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firein-thesky · 3 years

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COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

In Name Only - Part 18

A/N: Hello, my loves! I hope you enjoy this next little part of our story! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: language, period typical misogyny, description of violence, smut (18+ only)

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey to Honeyholt was a solitary, quiet thing. It was almost too quiet and allotted for far too much time to think. The more you thought about it all, the more you realized how rash and impulsive your decision was. Oberyn would be furious; but he would understand, right? He had to - you were doing this to help avenge him. Admittedly, your plan wasn’t even fully formed at this point, half formed at best - all you knew was that you had to give your family a piece of your mind. You’d lived your whole life getting pushed around and left in the shadows, and you weren’t willing to do it any longer. Oberyn and the Martells - Dorne - were your family now, and you would be cold and in your own grave before you’d let something happen to them.

You weren’t exactly sure what you would do when you made your arrival back at your childhood home; that much you still had to figure out. Improvisation would have to be your friend, and you prayed to the gods, old and new, that you would be able to pull something off. Whatever that something was, you weren’t sure yet. But it would be something; the sins of your family would not go unpunished.

“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken,” you whispered to yourself as you slowly approached Honeyholt. You offered your mare a few gentle pets as she slowed her trotting; she made a small sound almost as if trying to convince you that your actions were foolish. Too bad you’d already known that, “I know, girl. But I have to do something, anything. Oberyn would do the same for me. He will understand - if not now, eventually he will.”

The soft, sweet scents of the region soon reached you as you took in a breath of fresh air. All the best of your childhood suddenly reached you, and you realized just how much you truly loved the Reach, especially Honeyholt. It was a beautiful, lush land, covered with lots of greenery and flowers and animals. Almost magical in some ways; so different from your current home, but that did not take away from the beauty of Dorne either. Two places that managed to be amazing in their own ways, coexisting in peace. Just like you hoped your families would.

But it was too late for that now. Your brother had made sure of that.

“This is as much for him as it is for me,” you explained quietly, almost as if you hoped she would speak back to you. Maybe it was the tiredness or delusion from traveling for the past two days on horseback by yourself. Maybe it was the need for reassurance that your actions weren’t completely off the mark. Maybe it was you trying to convince yourself that what you were doing was justified, “I have to protect him at any cost.”

As you approached the castle, one that looked so welcoming and warming if one didn’t know better, your stomach started to churn. There had been so many years of happiness here, when your father was alive and lord of the place, but it had quickly turned so much darker once he passed and power transferred to your brother. Maybe it wasn’t the place itself that provided happiness, but the people in it that made it a home. That’s what it was - it wasn’t the castle or Honeyholt that was home, it had been your father, and the other kind people that had lived there. Just like Dorne - sure, it was home, but it was Oberyn and the rest of the family that made it warm and inviting.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you heard soft, gentle buzzing in the distance. A tell-tale sign that you were in Honeyholt - the bees that the region was famous for were hard at work producing their delicious honey. You’d grown up with the sounds and smells, and in a way, it set your soul at ease. This was familiar - comfortable.

Once the path narrowed and you were within walking distance from the castle, you slowly slid off your mare and took her reins in hand, letting her walk next to your side. After so much riding, your legs felt like jelly, and you almost stumbled over your own feet. Petting her muzzle, you offered her a kiss to the side of her head as she followed you closely behind. The familiar sounds of people working around the castle reached your ears as you walked towards the main entrance. But before you could go further, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you realized that any chance for a quiet entrance was officially ruined. As soon as one person was aware of your presence, word spread around like a wildfire. There was no hiding anything in this type of circumstance; your whole family would know you were here.

Turning your around, your golden cape swirled behind you as you plastered on the best smile you could muster up. Sarvon approached you as he wiped off his hands on a rag he quickly tossed over his shoulder. A sense of regret ran through you; he was a few years older than you and had always been nothing kind - you’d always considered him a friend. He was handsome in a typical sense, tall and lanky, with a kind smile and fair hair and eyes, so different from what you were used to these days.

“Well, well, well, look who came back to see us all,” he held out his hand to you, which you eagerly shook you. If it was possible at all, a bit of your nerves seemed to settle down, “Lady Martell. How are you doing?”

“Sarvon,” you smiled fondly at him, “I’m...well. How are you faring? You look well - I trust everything is much the same?”

“Just the same as ever,” he agreed with a small smile, “but there are some good news - I am to be married within the year! You remember Yennefer? I’ve been courting her and she’s agreed to be my wife!”

“That is most exciting indeed,” you threw your arms around him, feeling a true sense of happiness. He had always been kind and gentle, and he deserved the happiness of a new marriage, “she’s a lovely woman, and I’m sure she’ll make a most wonderful wife. Someone to finally keep you in check!”

“That she will,” he agreed as a light flush rose up in his cheeks, “can I take her for and get her to the stables? What brings you back to Honeyholt, if I may ask?”

“Of course, and thank you,” you held out the reins to him, “I just...wanted to see my brothers, and my mother. I couldn’t stand being away from them for another moment.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you too,” he agreed, “it’s always a welcome surprise to see you. Dare I ask you if you come to bring us good news?”

“Oh,” your smile faltered for just a moment as you knew exactly what he was hinting at, “I’m afraid not. I suppose I just missed my family!”

“Of course,” he agreed, starting to lead your mare away, “I’ll announce your arrival. I believe Lord Beesbury is in his study.”

“Thank you, Sarvon,” you offered him a small nod, “you’ve been most helpful as always.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and walked towards the entrance, walking in under the large stone arches. This was it; whatever plan you were going to concoct, you needed to come with it fast.

A few more people excitedly greeted you, surprised by your very sudden and unannounced arrival. It was still early in the morning, and you were positive you were positive that you looked as disheveled and tired as you felt. Deciding not to indulge any of them in conversation, you gave them curt nods, marching through your former home towards the study that had once been your father’s sanctuary. Even as you approached it now, it felt different; more cold and uninviting than it ever had. What was once filled with light and laughter was now quiet and daunting.

But nonetheless, you steeled your resolve and reminded yourself that you were a strong, independent woman, and that this was what you needed to do. The dagger strapped to your thigh suddenly felt like it was made of ice rather than steel, a million pounds heavy as it weighed you down.

When you reached the heavy doors, you didn’t even bother to knock or announce your presence, instead pushing them open and barging in. Your brother dropped the scrolls he was reading as he looked up in shock and awe at the sudden intrusion. His face seemed to shift through a hundred different emotions as he tried to figure out why you were possibly there. Eaton let out a long breath as he leaned back in his chair and a smirk grew on his face. You knew exactly why it was there; it was the same reason you were there.

“My dear, lovely sister,” his voice was laced with venom as you walked up to his bureau, already seething with anger, “what a surprise, although I can’t say it’s a pleasant one. I’m shocked to see your face again...I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘if I ever see you again, it will be on your deathbed.’ And yet...here you are.”

“You know why I’m here,” you spat at him, “you vile, foul, loathsome little cockroach.”

“There’s that attitude that we all love so very much,” he laughed lightly, but there was no happiness to it, “and look at you know. I see you’ve taken to Dorne well, dressing and acting just like those savages. Sending you there was the best decision we’ve ever made.”

“You dare to speak of my home - my people - in such a manner?” your eyes narrowed as you shook your head at him. He would never change, “you have some nerve for a pathetic excuse of a man that won’t even tend to his people and remains in his study all day. You are worth nothing, you are a shame and a disgrace to our father - our name. At least my husband - “

“Your husband,” he spat as you felt your blood pump, “yes, your weak, pathetic fool of a husband. I had the pleasure of meeting him as you well know. He’s about what you deserve, old, foolish, a whore of a man that will never love you. I’m sure things are going quite well - he can’t even get you with child from the looks of it. What a shame; it seemed to work for all his bastards. Perhaps it’s just you. How absolutely tragic - just what you always deserved-”

“Stop speaking,” your anger and gusto had quickly turned to a feeling of deep remorse, muddled with anger, “y-you have no clue what you speak of. You know nothing-”

“I did try to do you a favor, baby sister,” his lips were curled in a snarl as his wicked grin displayed his full teeth, just like a predator ready to take down his prey, “I did try to kill him. And I would have done it too, if it hadn't been for his little right hand man. He had to stop me just before I could finish him off. You know, part of me was glad he survived; I figured he would die a more slow and painful death at your hand. Imagine my disappointment when I heard that Prince Oberyn, the savage beast of Dorne, survived.”

“He barely survived,” your eyes were burning with the tears you were struggling to hold back, “he was on the verge of death - i-it took everything possible to keep alive, Eaton. I was never more scared...I thought I had lost him.”

“And you should have been happy.”

“I would rather die than to live a day without him,” you practically shouted at him, your voice crackling with each word, “he is my husband and I love him. He is everything to me!”

“Love? You are such a silly, pathetic little child,” his dark laughter reverberated off the stone walls, “you have learned nothing - you will never know anything. Life isn’t about love-”

“Yes,” you interrupted him, “love is everything. Father knew that too; it’s a shame you never learned that. I love Oberyn Martell, he is my husband, my family, my home. And I will never let you do anything to him, or any other part of my family.”

“They’re not your family-”

“They are more my family than you ever will be,” you insisted, “all Oberyn did was try to come here and make amends, to try to instill a sense of peace for everyone - for me. Because he loves me and cares about me. He held no ill intent for you, and still doesn’t - he wants to do nothing to you, despite what you had done to him. He just wants peace, and you couldn’t even give him that much.”

“You think he has your best interests in mind?” he scoffed, “he doesn’t care about you! He only wants to make himself look good. He will never love you - no one will ever love you!

"He loves me!"

"He doesn't love you!" you were both yelling at each other but by this point, "Waylar never did either. But look what you did to him, you caused his death and for what? Your feelings? And you almost did the same to your husband. You need to learn that love isn't a real thing and that in this game you survive and adapt or die."

"You are so hateful," you slowly reached for the dagger, ready to pull it out and wield it at him, "your heart has turned to stone. What a shame; we grew up with a lot of love from father but you never learned. I know it's real - not fake - and I will make sure everyone knows. I will make sure my husband knows how much I love him, my children, my family - everyone. I will never end up like you and I couldn't be more thankful than that."

"You will live and die a fool-"

"And you will die as a hateful, spiteful man," you pulled out the dagger and displayed it to him, watching as his eyes grew wide in worry. You had sneaked incredibly close to him and the dagger was mere inches from his throat. It would have been easy to end it all then and there, "you recognize this, don't you?"

"Where did you get that?" he swallowed and you could see his Adam's apple bobbing, "it belongs to me!"

“No,” you insisted with a wicked smile of your own, “it doesn’t. It’s mine, by rightful inheritance. Father gave it to me several years ago before he died.”

“It has belonged to every head of this family for centuries!”

“Until now,” you reminded him, letting the beautiful steel glint brilliantly in the morning light, “now it’s mine. And it stays with me - and I promise you one more thing, dear brother. This blade will be the last thing on your mind as I kill you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” his eyes were wide with worry as you kept the blade drawn and ready to strike at any second as you walked around the desk and stood in front of him. Pressing the blade into his flesh, you dug it in just enough to draw a thick trickle of blood, “you’re making a grave mistake.”

“Oh no, I’m not,” you insisted, making your voice sticky sweet with honey, “I’m not making a mistake at all. It’s not so funny when it’s the other way around, is it Lord Beesbury? Imagine how it felt for Oberyn as you stabbed him, as you inflicted would be deadly wounds. Don’t you think he felt the same way? And what did he do to you? Nothing. He didn’t deserve any of this. But you? You deserve this because you have done horrible things, Eaton. You don’t deserve compassion or mercy.”

“When they find what you’ve done, they’ll have you too flayed like the Boltons would.”

“Oh no,” you shook your head, “I won’t be caught for this. And even if it was discovered to be me, they would thank me.”

“You are a horrible, insistent bitch-”

“You almost took my husband from me - the one man that has loved me unconditionally. The man that would do anything for me - my family. I will be damned if I let you ever harm so much as a hair on his head. You will never harm him, my children, my family, any one I care about ever again. You’ve set up your own downfall, and I will be your executioner. You know the best part of all? I don’t regret a single thing.”

Slowly dragging the blade down the column of his throat, you let it stop just at his heart. It was so close, just within reach. All you had to do was plunge it into his chest and he would be dead. Just like he had wanted Oberyn to be.

So close, almost there...all you need to do was sink it into this flesh. You felt wild, almost like a mad woman - but everything you had been wanting was right in front of you.

Just a little further, a little harder and it would all be done...

"Stop!" the familiar voice pulled you out of your daze as your chest rose and fell in a hectic, chaotic pattern. Nothing made sense right now - only vengeance and redemption - blood, "don't do this. You will regret it every single day of your life. And I can't let you live like that."

The two of you turned and found Oberyn Martell standing in the doorway, looking at the two of you with the most neutral expression you had ever seen; a true and collected negotiator. Your surprise turned to shock as you stared at your husband. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn’t supposed to know about this. The dagger shook in your hand for a moment as Eaton swallowed thickly.

“O-Oberyn,” you were between a rock and a hard place; you could easily have plunged the dagger and ended this, giving yourself a sense of satisfaction and vengeance. But if you did so, you would directly be going against Oberyn’s wishes. He didn’t want this but you did...you were almost positive of it. A strangled cry left your lips as you found yourself between a rock and a hard place, “you’re not supposed to be here!”

“And neither are you,” he took a few steps closer as he regarded the two of you curiously. He was very pointedly trying to keep the situation calm and diffused, “you don’t belong here, my love. This isn’t your home - come with me and we’ll go home. You don’t need to do this, he isn’t worth it.”

“Oberyn, he tried to kill you! He would have done it if he’d gotten the chance - he hoped you would die a slow painful death after you escaped. He loathes you, and for what?! You have done nothing but be kind and he’s a horrible, vile person! He doesn’t deserve my mercy or anything,” tears were running down your cheeks as you tried to rationalize everything to yourself, “what if he had taken you from me? I-I-I won’t let anything happen to you, ever, Oberyn. He deserves this!”

“That may be so, but you should not be his executioner,” he had come closer and closer until he was standing next to you, a hand tentatively wrapping around your wrist, “you do not deserve to live with such a thing on your conscience. Fate will be his undoing. Not you.”

“What if…”

“Don’t do this,” he insisted, as your brother looked around wildly, trying to figure out what was going on, but very aware that any wrong move, accidental or intended, would kill him, “you will never forgive yourself. Anything you would do to him would be too kind. But please, spare yourself the heartbreak and let him go. I’m right here, I’m okay - nothing will ever happen to me or take me from you. Not in this life or the next.”

“Oberyn,” his name was but a shaky whisper off your lips as you met his soft, brown eyes, “I-I just...I love you, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you, more than anything,” he slowly started to pull your wrist and dagger away from Eaton's throat, “that’s why I’m here - why I’m insisting you don’t do this. Please don't do this - for my sake and your sake. Just stop and come home with me. To our home - our family."

"Oberyn…"

"Come on, my Sunshine. Its not worth it. He is not worth a lifetime of regret," without even thinking about it, you let him pull your hand away as he carefully pulled the dagger out of your hand, "its okay, my love. It's okay."

Turning your attention away from Eaton's face, you looked at Oberyn and saw that he was just as emotional as you. He tucked the dagger into his waist belt before putting his hands on your face and wiping your tears away, "I-I'm sorry, my love. I thought...I thought this was the right thing to do."

"I know," he promised as he wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest. He kissed the top of your head as you started to weep into his chest without abandon, "its okay."

Eaton watched the two of you with confusion on his face; whatever was going on, he knew he was safe for now. Clutching at his throat, he wiped away the blood that had oozed down his neck. A small sound of surprise escaped his lips at the burn.

"You," Oberyn turned to your brother with a look of disgust etched into his features, "you will say nothing of this to anyone, or I will personally finish what she started. You will never contact her again, and she will never contact you again. This is over - it ends now. And if I get even so much as a whiff of you in Dorne or anywhere near us, I will make sure you suffer. The Boltons aren’t the only ones who know how to flay a body. Do I make myself clear, boy?”

Eaton was so stunned, stunned into silence as he merely nodded at the Dornish Prince. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he fell short of words and watched in silence as Oneryn took your hand and slowly led you out of the study. The young lord hissed slightly at the burning sensation on the delicate flesh of his throat. It had all seemed like a fever dream; but the scar that your actions had been sure to leave were most definitely a reality. He collapsed in his stiff wooden chair, a faux throne for a great pretender, and held his head in his hands. Maybe he should have reconsidered crossing the Red Viper - and you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Oberyn remained silent as he tightly clutched onto your hand and led you out of the castle. Only a few rushed words were said, but no one dared to approach either of you. If word of your arrival had gotten around, either no one cared enough to greet you, or they were all scared. But Oberyn was fast on his feet and had the two of you out of there before you could protest or make any sort of comment. Tears were liberally rolling down your cheeks in thick, fat droplets and splattering onto your gown and all the over the ground.

He must have gotten there in a rush and quickly put the pieces together as his steed was wildly saddled just outside the gates. You saw Sarvon rush over with your own mare, almost as if he had been roped into aiding the Prince. Silently, he took the reins to the small mare and helped you to climb onto her back before repeating the same to his stead.

Quietly thanking the young man for his assistance, he said nothing to you before reaching into the saddlebags and handing you a flask of water and some fruit. At least the man was smart enough to know you’d be starving and parched. You took them with quiet ease, too embarrassed and confounded to say anything.

He led the way in silence for some time, still checking to make sure you were closely following him. The tension settling between the two of you was thick and palpable; it wasn't angry per se, but it certainly wasn't good. A few times you had wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but found yourself unable. Instead, you remained silent and studied the back of Oberyn’s head to try and get a read on him. It didn’t work; the Prince was good at hiding his true feelings when he needed to.

“There’s a tavern a few miles ahead,” he said quietly after a long bout of silent; it had been morning you’d left Honeyholt and now dusk was starting to fall, “we’ll stay there for the evening and then continue on tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” was the only response you could muster up. He hadn’t even turned to look at you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The tavern was a small, quiet place, quaint and warm, and if you hadn’t been worried about the nerves churning out butterflies in your stomach, you would have been excited to rest there. Oberyn had handled business while you made your way to your temporary lodgings. As soon as you’d entered the room, a low sigh escaped your lips. Turning to the aged looking glass, you could see that you were an absolute sight to behold; hair wild and mussed, tired, bloodshot eyes, and ragged looking clothes. Luckily, there was a tub waiting with hot water in the adjoining room and you were halfway to slipping off your clothes when Oberyn came back into the room.

He offered you a nod of acknowledgment before sitting at the edge of the bed and watching you closely, his arms crossing over his broad chest.

“Go on,” he offered up, raising an eyebrow before looking between you and the wooden tub. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stripped the remainder of your clothes before sinking into the warm water and letting out a long sigh at the feel of the warm water against your skin. It was the most relief you’d left in days, “better?”

“Yes,” you admitted as you grabbed a cloth to start washing your tired body, "thank you.”

“I brought clean clothes,” he continued; his voice was so slow and neutral, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, “and they will bring up some food. I presume you might be tired and hungry,”

“Mhmm,” his calm demeanor was almost more unnerving than anything else, and you wished he would yell at you. At least then you would know his true feelings.

It was silent for some time before anything happened as the two of you had just stared at one another. Oberyn ended up stripping off his own outer robe and remained only in his trousers as he washed his face in a small basin. Finding it impossible to complete even the simple task of washing your hair, you finally gave in and broke down, “Oberyn? Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

“I thought I had been.”

“You know what I mean,” you made swift work of washing the soap from your body before wringing your hair, “you’ve hardly said more than a few words to me. It isn’t like you.”

“What do you want me to say?” his hands found his hips as he looked at you in question, You were taken aback at his short, snappy response, but at least it was something other than complete emptiness.

“Say you’re angry with me, that you’ll never forgive me or...something.”

“Of course I’m angry,” he said as you reached for the towel as you stood up and wrapped it around your now clean form, “I am beyond livid - furious - do you have any clue as to what could have happened if I hadn’t shown up? Do you have any clue as to how worried sick I was? Every horrible, wicked thought possible went through my mind!”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“It’s not up to me to forgive you...the question is whether you forgive yourself,” with a heavy sigh, he sat back on the bed and you timidly walked over to him, “you could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t…”

“Luckily - this time,” he cut you off sharply as your lips formed a thin line and you willed yourself not to argue back, “but it was still a huge risk - a very uncalculated risk! One wrong move and you could have been hurt, or worse - killed. And what good would that have been? It would have been for naught.”

“I had to do something! You were going to do nothing!” you insisted, unable to keep your silence. While your husband may have had valid points, you wanted him to know you felt just as strongly about your own views, “Oberyn, he is a foul, horrible person! He wanted to kill you, he hoped you would die, and the worst part of all was that he didn’t regret anything. He laughed about, made a mockery out of you and myself. He deserved everything he got and worse!”

“Would you have done it?” how he managed to keep calm was beyond you. He simply looked at you, his breathing even and his eyes full of curiosity as you stood in front of him, wildly flailing while wrapped up in your towel, “would you have killed him?”

“I...I…” his simple question felt like it had punched the air out of your lungs as you opened and closed your mouth a few times, “I would…”

“Do you really think you could have plunged that dagger into his heart, through skin and muscle and bone, and killed him? Do you think you could have watched the life leave his eyes as he took his last breath?”

“I…”

“Killing is not as simple as you think, you sweet, innocent girl. It takes a lot to end someone’s life,” he explained as you stared at your feet, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes, “it is not something to take lightly - I have never taken it likely. I have killed many men, but only those who have deserved it.”

“He deserved it.”

“That may be so, but it’s not up to you to decide that,” Oberyn let out a long sigh as he held out his hand to you, “you do not deserve to be left with such a thing on your conscience. You are much too good for something like that; do not let one man, however terrible he may be, take away your light. He will get what he deserves, everyone always does, and it will be much crueler than anything you could do. Leave him to fate, to the gods, to the universe. He is not a part of your life any longer - you will never have to see or speak to him again. He has built his own bed and he will reap what he sows. But you? You are too kind, too pure, too innocent for such darkness. You are of a different kind than he is; do not let him drag you down to his level for a few moments of the idea of vengeance. It will not be worth it. Never.”

“The things he said...they were horrible, my love,” you took his hand, and let him pull you towards him, so you were standing in front of him. Oberyn stroked the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly as you ran your free hand through his curls, “I have never heard such horrid, loathsome things before - against me, you, our family. He...he said you didn’t love me, that you would never love me. It was all a lie and that I was just meant to go to you and give you children.”

“You know absolutely none of that is true,” he insisted as you nodded, letting a few tears run down your cheeks, “and he knows he is wrong. He says these things because he is jealous, because he will never have them. He is cold as steel and has closed off his heart, and he will never love or learn to be loved. But that does not mean what we have isn’t real. I love you more than you will ever know. I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you, every day.”

“I know you do,” you whispered as he stood up and pulled you into his body, wiping away your tears, “I know what we have is real...it’s just...I don’t know. I was acting rashly, and I just couldn’t handle the idea of someone hurting you, hurting the one person I love the most, and getting away with it.”

“You will never lose me,” he whispered as he traced over your features, “it’s because of you I’m still alive; you stood by my side every minute of every hour for days. Without you, I don’t think I could have made it. You must know that I’m not the only one with the world to lose. When Asha told me of your plans, I thought I was going to lose everything, I was worried. Yes, I am mad - mad that you directly defied what I asked of you, you lied and sneaked out of Sunspear, you went completely and held a knife to a man’s throat.”

“When you put it like that…”

“Truthfully?’

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You are still so young, with so much to learn,” he put a finger to your lips before you could say anything else, “I will teach everything I can, you will learn, in time. But sometimes you must learn to trust others - me. I would never do anything to hold you back, or do anything that wasn’t in your best interest. You know that right?”

“I do,” you admitted, “I suppose I was so caught up with the idea that if I had to suffer, so did he…”

“What a world it would be if everyone thought like that, no?”

“Is that why you’re a Prince, my love? Because you’re so wise and smart?”

“Because I was born lucky. The rest I’ve learned over the years, as you will,” he put a finger under your chin and turned your face up to his, “it takes time, but you will get there, and I will be there every step of the way.”

“I love you,” was all you managed to whisper as you stared back into his eyes, “Oberyn.”

“I love you,” he repeated, “don’t ever do anything like this again, okay? Next time I might not be there, or things can go very differently. It’s not worth it.”

“I promise,” you agreed as he gently kissed your lips, “never again. I'm sorry I worried you, just...please don't ever leave me. I'm sorry."

"Its okay," he nodded at you, and you felt a warmth pool in your belly at the way he observed you - with reverence, devotion, and adoration, "I'm not going anywhere."

Unable to stop yourself, you brought a hand to the top of your towel where it was barely hanging on. Undoing the weak knot, you let it fall to the wooden floor with a delicate thought as you stared at him. Your whole body flushed under his intent gaze, but it was only mere seconds before he wrapped his arms around your waist, his touch warm and brazen on your bare skin.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you crashed your lips onto his, kissing him with a fervent intensity that he easily matched. There was nothing soft or gentle about this, it was a rushed tangle of tongue and teeth as you battled for dominance. But you were no match for Oberyn, a man experienced in life and love, as gripped the back of your neck and held you close to his lips.

Your hands went to the waistband of his trousers as you tried to rip them off as quickly as possible. You wanted and needed him now. His hands found yours as he helped you to undo the trousers and push them to the ground. Oberyn's lips barely left yours as he stepped out of them and he reached for you again. His hands found your bum as he gave it a firm squeeze and you moaned into his mouth. You could feel him smirking against your lips.

"Oberyn," his name was a reverent whisper off your lips as he kissed along your jaw and nipped at the delicate skin of your throat as he did his best to ensure that there would be marks for everyone to see, "please...need you."

"Mhmm," he backed you up against the wall, gently so you didn't hit your back or head too hard. Warm, calloused but gentle hands roamed your body as he touched over every part of you he could reach. His hands were on your breasts, massaging them and rolling your pert nipples as you tried not to completely lose it - not just yet.

You kissed every part of him you could reach, relishing in his soft, golden skin. He snaked hand between your bodies and down to your core, where he started to circle your clit after running his fingers through your soaked folds. It hadn't taken much to get ready for him today.

"All for me?" he rasped in your ear as all you could do was nod and bite on your lip to keep from crying out. He kept touching you, working you up and slowly inserting two fingers, expertly curling them and causing you to see stars. Burying your face into his shoulder, your legs started to feel weak and shaky as you almost reached your high. But before he went any further, he ceased all his ministrations and pulled his hand away.

"Oberyn!" you huffed at him as he bought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. That was enough to silence you completely as you watched him in awe, "oh."

"Sweeter than the finest fruit," he smirked before taking his cock in his hand and stroking his length a few times, "my sweet girl, you drive me wild with worry and wonder sometimes."

"Only because I love you," you instinctively spread your legs slightly to make room for him. Lining himself up at your entrance, it was a few seconds before he was fully sheathed inside of you. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you out so perfectly as he took the opportunity to kiss you.

He wasted no time in thrusting into you, slowly at first, but then quickly setting a brutal pace as he tightly gripped your hips. It was almost as though something inside him had snapped he needed you desperately. Soon, the room was filled with nothing but your combined moans, the lewd sounds of skin on skin, and your back lightly hitting the wall. You were almost positive that anyone near you would be able to hear but was going on but it didn't stop either of you.

Before too long, your walls started to clench around him as his cock twitched within you. Unable to form proper words, you came with a cry around him and he offered you a few more shallow thrusts before spilling inside of you.

He held you pinned against the wall for a few moments as you both came down from your highs. You pushed a stray curl from his forehead before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

"I love you," you offered up as a sort of all encompassing apology as you studied your husband's face.

"I know," he agreed as he touched your cheek, "I love you. Now, let's get some rest, Sunshine. We still have a lot to talk about later."

Maybe you'd made a rash and horrible decision; but at least you knew his love for you was truly unconditional.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #in name only #ino

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lord-squiggletits · 2 years

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10 reasons to ship IDW MegOP

Full text dump and squeeing under the cut.

1. JRO wrote in a subtextual BDSM scene for them... like, this man deadass wrote a script that had multiple scenes of Megatron being shackled and restrained while playing games with Optimus to provoke him into hurting him. Optimus literally says something like ‘I know what he wanted now, and I think I just gave it to him’ after nearly electrocuting Megatron to death. But honestly, BDSM subtext aside, the entire Police Action/Chaos Theory pre-war story is so fucking good for both of them. It establishes both of their unique identities for this continuity as well as planting the seeds for how they first met and why their fates are entertwined, even if they weren’t friends before the war as in many other continuities. Then again, Orion Pax calls Megatron his friend after just reading his essays and talking to him for a few seconds, so it seems like the connection is there, isn’t it?

2. Personality-wise, Megatron and Optimus are surprisingly similar. While Megatron’s anger issues and propensity for violence are obvious given who he is, Optimus is also written as having a bit of a foul temper despite his best efforts to suppress it and stay optimistic. And even then, OP has never had any qualms about resorting to violence when the time comes. Then you have Megatron who began his life as an idealistic, pacifist miner (much as Optimus strove to be) but turned to violence due to constant state abuse, and even when he became a tyrant himself, he leans on ideals of freedom from oppression to justify himself. That leads into another point...

3. The two of them have mirror opposite arcs in this continuity. (For the sake of brevity, some things are simplified or glossed over.) Orion Pax began his life basically as one of the bad guys of the regime, but had his eyes opened thanks to Megatron, eventually became a figure of freedom stopping the oppression of organics, but then post-war started to fall to his own fatal flaw, and at the end of his life it was said of him that he may have caused more destruction than he prevented.

Meanwhile, Megatron began as an activist writer coming from an oppressed working class, grew hard under constant state abuse, then lost all attachments and embraced violence as a way of live, eventually becoming the very same type of tyrant he once swore to destroy. But at the end of his life, he did see the error of his ways and do his best to atone.

And JRO was the one who both 1. wrote Orion as a cop and 2. was basically the first writer who actually paid attention to Megatron Origin and put in effort to making it a part of the lore, so it’s plausible that this parallel was intended. Or at least, Barber’s additions as a writer made them parallels of each other.

A lot of people give Optimus shit in this continuity for being problematic, or fawn over Megatron for being “right all along,” but I think that both of them having highly tumultuous lives where they inspired great good and committed great evil is perfect for making them equal rivals as all good MegOP dynamics should be.

4. If you’re into stories with politics, reading (or writing) works that explore IDW1′s lore is rich for MegOP potential. Megatron and Optimus are both incredibly, incredibly political people. Their positions within Cybertronian society, the circumstances they met, and the reasons they became enemies are entirely based on the politics of the society they lived in. They are products of Cybertron. They are emblematic of Cybertron. Any romantic interpretation of them is super juicy because it means that they must resolve their political disputes and heal the wrongs that they (and their factions) have inflicted on each other, not just fall in love on personal terms. IDW MegOP romance is just extremely high stakes and complex. What’s not to love?

5. To go along with the previous points, Megatron and Optimus are both leaders with EXTREMELY big mistakes in their past. They’re both such charismatic figures that each of them basically built up an entire cult of personality around themselves. Of course, that means that all the atrocities of war ultimately fall onto their shoulders to be responsible for. Because of this, their sense of regret for their actions is equally strong-- AND I EMPHASIZE THIS POINT because if Megatron hadn’t started with pure activist intentions, and if Optimus hadn’t once been an enforcer of the regime, they wouldn’t have as high stakes to feel regret as they do! Megatron regrets how far from his original intentions he strayed. Optimus regrets the role (or lack thereof) he played, not doing enough to prevent the war from happening. They’re both full of so much fucking regret, but it gets lonely at the top. Who else can understand them but another person who is equally larger-than-life, equally flawed, and equally crushed by the fact that they spent their lives fighting a pointless war that they themselves could have stopped at any time?

6. Equality is a big part of the appeal of MegOP, and in IDW1, they’ve both wronged each other. In so many ways. Besides the fact that they were military enemies and have hurt/nearly killed each other in many ways, there’s also the personal level. Orion Pax seemingly listening to Megatron, only to become a state dog under Zeta. Megatron taking Damus and indoctrinating him into Tarn just to make a point to Optimus that “anyone can be turned.” Optimus making Megatron denounce the Decepticons. Megatron shooting Orion in the back after they defeated Zeta togther (also creating his own worst enemy in a very poetic irony kind of way).

These guys’ hands are so dirty, not just when it comes to war and politics, but to each other. Neither of them can truthfully claim to be a victim of the other. Both of them have to admit that they fucked up and did completely uncalled for stuff. I like the idea of an eventual romantic dynamic because love between them would mean reconciling and forgiving all of the things they’ve done to each other, politically and personally.

Anyways, that’s the big and heavy stuff, let’s go into more of the fluffy/romantic and possibly silly stuff.

7. Orion/Optimus SIMPS FOR MEGATRON SO FUCKING HARD IN IDW1 HOLY SHIT. This man stormed the Senate and quoted from Megatron’s essays after mere seconds of knowing him, he constantly praises Megatron’s name and words to basically everyone he’s friends with (Roller, Shockwave, etc). Hell, this dude literally threw out all sense of logic or propriety to put Megatron, a fucking convicted war criminal, on the fucking Lost Light just so that he could have his own redemption journey. I know Optimus attached contingencies, but still??? Under what circumstance is letting a genocidal dictator go free a good decision??? Because Optimus is fucking gay for him that’s why.

And let’s not forget about stuff like Megatron muttering Orion’s name/talking about him when he’s tired, the way he knew Optimus well enough to provoke him into hurting him with the VVH, the way that on the Lost Light he takes it as a high compliment to be compared to Orion Pax. IDW OP may be a simp, but let’s be honest, Megatron is just as interested in OP, he’s just better at controlling himself lmao.

8. In general, during the few times OP and Megatron get to talk to each other without trying to kill each other, they banter as if they’re old friends and just generally display comfortable familiarity. To the point that people like Prowl and Rodimus react with discomfort or disgust at how they’re enemies yet talk as if they’re friends, lmao. (Oh and of course there’s the phone call between past Orion and present Megatron in MTMTE.) Point is, they have really good personal chemistry. Also, tying back into the points made earlier, they’re both assholes so I think they would be comfortable criticizing/calling each other out. Which is what both of them need, because they’ve spent almost all their lives being worshipped and idolized. And who doesn’t like the “old married couple” bitchy-but-fond relationship dynamic?

9. Megatron used to be a poet and a writer, so he has the skills to send Optimus romantic poems and letters about how much he means to him. Or he could send scathing critiques of his life choices and call him an idiot. This is MegOP, so probably both. And then Optimus would argue with him right back, because Optimus is also well-spoken and snarky. Cranky old men expressing love via petty fighting and agreeable bickering/banter.

10. And honestly, they’re two big, bulky guys that look super tough and imposing. You have to admit that the visual aesthetic of two equally large, buff guys setting aside their violent ways to gently hold hands and kiss is just a nice mental image. And they’re both sexy as fuck whether you look at the Orion Pax frame and Gladiator Megatron, Bomber Megatron, phase 2 Optimus, MTMTE tank Megatron. Like, their designs are so good and they just look good together.

#squiggposting #megop #megaop #idw megop #anyways that's my fuckin rant ayyyyy #this is probably a mess but it made me happy in a depressing evening so #holy shit this is 1.5k words long #anyways it's serious and kinda shitposty so like i didn't cite all my sources and add screencaps or w/e #but this is my blog you know me by now

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cizzisblog · 3 years

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things that piss me off about dabi and fans’ reactions to this arc:

-Dabi is definitely, absolutely not justified in going after Shouto (who deserves none of this!! this boy deserves only love and support and some gotdamned therapy) ima just say that now.

-It’s also shitty of Dabi to say he didn’t care if Natsuo was hurt/killed.

-The canon characterization may very well be Dabi is so far down the path of revenge and has spent so long suffering alone away from his family members that he no longer cares for them/feels anything and is willing to proceed with plans to hurt Endeavor even if they are caught in the crossfire. However, I also feel it’s worth mentioning that right now, he very much seems to be caught up in a manic episode/meltdown/basically losing his shit. Think about it- he’s spent however many years plotting this moment and his chance to get revenge on his father and expose him to the world is finally here, and I think the likelihood that he’s saying whatever shit he thinks will hurt everyone the most is likely. That, or he’s so caught up in the mania he’s just lashing out at fucking everything. I think to some extent he means it, because he’s shown signs of being severely depressed and there’s a numbness that comes with that, but I also think deep down there is still some care there, even if small, or at least some acknowledgment that the other members of his family aren’t the main target and source of his suffering. He literally hasn’t seen them in years and it’s easy to say ‘I don’t care’ when it’s not to their faces. (Why send a tape specifically to Rei and keep track of her? Why not hurt Shouto at the summer camp when he so easily could have?) I think it’s also clear he didn’t mean to kill Endeavor with the previous Nomu attacks, but wanted him to succeed (in a ‘Build him up bigger so when I bring him down he falls even harder’ type of way. After all, Dabi obviously wanted to be the one to take down Endeavor, not a random Nomu.) Again, shitty he didn’t care that Natsuo/Shouto got caught up in it, but I think he didn’t think Natsuo would die due to Endeavor saving him. (Again, that doesn’t justify it, and is some twisted logic, but this is complicated.)

-I want to make very clear I’m not absolving Dabi of his actions, but as an abuse victim and someone who’s intimately familiar with familial abuse, his actual feelings do not make him a bad person and are actually more common than you’d think if you’ve never experienced abuse. When you’re suffering that kind of trauma for so long, you lash out at and feel angry at other people in the household, even other targets of abuse, because your abuser fucks you all up so bad and turns you against each other (even if not intentionally). It becomes a sick competition for attention even from a person who’s horrible and terrible. Dabi undoubtedly felt like he’d been thrown away and jealous of Shouto, the ‘perfect child’ Endeavor finally succeeded in getting (again, this doesn’t excuse him actually hating Shouto, but I can see why he might feel bitter). In a perfect world he would’ve dealt with those feelings with therapy and realized Shouto was just as much a victim and not murder attempts, but this is bnha lmao. Him wanting to hurt Shouto- a fucked up urge, but in a trauma-inducing environment as a mentally ill teenager, you can understand why he felt it. Acting on it is what’s truly fucked up. I also find it unlikely he doesn’t care for Natsuo at all. Natsuo, who he went to specifically for comfort for his whole childhood, not even his mother but his brother?

-At first glance, it may seem many “fanon” interpretations of Dabi are now ‘invalid’ or whatever but I disagree. Sure, we do know that he wasn’t secretly skulking about watching out for his siblings from the shadows- clearly. But narratives that involve him reconnecting with his siblings, remembering or learning to care for them again, realizing he’s hurting them and he isn’t the only one with trauma, reconnecting with his want to protect them as his family, etc. still make sense. People are not static. They still hold the capacity for change and healing given the proper circumstances. Most fanfic are AUs, given they don’t follow canon exactly and word for word, and characters can make different decisions and feel differently if different events happen. Even if you do want to write a very different characterization for Dabi, that’s fine, especially if bnha ultimately ends up doing the whole Todoroki narrative dirty.

-In conclusion: yes, currently Dabi is acting a madman and doing some very reprehensible things. He is a severely traumatized individual who grew up in a home involving copious amounts of violence. However, I do not think the point of all this family drama is just to say “fuck it, Touya’s dead now he was too far gone whoops! But heroes are good anyway!” I think it’s likely we’ll get some scene with him arrested and being confronted by Rei or Natsuo or something along those lines and see some regret. (Why spend so much time on this arc and show their reactions if they aren’t going to be involved at all?) Simultaneously, it’s also possible the story will go the “he’s too far gone” route and basically have him end up as a mirror of Endeavor: so obsessed with his own trauma he threw his own family under the bus for his own revenge plan. While possible, I think that’s a shitty and lazy way to go and disrespectful to Touya himself as an abuse survivor. He is definitely extremely deep in his revenge right now, but I do not want that to be the end of his character.

-I want Dabi to have to face up to his own actions. I want him to realize he fucked up and hurt people he shouldn’t have. I don’t think we’ll get some mushy apology montage, but we have not once seen all the Todoroki siblings together at one time, and I want Dabi to have to deal with the repercussions of seeing his family again and realizing oh, they were never the ones I should have hurt, and I don’t think he’s too far gone to do that.

-I think it’ll be really shitty if Dabi, an abuse survivor, is ultimately depicted as the insane lunatic that needs to be put down and has no chance for any kind of redemption while his abuser who bought his wife for eugenics and neglected/abused his entire family gets to walk free with a shitty redemption arc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware Dabi is a villain and as such is going to be on the losing side in a story where heroes win (I mean, it’s technically all a flashback from number one hero Deku) but he still has very valid points about hero society and how fucked up Endeavor truly was, and throwing it all away would be such a cop out. If bnha does truly go with the most insulting route for Dabi I feel it shows a lack of understanding for abuse and abuse survivors and fanfic authors are justified in ignoring and changing that for fics, especially if they’re abuse survivors themselves. I guarantee they’ll write better narratives about abuse lmao.

-Lastly: Dabi is a morally grey character. He’s a villain. But people who like his character or want to look at the why and how of his actions in a nuanced way are not just ‘dumb villain stans’ or whatever weird shit the bnha fandom has come up with. We just want this narrative to actually make some goddamned sense. Dabi’s actions are not all justified but do make sense in the context of his backstory and motivations and current mental state, I just hope to god hori doesn’t ruin it completely from here.

Edit: this post is also highly likely imo and also explains Dabi’s behavior (but as a reminder for those who don’t read closely, explaining something is not the same thing as justifying it.) “I can’t feel anything anymore” is a hallmark of being depressed/suicidal and his supposedly not caring for his siblings anymore most likely has to do more with his own suicidal state than aggression towards them. Dabi acting as manic as he has these last few chapters makes sense if he isn’t planning on living.

#dabi #Todoroki Touya #bnha #Touya #bnha 292 #Todoroki #touya todoroki #bnha spoilers #character meta

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furiousgoldfish · 4 years

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I’ve gotten several requests to describe how to recognize abuse in yourself and be sure you don’t become like your parents, so I’ll try to explain more about circumstances that abuse is most likely to happen in.

First thing to understand about abuse is that it comes from power imbalance. For instance, parents always have power over kids, as they control their living conditions, finances, food, level of care, often even life choices. In similar ways, bosses have power over employees, teachers over students, authority figures over regular people, in all cases the person with less power has a lot more to lose and is prevented from just walking away and escaping abuse. You can, however, abuse your siblings, friends, peers, if they’re outnumbered, stigmatized, struggling with trauma, disability, emotionally unwilling or unable to fight back, or belong to a demographic that is socially villified and easy to attack based on their appearance, intelligence, race, ethnicity, sex, orientation, gender.

Abuse happens in a circumstance where the victim cannot safely fight back, or escape, it can be brought by emotional manipulation or attachment to abuser, or by socioeconomic factors: they’re in the same family, class, work group, or friend group, they might lose their social circle, safety, money, security of home and family if they fight back, they might be physically unable to fight back, too scared, guilted into thinking abuser is right to do it, or groomed to accept abuse without even realizing it, meaning they wont even be aware they’re getting hurt, and seemingly participate willingly.

A lot of abuse is normalized, especially towards vulnerable demographics, trauma victims, social outcasts, disabled or otherwise people who don’t match into the ‘norm’, so it’s good to check on yourself and see if you consider that any type of people on this earth is deserving less than human rights, less than safety and acceptance, help and understanding for their struggles, and whatever they need to have a happy, fulfilled life. (abusers don’t count here, as they already take these rights from others they relinquish their own).

Any type of dehumanization of others is abuse, so if you consider some people in your life only good to be used by you, to be lashed out on, punished when they don’t please you, suffer if they as much as reject to do as you say, then you’re likely to abuse them. Abuse can be dona via insults, lashing out, degrading, convincing someone they have no value in both overt and subtle ways (cruel jokes and implications), isolating them from support, spreading lies, threatening and intimidating behaviour, blackmailing, unwanted physical contact, violence, sexual abuse. It can also be done under guise of befriending someone only to groom them and take advantage of them, teaching an inexperienced or vulnerable person to do things in your favour when it’s harmful for them, demanding favours you never intend to return, taking maximum advantage of their compassion and kind heart only to exploit and abandon them. Or else, threatening to hurt yourself and putting your pain as the reason they should sacrifice their boundaries and do whatever you want. Victims who are already trying hard to please everyone, who are scared of being unwanted and abandoned are particularly vulnerable to this type of abuse, and likely to be traumatized by it.

If you make a habit of provoking and triggering people for your amusement, and fail to care how much it hurts the targets, then you are acting out in abusive way. If you can easily find excuses to lash out your anger onto someone who didn’t deserve it, or enjoy seeing someone in pain after they said no to you, then you’re the problem. Feeling like you have the right to punish others when they disobey you, like people who “fall” for your lies and manipulations are stupid and deserve it for being naive, feeling justified in ‘revising’ past events if they make you look bad and convincing others their memory is false, makes you an abuser. Also, feeling justified in ‘making others suffer the way you have suffered, throwing guilt at others for not surviving what you did, imagining the status of victim should come with privileges over other people and not regretting if you push your pain on someone who can’t handle it, also abuse.

There’s much more I didn’t mention here, but any kind of repeated harm is abuse when done to person who cannot safely retalliate and return it in kind. Abusers almost always pick victims who cannot fight back, and are unable and unlikely to tell on them.

If you grew up abused, there Is a chance you spent your life surrounded by toxic people and had no healthy references for supportive and kind behaviour; in these cases it’s normal to pick up some toxic ideas and concepts, like “insults and dehumanization are done to toughen someone up!” or “it’s normal to lash out and use slurs and it’s part of love” or “brutal honesty where you jab at someone’s worst insecurity and make them feel worthless is actually good”. These are all, of course, nonsense that abusers say because they need excuses for their rabid sadism. All of these can be unlearned and as you reach maturity, you should be able to tell they’re not okay when they’re done to you, or anyone else. As a kid it’s extremely difficult to know better, kids imitate any kind of behaviour without ability of analyzing it, so if you’re still growing and ready to fight back against the way you’ve been raised, you’ll be fine.

However, if you’re determined to find people who are “worse" than you so you’d have a good excuse subjugating and controlling them, and to be able to say they 'deserved’ it, then you have a problem. Taking pleasure in dehumanizing a group of people or an isolated individual, isn’t normal.

If you’re reading this as a person who is just terrified into growing up as abusive as your parents, you’re most likely fine. Abusers aren’t terrified of being hurtful, they’re only scared of looking bad while they do it. Most abusers do not come from history of abuse, but from history of entitlement, power and lack of consequences for their hurtful actions. Considering themselves more important than anyone else is what enables them to trample on human lives and feel nothing. Even if you picked up a bad habit or two from abusers, these are called “fleas” and they generally disappear as soon as you get yourself in a safe, loving community.

#abuse #child abuse #trauma #cptsd #ptsd #abusers #toxic parents #recognizing abuse #abusive behaviour

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

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Hi! I've been in the Hannibal fandom for two years now. Rewatched the show many times and yet Will Graham still confuses me like no one else. Hannibal's design is complex but somewhat understandable after watching the show again again. But Will's design is like a loophole. He can empathise with the killers. That means he can understand them. If he can understand them then why does it feel good for him to kill them? How does it work for him exactly. Does he feel for the killers? If he felt for the killers then what about his violent tendencies towards them?

I've always thought that he is like a God. A God of the killers. The killers offer him their design and he takes sacrifice in return of understanding. But how does his psyche work exactly?

Hello! Oh yes, Will is a very confusing character - it’s his defining trait, and I think that’s because he lies to himself, to others, and to us as an audience. He wants one thing, wants to want another thing, does the third thing, and making sense of it is a complex process.

I think Will’s empathy is a big red herring. I agree with Freddie here: he understands killers because he’s one. He has an almost supernatural gift that helps him recreate the situations almost exactly as they happened. He understands what motivates killers, he might sympathize with them, but I think he might also envy them their freedom to be what they are. They are a reminder of what he is and what he can’t allow himself to have. But most importantly, they are a way for Will to find a compromise with himself and feel better about his true self. Killing bad people is an excuse to justify his darkness, but I don’t think it’s a part of his design per se.

I agree with you that Will is like a God - he and Hannibal both are. That’s one of the things that separates them from others and elevates them above everyone else. Let’s make an overview of Will’s victims.

1) Hobbs. Hobbs was a monster and Will killed him. But it wasn’t about justice and righteousness, not according to him. Killing a person and feeling pleased that you saved someone versus liking the act of killing itself are drastically different things. Many police officers have to kill in their line of duty. Very few of them get off on the act of murder. Those who do are killers, and they are especially dangerous if they immediately try to follow it up with another murder. Will never once says he liked killing Hobbs because he made this world better. When asked, he says that he felt a sense of power. This is a motivation of many actual serial killers. If Will was just glad that he saved Abigail, he would know it's normal. He wouldn't have been almost on the verge of a break-down and haunted by Hobbs. So it’s not about helping others, it's about murder, even if the victim was a monster.

2) Stammets. Will had no reason to try to kill him (which he admits to doing). Based on his and Hannibal’s talk, he understands that he just wanted to feel what he felt after killing Hobbs, and this makes him panic. So again, no someone. He’s chasing the high of killing someone, and Stammets is the most appropriate victim.

3) Ingram. On the surface, it looks like Will wanted to avenge Peter and himself by proxy, hence pulling the trigger on Ingram. However, after Hannibal manages to stop him, days later, Will complains about losing a chance to feel how he felt when killing Hobbs. Murder high is his main motivation again - everything else is background or an excuse, depending on your reading.

4) Randall. Will threw away the gun on purpose to make the murder more intimate. This is not about justice and this is not about protecting himself because by doing this, he reduced his chances. Will also beat Randall up until he wasn't moving. There was no reason to snap his neck. Mutilation, cannibalism that followed, keeping his suit, admitting he enjoyed the murder and calling it his design - this is about murder and WIll’s love for it primarily. The design part is especially important: based on it, we can conclude that Will loves a performance just like Hannibal.

4) Chiyoh and her prisoner who Will set up. Chiyoh was innocent and didn't deserve to die. Her prisoner might not have been guilty - in fact, Will was the one to suggest that, and yet Will still set him up. It was a game and he was an observer - he lied in waiting for Chiyoh’s scream. He then turned the body of a losing party into art. Very creepy and very like Hannibal.

5) Chilton. Will clearly explained his motivation: he wanted Chilton to pay just because he wanted to be famous and messed with Hannibal by writing his ridiculous book. Will showed no remorse and admitted he did it on purpose.

6) Police officers he set up to be killed by cooperating with Francis. The ones he stepped over without a second look. They were innocent and they were a collateral damage. Will is a cruel God who doesn’t bother with mere mortals as long as it fits his purpose. In this case, his purpose was freeing Hannibal. Everything else was still a blur in his mind.

7) Francis. Enjoyed the murder, admired the blood, called the situation beautiful.

8) Bedelia. She's innocent in comparison to Will and his body count. If Will faced no repercussions and continued getting more and more people killed, she had every right to go free. But God doesn’t have to be fair, and Will proves it by targeting her.

What does it all say about Will’s design and philosophy? Apart from Godlike attributes and indifference toward collateral damage, I think Will is led by his bloodlust - he just tends to control it and direct it at specific targets.

Will might prefer to kill “bad people” in the first two seasons, but it’s the process of murder that excites him. So I see his righteous choices as a preference that helps him justify his dark nature partly, not the core reason for his violence. Hannibal seems to be moved by his interest in human nature and his hunter instinct, but Will, I think, is a truer killer because he actually feels drunk on murder. Unlike Hannibal, he looks downright euphoric when/after he kills Randall and Francis. In TWOTL, Hannibal is more focused on the fact that his dream came true and he and Will killed someone together, but Will seems primarily caught up in the murder after-shocks themselves. Hannibal thinks about Will, Will thinks about how beautiful blood looks under the moonlight.

So, post Fall, I believe that at first, Will will stick to killing bad people like murderers, but once some times passes, his need for justifications will fade. He’ll move on to rude people, only his rude will differ from Hannibal’s. Hannibal doesn’t differentiate between genders and ages, but I think Will will. He’s interested in a feeling of power, like he himself says, in a sense of dominance, so he’ll look forward to a fight. He won’t be interested in attacking a teenager like Cassie, for instance, because the power imbalance is too prominent. But as soon as someone more equal does something Will heavily dislikes, something that wakes his bloodlust (a personal insult, physical or verbal abuse toward other people/animals, etc.), he’ll attack. He’ll be careful - he knows how to avoid being caught, but it will still be unpredictable and passionate. Will is a storm to Hannibal’s calm.

Then there is unpredictability. Hannibal tends to plan everything methodically. The only times we see him being impulsive is in Europe, where he’s descending into self-destructive mode, so it’s not a norm for him. For Will, though? Will consists of unpredictability, and Hannibal is fascinated by it.I think Will is going to kill when an impulse strikes. For example, he might go shopping, without having any dark plans, and end up murdering someone because the circumstances pushed some unfortunate soul onto his path. Will might or might not display the body depending on his mood. Today he can be in an artistic mood, but tomorrow he’ll be in a violent and impatient one, wanting to destroy the body entirely and leaving a total mess behind.

How Will would prefer to kill? In my opinion, in an intimate way. It doesn’t mean he’ll be weaponless, but something like a knife would fit his tastes well. He’d be able to feel it plunge into his victim’s body, tearing through skin and muscles, etc. - personal and intimate. Akin to what he did with Francis - his feral half-snarl, the way he paused after stabbing him before opening him up - it was dark and mesmerizing. Will might get into strangling, too, because it takes a lot of time and it is even more intimate. It might end up being his favorite. So, I can see him using his hands or small weapons to fully sense what he’s doing to a victim. This is something that he has in common with Hannibal because from what we saw, Hannibal also enjoys more intimate and prolonged murders that give him a glimpse into a person’s pain and struggle for life.

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta

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eleutheramina · 3 years

Text

The Whale Star Thoughts

Read the English translations / tried my best to understand the Korean of the manhwa The Whale Star / The Gyeongseong Mermaid (up to the most recently released chapter) and wanted to process it - spoilers under the cut.

First off, since only about the first 39 chapters or so are translated into English, my understanding of the events after that is much spottier, but I think I was able to follow the main character dynamics and plot points. I also didn’t know much about the Japanese occupation of Korea beforehand (and still don’t know a ton now beyond what’s touched on in the manhwa).

Regardless, I can say even without knowing Korean that the art is gorgeous with great colors, lighting, and details; the characters are fleshed out well and the women play prominent roles; and the motifs of the Little Mermaid, the ocean, being a fish are used beautifully and compellingly. For example, I loved how the water which Yoonhwa is that allows Soo-a to breathe is described to be living in is “poison” in ch 14 - I think referring to the patriarchy that resulted in Yoonhwa’s treatment and also how even someone from a high status, Japanese-pleasing family like her is still susceptible to the toxic impact of Japanese occupation.

Though to be honest, the main reason I’m writing is the process the character Haesoo, whom I didn’t think too much of initially but eventually became the most interesting character to me. He clearly has lived an extremely sad life and feels the effects of the trauma inflicted throughout the fight for Korean independence keenly. He’s a great foil to Eui-hyeon - arguably more morally gray, more viscerally/personally traumatized by violence - which I think results in the “fear” that Haesoo admits to feeling before their mission that Eui-hyeon does not. While Eui-hyeon teaches Soo-a how to read and write, Haesoo teaches her how to use a weapon. Soo-a seems to trust Eui-hyeon implicitly while having a very justified aversion to Haesoo, and she’s driven throughout the story by both her feelings for the former and her desire to get revenge against the latter.

And I can’t not mention how the Haesoo and Soo-a relationship is rich and complicated. While not entirely surprising, I did not expect Haesoo to develop feelings for Soo-a in the way he clearly does. Even though I started the story mostly invested in the development between Soo-a and Eui-hyeon, and it’s clearly the more mutual, healthier relationship and isn’t short of thematic richness, I ended up wishing for more interactions between Haesoo and Soo-a (even though I knew it was never going to be a thing and probably shouldn’t in the narrative).

Haesoo, of course, poisoned Soo-a, leaving her voiceless and traumatized. Soo-a understandably feels very on edge around him and tries to attack him when she sees him again for the first time. Haesoo also didn’t leave the experience without any scars, clearly feeling haunted himself for poisoning her even if he knows he would make the same decision again.

I like how a recurring theme in their relationship is Haesoo being ready to die and Soo-a forcing/urging him to live - stopping Haesoo from taking the poison, carrying his wounded body to the monk’s place, yelling at him when he says he wants to rest. “Why do people throw their lives away so easily?” Soo-a asks, and I think it’s a well-established part of her character that she values life - she expresses great sorrow over the dead whale and urges the doctor to help Eui-hyeon.

It’s significant and shows Haesoo’s growth that his last words to Soo-a are asking her to live.

Now, it is indeed hard to see them as a healthy, feasible couple without a lot of development in fanfiction land (and also without Eui-hyeon out of the picture in some way), but I think it could be fun to write about their dynamic, which is certainly less wholesome and sweet than Eui-hyeon and Soo-a’s is, but I think still with care and respect (for the most part aha).

I also find myself dwelling a lot on the monologue Haesoo has leading up to his death - especially the thought that Haesoo has about wondering about how he would have made the same choice if he had met Soo-a again in the same circumstance, and ultimately rejecting the idea of him owing his life to her like Eui-hyeon did in favor of the time in the mountain in the winter they shared together. (I think represented in the different fairy tales evoked for them - Little Mermaid vs Snow Maiden).

“If I could go back to the mountain where I spent the winter with you, that’d be good.”

Part of me is just a sucker for any time a character wistfully says something like “I wish we could just go back to X time/location,” but I think it is also heartwarming that toward the end of his life, for someone who suffered so much tragedy and hardship and brushed with death on multiple occasions, he still ultimately really treasured his relationship with Soo-a and the brief period of time they were together.

I also find his final scene -- “waking up from a dream” in Yeonhaejoo with his brother Haeyoung and surrogate little sister Nokjoo beautifully tragic and fitting. I found it strange that we don’t see much of Haesoo mourning or generally thinking about Nokjoo after her death (unless there is more in the latter half of the series that I missed because of not understanding the Korean), especially compared to Soo-a who has known her for much less time. Of course, it’s clear he’s upset when she dies and he thinks of her when he breaks down in tears in front of Soo-a, but I wonder if part of his lack of thinking about it overtly can be explained by how much he acts toward her like he’s not secretly part of a dangerous Korean independence organization and tries to preserve her innocence as much as possible; i.e., he still mostly associates her with Yeonhaejoo.

In the end, his last line is about his dream being in Joseon, which obviously refers to the physical location where he spent his life after leaving Yeonhaejoo, but also I think could refer to Soo-a, who is often representative of Joseon as a whole.

#the whale star #the gyeongseong mermaid #gorae byul

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beskarhearts · 3 years

Text

The Passenger (Din Djarin x reader)

gif credits @bestintheparsec

Connection series Pt. 14

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, canon typical violence/death, ~sexual tension~

Word count: over 11K

Summary: A new passenger joins the Razor Crest crew.

Notes: As always, I hope everyone enjoys this! Please tell me what you all think, your opinions/predictions, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (also I didn’t edit this as thoroughly as I usually do but I promise I will later when I have time!!)

Previous Part ____ Next Part

_______________________________________

You looked over at Din and scoffed, placing your arms over your chest as you watch him stumble besides you. “You really should of let me carry something.”

“I am fine.”

“How about I grab a couple of bags to carry?”

“No.”

“You are being stubborn.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m being a gentlemen.”

“A gentlemen wouldn’t be covered in dried Krayt Dragon venom and saliva and goo.” you chirped back and Din sighed. “Although it is quite the look for you.”

Ever since the three of you had been stopped by those scavengers and the speeder bike was destroyed, Din had insisted on carrying everything. The man was so stubborn he tried to carry the child but you had demanded he stay in the pouch on your side. Otherwise, Din was precariously balancing everything you guys had on the bike, hanging bags off a rifle of his which he held on his shoulders. Din was strong but he had been walking like this for hours and it was simply getting ridiculous.

“You know, I am pretty strong. I think I can handle a couple bags.” you said, looking over at him but his head remained aimed straight ahead as he walked through the town. The three of you had just made it back to Mos Eisley and it was now night, the stars twinkling above and the heavy suns of the planet long gone.

“Well, we are here so you don’t need to worry.” Din said, stopping in his tracks as you made it to a cantina.

You looked over at Din and gave him a teasing smirk. “If you are trying to buy me a drink, you should have just said so.”

Din sighed and looked down at you. “Motto will be here.”

“How do you know?” you asked, peering into the doorway of the cantina and not finding her upon first glance.

“She loves to gamble.”

Din walked into the building after that and you followed. Sure enough, Peli was sat in a booth in the back. As you neared, you found an insectoid creature of some kind sat across from her and the pair were intensely focused on a game of Sabacc. You smiled when you saw the cards, remembering how your grandmother had loved playing the game so much and had taught you how to not only play it, but win.

Din made his way to the table, a hulking figure who stood above the two. The insectoid seemed to notice his presence but Peli on the other hand was staring at the board with so much focus that it made you chuckle quietly to yourself.

“I don’t know. Looks like someone’s gonna be goin’ home empty-handed.“ Peli said to the creature across from her. She finally looked up and seemed to notice you and the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as she looked over all the stuff he held. Her eyes landed on the helmet and she scoffed. “You finally found a Mandalorian and you killed him?”

“He wasn’t Mandalorian. I bought this armor off of him, though.” Din replied.

“What’d that set you back?” Peli asked inquisitively.

“Oh, just killing a Krayt Dragon. No biggie. He only got swallowed whole by it. Real piece of cake.” you sarcastically said.

Peli raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Is that all?”

“Yeah. Didn’t realize getting it would be so easy. It was practically a vacation.” you mumbled and Peli chuckled at that.

“He was my last lead on finding other Mandalorians.” Din justified.

Before Peli or you had the chance to make another sarcastic comment, the creature began speaking in his native tongue. Peli looked over at him and listened before turning back to the two of you. “Okay. Well, you might be in luck. Dr. Mandible here says he can connect you with someone who can help you, if you cover his call this round. It’s what he said.”

Din looked down at the board and sighed. “What’s the bet?”

“Five hundred.”

Din looked over at you, as if saying ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’. You looked back at the table and inspected the cards. It wasn’t obvious at a first glance but if you really studied where everything was, Peli had the upper hand. As long as the creature didn’t notice the play she was making, she would probably have it.

“That’s a high stakes game.” Din noted.

“Hey, he’s on a winning streak.” Peli said. You raised an eyebrow and looked at her. She gave you a lazy grin, knowing you could see what she was playing at.

Din let out a sigh as the creature began speaking again, the child on your side joining in on the conversation with a small coo. Din reached into his pockets and dropped the credits on the table. You couldn’t help but to silently giggle at the situation. You probably should of warned him so he wasn’t loosing out on credits, but you had to admire Peli.

“Is the pot right?” Peli asked and the creature responded. Peli smirked before putting her card on the table - an Idiot’s Array - and she gave a big, greedy grin. “Ha! Idiot’s Array! Pay up, thorax!”

Din grunted and you couldn’t help to laugh. “I thought you said he was on a winning streak?”

“Oh. Stop your cryin’. You’ll rust.” Peli scoulded.

You let out a big belly laugh at that and Din looked over at you. “You knew?”

You shyly chuckled. “I admire Peli’s initiative. What can I say? Also, we ruined that speeder she gave us so...”

“My speeder is ruined?” Peli asked, her nonexistent eyebrows shooting up to the top of her head.

“You mean the speeder I gave you?” Din asked, tilting her helmet at her. She rolled her eyes and gathered her winnings.

Dr. Mandible spoke again and Peli once again translated. “All right. He says the contact will rendezvous at the hangar.” He added more and Peli continued. “They’ll tell you where to find some Mandalorians. That’s what you wanted, right? All right, well, stop your mopin’. More importantly, did you bring back any of that dragon meat? Better not have any maggots on it. I don’t like maggots.”

You raised an eyebrow and made a disgusted face. “You are going to eat that?”

“Not to sound crude, but there isn’t much I wouldn’t eat. And roasted Krayt Dragon is delicious.” Peli said, looking satisfied at the mere thought of some food. “Also, your kid looks thrilled by the thought as well so don’t be too judgy.”

You looked down at the child, who was admiring the meat that hung off Din’s pack with a slightly awestruck expression, like he was looking at the most beautiful creature. You gave a small chuckle and pat his head, which he cooed to. “Let’s get you some food, kid.”

__________________

The child now looked like he was in love as he watched the dragon meat being roasted by a droid above a fire, which was dripping juices which the child eagerly looked at. You gave a small laugh as he cooed at it, his stubby hands reaching out.

Peli made her way through the door, looking at the droid that was cooking it. “Hey, don’t overcook it, Treadwell! I like it medium rare! I’m not some Rodian, for crying out loud.”

You chuckled as you looked up at Peli, who now faced you and Din. “All right, here’s the deal. A Mandalorian covert is close. It’s in this sector, one system trailing.”

“Are they the ones that left Nevarro?” Din asked.

Peli shrugged. “Don’t know. All I know is that the contact will lead you to them.”

“And what will this cost us? And don’t you dare say we have to kill something or I’ll lose it.” you said.

“Well, that’s the great news. It’s free. Aside from a finder’s fee, of course.” Peli said confidently but you couldn’t help but to notice a weariness from her which caused you to raise your eyebrow.

“What’s the not-great news?” Din asked, seeming just as hesitant as you were.

“Nothing. It’s all great.”

You let out a loud laugh, more like a bark. “Oh, please. The last time something went great for us was...well... Now that I think about it, never.”

“Well, there is one small skank in the scud pie.” Peli hesitantly said, giving you a look you couldn’t quite place.

“Bingo.” you muttered under your breath.

“Which is?” Din asked.

“The contact wants passage to the system.” Peli said.

You raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Do you vouch for them?” Din asked.

“On my life.” Peli said plainly.

Din looked over at you and you let out a sigh. You wanted to be in the ship, just with him and the kid. Try to ignore the mad journey the three of you were on and be alone with Din. But, if this got you where you had to be, so be it. “Fine.” you mumbled.

Din sighed again and went to turn until Peli’s voice broke out again.

“And...no hyperdrive.“

Your head shot up and you looked at Peli with an expression of absolute bewilderment. “What?”

“You want me to travel sublight? Deal’s off.”

Peli huffed at his definitive answer. “It’s one sector over.” she justified but Din shook his head.

“Moving fast is the only thing keeping us safe.” Din explained and you nodded in agreement.

“We might as well just turn ourselves in.” you said but Peli looked exasperated, not seeming to care about your explanation. “Why do we need to travel sublight anyways?”

“These are mitigating circumstances.“

“What do you mean ‘mitigating’?” Din asks.

Motto simply turns around as a creature begins to walk through the door, letting out a croak as she saw you. It was a frog-like creature with two big eyes that stared at the four of you. Her skin was a blend of pinks and purples, and you couldn’t help but to feel your heart soften up as you saw what she had. On her back was a large tank that looked entirely too heavy, filled with what looked like orange eggs that bobbed in the glowing blue liquid within it. She walked over to where you were, seeming to almost smile as she looked between you and Din and Motto.

Din puts his hands on his hips, tilting his helmet to the side and down to look at Peli. “I’m not a taxi service.”

You couldn’t help but to gasp and swat a hand into his shoulder. He looked over at you and you shook your head at him. “What does she need?” you ask.

The lady begins to speak to Motto, who nods. “What is the cargo?” Din asked.

Peli turns to the frog woman, speaking in her language. The woman responds emphatically and you nod along even though you don’t understand a word she is saying. “It’s her spawn. She needs her eggs fertilized by the equinox or her line will end. If you jump into hyperspace, they’ll die. She said her husband has settled on the estuary moon of Trask in the system of the gas giant Kol Iben.”

“She said all of that?” Din said with speculation.

“I paraphrased.” Peli offered with a shrug.

“And she knows there are Mandalorians there?” you asked. You already knew deep down that you needed to help her. She had a tank full of offspring that held the key to her line’s survival. You weren’t technically a mother, but you could identify with her desperate need to protect her children and get them to where they needed to be, before it was too late.

The two women communicated before Peli turned to you. “She said her husband has seen them.”

You nodded, thinking that was enough of a reason to justify bringing her but Din continued. “Do you know the husband?”

“No. I just met her ten minutes before you walked in.” Peli said as if it was the most obvious thing. Meanwhile a droid moved up to her with a plate of meat which she grabbed with a grin.

“I thought you said you vouched for her on your life.” Din sarcastically responded.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an excellent judge of character. That’s why I like this girlfriend on yours.” She grabbed the meat with her hands and placed it in her mouth, her teeth gnawing and tearing away at it. You smiled down at her, letting out a small giggle at her words.

“We can’t.”

Your head once against shot up to look at Din and you huffed. “Watch the kid, Peli.” You said before grabbing onto his arm and dragging him away from the creature and Peli, behind the ship so you two could be hidden away. “Din Djarin!” you whispered and he looked down at you, helmet tilted in confusion.

“What?” he asked and you shook your head in disbelief.

“We need to help that lady.” you said, completely exasperated by the fact that you had to even explain this concept.

“You want us to travel sublight?” Din asked incredulously, like you were saying the stupidest thing in the galaxy.

“The survival of her line is at stake. She has a container full of her potential offspring in there!” You threw your hands up.

“And I’ve got a child and riddur to protect!” He said.

You suddenly froze, your eyebrows shooting up and anger dissipating. “W-what did you just say?” you mumbled and you could feel Din’s whole body lock up with realization.

“I said I have a child and cyar’ika to protect.” He lied dumbly, his hand nervously going to his hips.

“No, you said-”

“We can’t take her.” He interrupted but your mind was still whirring from what you swore you heard him say. You took a moment to calm down your racing heart and focus back on what you were saying.

“We can, technically. And we should, morally.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“But not impossible.” you countered back.

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

“No offense sir, but you are the one who crawled into a Krayt dragons mouth so who here as a tendency to almost get killed?” You sarcastically responded.

Din grunted and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I have a good feeling about this. We can help her and find other Mandalorians. This sounds like a great compromise to me.” You explained and Din sighed. You tried to hold back a smile, not wanting him to know how pleased you were. You could feel him caving in and you knew deep down he would say yes. Din might be a tough Mandalorian, but he was a secret softie deep down and you knew he would always do the right thing.

“Sweet one...” He mumbled and you shot your hands up in victory, wrapping them around his neck to pull him into a tight hug.

“Yes! Thank you!” You whispered as his hands landed on your hips, pulling you away slightly so he could look down at you.

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Oh, please. You surrender. Let’s go let our new friend know!” You excitedly said, trying to turn away but Din’s grip on you remained strong. You looked over at him with confusion. “Din, we should go.”

“We won’t be alone for a while so just give me a minute.”

You shoulders sagged a little at the realization. You and Din hadn’t really had a moment of isolation together in days. You had either been in the middle of nowhere or with Tuskens or with Cobb. No opportunity to be completely comfortable with each other. Now that you thought about it, you had only kissed him once in the last few days. “Oh.”

“We were supposed to be alone after this. Just you, me, and the kid on the Crest.” Din said as he leaned his helmet against your forehead.

“And we will be soon. This will just take a couple days.” You whispered back at him, trying to find some optimism.

Din suddenly squeezed on your hip a little tighter and made you stumble back so you were pressed into the side of the Crest. He leaned into you, his chest plate rubbing against your front. You could feel the rise and fall of each breath he took and it filled you with peace. This wasn’t skin-to-skin contact but it was as close as you had gotten to it in days and it seemed to wake some uncontrollable urge in you. “You said all we had to do was kill the Krayt Dragon and then...” he trailed off purposely, allowing you to remember the moment outside your tents that night. The need you had felt for him and the desperation in his voice.

“You should have known nothing goes according to plan for us.” You muttered and Din pressed into you tighter, causing you to gasp. His helmet dipped down into your neck and you lifted your head up, letting out a small noise at the contact.

“I need you.” You wondered if he meant for you to hear it with how quiet he was but you did and the words sent a shiver down your spine. You brought your hands up to hold onto his shoulders, just clasping onto the beskar that covered them but it felt good to hold him in your hands.

“Din, we need-” your words got caught in your throat as his hands began to drift down, so slowly you barely detected it. “Damn it, Din.” you huffed, starting to get irritated with the effect he had on you.

“What’s wrong, sweet one?” you rolled your eyes at the way he was acting. Like he didn’t know what he did to you.

“Shut up and stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Touching me.” you hissed but Din’s hand started to drift behind you and down.

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

“Yes, I do. But right now is not the time.” He hands rested on the lowest portion of your back and he began to lift the fabric of your shirt up, his gloved hands now planting onto your skin. You hissed at the contact and tried your best to look away from him but he just stared down at you.

“Maybe it is...”

“Din.” you whispered softly.

“Hey, what are you two doing back there?” You and Din jumped away quickly as Peli rounded the corner, looking at you two with a new hunk of meat held in her hands. She seemed to take no notice of the way your skin was flushed or how your shirt now rested a little higher than it had been before. Didn’t see the way your chest heaved and Din’s moved a little quicker than it had before with each breath. Instead she just took a big bite out of her food and looked between you two, mumbling her words through the food in her mouth. “Did you decide?”

Din sighed and looked over at you, as if hoping you could change your mind because of what just happened. Instead you looked away from him and nodded firmly. “Tell that friend of yours we leave soon.”

____________

“Now, I’m gonna ask you to stay strapped in whenever you’re seated. Traveling sublight is a bit dicey these days. Whether it’s pirates or warlords, someone either ends up with a nice chunk of change, or your ship.” Din told the woman who was now sat in the passenger seat where you normally were. You stood in the cockpit now, having offered the seat to her since she had been carrying the tank full of eggs, which now sat in the hull of the ship where the child rested. The frog lady began to speak in her language and you looked over at Din, hoping he was catching it.

“I don’t speak whatever language that is. You speak...Huttese?” He asked and followed it with something in another language that sounded similar to hers but by no means the same. She just stared at him blankly, not understanding a lick of what he spoke. Din looked over at you and you shrugged.

“Sorry. I don’t know frog. Skipped that class.” You responded and Din turned, flicking a switch on the dashboard and sighing.

“So, I’m gonna hit the rack. I’ve set the nav for our course. It’s gonna take a while. I recommend you get some rest.“ He explained to the new passenger and you couldn’t help but to smile. He knew she probably didn’t understand a word but he still explained everything to her, treated her like a person and not a hassle.

Din stood from his seat, heading down the ladder of the ship. You looked at the woman before following him down and gave her a warm smile. “I promise he is a big softie.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” You heard from the hull of the ship and you and the frog woman both looked in the direction of the sound. She started to rise from her seat but you held a hand up.

“It’s okay. Stay here. I’m sure he is just being grumpy or something.” You had no clue what was happening but if it was worrying Din, it wasn’t good. At all. You nervously chuckled before shimmying down the ladder and jumping down into the hull. You looked over at where Din stood hovering above the child.

Your eyes widened at the sight before you. The child was stood right next to the tank full of eggs and held one in his hand, staring at Din as he slurped one of the orange balls right up. “No!” you let out.

Din bended down quickly, closing the lid of the tank and grabbing the child who looked up at you two innocently, as if he wasn’t committing genocide. “That is not food.” Din sternly told him but the child seemed to take no care or notice.

“Oh my god, the kid ate a child.” You murmured quietly so the woman in the cockpit couldn’t hear.

“Technically it’s not fertilized so it’s just an egg.” Din reasoned and you looked up at him in bewilderment.

“You say that like that’s better.” You screeched in bewilderment and Din chuckled at the expression on your face.

“Sweet one, it’s okay.”

“I thought he kept looking at the eggs cause they were glowing and a fun color! Not because he wanted to end a whole line of creatures.” You whisper-yelled, feeling your voice rise. The child actually had the audacity to smile up at you and you swore your eyebrows shot all the way up your forehead.

“We will just make sure it doesn’t happen anymore. It was a one time thing.” Din explained and you nodded slowly, eyes still trained onto the child who seemed to be having a great time, a small yawn escaping his lips. Oh yeah, must be tired from eating a child. “Let’s go to bed.”

You paused as Din started to head towards his cot. He doesn’t realize you weren’t following after him until he placed the child down in his hammock and looked over at you. You smiled up at him almost guiltily. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

“Well, you see, I was going to sleep in the cockpit.”

Din tilted his helmet and planted a hand on hip. “What?”

“I want to keep her company. She is probably so lonely and scared.” You said with a little frown.

“She is an adult.”

“Yes, but I remember my first night on this ship. Back when we didn’t know each other and you were just some strange man. It was kind of... unnerving.”

“So, you are going to sleep up there?” Din questioned and you nodded.

“Yeah. Keep her some company. A friendly face, y’know?”

Din let out a sigh and shook his head. “You are a good person.”

You smiled at the compliment and walked over to him, resting a hand on one of his biceps and squeezing it reassuringly. You felt silly doing so but you planted a small kiss on his helmet, like you would kiss his cheek if you were allowed to see it. “Goodnight.”

“Good night, sweet one.”

You gently grabbed a blanket on your way up the ladder, pulling yourself up into the cockpit to still find the frog lady awake. She turned back to look at you and jumped as she heard you but you just help a hand up, trying to indicate everything was fine. “I thought I’d keep you company.” She just stared back at you blankly and you shrugged. “Even though you can’t understand anything I’m saying.”

She finally said something in her native language and you cocked your head, trying to see if you could understand even one little part of it but failing to do so. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” you said solemnly and she seemed to comprehend that you didn’t know a word she was saying as well. You slowly brought the blanket in your hand up and towards her. “Are you cold? I know this ship can be colder than Hoth sometimes.”

The woman seemed to understand that at least, bringing one of her webbed hands out to grab onto the blanket and pull it over her lap, giving you a gracious smile which you returned happily. You then made your way into the drivers seat and plopped down on it, sighing in relief. You and Din had been so busy the last few days and you hadn’t even realized how much it had beaten down your body, exhausting you in every way. It wasn’t until you sat down that you felt the deep ache in all your muscles and bones and the fatigue that washed over you. You looked over at the woman again whose eyes were finally closed and she seemed to be drifting into sleep very quickly. You smiled as you saw the blanket wrapped around her and nodded to yourself, glad you came up. You couldn’t do much but you figured this was a kindness you could show her that she could possibly understand.

You rested your head back completely, letting your eyes slip close and you began to drift off quickly.

____________

Wake up.

Your eyes shot open instantly and you jerked upwards in the seat, feeling your hands shake at the loud voice that rang through the cockpit. You looked over at the creature in the passenger seat, expecting her to be awake from how loud the voice was but she was still fast asleep, like she hadn’t heard a thing. You whipped your head around the cockpit but found nothing out of place. You felt crazy. You swore you had heard a female voice as clear as day, so loud it woke you up. It had sounded so familiar as well...

You tried to shrug it off, allowing your half asleep body to fall back into the seat. You closed your eyes, ready to slip back into the deep sleep you were in when it called out again.

Wake up.

What the kriff? You now stood up this time and looked around even more, trying to find the tiniest hint that something was up. But once again, you saw nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no woman standing in the room. You walked away from the chair, making sure to step lightly as to not wake up the passenger. You began to slip down the ladder, determined to find a source of the noise that didn’t just include you being crazy. You looked over at where Dins cot was, but the hatch to it was closed and he was probably dead asleep in there, more worn out then you even were from the last few days. You looked over at the refresher, but even that was empty, along with the hull. The only new thing was the glow of the tank of eggs on the floor. You shook your head, starting to turn around when you heard the voice again.

“Shit, this is harder than it seems.” The voice was coming from behind you, this you knew definitively. You also knew one thing for sure. The voice was one you completely recognized in every way, knew it like the back of your hand. It was warm and wise, but also a little crackly like it was aged. Your heart began to slam in your chest. That was your grandmothers voice. Clear as can be and it was coming behind you. You could also see a blue glow begin to illuminate the room but you couldn’t bare to turn around. You were imagining this, or at the very least dreaming. This wasn’t real and it would just hurt. “Gee, it’s been how many years and you can’t even give me a good look? I’m not naked or anything.”

You closed your eyes as you felt your emotions overwhelm you. It sounded so much like her; the inflection of her tone and the sarcastic nature that intertwined with everything she said. “I’m dreaming.” You muttered out loud, trying to break yourself away from the cruelty of it but you find yourself shocked when a laughter filled the hull. One that sounded easily like yours, just a little older.

“I come back to see you after all these years and you call me a dream. I ought to be offended. Or maybe it’s a compliment...”

You had to look. Maker forbid it was her and you didn’t look. You began to slowly turn around, your feet seeming to be made of lead and feeling so heavy with every step you took to turn completely. Once you finally did, you allowed your eyes to squint open and there she was. She looked like her, just like she had the last day you saw her, except it looked like she was projection or hologram, a blue haze surrounding her and seeming to wash over the any color. You opened your eyes completely as you watched her smile as you brightly, the kind of smile that had aways made you feel so worth it. “H-how is this... is this r-real or am I c-c-crazy?” You could barely speak as you stared at her, seeing the way she swayed slowly where she stood, like she had always done. She had driven your mother crazy because she always had to be moving, never could stay still. Everything she did screamed that it was her but you were still so hesitant.

“Oh, yeah. It’s me. This whole force ghost thing is a lot harder than it looks though.”

“Force ghost?”

“You know what happens when we all pass. We become part of the Force.” She said with a beautiful grin, the kind that could ease any worries.

“What are you doing?” You asked and she chuckled at the way you awkwardly mumbled it.

“I needed to talk to you.”

You paused to look at her as she continued to stand before you. You stepped forward to get closer, getting a proper look at her. You couldn’t help but to smile as you looked at every wrinkle, every strand of hair braided away, every breath she took. It was like she was right there before you. Like you could reach out and touch her. Part of you almost did but you didn’t want to do so and realize she wasn’t actually physically there.

“You thought we didn’t keep an eye on you, kid? Of course we did.” She said with a knowing nod and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest. You always liked to think they were watching, but bearding your ideas be confirmed brought you so much peace. “And may I just say, you have been having quite the time.”

You suddenly realized that she must know everything. About Din and the child. About how you were in love with Din and he knew what you were. She must have sensed the sudden change in your demeanor and she looked at you with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, my little one. I’m very happy for you.”

“You know-”

“Everything?” you look at her and nod dumbly to which she grins. “Oh, yeah. Everything. I mean I had to keep an eye on you. And trust me, I was none too pleased about a Mandalorian at first. But this one seems alright.”

She said the last part with a soft smile, the kind that expressed how he was more than just alright. You smiled up at her and decided to let the shock wash away. Even if this was just a dream or a extremely vivid hallucination, you wanted to enjoy this. “Yeah. I guess he is alright.” you said with a smirk to which she nodded. “Are... are you guys okay?”

She let her shoulders sag slightly, looking at you softly. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“I just-”

“You tried your best.”

“I’m sorry.” you blurted out.

“There is no need to be sorry.”

“You sacrificed yourself to save me.” You told her, now exasperated. You were working on accepting what happened but you couldn’t hear her say there was no need to be sorry. That is was okay.

“And you nearly died trying to protect me.” She retorted and you rolled your eyes.

“And I failed.”

“No. You did so well you nearly killed yourself.” She told you and you looked away from her stern gaze, the same one she gave you when she was teaching you an important lesson.

“You should of ran away. You would of lived.” You softly said, crossing your arms over your chest as you blinked your eyes quickly, not wanting to cry. She had already seen you so weak and damaged before. She didn’t need to see it again.

“I was an old woman who had lived long enough. I knew saving you with the Force would take everything out of me but it was worth it. I mean, look at your life. It has only just begun.” you heard the softness and kindness, but also the demanding, authoritative tone. The kind of voice that was going to tell you how it was and not accept any other answer. Her voice suddenly dropped. “Did you read it?”

You froze and stared at her with a bewildered expression, barely sputtering out “W-What?”

“The letter, kid. Did you read it?” she asked again.

You shook your head. “No. Maker, no.”

“Why not? I always told Mai to tell you if anything ever happened. You need to read it.”

“Tell me what?” you asked.

“K-kid-” Her holographic-like appearance started to fade away slowly.

“No, please. C’mon, stay.” you begged, feeling like a child as tears started to well up in your eyes.

“Read it.” was the last words spoken by her before she faded away completely, the hull of the ship going back to complete darkness.

You let out a shaky breath, looking down to find your hands trembling. You grabbed onto a crate, sitting down on it and letting your whole body sag. Your heart was racing a mile a minute, along with your mind. You still weren’t entirely convinced what had happened was real, and not a figment of your imagination or some complex dream. But she had seemed to real. Like she was there and close enough to touch. When she spoke to you, it was her. All the little quirks and the inflection of her tone had been identical to the woman you missed so much.

Your eyes slowly trailed from the spot on the floor you had been to looking at to the corner of the ship, where your bag laid. You could see the crumbled paper on top of it. What the hell was so important? If that was real, why had your grandmother done that just to tell you to read a letter? If it was so important, she should of tone you. If not back then, at least now she should have.

You should read it. You know that deep down. You started to rise slowly from your seat you took on the crate, you legs still trembling as you took one small step. You were about to take another when a small croak filled the space. You turned around to find the frog lady’s head peaking down from the cockpit, looking down at you. You made eye contact and she let out another small croak.

“You okay?” you quietly asked.

She let out another croak and her eyes followed the container of eggs that sat in the hull. You looked over at it and smiled softly. “They are okay.” you said, giving her a small thumbs up in hopes she understood that.

Another croak was let out and you sighed. “I’m coming up. Let’s go back to bed.”

You gave the letter one last glance before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit, climbing up it slowly.

____________

You had been wide awake when a small beeping sound began ringing out through the cockpit, emitting it’s way into the rest of the ship. You looked over at the frog woman to find her still asleep, seeming to be undisturbed by the noise as small snores that sounded like small croaks left her. Your head turned back to the dash of the ship, looking at all the buttons and controls. You eyes met the comm and you raised an eyebrow, looking out the window to see nothing out of the ordinary.

A clanking of metal rang out and you looked back at Din who pulled himself into the Crest. You slowly brought a single finger up to your lip, indicating for him to be quiet as your head gestured to the frog lady. “She’s still asleep.”

Din nodded. “What happened?” he softly asked.

You shrugged, pulling yourself out of the drivers seat so he could slip into it. “Wasn’t us. I think it’s someone trying to comm you.”

Din grunted and a small smile made it’s way onto your face. You were sure he was pleased to not only be woken up, but woken up by somebody trying to talk to him. Din flicked on the comm as you rested a hand on his shoulder. Part of you had wanted to crawl into his cot after the bizarre happenings from earlier. Let his arms envelop you and spread a warmth through your body you had never felt before. But you decided against it, still feeling it was best to stay with the new passenger and let Din sleep.

“Razor Crest, M-One Eleven. Come in, Razor Crest. Do you copy?” a voice rang out into the pit.

You once again looked back at the lady, seeing her still asleep and funny enough, it slightly reminded you of the child. Sometimes he’d wake up at the slightest noise. You could make one step and he wouldn’t fall asleep for the rest of the night. But other times, he could sleep through anything. A TIE fighter could probably soar past and he’d still peacefully sleep through it, like nothing was happening.

“This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?” Din asked. Your hand tightened onto his shoulder and he leaned into it slightly.

“We noticed your transponder is not emitting.” The man spoke again.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.”

“That was before. This sector is under New Republic jurisdiction. All craft are required to run a beacon.” You raised an eyebrow, looking over at Din who just shrugged.

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.” he responded.

“Not a problem. Safe travels.”

“May the Force be with you.” You looked over at Din, both eyebrows raised high as you nearly laughed. You had never even heard the man say that once. If anything, you were convinced that he used to not believe if the Force, thinking it was a whole bunch of gibberish until the kid walked into his life.

“And also with you.” the man responded, cutting out.

“May the Force be with you?” you quietly asked, smiling down at where he sat.

“Isn’t that what they say?” Din said, his hands landing on your hips softly as he turned his seat towards you.

“Yeah but I’ve never heard you say that.” You nearly yelped when he pulled you down onto his lap with his hands still clutching onto you. You tossed your head over to look at the frog lady who was still asleep. “Mando, she is right there.”

“Say my name.”

You looked at him with a soft smile, placing a kiss on his helmet which made him let out a small hum that filled your heart with joy. “Din, she is right there.”

Din let out another small noise, pulling you closer onto him. “I don’t care. I miss sleeping in a bed with you.”

“Me too. But we will-”

The beeping resumed, interrupting you. You let out a small whine, slipping off of Din’s lap and warm embrace as he turned towards the comm. Before flipping it on, Din let out an aggravated grunt.

“Just one more thing.” The man’s voice from earlier rang out into the ship again.

“Yes?” Din curtly said, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna need you to send us a ping. We’re out here sweeping for Imperial holdouts.”

Your head whipped over to look at Din, his helmet still trained forwards. You couldn’t send out a ping.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.” Din responded but you knew it wouldn’t be good enough. They were going to insist.

“I’m still gonna need you to send us that ping.” the man countered.

“Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.” Din said but even you could see through that lie.

“We can wait.”

Din finally looked at you, seeming to be contemplating what his options were. You slowly mouthed ‘what do we do?’ but Din seemed to settle on a decision shortly. “Yeah...I...I...doesn’t seem to be, uh, working.”

“That’s too bad. If we can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow us to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.”

Fuck, no. No. You couldn’t stop at Adelphi. You had this women’s eggs and the child and Din.

“Oh, wait. There it is. Transmitting now.” Din said but you just saw him flip the auto-pilot switch off. You stepped back, leaning against the wall in anticipation of what was next.

The frog lady then decided it was a good time to wake up, letting out a loud croak as she looked over at you two. “Be quiet!” you and Din both simultaneously whispered at her.

“What was that?”

“Uh, nothing. The hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.” Din excused, but you rolled your eyes. Din knew his way around a ship well enough to know that was a shit excuse.

The frog lady continued croaking, not seeming to catch a hint. Din looked over at her and you could feel the annoyance radiating off him. You snapped your fingers, bringing her eyes to look at you and held your finger up to your lips, trying to gesture to her to be quiet. But she didn’t seem to catch a hint, croaking back at you and bringing her own finger up to her mouth in confusion.

“Carson, can you switch over to channel two?” Another man’s voice spoke out, causing the woman to finally quiet down as she looked at the comm where the source of the noise came from.

“Copy.” the other man spoke.

You looked at Din, seeing his hands ghost over the accelerator. “Oh, shit. Hold on.” you said, clutching onto the passengers seat.

Din hit it, beginning to soar through the galaxy at a terrifying speed that made the frog lady begin wailing in fear. You held on tightly, feeling your body plop down onto the ground from the abrupt change in speed. Din suddenly began dropping to a nearby planet, causing your butt to lift off the ground and the frog lady begin to croak with a very anxious tone. Din soared over the clouds as the cockpit to the ship began to shake.

“Mando, this isn’t good!” you yelped but Din paid no mind to your words.

“Razor Crest, stand down. We will fire. I repeat, we will fire.” A man warned and you cursed.

Din whipped around a corner, pulling the ship which caused it to tremble even more. “The Crest can’t handle this!” you called.

“It’s going to have to.” Din grunted, bringing his hands off the accelerator. You let out a deep breath until you saw him turn the engines off.

“Mando!”

The ship instantly began to plummet, dropping down into the clouds and revealing more of the icy planet Din had flown so close to. The frog lady began to full-on scream, her voice filling the cockpit and drowning out any thoughts you had. Glaciers began to finally fill the view of the pit and Din then engaged the engines again, flying down into a canyon.

“Oh, fuck. Are we going to die?” you yelled.

Din continued to fly through the canyon, narrowly avoiding jagged icicles that could easily shear into the metal of the ship. “Come on, Razor Crest, don’t make us do it.” a man spoke again.

The Crest whipped around a bend and straight towards a cavern which the back side of the ship slams into, causing all three of you to grunt. You looked up at Din, seeing his chest fall and rise quickly. You realized he was just as nervous as you, just more quiet about it. “Hold on.” he said.

“Oh, now we have to hold on...” you muttered sarcastically, grabbing onto the chair even more (which you didn’t think was possible). You tried to anchor your feet onto the ground, still sitting on the floor and thinking how the Crest needed a third seat. The frog lady responded with a grunt and croak and you thought how she was probably regretting getting on this ship.

The Crest began to slam into more glaciers, causing the ship to shake and all of your to jerk about. It then began to slide along a sheet of ice. Din tried to turn on the engines so it could shoot up but it it just slammed into more ice until coming to a stop under an overhang.

Din began panting, along with you, relieved that the ship was hidden away and had finally stopped moving. You couldn’t help but to notice the chill that had filled the ship, your body shivering and the hair on your arms begin to stand up. You hesitantly let go of the arm of the chair, wrapping yourself up with your own arms as you tried to not let yourself dwell too much on the cold.

“I’ve lost visual. He’s got to be around here somewhere. You head north. We’ll cover more ground.” The voice barely crackled through the comm, cutting out which was a good sign. Meant they were far enough.

“Fucking hell.” You muttered, looking at Din who was pushing and flicking an assortment of buttons.

“You okay, sweet one?” Din asked, finally looking over at you.

You smiled weakly. “Oh, just dandy.”

“And your friend?”

You looked over at the frog lady, who was gasping and groaning, beginning to rise from her seat. “I think she is just worried about her eggs.” you softly said.

Before you could ask how he was, loud cracks filled the space. It took you a second to realize it was the ice which meant...

You couldn’t warn Din of what was to come before it was too late and the ship broke through the ice, dropping down. You could hear everything in the ship tumbled about and your mind instantly went to the child. Oh, shit. He was probably in his bed with the door shut but you felt fear consume you entirely. The ship suddenly dropped down, causing everyone to slam forward. The last thing you felt was a sharp pain your in your head before everything turned back, your body falling back.

____________

Din let out a loud groan as he slowly blinked his eyes. His whole body was aching and his back was screaming in pain. His mind felt groggy and clouded as he slowly lifted his helmet from where it had landed. He blinked more quickly as he shook his head, letting out more grunts as he tried to become more aware. Last thing he remembered was falling and the frog lady’s screaming. And his cyar’ika...

“Fuck.” Din grunted, whipping his head around (not the best choice on his part) and looking down. He dropped from the chair, crawling down on the small space of the floor where she laid as flecks of snow fell off him. A large bruise was already forming on her head, probably from slamming into the back of his chair or something. She hadn’t been in a seat so she had taken the brunt of the force. Din felt his hands shake as he clutched her, pulling her closer to his chest and leaning her head against it, patting softly at her hair. “Sweet one, wake up. Please be okay.”

Din felt instant relief flood through him as she grunted, her eyes barely opening and seeming to not register what was in front of her. She let out a small cough and Din felt her whole body was shaking, whether from the crash or from the cold he didn’t know. Din held on tighter to her, bringing his cape over his body so some of it could drape over her. “Cyar’ika, are you okay?”

She groaned again, her eyes now blinking some more as she began to make out the shape of his helmet. Behind him he heard the frog lady begin to croak and groan in a painful manner, bringing herself up with the assistance of the chair. Din didn’t look over though, his eyes trained on the woman in his arms. “F-fuck.” she finally muttered, her eyes looking up at him as she slowly brought a hand up to rub at the bump on her head.

“I’m sorry, sweet one.” Din said, pulling her closer and feeling guilty as he saw the injury on her head. He slowly let a hand graze her cheek.

“I hate this ship.” She sputtered. Din let out a small chuckle, glad to see one of the corners of her lips quirk up into the lopsided smile he had come to love so much. “And you are good at crashing this thing.”

“Are you okay?” Din asked.

Her eyes looked up at his softly until her whole body jerks and her eyes widen, a terror stricken look coming over. She suddenly pulled away, flopping over to her hands and knees so she start to stand up, her legs shaking. “The...the kid!”

“Sweet one, sit down. You probably have a concussion and you-” Din couldn’t finish before she was flailing down the ladder of the cockpit, thumping on the ground with a groan. Din rose from his spot on the floor, looking over to see the frog lady looking at him, croaking in distress. Din sighed, realizing she was I’ll find your eggs, don’t worry. Gotta get you some blankets, keep you warm.”

Din dropped down the ladder, letting out a loud groan as he saw a huge hole through the side of the Crest, letting into a flurry of snowflakes. Sparks flew from various areas of the ship and everything was coated in a layer of snow and ice. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours that they had been passed out, but the temperature of the ship had dropped considerably and the layer of ice proved how dangerous this terrain was. “Damn it.”

The frog croaked again from the cockpit and Din sighed. “Hang on, I’m looking for your eggs!”

“No! How?” He suddenly heard his cyar’ika speak. He looked over to see her standing up barely, her whole upper half hunched forward as a hand held back a piece of cloth. Din made his way over, making it to her side to find the child with the egg canister and... dammit, an egg in his hand.

“No. No... I told you not to do that.” Din scolded, bending down to close the canister and picks it up. He looks over to find his cyar’ika with a bewildered expression on her face, staring down at the child in disbelief who innocently looks up.

“We crash. Nearly die. And this kid is eating children like nothing happened! Look at him, he looks fine!”

Din also felt a little shocked as he looked down at the child, who appeared to have sustained no injuries nor shock from the events, just holding onto one single egg. He looked as happy as ever, perhaps a little disappointed his favorite snack had been taken, but no signs of distress otherwise

The frog lady croaked again and Din looked to find his cyar’ika whimper. “We found them!” Din called out.

“We have to tell her that our kid is a murderer.” Din tried to ignore the way his heart warmed at the way she said ‘our kid’, instead opting for a small smile she couldn’t see.

“He isn’t a murder-” Din was cut off with a slurping noise, looking down as the child swallowed the egg whole. “How many did you eat?”

The child let out a small burp as he swallowed down the egg.

“What were you saying?” she sarcastically said, looking over at Din with a critical expression.

“It’s fine.”

“She is going to notice her children are missing! Her poor little baby eggs! They had their whole lives ahead of them...” she trailed off with a small whimper.

Din sighed. “You grab the child. Let’s bring her the eggs.”

Din began to walk back to the cockpit, hearing her scold the child she now held in her arms. “You did a very bad thing. Very bad. I know they are a fun color but they aren’t a snack! They are little baby eggs and you are eating them like a monster. Oh Maker, you don’t even understand me, do you? Or you don’t care cause you are a tyrant...”

Din couldn’t help but to chuckle as he listened in.

____________

“Are you okay?”

“If you ask that one more time, I will fight you. And I promise you that it will be very embarrassing to be beaten by a concussed mechanic.” You said with a small smile, staring at the bunch of wires you were twiddling away with. The Crest was a disaster, no other way to put it. There was no way you would be able to put it back to normal by yourself or with the limited amount of tools at your disposable. This would be a job for a mechanic whose talents far exceeded your own. Your goal was just to make the ship flyable at the very least and make sure it didn’t explode into a million pieces even if the ship could make it off the ground.

“I’m being serious.” Din said softly, crouching down to bend next to you. You looked over, gazing lovingly into his visor and brought your hand up to pat at it. Din had been manically asking you if you were okay and how you were ever since the crash from earlier. You definitely sustained a concussion and one of your ankles had a sharp shooting pain that ran through it and was very possibly broken. Not having been in a seat when the accident happened was a big mistake on your part but what was done was done. You had wanted to focus your efforts immediately on fixing the ship and helping Din repair as much of the damage as possible, despite his desperate pleading for you to lay down and not move an inch. You had won that argument but Din kept sending long glances your way and rushing to your side if the slightest whimper left your lips. You wouldn’t admit it as to not embarrass him, but it was perhaps the most endearing thing you had ever seen.

“I am fine. My head hurts a little but it’s okay.”

“I mean, besides the head. You seem off.”

The crazed events of the day so far had combined with the events of the night before to create an almost nauseatingly overwhelming sensation through your whole body. You couldn’t even begin to think about what had happened without feeling so completely perplexed. Part of you was still convincing yourself it had been a dream. It wasn’t your grandmother, but a mere fragment of your mind playing cruel games with your emotions. But it had seemed so real and you couldn’t stop thinking about it, even with how busy you were trying to keep your mind preoccupied with the ship and making sure the child didn’t commit any more genocide.

“I had a weird dream or something... Guess it’s still on my mind.” you mumbled, shrugging.

“What was it?”

“It was... just my grandmother and the letter.” your voice drifted off as your eyes widened. “Shit! The letter!”

You hadn’t even thought to look for the letter once the ship was damaged. But there had been a gaping whole in the side of it with winds coursing through, winds that could of snatched the letter away before you had the chance to read past the first paragraph. You tried to jump up from the spot on the floor where you had been sat but your body fumbled on the way up, your face scrunching up in pain as you put pressure on your ankle.

“Sweet one, be careful.”

“I need to make sure the letter is still here. And my bag. Oh Maker, my bag!” you yelped. The frog lady sat in the ship looked up, croaking in confusion as to your newly frazzled state.

You waved your hand at her and began to limp towards where your bag had been, wincing every time your ankle even grazed the ground. “Your ankle is broken.”

“Meh, it’s not.” you grunted, trying to hide your pained expression but Din stayed by your side, keeping his hands close to your body in case you fell. Once you reached your bag, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw the crinkled paper, sitting there with a light coating of snow layered over it’s folds. You slowly dropped to your knees, grabbing the letter and lightly dusting away the cold flakes. “Okay. Good.”

“Are you going to read it?”

You shoved the letter back into your bag and shook your head. “Not right now. One day though.”

“You sure?” Din asked.

“Yeah. Now isn’t the time.” you began to rise from your spot, trying your best to apply as little pressure as possible to your ankle. But despite your best efforts, your head was spinning from some of the sudden movement and you tumbled forward, landing on your ankle. You let out a loud hiss. “Dank farrik!”

Din rushed to you, grabbing onto and pulling you up slowly. He let out a grunt and murmured, “What were you saying about it not being broken?”

“Shut up.” you muttered, allowing Din to lead you to the small cot you had once used as a bed so he could set you down. “No. I need to work!”

“You need to rest. We all do.” Din commanded, laying your blanket over you softly.

You shook your head, letting out a grunt. “Bah, rest is for the weak.”

“You have a concussion and broken ankle.”

“You say that one more time, tin can.” you warned, aiming a somewhat playful finger at him.

Before Din had the chance to speak, the child who had been sat on the floor let out a loud coo that captured your attention. You looked over at him to find him waddling towards your outstretched legs, big eyes looking up at you in concern. “I’m fine, little guy.” you cooed back, feeling your heart warm a little from his adorable expression.

The child let out another garbled noise, eventually reaching your feet and resting a hand on your injured ankle. You let out a small hiss at the contact, expecting the child to pull back but he looked back at you with a look you an inexplicable look. You had always felt a deep connection with the little one, one that sometimes confused you. Part of you hoped it was just that you two had a natural inclination towards each other but another knew deep down it had to do with the Force. Perhaps it was simply because you were the first person he had seen in who knows how many years who had the same thing he did. Or maybe it was the mysterious way of the Force that brought you two together. But as you looked at him and felt his little three-fingered hand settle onto the skin of your ankle, you felt a peace and understanding wash over you that felt deeply shared.

The next thing you felt was a deep warmth throughout your ankle. Not the sharp heat that accompanied the pain like you had been feeling but a beautiful warmth, like a hug from a person you loved or the sun on the first day of summer. You didn’t know how long the child had done it for. Whether it was a minute or multiple minutes or only mere seconds but once his little hand pulled away, you felt like you had been broken out of trance.

You blinked a few times dumbly as the kid wobbled slightly and landed on his butt, his eyes drooping as he let out a small yawn. “The kid just-just...”

“Yeah. He has done that before.”

You whipped your head around to look at Din. “He has?”

Din nodded. “I think it’s his magic powers or something.”

You looked back at the child. No pain longer radiated throughout your ankle. You rotated it with ease, no sharp throbbing accompanying the movement like it had been. It was as if nothing had even happened. You didn’t know exactly what is was called but you knew the child had used the Force to heal you. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how but the sensation you had felt was one you had experienced before. One your Grandmother had used on you when you were on the brink of death. One that had taken everything from her.

But the child that sat before was fine. Tired but seemed perfectly healthy and even gave you a small smile as you continued to look at him. “He really is powerful.” you mumbled under your breath.

“I’m going to get the frog lady from the cockpit. We all need to rest and eat.” Din said.

You nodded dumbly, eyes still trained on the child as Din rose from his spot on the floor and made his way to the ladder.

____________

“If you hadn’t guessed, we’re in a tight spot.” Din stated as he tidied up a few small things. The frog lady that sat across from you in the hull stared plainly up at him, her tongue whipping out in a flash to catch food from the container that Din had given her.

You let out a small sigh as Din continued. “The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls.”

“Pretty much this is a complete and utter shit show in every way.” you said, huddling further into the blankets Din had given you. Despite your ankle being healed by the child, he had insisted on you relaxing for the rest of the night, stating how he could handle the last few things on his own.

You looked over at the kid who sat next to you with a small box of food in his lap. But instead of eating it quickly like he normally did, he practically swooned as he stared at the container of eggs that sat next to the frog lady. You let out a scoff and tapped his little arm, but not even that could break him from the trance of his new-found favorite snack. “Stop being a demon.” you whispered at the child, giving the frog lady a guilty smile as she looked over at you.

“I’ll have a better idea of our prospects tomorrow.” Din continued. You wondered if he was speaking to the frog lady in hopes she could understand or just to fill the space, clear his thoughts. Either way, the sound of his voice made a soft smile dance across your lips as he finally brought himself down to the floor, sat closely next to you. The child waddled over to him as you felt his thigh brush against your leg and his shoulder press into you. He leaned his head back against the wall of the ship, letting out a small sigh.

“Mando.”

“Yes?”

“I lo-”

You were interrupted by the frog lady letting out a loud croak, gesturing to her eggs as she continued to speak. Your face softened as you saw her concerned expression and you couldn’t understand the words, but there was passion behind them.

“I’m sorry, lady. I don’t understand Frog. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I recommend you get some sleep.“ Din said. The child crawled onto his thigh, settling into the armor. The frog lady let out a defeated croak, bringing a blanket to her container of eggs to wrap it, protectively patting it.

You gave her a soft smile. “I’m sorry but I promise we are trying our best.”

She let out another small croak, settling back into her space and closing her eyes as a hand stayed on her container of eggs. You also leaned back, looking over at Din. You watched his chest rise and fall evenly, falling into a slow pattern that you admired. You brought a hand out from your blanket, sneaking into over to Din’s hand that rested against the floor. You gently grazed his gloved fingers and Din made the next move, his warm leather hands grabbing onto your own and intertwining the fingers. You smiled softly as you let him pull you just slightly closer to him, his hand squeezing yours in a way that made your heart burst. Your eyes drifted to the child, who was now tucked into the beskar plate on Din’s thigh and sleeping away peacefully.

“Sweet one?” Din whispered out and you looked up at him to see his helmet tilted down to look at you.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

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