks
Ship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, and platonic Kageyama & Kentarou (really love their friendship)
Kageyama’s first love is volleyball. His second, however, is ballet.
In one world, Kageyama Tobio is left behind by his parents. In this world, the existence of soulbonds keeps Kageyama’s parents in Miyagi and leaves Kageyama in the care of his grandma and grandpa.
(In which soulmates exist and that changes everything and nothing at the same time.)
(*buries face in hands* I have fallen for this ship so hard and I can't get out fudge me. I understand now. Their DYNAMICS FIEWONPAF)
Kings of Tomorrow by bokubroya (liarielle)
Ship: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
On the eve of Tobio’s 16th birthday, he counts down the seconds to midnight, and emerges with Oikawa Tooru’s name on his wrist.
It’s been two years since then, and Tobio thought they had an understanding. A silent, never spoken about understanding that this thing between them is nothing, and they’re going to pretend it doesn’t exist.
Of course, it’s just like Oikawa to change the game and leave Tobio wondering what comes next.
(I am WEAK for soulmate fics between these two, I don't even really like soulmate fics half the times what is WRONG WITH ME-)(Please suffer with me, I'm begging you. Its a good fic, thumbs up.)
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[Crossover]
Honey and Magic by JustARatherVerySillyWriter, White_Squirrel for Super Carlin Brothers
Fandoms: Matilda (yeah you read that right), Harry Potter
Everyone knew Matilda was a rather extraordinary child, but even she didn't know she was a witch. Matilda Honey receives her Hogwarts letter in the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and soon, she will leave her unique mark on the magical world.
(Do I even need to explain how amazing it is to have Matilda in the wizarding world? And Matilda is a HUFFLEPUFF AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL THIS FIC IS GREAT PLEASE READ!!!)
An Eye for an Eye by DpsMercy
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives, Welcome to Night Vale
In which Jonathan Sims is not from the UK but instead, if you took his origins and turned them sideways twice then flipped them over, he technically would be from the US, the town of Night Vale specifically.
Elias can’t do shit about it and gets a headache and slowly creeping madness instead.
(Look, I know probably everyone has read this because if they haven't, what have you been DOING with your lives??? Jon interning at Night Vale is Incredible, nothing phases this man, it's Delightful. I laughed so many times reading this, I'm not even kidding right now. Read or perish.)
The Favour by R_Cookie
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Ship: Original Percival Graves/Harry Potter
Percival is ten years old when his grandfather tries to tell him that he's ensured the greatness of the Graves legacy for him, that he ought to be eternally grateful - but the explanation is hijacked by a stranger who manages to intimidate Chester Graves with an ease never seen before.
or: Hadrian (Harry) Potter is the Master of Death, who grants Graves a boon. Nobody could have known that the Deathly Hallows didn't turn you so much into the 'Master of Death' as into the anthropomorphic personification of Death. And so, Death becomes Percival's guardian angel, and Percival does not spit out his cereal.
(Look, I don't know how I stumbled back into the FBAWTFT fandom either, it just happened and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have found this amazing fic. Their relationship is slow and strange and I just love how Percival is characterized here. Also, one of the tag promises that it deviates from canon so I am really, really excited for that! XD)
baby that's what i do by natanije
Fandoms: Naruto, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
"Are you telling me," Hidan exclaims, incredulous, "that you collect money all this time to give to orphans?!"
Kakuzu pauses. He blinks a few times.
"Huh. I guess I do."
(Tsuna reincarnates as Kakuzu and it's HILARIOUS. HE'S SUCH A MOM HAHAHA)
#Fanfiction#AO3#Fic Rec#Fic Rec List#Podcasts#The Magnus Archives#Supernatural#Avatar The Last Airbender#Naruto#The Magicians#Game of Thrones#Haikyuu!!#Crossover#Matilda#Welcome to Night Vale#Harry Potter#Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them#Katekyou Hitman Reborn
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mists of celeste ➻ 37.5
➻ characters: yeosang, wooyoung, yunho
➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst
➻ word count: 3.6k
➻ rating: M
➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: past abuse and dubious consent are discussed - no graphic depictions of any of the above, depictions of piercings and needles. this interim deals with heavy topics relating to a whorehouse and it is not required to read this interim to understand the rest of the story. it is an optional chapter as all interims are, so please skip over this one if you are not comfortable with the warnings tagged
➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you
⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist
✧✧✧
act five ➻ part 4.5
“I’d like you to give me more piercings.”
“I—”
The blunt statement catches Yunho a bit off-guard, moreso than he would like to admit, and as much as he tries to hide that shock, it still slips through nonetheless. He blinks back at Wooyoung with some wonder in his eyes, enough to make the other man tilt his head in question. Yeosang stands beside him as well though the Elitist’s eyes remain unfocused and noncommittal. It’s been quite some time since Yunho gave Wooyoung any piercings — god, how long has it been? Two years? Maybe three? Surely that can’t be right… — and the doctor is absolutely no stranger to the reasons why Wooyoung would be asking for such a thing now. However, because he tries to be a good and fair doctor, Yunho never goes through with the piercings unless he and Wooyoung have talked things through.
And by that, he means therapy, basically. Checking in on where Wooyoung is at mentally and emotionally before doing anything drastic. Yet that also brings more challenges than anything else because out of everyone Yunho has ever treated in his years being a doctor, Wooyoung is by far the more difficult. He doesn’t like talking about himself, his experiences, his feelings; he despises the thought of sharing intimate and vulnerable parts of himself outside of Yeosang, but according to the Elitist, it’s near impossible to get Wooyoung to speak even when it’s just the two of them together.
Yunho would call it a phenomenon of trauma but frankly, it makes a perfect amount of sense.
Given what Wooyoung has been through and experienced — between being a slave and suffering at the hands of not one but two cruel masters — Yunho truly cannot blame the young man for being so hesitant to talk about his feelings. But, as he said, he knows vaguely how Wooyoung must be feeling if he is coming to Yunho for more piercings now.
“You hardly have any room left on those ears for more piercings, Woo,” Yunho comments through a slightly strained smile. Wooyoung opts to simply wave a hand through the air in response. Yeosang glares at the floor. “Take a seat.”
There is a large amount of struggle in this for Yunho. On one hand, he wants to be firm, stand his ground, and say absolutely not until Wooyoung opens up a little. On the other side of things, Yunho understands that this is what Wooyoung needs to cope with whatever trauma he experienced while being held captive. Yunho doesn’t know all the details, of course, he merely knows that Wooyoung was held in a cell on a ship with San and Mingi for several days before being sold to a whorehouse in Lynder. Then he stayed a few days in that whorehouse. He no doubt had to work against his will, no doubt gave in and didn’t fight what he was told to do even though he didn’t want it, and it no doubt brought back horrid memories from his time as a slave. Yunho isn’t stupid. Such a thing would be taxing for anyone.
The other thing Yunho is grossly over aware of is the fact that pain, to Wooyoung, is nothing. He still has a hard time wrapping his brain around that. Wooyoung… feels pain to a certain degree like any other person would but he has conditioned himself into not feeling it the way others might. The slice of a knife against his arm would be nothing but a pinch of a needle on his skin and wouldn’t bother him one bit; all it is to him is a small pinprick. He asks people to go harder on him when sparring. He punches closed fists against his thighs when he’s upset. He enjoys getting piercings after going through something that would otherwise be traumatic for others. Because it doesn’t hurt. Yunho recalls asking once about it because at the time he didn’t understand that either.
“Why do you ask for piercings as though you want to be hurt? If you don’t really feel that pain? What do you gain from it in that case?”
“Because it’s a pain that I get to choose. All my life I’ve been subjected to pains that are not my own doing or that I didn’t ask for. But in asking for a piercing and choosing where it will go and when it will happen… I get to choose that pain. Getting to have that after suffering pains I didn’t want feels liberating in a way. I enjoy it, as bad as that sounds. It helps me cope with what I’ve been through. Like, for every pain they force on me, I choose a new piercing. Eye for an eye but… on myself, I suppose?”
“Where would you like them?” Yunho inquires, shifting over to shuffle through his cabinets in search of his needles and barbells. “Just one or are we doing more than that?”
“Two this time, I think,” Wooyoung hums as he sits down on the edge of the first bed in his vicinity. Yeosang falls down on the bed next to him without a noise, still staying silent even though Yunho can clearly see how much this bothers him. Which part of it bothers him exactly is a mystery to Yunho because it could be any combination of things. The doctor wants to ask Yeosang if he’s okay with this but that would be a tragic mistake on his part so he bites his tongue instead. It would seem too much like giving Yeosang all the power in Wooyoung’s decisions, and doing such a thing to a former slave would only be detrimental to long-term progress. Besides, he doesn’t need the verbal confirmation when he can clearly see how much Yeosang does not want Wooyoung to do this.
Yunho’s hand hesitates over his growing collection of piercing rods, and he glances back at Wooyoung once more.
“Where are you wanting them?”
“Nipples!” The combination of Wooyoung’s blatant enthusiasm as well as Yeosang’s far too deadpan expression sends Yunho reeling, and he chokes around nothing but air before truly processing Wooyoung’s request.
“A-Ah, I see, of course. One moment,” Yunho murmurs, blinking down at his collection with a bit of bewilderment before picking out what he thinks to be the right size barbells. He’s not unfamiliar with these sorts of piercings — ones on the body that is — and he has found himself well acquainted with certain body parts of the crew to a point where he is no longer uncomfortable with doing things like this for them. Wooyoung is one of the few (the others being Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Y/N) who Yunho is not well acquainted with in that way, however, so this does come as a bit of a surprise. “Your shirt… would you mind taking it off?” Wooyoung strips himself of his top in the next second, and Yunho watches the way the fabric catches on his metal collar before springing loose. Then his eyes settle on the expanse of freshly exposed skin. It elicits a sharp gasp from Yeosang as well, one that Yunho matches in intensity because… well. Yeah. Yunho isn’t sure how to phrase what comes to his mind then.
“Wooyoung,” Yeosang exhales as he balls his fists around the sheets. Wooyoung stares forward at Yunho with a certain expectancy, like he’s challenging the doctor to not breathe a word about the sight before him, but Yunho would rather lose that challenge right now.
There are… bruises against Wooyoung’s waist. Vaguely shaped like large, manly hands that press the outlines of fingers into his tanned skin. They wrap about the young man’s lithe waist and leave little to the imagination about what sort of scenario and position Wooyoung must have been in when receiving such bruises. The sweeping sensation in Yunho’s gut is so strong that it nearly makes him sick on the spot. Yeosang just looks angry at this point, and Yunho cannot blame him all too much for that. With a sigh, the doctor sinks onto his stool and presses closer to the bed until his knees bump against Wooyoung’s.
“Wooyoung, we need to talk about… this.” Yunho motions to the other’s torso, unable to peel his gaze off the ugly marks.
“What is there to talk about?” Wooyoung sounds almost genuine when asking the question. “We all know the nature of working in a whorehouse. There’s nothing to discuss.”
“That’s not — you didn’t — Wooyoung.” Yunho may or may not be bordering on desperation when he exhales this time. He has dealt with a lot of different scenarios and situations as a doctor, but something of this degree is far out of his wheelhouse.
“I asked them to be rough,” Wooyoung admits through a whisper so quiet that Yunho at first thinks he misheard what the man said.
“W-What was that?”
“I said I asked them to be rough.” Wooyoung’s repetition doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Almost worse. Definitely worse. “I told them to rough me up a little, make me hurt some, I asked them to treat me that way.”
Yunho spares a pleading glance in Yeosang’s direction, hoping that the man will have some insight on this part of Wooyoung since that is far from Yunho’s specialty. He doesn’t know… intimate details about Yeosang and Wooyoung’s more physical relationship, but Yeosang would surely be the person to ask for confirmation about this side of the man. Instead of a small nod of approval or some sign that this is normal, all Yunho sees is a horrid scowl.
“You — did you want them to be this rough with you?” Yunho asks, tone falling into a more quiet one now.
“I asked them to make me hurt, Yunho.”
“That wasn’t the question, Wooyoung. Did you want them to do that?”
“I came here to get my fucking nipples pierced, not to be interrogated pointlessly,” Wooyoung snaps back. This time he pushes some venom into his tone but it rolls off Yunho’s shoulders without sticking one bit. “I like pain during sex. I like when Yeosang pushes me around and hits me some even when I’m fully in control. I barely feel it anyways so why should it matter at all? Now are you gonna do this or not because I’m sure I can do it myse—”
Wooyoung moves to push up off the bed and make for the door but Yeosang is quicker to wrap his hand around Wooyoung’s wrist and pull him back without a word.
“Did they do anything you didn’t want?” The Elitist asks through tightly gritted teeth.
The hesitation and silence speak volumes, Yunho is hurdling towards a conclusion he does not want to hear, and he is ready to cry by the time Wooyoung finally opens his mouth and answers the question.
“No, they didn’t. I got lucky. I got fucking lucky, Yeosang. All my clients in those days were fucking kind and only did what I told them they could because the workers knew I was fresh meat. They knew people like me needed to be treated gently for the first few weeks so they only sent clients with good and safe track records to my room. Those clients only ever did what I told them to, only did what I said was okay, didn’t touch me if I said no. I got lucky.” Wooyoung spits the words like he hates himself for speaking them, and Yunho thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that the man was not as lucky as he says he was. He should be relieved, grateful even that he got lucky, but he only sounds enraged.
“Were there…” Yunho starts but his question dies a bit early on his tongue. He swallows around nothing, pulling a pair of latex gloves off his workstation and working his fingers into them as he mulls over his next words. When the last of the latex snaps around his wrist, he finally speaks again. “Were there ones who weren’t lucky?”
“Every fucking night after my clients left, I got to listen to the prostitute next door sob alone in a room with no one to help him. And the very first night I tried to talk to him through the fucking wall and ask him if he was okay and if he was hurt, and he told me I was lucky to be fresh meat. That they would listen to me because I was new and still had some hope left in my eyes. While he didn’t get that chance, he didn’t get to dictate what he wanted or didn’t want because people just took it from him for so long that he lost the will to ask. So yeah, there were ones who didn’t get lucky. There always are.”
Yunho opens his mouth but closes it just as quick, expression a cross between blank and just flat out dumb because he doesn’t know what to say if there even is something to say.
“That’s not your fault, Wooyoung,” Yeosang says instead, but his grip on the other’s wrist releases. “What happened to him is not your fault.”
“What was it that your mother said when you picked me out of a line of slaves? That I was lucky to be picked? But why did I get to be lucky while others suffered? Why did I get to choose not to be hurt or in pain while that prostitute was stripped of that choice? We were all whores for sale in that place so what did I do to deserve being treated better than him? What did he do to deserve being treated worse?”
“Woo…” Somehow the Elitist manages to sound genuinely saddened by the words.
“The very least I could do was ask to be treated the same as him, was it not? But I couldn’t even have the courage to ask for that? The only thing I could do was ask them to hurt me even though I knew it wouldn’t really hurt. How lucky I was, right? If I’m not hurt, then it doesn’t matter who else gets hurt in the process, does it?”
“Wooyoung.” The edge in Yeosang’s tone pushes forward, bordering on threatening, but Wooyoung is hellbent on speaking his mind right now and any threat from Yeosang won’t stop him. Yunho has the thought to intervene and stop them but he knows — he knows how badly Wooyoung needs this right now. If this will help him cope with what he had to go through then Yunho is in no place to stop him.
If this is what he needs to make Yeosang cope with it too, then Yunho again is in no place to stop him.
“How does it feel, Yeosang? Knowing that the only reason I was hurt in there is because I asked for it? Do you still think we got lucky?”
“Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answers to.”
“No, because if it had been you in there, things would have been different. Because you — you are lucky, Yeosang. You always have been and you always will be. Yet no matter how many times I tell you that, you still refuse it. You—” Wooyoung stabs his index finger hard against Yeosang’s chest, voice coming out a bit choked and wet now “—could have sat there for weeks and listened to that boy next door cry and sob without an ounce of sympathy. Because that’s what an Elitist would do. That what you were raised to do, that’s in your blood, how your brain works. But it’s not how mine works. So you don’t get to sit there and tell me that I made the wrong decision.”
Perhaps Yunho is too used to conflict and gross distortions of communication because when Yeosang stands down rather than fighting back against Wooyoung’s words, he’s overwhelmed. Simply put, he is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know how else to describe the swell of emotions in his chest. But Yeosang just lets his shoulders sag and his face falls flat once more, anger ebbing out of his expression like Wooyoung has a tight grip of control over him. Yeosang isn’t a person to stand down so easily; he’s stubborn, has a short fuse and even shorter patience that causes issues more often than not, and he hates when things don’t go his way. Yunho merely assumed the same would apply to his relationship with Wooyoung.
It doesn’t, as it seems.
“Then what would you have me do, Wooyoung? Let you bend until you break without batting an eye? Watch as you blame yourself for something that happened to a person you didn’t even know? Who had been there well before you? Letting you torture yourself for things that are out of your control is not logical or fair; I don’t need to be an Elitist to realize that.”
“You can be as upset as you want, I don’t mind if you’re upset, that’s not what this is about!” Wooyoung argues back, voice climbing in volume a bit. Yunho takes it upon himself to lean away from the bed a bit, and he does his best to make himself seem as insignificant as possible while prepping his clamps and needles. “It doesn’t matter if it was my fault or not. What matters is that he suffered while I did not. And even asking to be hit and pushed around and bruised wasn’t enough because I was still asking for it. I’m… I’m not saying that I wanted my choice taken away — I would never ever ask for that or want that in any capacity. That’s the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a person. No one deserves that. No one. It just didn’t feel fair enough even though it was all I could do to make it feel fair. So yeah, I got fucking lucky, I guess. But he didn’t do anything to deserve to be unlucky.”
“I’m not saying that he did, Woo,” Yeosang whispers to the space between them. “I’m certain that he was a good person who got a bad hand in life, and I’m sure he deserved much better than what he was given. You always ask me to consider your thoughts and feelings on matters. You tell me that it’s because I’m an Elitist that I can’t understand you. You say I just have to accept things and move on, but you don’t — I’m not some emotionless husk, Wooyoung. Being an Elitist doesn’t make me not feel anything. Just because I think with logic more than emotion doesn’t mean that I can’t have emotions. For every fucking night you were gone from my side, I suffered too. It felt like I was losing you to the fate you wanted to fight together, and there was nothing I could do except wait. I was lucky too. Lucky that I didn’t have to wait longer or fight harder to get you back. Lucky that we got you on the first try. Lucky to have you even sitting before me now. It’s not… the reason I keep saying that we got lucky isn’t because I think everyone else in that whorehouse deserves the fate they were given. It’s because we had the chance to fight what fate gave us and took it.”
Yeosang manages a shaky exhale. He blinks down at his hands without saying anything for several moments, but doesn’t look back up at Wooyoung even when he decides to talk again.
“For the first time in over fourteen years, I didn’t get to be your shield. I wasn’t at your side. It wasn’t as simple as coming home from a mission and having you by my side, in my bed, or being in your arms. None of that was even an option because it wasn’t a mission and there was no guarantee of if you would ever come back. I have dedicated my whole life to protecting you because I promised to never let you be hurt again. So you want the answer to that question? How does it feel knowing that the only reason you were hurt in there was because you asked for it? It feels like you’re fucking spitting in my face, Wooyoung, and taunting me for my failures because I wasn’t there to stop you.”
That causes Wooyoung to backtrack in an instant. Realization sinks through his skin, and Yunho doesn’t doubt that it hurts more than any pain that he could inflict on himself. Because that’s the thing about love — it can simultaneously bring you the greatest joys in life as well as the deepest ruin.
And right now?
Yunho can clearly see the ruin in Wooyoung’s features as much as he tries to contain the emotions. Yeosang doesn’t stop there, and it’s with a small shake of his head that he lifts his chin to look Wooyoung in the eye again.
“I’m not blaming you, Wooyoung. I know the kind of person you are, I know how deeply and strongly you feel, especially towards injustices and unfairness like what that boy experienced in there. I know you did what you thought you had to, and I’m not blaming you for making those decisions. But do not ask me to love you even a fragment less than I do now. I knew a boy who was in that very same position once too. Who didn’t have a choice, who couldn’t make any decisions for himself, who didn’t get to choose his pain. I knew a boy who sat on the other side of a metal divider in a bed too small for his body and cried because of how unfair life was to him. And I promised that boy I would get him out and save him and keep him safe from harm at any and all costs. I can’t keep that promise if you won’t let me.”
The breath of silence that ensues after Yeosang speaks is thick enough to choke Yunho, and he pauses his movements in the wake of that quiet because it just feels utterly wrong to even move right now. Wooyoung is dangerously still, perhaps more still than Yunho has ever seen him before. Then a tear escapes the corner of his eye and rolls down the ball of his cheek to pool at his jawline before dropping to the bed. It breaks the dam of the frozen atmosphere, and Wooyoung careens forward to smack his fist against Yeosang’s shoulder.
“You stupid little — how can you say cute shit with that stupid lovesick look on your face? And I’m supposed to be okay? God, I’m gonna suck the soul out of you later for that, you absolute sap. Then ride you until you cry for good mea—”
“Um, too much information, hello!” Yunho intervenes before Wooyoung can even think about finishing the thought in front of him. “Listen, I’m all for sex but I do not need to hear those kinds of details. Just… practice safe sex and wear protection. That’s all I need to know about your sex lives, please!”
“I’m just trying to show my appreciation here,” Wooyoung argues through a wet sniff, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.
“Yes, well, save the appreciation for later. I’m still piercing you, am I not?”
“Was that enough talking for you then?” Wooyoung offers a small laugh that sounds more pitiful than anything else, but Yunho isn’t about to call him out on such a thing.
“You tell me, Wooyoung.” Yunho shrugs a bit and glances over to where Yeosang is sitting, watching the way the Elitist folds a hand over Wooyoung’s without hesitation. “This is about how you’re feeling and where you’re at mentally and emotionally. I’m not the person who gets to determine whether it’s enough or not.”
“No, i-its — I feel… better getting to tell someone that. And getting to reassure you guys that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Even if I still feel a bit of guilt about it, I know I couldn’t change it even if I tried. But yeah, talking about it — that helped.”
“I’m glad,” Yunho hums through a smile of his own. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say it over and over, but my door is always open if you’d like to talk more about it. That goes for both of you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Yun, don’t worry! But right now I’d like for you to put that needle through my nipples so I can get on with choking on Yeos—”
“Nope, okay! I’ll put this needle through your tongue to shut you up instead, how about that?”
✧✧✧
a/n: okay so!! i felt like this chapter was kinda necessary? considering what we saw wooyoung go through and i didn’t want to bury what he went through or act like it didn’t happen but bec of the heavy nature of the topics i wanted to make sure that it wasn’t absolutely crucial for anyone to read this and feel like they were missing out. these are serious things, they are important things, and as always i tried my best to represent those things as best i could and as realistically as possible to avoid any romanticizing of these topics so i hope i was able to convey that and the feelings the characters had well. please please please take care i love u all as always be safe and stay healthy !! i’ll see you guys soon with another chapter!
also it’s been a minute but this survey is always open for you guys to take whenever you like!
taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @eggteez @bangtanxberm @uglychildd @lucymultistan @revehosh @choistan @vampyrejimin
#mists of celeste#abuse tw#blood tw#interim#not tagging as usual bc of the heavy nature of the chapter!
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For @alienturnipp, from the angst prompt list for Nanders, “people who are okay don’t act like this”
@dadrunkwriting
Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Anders
Characters: Anders, Nathaniel Howe
Tags: Awakening fun, canon-typical Circle abuse
Rating: Mature
*
Nathaniel is not, habitually, heavy footed. On more than one occasion, the commander’s Antivan lover had suggested he take up a career in dance, ( “so light are your dainty footsteps, mi amigo.”) He’s not sure whether Anders knows this. This is largely because after three incidents in which Nathaniel had caused the mage to fall into something alarmingly akin to a panic attack, Nate has made an effort to be heavy footed around him.
Still, Anders jumps when Nathaniel knocks on the door to his room. The door is open - Nathaniel has never known Anders to close it, and the mage himself is standing in fairly sparse surroundings looking...lost. The expression fades almost as soon as Nathaniel catches it, like a mirage, Instead Anders gives him a smile as bright and thin as cheap paint.
“Howe! Wasn’t expecting you...here. How do you do that? You always seem to melt out of the blighted shadows.”
Anders laughs, but the sound rings hollow, and his long fingers shake a little even as he brushes them against his robe. Nathaniel frowns. “Are you alright?”
It’s been three weeks since he and the mage were conscripted by the warden commander. More has happened in those three weeks than most of the time Nathaniel spent soldiering in the marches, but Anders still acts as if he’s only just arrived. It’s...disconcerting.
The mage, for his part, smiles again, “Oh yes, don’t worry about me, I’m not going to go all demon on you.” He wiggles his fingers, as if to emphasise his point, and his light brown eyes flicker over Nathaniel’s shoulder, to the empty corridor beyond.
Nathaniel knows that no one is there - he makes it his business to know when he’s being watched - but he turns anyway, and cannot help but feel the pantomime must be painfully obvious as he makes a show of checking to see if anyone is there. In the low, rainy grey light of Amaranthine it’s hard to tell, but when he turns back he thinks he can see Anders flushing.
Anders claps, and seems to startle himself with the volume of the sound (outside, a few of the mabari start barking, and he stiffens almost imperceptibly.) “So! Does the commander need me? Has she finally realised she has no use for me after all? Time for me to get shipped back off to the Circle? Between you and me, I think I’ll put up a fight. For old time’s sake, you know.”
Nathaniel’s frown deepens, and he moves to cross the threshold into Anders’ chamber, but hesitates. Something at the back of his head tells him that he needs to respect the mage’s space, and whether it’s old prejudice or gut instinct, Nate can’t quite force himself to disregard it. Instead he shakes his head, “Why would you think that?”
Anders laughs, and again, it rings hollow. “Oh, well, you know. It’s been a week and I haven’t been forced to risk my life again, so. I figured…”
Nathaniel cannot shake the irritating feeling that he’s missing something. “She cares about you a great deal. You knew each other in the Circle, didn’t you?”
Anders snorts, and it’s graceless enough that Nathaniel believes it’s honest. “As much as you could know anyone there. And she was younger than me. Mages aren’t allowed to mix with apprentices once we’ve passed our Harrowing.” Anders wrinkles his nose. “I suppose they want to stop us getting attached.”
“Why?” Nathaniel asks the question without meaning to and regrets it immediately. He’s certain he will not like the answer.
Anders shrugs, stiff and awkward in his tall frame. “Most of them die.”
Something of Nathaniel’s shock must show on his face, because Anders laughs - for real this time, though a little bitterly. His long hands flicker through the air like restless birds.
“Hate to break it to you Nate, but the Circle has a pretty high death rate.” Anders laughs again, higher pitched and a little manic. “Would you look at that? I’m a poet and I didn’t know it.”
Nathaniel crosses the threshold. He catches Anders hands without thinking, arresting their ceaseless, anxious movement through the empty air. Beneath his hands, Anders’ wrists are too thin. Nathaniel still isn’t entirely convinced the templars who’d caught Anders were feeding him. The mage, for his part, falls into startled silence. Nathaniel watches his pulse racing through the thin skin of his throat as he swallows, and is reminded of nothing so much as a hare.
But then he looks up into Anders’ brown, golden eyes, and sees the fierce thread of rebellion there (“I think I’ll put up a fight. For old time’s sake, you know”), and Nathaniel realises that Anders has never been anything other than a fox: wily and wild and refusing to be tamed. “What is the matter?”
Anders purses his lips. This close, he smells of the embrium and elfroot he carries with him on his belt. Nathaniel is half surprised he isn’t making poultices now. He usually was. He claimed it helped him think, but Nathaniel isn’t entirely sure it’s not just a habit he hasn’t shaken from making potions for the Circle.
Anders pulls his arms back and Nathaniel lets him, not following as Anders backs up in the direction of one of the thin, hard pallet beds they used in the soldiers’ dormitories. The commander must have dragged it up here specially, though he couldn’t imagine why. Anders follows his gaze and coughs another laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, that. Sorry, couldn’t sleep on goosefeathers. Too damn soft. I mean what’s laying your head down at night if you don’t wake up in pain?”
Nathaniel decides that Anders doesn’t actually want an answer to that, and presses on to the subject that he’s avoiding. “People who are okay don’t act like this.”
Anders flashes him another sharp, crooked grin and again Nathaniel catches the fire of anger in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nathaniel clenches his teeth. Delilah had never explained that being kind would take so much blighted work. (He can almost hear the commander in his head, laughing at him for that.) Anders is pacing back and forth in front of his thin, poorly appointed bed, and his hands have started moving again. Nathaniel speaks before Anders’ nervous energy manages to infect him too.
“You have refused to acquire any material possessions other than that pillow, which you hide most of the time. You are stockpiling food beneath the floorboards,” Nathaniel nods at the one uneven plank which had often been the secret to his own childhood hiding places, “ for reasons I do not understand. You never close your door and yet you seem outright terrified whenever anyone enters a place you consider to be private. If you bathe I haven’t seen it, though I must assume that you do as you have not yet begun to smell. You are avoiding...everyone, but especially the commander, despite her efforts and obvious desire to get to know you better. For some reason you still think that she - or any of us - would turn you in to the Circle without a second thought.”
Anders frowns at that, stopping mid-step to look at him with something that is either curiosity or pain in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”
Nathaniel stares at him - and feels, for a moment - his own foolish heart plummet like lead into his stomach. “I - no.” Mouth suddenly dry, Nathaniel wets his lips and tries to speak past the lump in his throat (past the voice in the back of his head, he’s afraid of you, everyone’s afraid of you, just like your father).
Anders’ expression softens, and his shoulders drop. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
Nathaniel blinks, and tries to shake off the feeling of being rooted to the spot. “Of course.”
Anders’ mouth quirks upward at the corner. Outside there’s the gentle patter of the autumn rain against the muddy courtyard, bouncing off the mens’ new armour like a thousand soft, tiny bells. After a moment, Anders sits down, heavily, on the thin mattress, and gestures for Nathaniel to step forward.
Feeling as if he’s suddenly been freed of some strange, invisible spell, Nathaniel does so, almost toppling to sit on the floor in front of Anders as he looks at his hands. Anders breaks the new and sudden quiet, running the fingers of his left hand over the knuckles of his right. “They broke my hands.” The admission is so quiet and so unexpected that Nathaniel is almost unsure he heard it. But then Anders lets out a long, shaking breath and continues. “I was...half drunk with magebane so I didn’t...have you ever felt pain without emotion? It’s so hard to describe. Like shock, I guess. You register that something terrible has happened and that it hurts. But the grief, the anger, the fear. All that comes later. They let it heal naturally. So my hands are crooked now.” Anders splays his fingers in the air between them, and Nathaniel can see now, as he hadn’t before, the way his knuckles do stand a little crooked, the way a nose heals when it breaks.
Nathaniel’s voice is rough when he speaks. “Why?”
Anders shrugs, and his expression is distant. “I don’t remember exactly. It was whilst I was in solitary. They were always doing…” His features shutter into a mask so impassive that even Nathaniel cannot read it, and he draws in a quick deep breath and exhales again. “It doesn’t matter.” He offers Nathaniel a small smile, and nods at the door. “I keep the door open because I haven’t had a door, ever. When I was a child I was too young and small to have my own room. In the Circle only templars and Senior Enchanters are granted the luxury of such privacy, and I was neither.” Anders nods at the floorboards. “I...One of the first punishments they’d go to was restricting rations.” Anders’ mouth curls into a thin smile. “I think some of them just wanted to see how long I could go. Caught them making bets on it, once.” Anders shakes his head, as if he’s dislodging the memory from his mind like a cat shaking off water. He spreads his hands wide. “I don’t...know what to do with all this. Everything I’ve ever been told is that I can’t have it. Whatever it is.”
Nathaniel resists the urge to say freedom. He isn’t entirely sure that it’s true. Anders, on the bed, sighs and slides down from the mattress to the floor, easily framing Nathaniel with his long legs, the tabard of his robe falling heavy and velvet between his legs. Nathaniel averts his eyes. Anders’ laugh is rough and low and warm, and then his (crooked) fingers catch Nathaniel’s head and turn it back to look at him.
“That I understand.” Anders leans forward, until his chest is pressing against his bent knees. He smiles at Nathaniel, sweet and a little shy, and this close Nate can see that his eyelashes are almost as golden as his hair. Anders’ other hand comes up to catch the other side of Nathaniel’s face, and Nate doesn’t resist when Anders draws him closer to brush a kiss against his lips. “Thank you for asking, though.”
For a moment they’re quiet. Far off, from downstairs, there’s the sound of Oghren bellowing and Sigrun cackling, followed by a clattering or armour as one or the other of them gives chase. Anders’ thumb runs over Nathaniel’s cheek, and Nathaniel reaches up to catch his wrist and press his hand closer. He waits until Anders meets his eyes to speak. “I would fight with you.” A shadow of a frown passes over Anders’ brow, and Nathaniel clarifies before he can ask, “ If they tried to take you away. Back to the Circle. I would fight by your side.”
Anders’ mouth twitches into a rueful smile, though the pad of his thumb keeps running softly over Nathaniel’s cheek. “Even against the commander? She’s the Hero of Ferelden, you know.”
Nathaniel shifts closer, letting go of Anders’ wrist to reach up and cup the back of his head, gently, firmly, pulling him closer until their foreheads are touching. “Even her. Against the wardens, the templars, chevaliers and darkspawn, Anders. I will not let them take you. Not whilst I am breathing.”
When Anders breathes out, Nathaniel feels the shudder of it where their bodies are touching. Anders doesn’t look at him when he replies. “Don’t say that. Someone might make you prove it.”
Nathaniel huffs, pulling back to look into Anders’ eyes. “Let them.” He catches one of Anders’ hands and pulls it between them, running his fingers over Anders’ crooked knuckles. “This is not Justice. I’ve met Justice.” He looks up, offering a smile which Anders returns, “He looks like a walking corpse. But, truly.” Nathaniel bends and presses a kiss to Anders’ palm, and watches pink flush through his cheeks like a sunrise. “This is not just. And I will not let them have you. I swear it.”
Anders shakes his head, shutting his eyes as his brow twists with a frown despite the smile on his lips. “I want to believe you.”
Nathaniel holds Anders’ hands tightly between his own, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Perhaps, one day, you will.”
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Do you have any good fics with mainly Peter and happy? I feel like I don’t see enough of that relationship
Here you go lovelies! For more fics check out our Happy Hogan tag!
Peter & Happy-centric
A Certain Kind of Stubbornness by friendlyneighborhoodsecretary @friendlyneighborhoodsecretary
"There was something different about being a superhero's right-hand man. Happy knew it in his gut. It bred a certain kind of protective loyalty that didn't spring from anything less than looking after someone the rest of the world was out to get on a regular basis. A fierce doubtfulness about the motives of anyone who so much as looked sideways at them. A withering dislike of anyone who stood in the way of protecting them. A lack of trust in anyone but yourself."
Regardless of whether you're Forehead of Security or The Guy in the Chair, it isn't easy when your best friend's a superhero.
“Told You He’s A Good Kid” (series) by
friendlyneighborhoodsecretary @friendlyneighborhoodsecretary
Happy Hogan may not exactly be the cool uncle, but he tries his best. A collection of moments in which Happy looks after the kid his boss/best friend accidentally acquired and who Happy himself would definitely not/maybe/absolutely would fight a Titan for.
Good Company by friendlyneighborhoodsecretary @friendlyneighborhoodsecretary
There are certain things even Peter Parker doesn't talk about on those endless commutes upstate; Ben Parker is one of them.
Weekend at Happy’s by Marvelous_Writer @marvelous-writer
With May away, Peter stays at Happy’s for the weekend but things don’t go as planned when Peter suddenly gets sick.
we're going on a trip (in our favourite rocket ship) by
jaybaybay @jaybaybay-01
“Mm.. S’ark?” Peter mumbled and rolled onto his side, cuffs clinking against the metal headboard as he shifted.
“Hey, Pete, you with me now?” Happy's heart was filled with relief at the sound of Peter's voice. It was heavily slurred from all the drugs, but the kid was coherent enough at last to form syllables. It was music to Happys ears. “Tony’s not here yet, but he’s on his way.”
Peters glassy eyes found Happy's face and he smiled; chunks of vomit still evident in his teeth. “ ‘e iss?”
“Yeah, cause you hit your panic button.” Peter frowned suddenly and his glazed eyes lazily trailed to his now bare wrist. Happy startled, “You… you hit your panic button, right Peter?” Peter swallowed slowly and let his eyes droop shut. Happy wished that he imagined the slight shake of his moppy brown head. “Why didn’t you hit your panic button?!” Happy hissed through his teeth.
Peter exhaled, “Wasn’ panicked.” Happy's brain short circuited.
“You weren’t- you… Peter we’ve been kidnapped.” Happy couldn’t comprehend it. This was very, very bad. This whole time Happy had been trusting that Peter had hit that stupid button on his watch and now…
Well, now they were screwed.
you'll be, kid, a man, kid, if nothing goes wrong by butmomilovemyboys
“Promise you’re real?” He choked out, his voice small.
Happy nodded. “I promise. Really.”
Peter nodded back, clearing his throat. He pulled away himself, wiping his eyes on his eyes on the bright orange shirt he wore.
Happy put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “God, what happened? Why are we in the Netherlands?” (And he almost asks where Tony is. Sometimes his brain doesn’t catch up.)
~
SMFFH SPOILERS!!
This Can’t Be Real by Howlingdawn
FAR FROM HOME SPOILERS AHEAD. After Mysterio's final act, Happy finds and reassures Peter that they'll protect him. Truth is, though, he's just as scared as the kid.
Sacred Spaces by FerretShark @ferretshark
May doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but Happy persists. He’ll make it a great idea. Him and the kid, five days in the great outdoors. It will be fine.
“We’ll do all the camping things. What’s not to love about camping?” Happy asks.
May pauses mid-fold on a pair of her jeans, “I don’t know. He’s just not an outdoorsy kind of kid.”
regret by peter_parkerson @peter-parkerson
The kid’s annoying.
It’s a fact. The kid talks too much, too fast, and it’s annoying. That’s just how it is.
He wishes that was a good excuse for ignoring the calls. And the texts. And the incessant, unnecessarily long voicemails. He wishes he'd kept a closer eye on the kid because then maybe he wouldn't have missed his own Homecoming to fight his date's dad. He wishes his negligence hadn't indirectly caused a world of trauma for a high school sophomore.
He can't fix it now, but he can at least try to make amends.
Peter seems like a pretty forgiving kid.
Tough Love by samos7
Peter calls Happy in distress after May doesn't come back to the apartment one night. Happy doesn't know how to deal with emotions.
driving lessons by sapphirestark @sapphirestark
Happy cleared his throat. “Right then. Next, gears.” He gestured towards the console and Peter’s eyes widened.
“I’m learning stick shift?” All Peter knew about manual transmission was that it was way more difficult and much harder to get right. “Happy, I don’t know –“
“If you can’t drive stick shift, you can’t drive.”
Irondad w/a lot of Peter & Happy
I'm Not Your Babysitter by Mrs_N_Uzumaki
“I can’t take this anymore, Tony.” The end of the rope that was Happy’s already little patience has been reached. “I am an asset manager, not a babysitter.”
(A "missing scene" in Homecoming.)
I Really Need Somebody To Call My Own by losingmymindtonight @losingmymindtonight
Tony didn’t even know when he started getting jealous of Happy.
It had been nice, at first, watching him and Peter get so close. Tony couldn’t be around all the time, and Happy still lived in the city, mostly to be close to May, so it was reassuring to have someone watching the kid’s back while he was watching Morgan’s.
It had also helped, in a cynical sort of way, that Peter struggled with the transition. After all, he’d come back from the Snap to his aunt in an entirely new relationship. Not only that, she was in a relationship with someone the kid knew. There were bound to be growing pains, and Tony was the one Peter always went to with them, ranting through video chats at 2:00 am. It had made him feel important, like he was becoming part of the kid’s structural foundation.
And then Happy had moved in with the Parkers, which had thrown everyone for a loop, and the months had blended together, and suddenly Happy was an integral part of Peter’s structural foundation, too.
--
Or, Tony questions his role in Peter's life. Naturally, he spirals.
Not-Uncle Tony by Jen27ny @jen27ny
“I just… got some news.”
“Bad news?”
For a second, he thinks Happy is about to say yes. Instead, he turns around to him, eyes full of a nervousness Tony didn’t know the man is capable of. “I’m going to be a father.”
~~~~~
This is the story of Peter Hogan.
Yes, that's right. Happy is Peter's biological father, and Tony is there for the entire ride.
Damage Control by PechoraFlow
This was bad.
His phone rang, echoing around the small bathroom and causing him to flinch. He answered the phone and put it on speaker without looking at the Caller ID. He grabbed an extra roll of toilet paper, thinking that, if he had a prayer of making it home, he had to at least staunch the blood flow. “Hello?”
“Hey, kid, are you still here?”
This was worse.
Or, after landing the plane on Coney Island in "Spider-Man: Homecoming", Peter isn't as unscathed as he likes to think he is.
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Goodbye
Summary: You had to wait on Fett’s ship while they stormed the cruiser. You wait impatiently for the outcome of the rescue.
Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Rating/Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 16!!!! Other than the spoilers, it’s all angst and no editing lol. But seriously, if you’re avoiding finding out what happens in Season 2, Episode 8 / Chapter 16 of The Mandalorian, don’t read this yet.
Set after The Reason, but can be read as a stand-alone
A/N: That episode wrecked me so... who wants more angst? Despite my reservations last week about posting a reaction fic, here’s one for this week! I had another follow up planned to The Reason, which I will likely still write eventually and set after this one.
Your leg bounced anxiously as you waited for Fett to relay any news. You’d already asked twice if he’d heard from them yet and didn’t want to annoy him further. He was a nice enough man but you had seen him in battle. You had no intention of pushing him to the ends of his patience.
You wished you were with them on the cruiser. You had wanted to go but had been met with five different disapproving stares, even if some of those stares were hidden under helmets. You had been expecting Din to argue that it was unsafe, but the others agreeing had been a surprise.
You had proven yourself on Sorgan. You had helped take down a walker for Gods’ sake! You were there when Moff Gideon first showed his face, you had helped with the Krayt Dragon, had breached the old imp base on Nevarro- You could handle it.
Ultimately, you lost the argument. Din claimed he needed to know you were safe to focus on saving Grogu. Cara, although she complimented your skills previously, explained that you weren't ready to take on dark troopers. Bo-Katan and Koska dismissed you entirely. Boba was gentle in his denial, simply stating that it would be safer for you to stay with him as he placed a hand on your shoulder. Fennec nodded along with his statements. You reluctantly agreed.
You didn’t want to be a cause for distraction or to get in anyone’s way, but you felt useless. You just wanted to help. Your heart ached for the child, having no idea if he was safe or if he was cold, hungry and scared. Your whole being was begging for a role in the plot so that you could help, but you had to tell yourself the best help you could be was to simply wait.
“Just got their signal” Fett’s voice echoed through the hold. “We’re going in.”
You nearly sobbed in relief at his words. You wanted to ask who had been the one to hail him, had they said anything about what happened, did they find Grogu, was everyone okay- you didn’t ask any of the questions. Instead you gripped your harness tightly, knuckled turning white with the pressure, anxiously awaiting.
You had shed several tears by the time Slave I had docked. You were certain they had the child. Even if something had happened to one of them, any of them, they would make sure he gets back to you. That much you were sure of. You were unclipping the harness as soon as the ship righted itself, running for the ramp.
They were all there. All standing. No blood or major injuries to be found. You felt relief flood you as it was confirmed: they’d done it. Cara, Fennec, Bo-Katan, Koska, a cuffed Moff Gideon and-
Din was helmetless. Your breath caught at the sight, still unused to just how handsome he was. You ran for him, needing to wrap your arms around him, to feel that he was okay, to hold him and your foundling and know your little family was back together.
“Where is he?” You asked excitedly as you reached them. Din stopped walking, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. The others carried on to the ship, giving the two of you a moment of privacy.
“Din?” You asked quietly, making sure your voice didn’t carry over to them. “Where’s Grogu?”
“He’s gone, cyar'ika.” He mumbled against your skin. You could hear just how much his voice shook without the modulator of his helmet to disguise his emotions.
The words felt like ice cold water being dumped over your body. They stole your breath away and your knees buckled. You would have fallen had Din not been holding you so tightly. “W-what?” You stuttered, trying to comprehend what he had said.
“He’s okay,” he clarified. “He’s where he belongs.”
That made no sense. You regained your strength so you could take a step back, forcing Din’s head up so you could look him in the eyes. His didn’t drop his hold on you, just moved his hands to your upper arms. “Where he belongs? He belongs with us.”
He shook his head, sadness pooled in those brown eyes. He wasn’t crying, but the tears were threatening to spill over any moment.
“A Jedi came. Skywalker. He’s going to train him, take care of him.” He whispered.
It felt like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t quite catch a decent breath, your shaking inhalations echoing through the hangar.
You knew this moment had been coming. It’s what the two of you had been working towards for months it seemed. Din had been charged with returning the child to it’s people, to the Jedi. You had thought Ahsoka Tano would train him, but she wouldn’t take him. You’d been secretly relieved for more time with the little green being, but now that time was up. Too much of it had been stolen by Moff Gideon taking the child away from you.
“Well, where is he?” You demanded, feeling the tears pooling in your own eyes. It had been hard enough to say goodbye when you thought he would be staying on Corvus, but now it seemed it was happening for real.
“He’s gone.” Din admitted. The muscles of his face shook as they flexed, trying to keep his emotions in check.
You shook your head before looking around the hangar for an out of place ship. Whatever the Jedi had arrived in. “No, I haven’t said goodbye yet.”
“I’m sorry.” He sighed, his own voice growing shakier as he cupped your cheek. He pulled your attention back to him.
“But…” you bit your lip to stop it from shaking. “I didn’t say goodbye.”
Din pulled you back into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him in return, burying your face in the cloth of his cape pooled around his neck. The smell of sweat and blaster fire clung to the fabric as you sobbed.
“I didn’t even get to tell him I love him. To say goodbye.” You cried loudly, not caring who in the galaxy could hear your sorrow.
“He knows. I promise cyar'ika, he knows.” He croaked.
Din shook in your arms. He didn’t make another sound, but his body shook with his own silent sobs. Your legs gave out under you and he lowered the two of you to the ground. You ended up in his lap, both of you holding on tightly to the other as you could as you cried. Your little family was down to two, and you hadn’t been ready in the least.
Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @thisisthe-wayson @insideafictionaluniverse
#The Mandalorian Spoilers#Din Djarin x Reader#The Mandalorian x Reader#Din Djarin drabble#The Mandalorian drabble#Din Djarin imagine#The Mandalorian imagine#Din Djarin fanfic#The Mandalorian fanfic#Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction#WookieTales
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