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voraciousvore · 6 months

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Bucky's (33/44)

Chapter 33: Forgiveness

Ronny had an amazing weekend with Tanya, but Monday rolled around all too soon. He was dreading going in to work. He had promised Tanya that he would apologize to Candy for his misdeeds, and even worse, make peace with Martin. Ronny wasn’t sure that he was up to the challenge. Facing the past, his terrible sins, instead of just burying them out of sight would be difficult, if not impossible.

He tried not to let his troubles weigh too heavily in his gut. His heart was still light as a feather when he gazed upon his sweet little lover. She would help him and give him strength, regardless of the challenges ahead. Ronny made sure to pick out a shirt with a pocket this time, for Tanya’s peace of mind and safety. He didn’t think he would run into any issues with other Giants attempting to steal her, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

He slipped Tanya into his breast pocket and headed out. He liked having Tanya close to his heart. He could feel her tiny body curled up against his, rustling slightly when his movements jostled her. He made an effort to keep his gait smooth and steady, even as he descended the stairs. Before long, the gray concrete mass of the Big Corp building, with its shiny steel lettering, emerged on the horizon. Ronny kept Tanya in his pocket as he entered the lobby and rode the elevator to the third floor.

He stepped out and paused as the doors slid closed behind him. His limbs were as heavy as lead with the burden of his sins. He trudged towards his corner of the office, next to Candy’s cubicle, dragging his feet as if he were struggling through thick knee-deep mud. His insides contorted into knots. He burned with shame. He labored to breathe, his exhalations coming out in deep, strained heaves, as if he were sprinting a marathon. He wiped his sweaty forehead off with his sleeve. He wasn’t going to be able to do this.

All too soon, he reached Candy’s cubicle. He was tall enough to see over the partitions and spied the miniature lady at her desk, prepping for her workday. His stomach did a flip. He wasn’t ready, but his legs moved on their own, gradually carrying him to the entrance to her workspace. He felt strangely disembodied somehow, as if he had no control over his movements and was just a spectator. Yet, he was painfully aware of his hulking, intimidating size, the scale of his great limbs and muscles and stature in comparison to a being so small. His shadow draped over her desk, and Candy glanced up to see who was visiting her. She recoiled upon witnessing Ronny, and a shudder passed through her miniscule frame. Ronny stood in the entryway awkwardly, kneading his hands, his mouth stubbornly glued shut.

He couldn’t do it. This was a terrible idea, a terrible mistake. Candy would never forgive him for his transgressions. Regardless of how much he had changed or what he did, she would always see him as nothing more than a Giant brute, a bully, a beast. A jolt ran through him and he fled, mortified to his core. He flopped down in his chair at his desk, clutching the edge of the table with both hands and shaking.

“Ronny, what’s wrong?” Tanya’s voice emanated from his pocket. “Are you okay? Your heart is racing.”

Ronny sighed and fished her out of his pocket, lowering her to the surface of the desk. He rested his elbows on the desk on either side of her and ran his hands through his hair. “I… I tried. To apologize to Candy. I couldn’t do it.” Slumping his shoulders, he rubbed his face with his hands and massaged his temples.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” He tore at his hair and started to tear up as he raised his voice with strong emotion. “I can’t. I can’t. I’m a repulsive monster. I hate myself. I deserve to rot in hell. I’m no good. I’m disgusting and evil and I can’t stand it anymore, can’t fight it, can’t face it, can’t face her, can’t do it, can’t-”

Tanya stared up at Ronny in shock as he spiraled out of control. She figured he would have some difficulties, but she hadn’t expected Ronny’s reaction to be this intense. Apparently, his inner demons were stronger than she anticipated. His head sank down and his watery eyes stared through her, not seeing her at all. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...”

“Ronny, stop! Pull yourself together!” she cried. A gigantic tear rolled down his cheek and splashed on the desk next to her. Tanya couldn’t reach high enough to touch his face, so she went over to the huge pillar of his arm and tugged on the sleeve of his suit. “Ronny!”

Her touch finally snapped him out of his escalating mental catastrophizing. “Ronny… everything will be okay,” she assured him. Now that she had his attention, she walked under his face and raised her hands up. Ronny lowered his head so Tanya could stroke his chin, with its little patch of hair. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed the underside of his lower lip. “It’s okay,” she whispered. He started to calm down. “Take a deep breath.” He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his lips, ruffling Tanya’s hair. “There. Better?”

“Y-yeah...” Ronny mumbled. He sighed. “I just can’t face her, Tanya. She’s so scared of me... And she’ll never forgive the unforgivable... I’ve done so many horrible things, I just can’t live with myself...”

“You need to do this, Ronny. Even if she doesn’t forgive you, she still deserves an apology. You know that.”

“I know.” Ronny crossed his arms on the desk, wrapping them lovingly around Tanya, and laid his head down next to her. “Just... give me a minute to collect myself, okay?” Tanya affirmed his words with a nod and stroked his cheek. Ronny closed his eyes. He wanted all the pressure of the surrounding world to go away, so it could just be Tanya and him.

Little did Ronny or Tanya know, their whole conversation, including Ronny’s mental breakdown, was overheard by Candy. She was only a couple desks over, after all, even if they were Giant-sized. She was flabbergasted, not only by Ronny’s outburst but also the realization that he had been trying to apologize. She had no idea that he felt even the slightest iota of remorse for his cruelty, and his admission that he couldn’t live with himself for what he had done truly shocked her.

She wasn’t sure how to feel. Could she really forgive Ronny for everything he had done? Candy wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, with her sweet innocence, but Ronny had done some truly deplorable things. His barbaric bullying had terrorized her and nearly resulted in her death, multiple times. She could have frozen to death in a refrigerator, or been digested by Martin or Mr. Hardon when she was swallowed, or been cooked alive in a microwave. Those experiences were traumatizing and still gave her nightmares. Had he really changed? The fact that he had saved a human from Bucky’s proved as much. However, even if he had changed, did it matter? Could she forgive him?

She had never considered the question before. She didn’t know if she could. Yet, the words he spoke when he didn’t know she was listening were full of genuine regret and pain. Candy was a compassionate person by nature, who hated to see others suffer. Even if she couldn’t forgive him in her heart, and never warmed up to the Giant who had wronged her so badly, she didn’t believe that would justify withholding the much-needed relief that she could provide. Just because he had been cruel did not mean she should be cruel in return; that would make her no better than him.

She wasn’t fully convinced by this line of reasoning, for her heart was torn. She wasn’t under any obligation to forgive a monster. Being sorry didn’t undo the wrongs. Remorse alone would not heal her invisible wounds. Candy still felt pain inside from her experiences, at times. Ronny had done nothing to alleviate her suffering. Why should she forgive him? Thinking back on her unpleasant interactions with the Giant, when she had been so helpless and vulnerable without Martin to protect her, her heart filled with resentment and bitterness. She couldn’t decide what she would do.

While Candy was reflecting, Tanya was giving Ronny a little pep talk to gear him up for the task ahead. “Just go over there and talk to her, Ronny. I’ll be there to support you. Whether she accepts your apology or not, at least you’ll know. You can get it off your chest and wash your hands of the whole affair.” Ronny, setting his mouth into a thin line, nodded with determination. He dried his eyes and sat up in his chair.

“Alright. Here we go,” he announced apprehensively. He offered Tanya his hand and she hopped into it. Ronny stood up out of his chair and lumbered back over to Candy’s cubicle. Candy knew he was coming, and meant her no harm, but she couldn’t stop herself from trembling with fear nonetheless when she beheld him. He was the embodiment of her terror, with his towering height, his dark eyes when they lit up with savage glee over her torment, his leering visage, his big white teeth, and pale skin. She wanted to cower back in a corner of her desk and hide until the Giant left her alone. Despite the terror rising in her throat, she stood her ground.

“W-what do you want?” she asked coldly, unable to keep the frightened tremor out of her voice. Ronny hesitated, frozen by the iciness of her tone. His dark eyes swam with an anxiety that surprised Candy. His foot slid back across the floor in an attempted retreat, but Tanya clutched his finger and looked up at him sternly. Ronny moved his foot back. He gulped and took a step forward, engulfing Candy in his looming shadow. She stumbled back as an instinctive bolt of fear shot through her legs.

Ronny faltered. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t give her a heartfelt apology when she was too scared of him to listen. Humbling himself, he dropped to his knees and sat on his haunches so his face was level with the desk. He crept forward so he was closer and could see Candy better. He clutched Tanya in his hands for support underneath the desk and took a deep breath.

“Candy...” he began, his breath hitching. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and forced himself to continue. “I... need to tell you something important.”

“What is it?” Candy replied, despite knowing what he was planning to do. Her legs were as useless as rubber bands to hold her up, so she sat down, still quivering. She felt better not having the gargantuan Giant towering over her, but his huge face filling her vision like a movie theater screen still made her heart hammer in her chest.

Ronny gave Tanya a soft squeeze in his hands, like a stress ball. “I wanted to... say I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done to you. I-I don’t expect you to forgive me, or anything like that, but I know you still deserve an apology. I know what I did was horribly wrong, and unforgivable, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret my actions. I want to be a better man. I truly am sorry, from the bottom of my heart.” He hung his head with shame and blinked back tears again. “I... don’t know if there’s anything I can do... to make it up to you. Just know... I’m so, so sorry...” He looked up and searched her with his eyes, which had lost their usual cold edge.

Candy had expected a half-hearted, begrudging attempt at reconciliation from the Giant. She thought she would be unmoved, her heart hardened, her wounds unable to heal. However, seeing the huge man prostrate himself before her, humble and genuine, displaying such vulnerability before her, did tug at her heartstrings. She was touched by his sincere words. She could plainly see he had suffered with extreme guilt and was seeking to atone for his past wrongs. He had changed.

“Ronny, give me your hand,” she instructed him. Ronny looked at her questioningly, but shifted Tanya into one hand and raised his other above the surface of the desk, offering it palm-up to Candy. She gently clasped the tip of one of his fingers in her hands.

“I accept your apology,” she uttered solemnly. The tension released from Ronny’s body and he sighed softly. “Under one condition.” Ronny listened intently. “I want you to promise me that you will never harm another human again, and that you will forever be a friend and defender of humankind.”

Ronny brightened. “I promise!” His eyes welled up again and he turned his head away, hoping not to be too conspicuous, and wiped his eyes on his shoulder. “Thank you Candy.” He gave her a warm smile, and she timidly smiled back. Bracing himself on the giant chair at Candy’s desk, he slowly stood back up to his full height, trying his best not to frighten Candy.

“I guess it’s time... to apologize to Martin too,” Ronny remarked with a grimace. He wasn’t looking forward to that, at all.

“Oh, dear... perhaps I should come with you,” Candy said. “He won’t be so forgiving as I am.” Ronny exchanged glances with Tanya and nodded. Candy had a point.

Ronny lowered his hand tentatively to the desk, inviting Candy to step on with a twitch of his fingers. Candy paled. When she said she’d come along, it didn’t occur to her that Ronny would have to carry her. She looked up at Ronny, then at Tanya in his other hand, who gave her an encouraging nod. If Tanya trusted him with her life, Candy supposed she could too. Trembling slightly, she crawled into his vast palm and sat down. She couldn’t believe she was actually willingly sitting in the hand of the Giant that had tormented her, yet here she was. She marveled at how different he was, how gently he cupped her in his hand, as opposed to his rough handling in the past. He raised her up so she was close to Tanya and ambled over to Martin’s desk. Candy snuck glances at Tanya, marveling at how the woman had managed to seduce and tame such a beast. She knew that love was a powerful force, but she didn’t think it could work miracles.

Ronny was nervous about talking to Martin, especially while holding his girl. He had been intimidated enough to face Candy, when she wasn’t even the size of a single finger on his hand. Martin, on the other hand, was a bigger Giant than Ronny and had a solid punch, as Ronny knew all too well. He winced at the reminder, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He couldn’t stop halfway, when he had conquered at least one demon from his past.

Ronny found Martin in his cubicle, with his back to him. He cleared his throat to get his attention. “E-excuse me, Martin...”

Martin turned around to face him, a look of mild disgust on his face as he recognized Ronny’s voice. When he saw Candy in Ronny’s hand, however, his gray eyes blazed and he shot out of his chair and stomped forward. “What are you-”

“Hold on, Martin!” Candy interjected, placating him with a raise of both hands. Martin stopped, the thunder in his eyes dimming. “Ronny has something to say to you.”

Martin glared at Ronny suspiciously. Ronny smiled sheepishly before settling to a more serious expression. “Martin, I wanted to...” He stopped. The words were bitter on his tongue, but he forced himself to spit them out. “I owe you an apology for my deplorable behavior. How I treated you and Candy was not justified. I’m a filthy rat and I’m ashamed of myself. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I needed to tell you either way.” His apology was, perhaps, not quite as heartfelt as when he spoke to Candy, but he still felt lighter after unloading his heavy words.

Martin gritted his teeth. “Well, good, because you’re not getting any forgiveness from me!” He clenched one hand into a threatening fist while holding out the other in an open hand expectantly. “Now give me Candy.” Ronny held out his hand with Candy.

Candy crossed her arms defiantly. “Now, Martin, don’t be unreasonable!”

Martin raised his eyebrows, astounded, and gaped. “Unreasonable? Unreasonable?! Have you forgotten all the horrible things he did to you? How could I possibly-”

“Of course not,” Candy interrupted. Her voice was soft, but Martin went silent, as if she had yelled at him. “But I forgave him anyway.” Martin blinked, dumbfounded. “If I can forgive him, you can too.”

Martin was too astonished to react right away. He gazed down at his tiny girlfriend, and his heart filled with love for her. She was such a sweet and forgiving soul, to not hold on to grudges. He knew better than anyone how much Ronny had hurt her, yet she was willing to let it go. Despite her physical size, she proved herself yet again to be a bigger person than he could ever be. His expression softened.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “Alright.” He looked at Ronny. “I accept your apology, Ronny. And... I’m sorry for bashing your head in, the other day.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly with his hand. “I... I misjudged you.” His eyes darted over to Tanya at that last statement. She smiled.

Martin held out his hand to shake, to bury the hatchet. Ronny shifted the humans into one hand and shook his hand. The two Giants didn’t smile at each other or show indications of friendliness, but they both understood the relationship between them had changed. They could rebuild on a platform of mutual respect, even if they didn’t necessarily warm up to each other. Ronny returned Candy back to Martin. The couple embraced and kissed happily, relieved that the whole tense situation was resolved. Martin was proud of Candy, and Candy was proud of Martin. They were full of love for each other.

Ronny, watching the lovers fawn over each other, turned around and walked away to give them some privacy. He raised Tanya up to his lips and kissed her tenderly. He felt her reciprocate with a light touch to his upper lip. He was so grateful to her. She was a good influence on him. She gave him the strength and motivation to be a better man. Ronny felt like an impossible burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been purified and cleansed. And he found that he didn’t mind the taste of humble pie, under the right circumstances. Bit by bit, the shattered pieces of his life and his soul were coming together.

Chapter 34

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #g/t angst #g/t story #Bucky's #gt fluff #gt angst #gt writing #gianttiny #gt

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cerastes · 2 years

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What I love is, back in "I, Namely I" Specter said she couldn't go back to her old way of fighting because her body felt too heavy. Well, having a spine made out of rocks probably does weigh you down. So what does she do but figure out how to use Saw 2.0 to spindash up walls? Absolutely iconic next-level strats from the executioner of the second company.

All jokes aside, it's precisely that.

In "I, Namely I" (Specter's 2nd Operator Records), Laurentina tells Closure all about how she wishes she could form an adventuring trio with Skadi and Gladiia and take to wandering, offering their services to whoever needed them, just three supersoldiers doing the right thing, finally getting to live a little.

Closure says that's a great idea, and then Specter immediately calls it a great dream: This cannot happen. No matter how much Laurentina wishes for it, it cannot happen, because she's ill, she'll inevitably go back to being Specter. Even if she wasn't, her body was ravaged by years of deteriorating from Originium and regenerating from her own regen factor. Her body felt too heavy, too slow, too weak, or, in other words, she simply couldn't fight and move as she did before, and she understood she'd likely never be as strong as she used to be. In her own words, Laurentina would be a burden to Skadi and Gladiia, and she would never allow herself to be that.

The decision to stick to the buzzsaw rather than going back to her original weapon is based on the fact that she likely cannot use her old weapon anymore. Not in the way she used to, not in the way she knows. Laurentina is the guitarist that lost use of her dominant right hand. The decision to stick to the buzzsaw perfectly reflects one of the big decisions she makes in I, Namely I, and the request she makes to Doctor directly in her last moments of sanity: "Make more use of me. Put me in more dangerous situations. Let me have a weapon in my hands and enemies in front of me. Only that way I truly am."

Because Laurentina is defined by being a warrior and a shield. She was the infamous and feared Shark, Executioner Of The Second Company, the soldier that survived what would kill other Abyssal Hunters ten times over. The only fate worse than death to her is to be forever confined to a hospital room, withering away while others concern herself over her. No, she requested from Doctor to specifically be put in even more dangerous missions, to be sent to more fights, because only while fighting and protecting and struggling, she truly is anything of worth in her own eyes. No matter what, she has to fulfill her existential duty as a warrior and protector, that way, even when she's Specter, she's Laurentina and Shark.

So, after that and into whatever causes the sequel to Under Tides, Laurentina/Specter leaned twice over into the buzzsaw. As a guitarist without the use of her dominant right hand, she learned to play the guitar with her left hand, and it was as simple as that: A warrior is not defined by her weapon, but by her gumption and her guts, and if there's anyone with gumption and guts, who is really good at spilling and tearing through guts, that's the Executioner Of The Second Company.

It immediately tells you everything you need to know about how experienced and seasoned a warrior Laurentina is when she actually starts freaking spindashing up walls by using a weapon as weird as a buzzsaw tied to the end of a stick and converting into full meter air combos from there. Makes you wonder how lethal she was with the weapon she actually was experienced with.

The decision for Unchained to retain the buzzsaw as a weapon is the perfect and beautiful conclusion to I, Namely I, in which Laurentina acknowledges that Specter, too, is her.

#onwardmotley #specter #laurentina #specter the unchained

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no-droids · 3 years

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Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back. “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. ��Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

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saphirered · 2 years

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Hello, I just discovered your beautiful blog! Is it possible to get a Dorian x reader where the reader falls asleep on his shoulder? Your writing has helped me fall asleep with finals stress❤️

The finals stress is real. I hope this one is to your liking. Don't forget to take care of yourself and rest enough. 😘

Ever since the trouble in Tal’Dorei you’ve taken it upon yourself to be the one looking over your collective shoulders. It’s been a burden you’d taken up on carrying. Orym had noticed but the others had not caught on yet since you set off for Marquet. You’d been a little more prickly, senses on high alert and while he might not have figured out why, Dorian had taken to do whatever he could to calm your nerves, make sure you’re comfortable, gently persuade anyone to back off if they stepped on your toes, and more.

You never used to be like this in the time Dorian’s known you and while at first he brushed it off as the tension of everything that happened and traveling for an extended period of time to big unknown cities, just weighing on you, he’s beginning to doubt that conclusion. Regardless, he doesn’t think it’s his place to enquire. He’ll do the little things for you he’s been doing, but won’t step in unless you ask for help. He’ll keep dropping hints he’s there for you though. And he’ll try to stop you from lashing out at anyone who makes the mistake of getting on your nerves. Try. The keyword here is try because there’s only so much he can do.

Once you’ve found a decent inn to crash at, rooms bought and food provided, you push yours around on your plate barely having taken a bite. The place just feels suffocating. You engage in the conversation going on at times but it just costs too much energy, the voices of the tables around are just deafening as you try to repress them and you’re just not having a great time so you get up, the eyes of the others falling on you as you push your plate towards Fearne, the monkey reaching from under her cape to grab whatever was closest to him while Fearne takes the rest.

“I’m just going to get some air. You think you can manage them on your own?” You ask. Orym simply nods, mouth full of food and Fearne barely even heard you over Mister’s screeching for more food.

“I’ll join you?” Dorian begins to get up but you place a hand on his arm before he rises fully and sits back down again.

“I won’t be long. I’ll be fine, Dorian.” This time you do force a smile and while the genasi might not be letting it go completely your insistence of wanting some time to yourself, is something he can understand so he’ll let it be choosing not to argue if this is what you need.

“Stay safe.” And with that you turn around leaving the tavern behind you, though you feel eyes on you all the way until you close the door behind you. The moment you step outside and the wind gently blows against your skin, rustling your clothes you already feel more at ease. You just choose to walk around the district for a while, stopping at a square and just sit down at one of the benches for a solid fifteen minutes before you make your way back to the inn.

In the mean time Dorian has managed to talk Fearne and Orym into sharing a room instead of you and the faun together under the guise of separating the chaos and spare you from feeling the need to watch over her to either have her back or assure no one comes find her for payback. Orym knew there was more to Dorian’s reasons other than the ones he presented, the main one being you needing a break and him making sure you’d actually sleep for once, so he went along with it, promising Fearne she could join on his early morning walk and they could go browsing at the market in the morning. Big mistake, both Dorian and Orym are aware but they’ll deal with the consequences later. Right now they need you to be alright.

So when you return to the inn, the sun has set and busy streets have calmed down a little. The tavern is still filled but you spot Dorian seated at the same table you’d left him at minus Fearne and Orym who’d retired but a few minutes ago. Of course the genasi offers you one of his welcoming smiles as you approach. He notices the clear exhaustion written on your face; your eyes red, circles beneath them dark, posture slumped, and you look like you’re dragging your feet despite your efforts not to.

“Hey, how was your walk?” Dorian asks as he hands you a drink he’d ordered for you earlier. Eagerly you take it and gulp it down. Perhaps it was a good call not to order any liquor.

“Refreshing, but exhausting. I think I’m going to head to bed. Sorry if you waited for me. If I’d known, I’d have told you not to.” You appreciate Dorian looking out for you but you’re fine. Okay, maybe you’re not entirely fine but you will be so no harm done. He’s a bit of a mother hen when it comes down to it but you really do appreciate him caring about you.

“About that, you’re rooming with me for the night.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Am I now? What will the others think?” You manage to joke and watch as Dorian goes to respond but realises what you said and closes his mouth again to process.

“If you have any hesitations about sharing a room I’ll tell Orym to switch-“ Dorian scrambles, rising to his feet. You place both hands on his shoulders to stop him from running off to ‘fix’ things and your lazy grin is more than enough for him to be at ease again.

“I’ll be fine as long as I have a relatively decent surface to crash on. Let’s head up. We need to be up bright and early after all.” He couldn’t agree more and allows you to lead the way, pulling him along behind you until you reach the room you rented, stepping in, dropping your things and taking one of the beds in the room, ungracefully plopping down onto the soft sheets with a groan. You earn a soft chuckle from Dorian as he places his own belongings on the small table.

You kick off your shoes an anything else not comfortable enough to sleep in before you crawl under the blankets and curl up, facing away from the rest of the room. You close your eyes and even out your breathing. It’s what you’ve been doing for weeks now. Pretend you’re asleep, wait for whoever’s awake to go to sleep and then just do whatever, keep guard, ponder life, the universe or just go over all the little things popping up in your mind, your thoughts keeping you awake. The image flashes before you once more. Crawling spiders. Whispers in the dark. Dorian veiled in a layer of cobwebs, wearing a barbed crown, a blank expression on his face, death and decay at his feet. Sleep doesn’t come anymore. Any urge to sleep disappears. Still you pretend.

You listen to the rustling and moving about in the room, waiting for that familiar sound of moving blankets, and evened breathing but it doesn’t come. Instead you feel the mattress dip, the blankets move taut as you grip them, someone sitting down and turning themselves. Then you hear the gentle creak of the headboard; someone leaning against it. You don’t respond. You don’t mind the intrusion, not at all. The bed is more than big enough for two. It’s the fact that you know the air genasi you’re sharing your room with does not fall asleep easily when seated, that’s what worries you. He’s trying to stay awake. Still you try to outlast but it’s just getting too much. You try to focus on the gentle breaths, any movement, or lack thereof, to see if he’s even close to slipping off but no. So you give in.

“What are you doing?” You roll over onto your back, staring up at the genasi, who sits, legs stretched out crossed at the ankles, head leaning back against the headboard and hands folded, relaxed, staring out into the distance like it’s the most usual thing in the world, like he has no urge to catch any sleep.

“What do you mean?” Dorian asks innocently, shifting slightly to better look at you.

“You know what I mean.” You roll your eyes. It’s just the tiniest bit frustrating how nonchalantly he handles this.

“Oh, you mean me sitting here? I’m just doing what you’ve been doing the past few weeks. I simply thought to return the favour. Don’t you worry, you can rest easy now. I’ll stay awake on your behalf.” He speaks in a tone befitting some stick-up-the-arse hero with a hint of smugness.

“Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?” You ask sitting up.

“Oh, of course I do. That’s exactly why I’m wondering why you feel the need to keep valiant watch. Mind enlightening me?” Cat’s out of the bag. You’re having this conversation apparently so you sigh, leaning your head back. There’s no point in denying it or trying to change the subject. You’re done for, called out so you might as well come clean.

“I’m just… worried. After everything that’s happened, that's been going on.” The way the words come out, Dorian feels sorry for you, especially for not addressing this problem sooner but he won’t linger on the past as it won’t do either of you any good. He’s just glad he’s here with you now.

“It’s alright. We’re all worried but nothing is going to come hunt us down in the night. We’ll be safe. Especially now in the cities. You don’t need to keep guard forever.”

“It wouldn’t be forever…” You defend shamefully.

“It certainly won’t if you pass out from lack of sleep or barely have enough energy to fight when trouble does find us. You’ll do little good keeping the dangers away if you can’t lift an arm or cast a spell. You need rest. You’re not invincible.” You know Dorian’s right. You damn well know he is but the need to watch over your friends, is but a small part of your struggle to sleep. And even if your fears are unreasonable, better safe than sorry. But then comes that voice again, Dorian’s voice telling you even if, there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Could you promise me something?” You try to find a compromise to your own mind, so perhaps you’ll know a moment of peace. Let’s hope it works.

“Of course.” Dorian nods so when you shift, to look at him properly he adjusts with you. You hold his gaze as he waits expectantly.

“Could you promise me that no matter what, you won’t condemn yourself for the rest of us?” Dorian’s taken aback by your request. Not the request specifically but he questions why you feel the need to ask this. The lives of adventurers are not without risks and you’re well aware but he feels like that’s not what you’re hinting at. ‘Condemn’ the word rings through his head and for a brief second he feels the phantom crawling of eight legs behind his ear, ready to whisper. He resists the urge to scratch, knowing there’s nothing there, not really.

“Will that help you sleep at night?” He had to ask.

“I don’t know. But it certainly won’t hurt.” You admit and that makes him realise, you’re as much at your wits end as he is when it comes down to it. Maybe after some good sleep, you both can sit down together, talk this over and find a more permanent fix to your problems. Rest first.

“Then I promise to not go off making deals with evil beings and stay out of trouble. And if I don’t I give you my full consent to kick my ass if you feel the need to.” You chuckle but it ends in a yawn when you wrap your arms around Dorian.

“Thank you and I will most certainly hold you to that promise.” You pull yourself against him, arm wrapping around you in return as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

“I will hold you to it.” He tries to repress a yawn of his own and succeeds.

Dorian brushes his fingers up and down your arm as you rest your head against his shoulder, welcoming the warmth of the embrace with a deep sigh, making yourself more comfortable in your position, your body has no energy left to move so you’ll the the comforts of the air genasi next to you. He doesn’t mind either and watches as your eyes fall closed and breathing begins to slow evenly, your hold on him loosening and limbs growing more heavy. If anything he’s glad you’ve found sleep and despite the fact the seated position is probably going to result in some sore muscles for the both of you, it’s worth it. The movement of his fingers grows more inconsistent, his eyelids becoming heavier by the second as he finds himself leaning into your own form, cheek atop your crown he finds himself dozing off too.

Your night is not plagued by nightmares and sleep is peaceful. Turns out you don’t have to be awake to keep troubles at bay, Dorian’s proven that much and he’ll keep this habit going, falling asleep with you if only to help you rest more easily. Besides, he can’t say he minds. Your own embrace brings him comfort too, and not just because it means you’re taking care of yourself and he’ll know you’re alright, but simply in the fact that you can find that comfort within each other. That is a blessing in its own right.

#critical role x reader #campaign 3 x reader #dorian storm x reader #dorian x reader #exu x reader #exandria unlimited x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #bells hells

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ask-canterlot-musicians · 2 years

Text

End, Begin, All the Same.

Happy New Year, everyone! Well, 2021 sure... did happen. It’s hard to believe that so much could happen, yet it felt like no time at all. I would have written the year off entirely if not for the last three months or so of it. I finally found a job in my field, I started streaming, I was able to wrangle some commission work, things finally started to feel a little grounded.

I wanted to share a few thoughts, and talk a little about how things are looking going into 2022. Sorry if some (or all) of this is repeated from prior posts, it’s hard to remember what I wrote when.

I have been working on a game for the past few years, alongside job hunting, the Academy, and other general projects. It has been a great learning opportunity, and one that I have every intention of seeing to completion. However, a friend made me take a hard look at how I was managing my work and my life. Since then, I put the game on pause while I figured out a new path. Finding work in the game industry had been a crushing experience, years or trying to get noticed and never being given a second glance. So, I decided I needed to find other means to support myself. Streaming’s a big thing, so I looked at whether I could make that work. I’d pick up some part time work to keep things steady, I’d do some side hustles to supplement. In short, I was getting off the all-or-nothing job hunt track, and I was going to try a few different things and see what proved successful.

And then I got a job offer in the games industry. (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

I of course took the offer immediately, and that was the right choice. I’m having a great time with the job, I have some financial stability, and I’m in the industry I’ve been working for years to be in. The downside, of course, is that I don’t have the freedom to delegate my time as I did for much of this past year. That’s not really a problem, since I was pretty bad at that anyway.

So, before I ramble any more, let’s break this down into a list.

The Academy: I never really thought my little ask blog project would outlast MLP:FiM, and it’s been incredible to share it with all of you for this long. Between tumblr shooting itself in the foot a few years ago, and many fans moving on to other things in their lives, traffic isn’t as high as it used to be. All the same, I have a rough of idea of how I would like to see the Academy come to an end, and I want to share that ending with all of you. There may be days where I have to put other projects above the Academy, and miss some posts. There may be days where I just can’t think of a good page, or find the energy to make it, and I have to take some time off. I’m sorry, I wish I could get to all of it. What I will promise, however, is that I will not up and disappear. I do enjoy working on the comic, and I am glad I get to share it with you and make your day a little better. So I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the lives of our favorite musical ponies for a while longer.

The Game: “Pages” has always been a project burdened with too many expectations. It had to be a good portfolio piece, it had to be something I enjoyed working on, it had to be commercially successful to validate the work I was putting in, and it had to be something I got done in a reasonable amount of time. All of these things weighed heavily on it and myself, and is what resulted in that heart-to-heart I mentioned earlier. It did serve its role as a portfolio piece, since I was able to show some of the work from it to help land my job. And now that I have that job, it does not need to make lots of money and make it right now. One of my big goals for 2022 is to get it back off the shelf and start working on it again. I don’t know when it’s going to get done, but I look forward to sharing the considerably less burdened journey with you guys. Which leads me into...

Streaming: Like I said, I got into streaming as a potential way to share the work I was already doing, and maybe even make a little coffee money off of it. Being unemployed, I had the freedom to do streams at any hour of the day I wanted. That’s not an option now, but I did enjoy sharing the work with all of you guys. It’s something that I want to keep doing, albeit not as frequently as I would have done before. I expect it will be more of a weekend thing, maybe weekly or bi-weekly. We will see how it go, but do please keep an eye out. I will be sure to let you know when streams are going to happen.

I think that covers all the business points I wanted to get to. Thank you everyone for coming this far with me. It has been an insane ride since I started this blog in July 2012, and I would not have predicted how any of it would have gone. Still, I am glad to have shared it with all of you, and I hope to continue to share my work for a long time to come. I hope 2022 is kind to you, and that you happy and healthy. Be good to yourselves, be good to one another, and may we all find joy in the days to come.

Gratefully,

Esuka

#mod post

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kudzushadow · 3 years

Text

There for You | Part 1 of 3 | A Harlivy Fanfiction

Summary: After Harley finds Ivy in tears on the floor of the bathroom, realization dawns on her about how hard the past year had been on Ivy, from literally dying (1x12) to mind control. (2x12) They have a heartfelt conversation about the events leading up to the moment, and learn that sometimes it's ok to confide in the ones you care for. (Based on the scene from Eat Bang! Kill Tour: Issue #1)

Hurt/Comfort | TW: Past trauma mentions, slight hints of past abuse. | Spoilers for Harley Quinn: The Animated Series & Eat Bang! Kill Tour: Issue #1

See bottom for extra notes!

"...Ive?" Harley's eyes widened as she rounded a corner and was greeted with a sight that made her heart ache.

Ivy sat on the bathroom floor, head buried in her hands as her whole body shook with sobs.

Harley was immediately kneeling by her side, arms wrapping protectively around her girlfriend without a second of hesitation. "Shh. It's alright, Ive. Everything's going to be ok…" Ivy had been acting strange since the wedding, but she hadn't been willing to open up to Harley. Now Harley was beyond worried, it was clearly more serious than the redhead had been letting on.

Ivy immediately relaxed into the blonde, tucking her face into Harley's chest. Eventually her sobs quieted down, but Harley could feel her trembling as she held her. While she tried to figure out what to say, she rubbed Ivy’s back comfortingly.

After a couple moments of silence, after holding Ivy, feeling her tremble, listening to her uneven breathing… seeing her tear stained cheeks… realization began to dawn on Harley. God, she was so stupid and oblivious! She’d been so focused on her own feelings, she hadn’t even begun to consider Ivy’s… and how hard it must’ve been, being stuck in the middle of everything.

“Ivy… I'm sorry. I’m so sorry… I’ve been so caught up in my own feelings, I hadn’t given any thought to how heavy all of this must weigh on you…” She brushed a strand of hair from Ivy’s face before continuing. “You’ve been through so much this past year, and I’ve been a pretty shitty friend. I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve helped you, should’ve protected you… and if I could go back in time and do it all differently, I would. A thousand times over.”

“...but I can’t, and that’s something I’ll regret as long as I live. Yet you’ve always been there for me, even when I created huge messes… when I joined the Legion of Doom, when I went back to Joker, when I released an army of parademons, when the Injustice League froze me… god, that last one sucked. Yet you rescued me. You always rescue me, Ive. Always help me. Always take care of me, even though I’m not sure I deserve it most of the time…” Harley looked away, shutting her eyes for a moment before forcing herself to continue. “...Ivy, you don’t have to pretend to be strong in front of me. You’re hurting… and that’s ok. We all hurt sometimes, but that doesn’t make us weak… or… or less human. I’m here now though. I want to share that burden with you, if you’ll let me.” Harley looked back at Ivy, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I love you, Ive. I love you so much… and if you ever… yknow, want to talk about… well, anything at all, really… I just want you to know I’m here.”

Ivy turned her head away, and the next few minutes passed slowly in silence. Harley held Ivy, didn’t once let go, but with each passing second she became increasingly worried she’d done something wrong. Was it something she’d said? Oh god, had she made it worse?

“Ive, I didn’t mean-”

“Harley.” Ivy pulled away slightly, raising her head so she could meet Harley’s wide blue eyes. “I-” She paused, choking back a sob. “I hurt you, I hurt Chuck… I hurt so many people… all because I didn’t know what I wanted then… and to be honest, I’m not sure what I want now, either…”

Harley’s heart dropped, and she opened her mouth to respond before Ivy cut her off.

“-...but Harley… so much has happened. You’ve made mistakes, I’ve made mistakes… and you’re trying to change… that’s good, and I’m proud of you… but you're right, we can’t change the past, no matter how hard we try.” Ivy shut her eyes, letting out a shaky exhale before continuing. “Opening up… relationships… hell, just being around other people is… is hard for me… but you showed me the good in humanity. That not all humans are… are monsters. My life before I met you… was… lonely. Even with all my plants, I had nobody to talk to. Nobody to confide in… but I liked it that way. It was safe. Nobody was going to judge me, or… or abandon me... and I guess that’s why I… why I chose Chuck… because he was the safer option.”

I trust you, with my life… but I don’t trust you with my heart.

Harley winced inwardly, but she understood where Ivy was coming from. Harley definitely didn’t have the best track record with… well, anything really.

So I… I’m marrying Kiteman.

“I was… I was scared. Scared that if I… if I went with what my heart was telling me, it was just going to get broken… and after everything, I just… I couldn’t stand the idea of that happening. Of losing you again…” Ivy trailed off, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

You were my one friend, and I asked you for one favor, but instead you ditched me for the Joker, who treats you like shit!

“Ivy… I had no idea you felt that way.” Harley spoke softly, using her free hand to lift Ivy’s chin so she could look into those beautiful green eyes… eyes whose depths she often found herself lost in. “I… didn’t know what I really wanted then. It was like… like I was trying to fill a hole inside me… like part of me was missing… and then, that night at the pit…” She smiled, using her thumb to brush a tear from Ivy’s cheek. “That was one of the most amazing nights of my life. I hadn’t realized… I hadn’t realized what it felt like to have someone else care about you. To have someone love you. Joker definitely never cared about me… not in the way you do… and... y'know, maybe I didn’t deserve it. Like I said, I haven’t always been the most reliable… but that changes today… if you’ll give me a shot, that is…”

Ivy looked up at Harley as she brushed the tear away, and smiled sadly. “...You’re trying to change… and that’s what matters. Harls, I do love you. A lot…. More than I care to admit… and… this whole relationship thing is new to me, but… I’m… I’m willing to give it a shot. To give you a shot… and today… today was proof of how much you’ve changed. How much you’re willing to sacrifice for others…” Ivy rested her head on Harley’s shoulder, but her mind was clearly wandering.

“...but that’s not all that’s troubling you, is it?”

“...perceptive as always.” Ivy chuckled halfheartedly, then looked away again. “It’s… it’s fine. It’s nothing important…”

“Well, I am a psychiatrist… but seriously Ive, you can tell me anything.” Harley stroked her cheek. “You know that.”

“Harley, I really don’t want to talk about it… can we just… can you help me out of this dress?”

“...yeah. Sure thing.” Harley stood up before reaching out a hand to help Ivy up. She definitely wasn’t going to let this drop that easily, but Ivy clearly didn’t want to talk anymore right now… so instead Harley busied herself with the zipper of Ivy’s wedding dress and the sights underneath.

- End of part 1 -

I think all of it copied and pasted? If it looks like anything is missing please lmk!

This... this is what quarantine, lack of sleep, and having covid does to you. Helps you get over writers block. This is my first work I've gone public with, and originally I wasn't going to post it but a friend gave me the confidence to share it! So... here it is, I guess?

I was going to post it on Archives of Our Own too, but I have to wait till the 14th to get an account. 😐

Comments mean the world, even if it's just a couple words. I'll even take criticism to heart! By commenting you all can let me know what you think, and if you want to see the other parts...

Any interaction is appreciated, and my inbox and dms are always open! Thank you, and have a great day! (Or night!)

#harlivy #harley quinn #poison ivy #harleen quinzel #pamela isley #harley quinn animated series #eat bang kill tour #harlivy fanfiction

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

boneless wings

(T!)

word count: ~1.6k

You’re feeling shitty and Keigo is more than willing to help you out.

just a short little thing. just tooth rotting fluff, soft keigo, very sweet, nice. nesting fic with avian hawks. enjoy a soft, feel good piece.

enjoy a feel good piece y’all ;^)

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Sometimes, you just have shitty days. It’s just a fact of living and breathing, somedays just fucking suck and it’s just how it is. You knew this. You were well aware.

And, you were having one.

The weird, gluey feeling in your chest didn’t go away, no matter what you did. You tried the kitschy self-care that those online magazines recommended. Yoga, face masks, drinking fucking water—

None of it worked, so you gave up, opting to nest in your living room. You padded it with pillows, blankets, and a few plushies. You didn’t much feel like eating, mouth dry despite the extra water you had chugged in desperation.

You resigned yourself to riding out your nastiness, ambiently watching TV with half-lidded eyes. The constant pattering of drizzling rain relaxed you, but the gray sky it brought with it was hardly welcome.

Your phone rang in the early evening, pulling you from your stupor.

You answered without checking the caller ID, “Hello?”

“Angel!” Keigo’s voice was like sunshine through the phone. “Have you eaten? I found a great street vendor that I want to take you to. You down?”

You sighed into the receiving, nestling in your blankets. You weren’t up for much moving.

“I’m sorry, Kei’,” You hated how weak your voice sounded. “I’m not feeling so hot. I think I’m staying in for the day.”

You could hear his frown through the phone, “Aww, babe! Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll bring you some soup! Maybe dumplings, if you’re feeling that.”

“No, love, it’s not that kind of sick,” You rubbed at your eyes.

Keigo had made it very clear early in your relationship that for all of the hoops and secrecy you had to jump through for him, he wanted to be more than there for you. He was insanely nice and supportive if you let him.

Especially on your shitty days, you struggled to tell him how rotten you were feeling.

“Dove,” His voice was so sweet from the phone, worming its way through your depressive haze. “You want me to come over? Snuggle you a little, order in some food you like? You know I’m here for you, (Y/N).”

You swallowed, rubbing at the wetness around your waterline, “I don’t wanna trouble you, ‘Kei, you know that.”

“Now I gotta come over, Dove. You’re never trouble. Guess I gotta show you.”

“Keigo—”

He hung up before you could argue.

Though, you did receive a text shortly after.

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i’ll be over in 30, okay?

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i’m gonna kiss u so much

[heart eyes chicken wing]: you want me to stay over? i’m the big spoon 4 u ALL NIGHT!!

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i love u so much dove!!!

You swallowed, rubbing at your tears. Sure, Keigo was a bit overbearing. He was actually pretty new to the whole ‘dating’ thing, but he really tried. And on your shitty days, it did feel better to have someone close.

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Keigo arrived a half an hour later, knocking on your balcony door.

You hauled yourself from your nest, quickly dodging to the bathroom to grab him a towel for his wings.

Padding to the door, you unlocked and slid it open, stepping aside for Keigo and only looking at the ground. You handed the towel to which he thanked you promptly. There was a bag in his hand that was dropped to the ground, a bit damp from the mist outside.

Standing next to him, you felt a little pathetic, to say the least. Standing in front of him in nothing but sweats and an oversized sweater, eyes scratchy with old tears, and a mess of unattended hair.

“Oh, baby,” Keigo’s voice was so empathetically sad, it made your own chest ache.

You finally looked up, just as Keigo cupped your face, leaning down the slightest bit to pepper your face with kisses.

“H-hey, stop that,” You stuttered, unable to stop the fluttery feeling cracking in your chest, a little ray of warmth through the rot. “You’re too nice.”

“Nope,” Keigo dropped a kiss on the tip of your nose, pulling him into you by your waist to hug you as tightly as he could. “I’m not nice enough. You deserve the world, you know.”

“So you tell me,” You mumble against his chest, locking your arms around his neck and settling against his neck for a moment.

Keigo let you rest against him, a birdlike cooing vibrating cutely from the back of his throat as he rubbed your lower back with his thumbs.

“Thanks for coming by, Kei’. I love you,” It was in a small voice, but it was something.

“I love you too.” Keigo nuzzled into the side of your head, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. “And, of course. Anytime. Also, I brought you a little treat.”

You pulled away a little, just to eye the bag he’d dropped when he’d arrived, “Dinner?”

“Hmmm, no, but we’ll get that too,” Keigo left the embrace, but slipped your palms together. “I thought it might be nice for your bad days. It’s kind of heavy, though.”

You cocked your head to the side as he passed you the bag, topped with pastel tissue paper. Pulling it away, your eyebrows rose.

Inside, was a blanket, heavy in the bag.

“It’s a weighted blanket! Rumi was talking about how helpful they are for Fuyumi when she gets anxious, and I figured it might help you too,” Keigo beamed at you as you looked in the bag.

You were very fragile that day, and small kindnesses hit a little harder than you wanted to admit.

Your arms wrapped around his neck again, blanket dropped to the ground as you hid your damp face in Keigo’s neck.

“Thank you,” You pressed into his neck as he rubbed at your sides. “A lot.”

He squeezed you, smothering your messy hair with kiss after kiss, “Of course, dove. Anything to help you out. Now, dinner? Anything. You name it.”

...

Keigo ordered in your favorite comfort food, more than happy to make the phone call to the place for delivery.

The moment he hung up, he was eyeing your ‘nest’ on the floor.

“Uh, babe, what’s all that?” He jerked his head towards the mass on the floor.

The embarrassment in your gut stung, “It’s... I guess a nest... It’s kind of dumb, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, silly,” Keigo was on you in an instant, kissing your forehead and dragging you into him. “Don’t apologize. One, it looks comfy as hell. Two, I’m bird adjacent, and the idea of you making a nest that I can now snuggle with you in makes me like, cuddle horny.”

You snorted a laugh out, the filthy feeling your gut dulling, “Nesting turns you on?”

“Like, in a cute way,” Keigo smiled down with his honeyed eyes. He dragged you over to the nest, falling into the piles of blankets and pillows. “Like, I want to wrap you up in my wings and kiss you until you fall asleep, kind of horny.”

“Ohhh, I see,” You smirk down as he cutely adjusted the softness around his feathers, a cluster of the downy ones from the base of his wings falling around the nest. “What are those doing?”

“Gotta claim it, bird stuff,” He huffed while papping his hands on a pillow. “Get down here, dove. This nest isn’t complete without you in it, you know.”

It was a little silly, Keigo’s avian doings, but it was also very endearing to see him like this. Both he and you were being particularly vulnerable, and though you felt pretty raw, it also felt nice. Very nice.

“Oh, wait!” Keigo piped up as you fell to your knees on a soft comforter.

One of his feathers shot off, then three more, bringing the new, weighted blanket over to you and Keigo’s nest. It fell into your lap.

You carefully unfurled it as Keigo idly told you about his day, knowing all too well how it was harder for you to talk when you weren’t feeling well. You appreciated the gesture, a bit of tension rolling from your shoulders as you fully unwrapped the blanket.

As you did, Keigo plopped into the perfect nest he made, wings perfectly poised behind him.

You followed his movement, scooted closer to him. Keigo wasted no time urging your back to his chest, wrapping you the two of you up in one of his wings. The warm scent of the oil he rubbed on them instantly lulled you, eye going half-lidded. Keigo giggled, watching your sleepy reaction. He knew how to get you boneless without a single touch (in more ways than one).

He stretched for the new blanket, pulling it over the two of you, sighing at its weight, “Oh, I get it now.”

The blanket weighed down on your body, thoroughly pleasantly. The pressure lulled you even more, Keigo’s heat and steady breath only adding to your increasingly lax state.

“Like it, dove?” Keigo asked, lightly laughing as he swept a bit hair from your face. He adjusted a pillow under your head, the arm thrown over your waist drifting chastely to under your sweater to rub circles on your hips.

“Mhm, it’s really nice,” You let your eyes shut. “I’m getting a little sleepy already.”

Keigo hummed, kissing the crown of your head, a happy chirp echoing his chest, “Good, I’m glad. Very glad. You rest if you need to, angel.”

You felt your eyes well with tears at his unabashed kindness. It was so earnest with him sometimes, it was overwhelming.

Turning, you pressed your front to him, nestling yourself against his neck, softening as light coos rolled from Keigo’s throat, just up against your ear.

You fell into a light, but calm sleep, happily. Keigo with his avian quirks, worn hands, and sweetest nothings, helped bear the burden of your bad day, happy to fall with you into your new nest.

(Keigo would have to convince you to make a permanent one, but with how easily you unwound and settled in this one, he didn’t think it would take much.)

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taglist: @sinclairsamess

#salem writes #drabble #ish??#u know i have the ll chapter to edit and its almost 4 am but enjoy some fluff #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x y/n #mha x reader #hawks fluff #takami keigo fluff #takami x reader #hawks x you

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 3 years

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Jung Kook: “I think we’d better not ever stop”

We asked Jung Kook to draw anything he wanted for the photoshoot. The photos featured in this article are snapshots while Jung Kook was at work. Even when the photoshoot was finished, he left the studio only when he completed his drawing.

“Butter” has been at the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart for six weeks straight. (This interview took place on July 12) Jung Kook: I was never attached to rankings, but as good as it is and as happy as I am since we’ve kept setting records since “Dynamite,” it also feels like a burden.

Is it because you’ve been successful beyond anything you could’ve imagined? Jung Kook: Sort of. A huge number of people have given me recognition, so I’ve been going along thinking I have to work harder, but we did even better with “Butter” than with “Dynamite,” so I think I ended up feeling weighed down. That’s what I’m like. BTS is an amazing team, but maybe my problem is that I’m not able to keep up with BTS.

You were the one to set the mood for “Butter” by singing the intro to the song. Didn’t that make you feel good? You were definitely as amazing as the team itself. (laughs) Jung Kook: “Butter” just feels so good. It’s different from our usual style, so it felt different while recording. The song’s great, too. I love that, but it’s separate from that feeling of pressure. I mean, I hope BTS does even better, honestly. Lately I’ve been thinking that that pressure means I need to do better. After “Dynamite” became number one on the Billboard Hot 100, it’s not like we’re being forced to try harder; it’s just my personal ambition. I think I can do better.

Why do you think “Dynamite” wasn’t as satisfying? Jung Kook: Because I couldn’t express everything I wanted the way I wanted to. When I listen to the remixes, I think about how I could’ve sung it differently. Like, “Aw, man! If only I could do it again!” (laughs) I got some things from singing “Dynamite,” like, I’m not quite there yet. So I try to practice singing at least an hour every day, no matter what. Any singer who’s been at number one on Billboard for six weeks had better be really good at singing. That’s what I think.

Something about the way you sang in English probably made you hear your own singing in a new light. Your tone is different from when you sing in Korean. Jung Kook: Sometimes you have to bear down a little on your words to talk in Korean. Plus I’m from Busan, so I speak in a little bit of a low voice. I don’t have that when I use English, though, so it’s like there’s pros and cons. It’s easy to use your head voice when you sing in English as well, but it can be uncomfortable, while in Korean, if you try to sing higher using your head voice, it can sound a bit nasally sometimes. But at the same time, it can be hard to break old habits when I sing in English since I’ve always been singing in Korean.

“Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance” are all English songs and you were in charge of the introduction for all three. It seems like you put some thought into how to create different impressions for each song. Jung Kook: “Butter’s” really bouncy, as you know. It’s a little deep, it’s got a driving beat, it’s rhythmical. And before I record, I listen to a recording with guide vocals, and then when I go to record, I have to keep all these characteristics in mind and mix them together with my own style properly in this subtle way. I think it’s seriously an intuition. (laughs) I had a hard time when we were recording, obviously, and when I first did it, my voice didn’t sound right, so I had to keep looking for the right voice. I think the most important thing is to really nail the voice you want to use first, and so is figuring out how to make it your own. In “Permission to Dance,” for instance, I sang it more the way I wanted than the style the guide vocals had.

How do you come to that kind of conclusion? Jung Kook: Everyone’s voice has to sound different, so it can be overpowering if I copy the guide too much when I sing. So sometimes I follow what I’m thinking of exclusively. I was thinking about how I should sing the first part of “Permission to Dance,” and when I went to record it, even Pdogg, the producer, told me, “It’ll work best if you go with your own voice, your own style.”

What effect does listening to so many other artists’ songs and analyzing them have on you? Jung Kook: The more I listen to music, the more my vocals change. It really changes a lot when we get a song and listen to it and practice it. I guess you could say my vocal cords are always readying themselves for improvement when I practice. (laughs) And improving while I record, and just improving any time I sing. But there’s also times when it suddenly doesn’t sound right when I try it the way I want, so I just give it a try, or I quickly look up other vocalists and listen to their songs or ask some of the older artists. Doing that helps me find a certain voice I’m looking for.

You sang uncannily similar to SUGA when you briefly sang his part in “Life Goes On” over V LIVE, even though your voices are different. You’re quick at picking up on the characteristics of others’ vocals. Jung Kook: I used to rely on that a lot. Like, I can hear [the characteristics in their voices] at least. (laughs) Now, though, it’s like, Oh, [I] guess I shouldn’t do it that way. You can safely assume I’ve heard a countless number of other singers’ songs. Then I would think a lot about how I want to sing, thinking how those other singers would sing, before making my own voice. I carry over those people’s voices and vocal patterns and think about how it would sound if they sang in this room, then I think about how it would sound in my own voice, and then sometimes I can make my voice sound similar if I try to.

It seems like it was important for you to find your own style for the performances as well. Not only were the three English songs different from your earlier work, but there were also a lot of parts in “Butter” that you could only perform through gestures and facial expressions. Jung Kook: Before “Butter,” I just worked really hard, and had fun doing it, in whatever way I wanted but starting with “Butter” I think I managed to do things in a more thought-out way. I was more attentive to my facial expressions and movements and thought through what I should do in each situation in each performance to do it in my own style. And it was kind of a fun process. I don’t feel any pressure about that; I just thought I can create that kind of image if I just try to be a little cool and not cringey (laugh) for people from now on.

What image do you want people to have of you, as an artist? One that says, This is who I am as an artist right now. Jung Kook: I don’t think I’m at the level where I need to worry about that yet. I have a general idea about what kind of singer I want to be and what I want to be really good at, but I don’t think I’ve ever imagined defining myself as a certain type of singer yet. Because it’s an ongoing process, when I can prove myself, then, bam!—I give proof and become a truly influential person, only then can I go around saying, This is the kind of singer I am. For now, I don’t have anything, I guess you could say, “substantial” to show off. I think, Even if I’m part of BTS and tour stadiums, does that automatically make me better than other artists? And then, by thinking so, I center myself again.

Couldn’t you be a little softer on yourself? Jung Kook: No. I have to think about the future many times throughout the day. For example, sometimes I spend a whole day doing whatever, but whenever I do, I regret it severely. So I promise myself that I’ll get this and that done. That’s how I live, because if I don’t think that way, I won’t jump into action to get anything done. It’s like the title of our song, “Life Goes On”: the treadmill just keeps on going, and we’re on it, so I always think, I’d better not ever stop. I can express myself better if I think while I talk, and I can organize my thoughts while reflecting back on what I said. I try to think about everything in that way. I think I need to improve, whether it’s at singing or my hobbies—more than now, better than now.

Are you doing particularly well with any of your hobbies these days? It seems like you got a little better at painting, judging by your vlog. Jung Kook: I think I’m getting better overall, little by little. My vocals are where I’ve definitely improved lately. And bowling! (laughs) I learn how to paint by watching videos on YouTube. I think I’m good at picking up skills by emulating others. I’m actually not good at learning things. (laughs) I just like to do what I like to do and I naturally learn from the people around me, I guess. And I think the things I really want to learn are still the same: singing, English, exercise.

Learning from other people and wanting to do better is a form of recognizing who you can compare yourself against. Are you at all influenced by the other members? You’ve talked a lot about how much you’ve been influenced by the six older members. Jung Kook: I think I started paying attention to people other than myself after I moved to Seoul and met the other members. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, but I do notice them now. It’s like I really started to see myself for who I am from that point on.

That makes me think of when you talked about seeing the sights in Seoul for the first time on tvN’s You Quiz on the Block, the way you got to know the feelings the outside world can give. Jung Kook: The first time I saw the streets of Seoul, they were enormous. I was really worried, since I’d just come to Seoul, and I got to know myself because of the change of environment. I think it was the very first time for me to think for myself, and it became the starting point for me to get to know myself.

When you took some candy you liked from the BTS pop-up store, j-hope said you were still the same from when you first met when you were 13 years old. Do you think you haven’t changed at all compared to back then? Jung Kook: In some way I must be better or different on the outside, but I’m sure there’s still things about me that are the same as when I was 13. I learned how to be considerate towards the other members and how to understand them because I fought with them occasionally, but nobody’s going to stop me if I take candy. I take it like I always did. Like when Hobi and I fought over a single banana. (laughs)

But what’s changed about you, then? Being a member of BTS must have had an effect on your view of the world. You sought understanding from your vegetarian viewers when you were eating meat in a salad on V LIVE before. Jung Kook: I thought to ask because I know that many people abroad, and in Korea, too, are vegetarians. It’s one of the things you learn when you tour around many different countries. Obviously I don’t know about every single country’s culture or personal identities or choices, so even though I have a long way to go, I think it’s important to respect them based on what I do know.

I think you must know that you’ve had an influence on a lot of people. Partway into your V LIVE, you talked about how you couldn’t find any of the kombucha you drank before anymore because it was all sold out and you thanked your fans for giving a little help to small business owners. Jung Kook: Restaurants aren’t doing well and there’s a lot of closed-up shops in the markets now, as you know. So if I’ve had an effect on even one person, it’s been worthwhile. And sometimes the people I’ve had an influence on go on to make donations, too. There could always be someone who takes advantage of the things I say or do, but I’m confident a lot of people will use them for good.

This influence is something you’ve crafted with your fandom, ARMY. I imagine you’ve been influenced not only by the other members but also by ARMY since you were young. Jung Kook: There’s a lot going on inside a concert venue: the lighting, the stage, the floor, the stage design, the video projected on the screen. Plus there’s the music, the dancing, and us. Even if they’re all in balance, ARMY has to be there to complete the scene. When it comes to our concerts, ARMY are the ones who bought the tickets and they’re the main characters. I think everything we focus on comes back down to ARMY. We share in each other’s feelings and they’re the source of our strength, and I think they have synergy with us. It’s not enough to just say ARMY and us like each other, or that we love each other. There’s definitely more to it than that. It’s, well—I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. (laughs)

I think you need ARMY to be there at the concert for you to fully realize the concert you’re aiming for. Jung Kook: Yes, exactly! Even if everything’s set up and we’re in front of the camera, if ARMY’s not there, it’s a completely different concert. Even when ARMY’s there and there’s a live camera broadcasting it, I’m like, There’s a camera? Sure. Obviously I care about it when I have to say hello to ARMY sitting on the other side, in front of their screens. Other than that, I get all my energy from all the ARMY sitting right in front of me. That’s how much they mean to me. It’s completely different.

The concept for BTS 2021 MUSTER SOWOOJOO was similar to being in concert with an audience. It must’ve made you think of ARMY even more. Jung Kook: I’m seriously good as long as I can perform. I can put on more and more concerts in the space of a year if we’re touring. I felt it more profoundly this time since we couldn’t perform with an audience. Wow, I really took things for granted all this time. I should’ve done more.

You must be disappointed. It’s your time to shine as a vocalist and as a performer. Jung Kook: (sighs) I, well, I really need to hurry up and make a mixtape, first of all. (laughs)

How’s your mixtape going? Jung Kook: I was working on it just before I came. But it’s hard! (laughs) I could just make it about myself, and then it would be like, I started as a trainee when I was 13, I worked hard, and found success. But anyone could do that. So I keep thinking I want to make up my own original, complex story and write the songs from there. Billie Eilish’s debut album left a big mark on me when it came out, in that respect. And it’d be nice to have a cohesive flow to the tracklist, but even if it’s all jumbled up, that’s fine, too, as long the good songs keep on coming. That’s sort of what I’m thinking. So these days, rather than focusing on the album’s story as a whole, I’m just going to write whatever it is I want to say in each song. If I get that feeling right after listening to a track, I’ll try and make it. And I’m going to try to make it a little bit light-hearted.

It can’t be easy for you to concentrate on it if you’re making it here and there between all your other work. Jung Kook: It’s fine if it takes a really long time—it’s just hard to work on it in pieces. I mean, if I stay up late working away at it, it’s hard to get through the next day. (laughs) I stayed up all night again last night and slept between appointments today, but I’m still going to keep working like this today and then go work on my mixtape again anyway. I’ll do my best to release it as soon as possible. I want to write and record a lot of material.

s there anything about yourself, other than your work or concerts, that you want to show to ARMY as an individual? Jung Kook: I want to show them, that, umm … Just my real self, Jeon Jung Gook. That I’m fairly easy-going, very honest, and nothing special.

What kind of person do you think you are now? Jung Kook: I’m, I’m a, lazy … person. (laughs).

You’re being very hard on yourself. (laughs) How could you be lazy if you’re a part of BTS? Jung Kook: No, I really am lazy. (laughs) If I were alone I’d probably miss a lot of my appointments. (laughs) But I have to avoid making any mistakes when we function as a group. I’m really lazy, and—oh, I overthink things sometimes. I think more than people might expect, and I do things my way. Plus, even though I don’t care what other people think of me, I kind of still do. (laughs) I have no idea. I’m sort of goofy—? But I’m also trying to live a full life—I’m that kind of person. (laughs).

Thank you for the interview. Oh, by the way, I liked your “Butter” fan cam. Your moves were really agile. Jung Kook: Really? Do you think I’ve gotten better? (laughs).

#bangtan #jungkook #m:weverse magazine #210726

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 17 - ao3 -

The next week was far more enjoyable than Lan Qiren had thought it would be.

He wasn’t really sure, in retrospect, what he had anticipated a visit with Wen Ruohan to consist of – more awkward conversations or being forced to drink liquor, perhaps, although the apology of the blanket had largely assuaged his fears in that regard – but he hadn’t actually expected it to be fun.

Wen Ruohan took him around the Sun Palace and the Nightless City, allowing him to point out whatever caught his interest and casually narrating some interesting history of whatever it was, whether person, place, or thing. The Nightless City was full of treasures, some their own or won through acts of heroism, others looted from other sects; Wen Ruohan was not especially shy about describing how his sect had grown rich with subordinate sects, telling the stories of how his sect had defeated and devoured the others with relish, but it wasn’t as if such ruthless growth wasn’t echoed in every other Great Sect’s history as well. And Wen Ruohan himself was ancient, his involvement in the history of his sect personal, and above all else he was proud – endlessly proud.

He was proud of his city, of his sect, of his personal accomplishments. It was said of him that he thought every good thing under the sun rightfully belonged to him, and hearing him speak Lan Qiren could see why people thought so. Wen Ruohan thought other people were wasting their time with such treasures, leaving them to waste away half-used; he thought that he himself was the only one that could value them as he believed they deserved.

It wasn’t just items, though, whether valuable spiritual weapons or devices that any sect would keep as an heirloom. Wen Ruohan valued people, too: he had subordinates drawn from all over the cultivation world, those with special talents or high potential. Even when Lan Qiren hadn’t asked, Wen Ruohan made a special point of pointing them out, telling the story of how he’d saved this one and earned a life-debt, how he’d lured that one in with promises of riches and power, how he’d given his surname to a third who had in the end only wanted a place to belong.

It took a while for Lan Qiren to understand the message, unspoken as it was, but eventually he got it.

Like a treasured sword left to prop open a door, Wen Ruohan had said about Lan Qiren, way back when he’d sworn brotherhood with him in a drunken evening and reconfirmed it in the morning. Lan Qiren hadn’t believed him then, and he’d gone on not believing him for ages, but he was starting to suspect, to his bemusement, that Wen Ruohan actually meant it – that he thought Lan Qiren was something special, like his powerful subordinates or his talented artists and artisans, like the geniuses and scholars he added to his sect like adding flowers to a vase.

That their brotherhood wasn’t mostly a farce the way Lan Qiren had always assumed it was, whether a tease to Lao Nie or a mockery of the Lan sect, but rather something…genuine.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what to do about that, so he opted not to do anything at all, throwing it all in the back of his mind to be considered at length later. But he had to admit – he liked it.

He liked the attention Wen Ruohan paid him, the fact that an older man, powerful and respected and renowned throughout the cultivation world, thought he was worth spending time with even without anyone else there to mediate. He liked the way that Wen Ruohan indulged him, the way that Lan Qiren’s bed in the Nightless Palace was even more comfortably textured than his treasured blanket back home, the way the design of the furniture and even plateware was, although in red and white, in the styles he liked most; he liked the way Wen Ruohan would add things as he figured out more of Lan Qiren’s preferences, beautiful paintings making their way onto his walls and fresh cut flowers beside his table. He liked the way Wen Ruohan remembered that he liked grilled foods over stewed ones, even years later, and how he didn’t serve him meat even when he ate it himself, although he made clear that it was available if Lan Qiren wished to try it; he liked how if there was something he didn’t like, it wasn’t served again.

Best of all, though, he liked how Wen Ruohan listened to him, even when he talked too long or on a subject that he (usually belatedly) realized other people would likely find boring. Not just nodding along, either, but actually paying attention enough to ask questions and interject comments, offering new perspectives on old subjects – how sometimes it seemed as though something Lan Qiren had said had sparked some new insight for Wen Ruohan, even though that seemed improbable. Wen Ruohan would sometimes interrupt their conversation to wave over a servant, ordering them to get this or that book related to their conversation, and if his memory for remembering exact citations was not as good as Lan Qiren’s then the vastness of the library available at his fingertips more than made up for it. Their conversation flowed easily and well, despite their age difference; it was helped along by Wen Ruohan’s charm, that mask Lan Qiren had noticed with Lao Nie, but it was easy enough to ignore the dangerous aura that lingered behind the façade when Lan Qiren felt certain that he, at least, would not be the target of that danger.

It felt – easy.

That was the strangest part, really. Lan Qiren was the son of a Great Sect, privileged even among the privileged; he had never lacked for food or drink or even knowledge. And yet it felt as if he had been struggling alone up the side of a mountain, the burdens forced onto his shoulders weighing him down; even if he had been able to manage it just fine, the fact that there was now someone walking alongside him, sharing it with him, supporting him, made it feel so much easier. He felt safe, he felt secure. He felt happy.

He felt –

Well, he felt a little guilty for thinking it, but he felt as though he finally had a brother.

Lan Qiren had always been a little skeptical of the description of brothers in all the tales he’d heard, the idea of an elder brother caring for and guiding the younger one utterly foreign to him; he tried to emulate the younger siblings, who idolized and loved their elders with a passion that rivaled that which they shared with their lovers, carrying within them a bond that would never be broken, but he knew in his heart that he could not do so in truth. Lan Qiren did idolize his brother, who was perfect in nearly every way except that he didn’t much like Lan Qiren, yet that deficiency was enough to make it difficult to like him back; Lan Qiren could love him better in theory than he could in practice.

With Wen Ruohan, it was different.

Lan Qiren wasn’t quite sure it was exactly like being a brother, either – for one thing, all the attention made him feel strangely shy, made his heart beat too fast and his stomach feel tense, and it wasn’t anything at all like the cheerful and casual camaraderie he shared with his nicer cousins like Lan Yueheng or even with someone he thought might be a friend, like Lao Nie – but whatever it was, he knew that he liked it.

He liked it enough to try to be flexible on some of his own relatively strict standards: to agree to try some local specialties that Wen Ruohan especially wished to share, to take the time to help Wen Ruohan with matters relating to his sect when there was no objection, to make an effort to stay up later than his usual bedtime in order to complete a conversation.

He even allowed Wen Ruohan to buy him things he would normally have rejected out of hand – for example, Wen Ruohan seemed to have a particular fascination for selecting clothing, which Lan Qiren didn’t understand in the slightest, but after having been so indulged, it seemed like it was the least he could do to return the favor.

“I really don’t know the difference between the two cuts,” he confessed, frowning down at the sketches presented by the tailor. “It seems – fairly minimal?”

“They are for completely different body types, Master Lan, and flatter the body in very different ways,” the tailor told him. “What appear to be small choices, such as whether to wear wide sleeves or tight gauntlets, robes or trousers, the style of the shoulders, the cut and angle of the collar, can make the difference between a cold demeanor and a warm one, a mature man and a childish one, a passionate earthy beauty and a icy fairy who stands above the earth.”

Lan Qiren nodded gamely, happy to concede the point – he had always enjoyed hearing other people expound about their interests, even if he didn’t share them, and it was clear the tailor enjoyed his work – but felt obliged to add, “Even if that’s true, how can I know which one I prefer? Anyway, I really don’t need any more clothing…”

“You should have several options in each style already ready-made for sect disciples, do you not?” Wen Ruohan asked the tailor, cutting Lan Qiren off, just as he had the last few times Lan Qiren had tried to suggest that he didn’t actually need to be bought more things. Competitive, as Cangse Sanren had said, only she’d forgotten to add stubborn! “Bring out a few and let him try them.”

“I don’t think –”

“That’s the best way to see what fits best,” the tailor agreed, nodding. “I’ll bring them at once, Sect Leader.”

“But –”

Lan Qiren gave up his clearly futile protests, reminded himself that he’d decided to make an effort to cooperate, and followed the tailor to another room to change his clothing. It felt strange and almost inappropriate, putting on the colors of another sect – at least the base color was still white, which was comforting, but the vivid reds, entirely dissimilar from the usual cool blue accents of the Lan sect, were certainly unlike anything he’d ever worn before.

And the style itself was very different, too. Both sects preferred tight sleeves, but the Wen sect didn’t add an overlay with wide sleeves the way the Lan sect did, and they had a sharp cut at the shoulders and collars that the Lan sect disfavored. Lan Qiren’s usual pick of clothing was even more simple – less layered, fewer cuts – than most in his sect, and the Wen sect outfit, though far from excessive, was almost flamboyant by his standards.

“It fits surprisingly well,” he remarked to the tailor, who smiled vacuously. “I’m lucky that you happened to have something so close to my size at hand.”

“You are very lucky, Lan-er-gongzi,” the tailor said, and although his face was blurred in the copper mirror, Lan Qiren briefly thought he almost looked nervous. “Please wait where you are, there’s one more thing I think would be a perfect fit.”

Lan Qiren nodded absently, looking down at his sleeves and tugging on them even though they fit just right. Truly it was a marvel, he thought to himself; most of his clothing was tailored for him personally, painstakingly made in the Lan sect style with embroidered arrays woven into the clothing, and yet some of those had fit less well than this…

He started in shock when he unexpectedly felt hands fall onto his head, loosening his crown, but when he looked up, ready to scold the tailor for his presumptuousness in daring to touch another man’s hair without permission, he saw Wen Ruohan standing behind him instead, a faint smile on his face.

Lan Qiren’s complaint froze in his throat.

Wen Ruohan, at least, did not violate the prohibition against touching another person’s forehead ribbon, avoiding it entirely as he skillfully wove out the guan Lan Qiren was wearing and replaced it with another in his own preferred style – silver instead of gold, and with a string of pearls that were woven into his hair and a single one that fell down to rest between his brows, just above his forehead ribbon.

That complete, Wen Ruohan put his hands on Lan Qiren’s shoulders and studied him in the mirror, his red eyes intent and thoughtful as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Very good,” he said, and his voice was thick with satisfaction.

Lan Qiren swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry for no reason he could explain.

“I knew pearls would suit you,” Wen Ruohan added, and Lan Qiren shook his head. “No? I think they do.”

“The rules –”

“Allow no more than three adornments on your waist, which this is not,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly. “And the rule against adorned beads and chains with bells is targeted at adornments that make unnecessary noise. You would not deny a member of your sect the right to wear a Jiang sect bell with its tongue removed, would you?”

“The Jiang sect only give their clarity bells to those who are in their sect, related by blood, or plan to marry in,” Lan Qiren objected, although he realized a moment later that he was quibbling over nonsense instead of getting to the key point. “I don’t need anything like this. It’s far too much.”

Wen Ruohan didn’t say anything; he only smiled.

“I should change back,” Lan Qiren said, uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

“We wouldn’t want that, no,” Wen Ruohan murmured, and Lan Qiren quickly gathered up his clothing and retreated from the room. It was only when he had mostly changed that he realized that he hadn’t taken his original guan back from Wen Ruohan. Without much choice – going with his hair down would be far more inappropriate than being over-dressed – he left the pearls in place.

“You’re doing this just to embarrass me,” he accused Wen Ruohan as they returned to the Sun Palace.

“Perhaps,” Wen Ruohan hummed. “Who’s to say what my motives may be?”

“You! You can say!” Lan Qiren huffed, but he supposed this, too, was part of being brothers. “You’ll give me a new copy of our oath, right? Don’t forget again.”

“It’ll be in your quarters by evening,” Wen Ruohan promised, looking amused, and in the end he did better than that, a servant delivering the message while Lan Qiren was still putting away the odds and ends Wen Ruohan had bought for him during the day.

It occurred to Lan Qiren later that the move might have been calculated – he’d promptly forgotten anything else in favor of looking over the terms, which to his relief were mostly the classic ones, the elder guiding the younger, the younger obeying the elder, dire consequences for betraying their oath and bond, the usual.

There was an additional clause about loyalty and fidelity that seemed a little over-emphatic, almost as if it’d been cribbed from some marriage vow or subordinate’s oath – he supposed Wen Ruohan would have more reason to be paranoid about betrayal than most – and one about good faith and patience and education, which he suspected might have been his drunken self’s attempt to accommodate Wen Ruohan’s complaints about his excess enthusiasm, though he supposed it could alternatively be interpreted as an obligation for each of them to explain themselves to each other. Or maybe it was an obligation for Lan Qiren to educate other people at Wen Ruohan’s request - perhaps to step up and teach his sons one day? It was really very unclear, but then, such oaths usually were.

Alcohol was clearly prohibited for a reason, he thought to himself, and then shook his head, at this point more amused by it than anything else.

He only noticed that he was still wearing the stupid over-fancy guan when he started to head out to start the afternoon routine he had already started to turn into a habit: a walk through the gardens, physical training with the sword, and then musical training to conclude shortly before dinner, which he would share with Wen Ruohan, followed by another walk, this time in his sworn brother’s company. The routine gave him the time he needed to devote to his responsibilities as a cultivator, as well as some blissful time to himself; Wen Ruohan, he presumed, used the time for much the same purposes.

Lan Qiren scowled at his reflection in the tranquil lakewater in one of the garden pools, torn between wanting to go back to change the thing out – it would be ridiculous to expect him to do his usual training wearing something that probably cost more than his yearly allowance – and the knowledge that if he did so, he would have to miss out on some part of his routine, which he hated to do. Yet if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have another opportunity to remove it until after dinner…

“Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Qiren turned, surprised: it was Madame Wen, who he had not seen since his arrival. He raised his hands in salute, but to his surprise she waved it off. “Lan-er-gongzi,” she said. “Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Of course,” he said, and felt a frisson of fear when she put her hand on her belly. Surely it couldn’t have to do with…?

“Could you find my husband and ask him to visit the doctors?” she asked, biting her lower lip. “The servants can be indiscreet, and I don’t think I can go myself…”

“I’ll tell him at once,” Lan Qiren assured her, now truly alarmed by the implicit suggestion. “Do you know where he is?”

“At this time in the afternoon?” she said vaguely. “Oh, I’m not quite sure…probably in the third palace.”

She nodded towards one of the buildings, a little distant from the Sun Palace but not far.

Lan Qiren nodded. “Do you need anything – somewhere to sit, or…?”

Madame Wen shook her head. “I’ll go sit down. Don’t concern yourself for me.”

Lan Qiren nodded a second time – sitting seemed like a good idea – and headed towards the third palace at a brisk pace. As much as he usually hated breaking his afternoon routine, any risk to human life would always take preeminent status.

It occurred to him as he approached it that he hadn’t been to the third palace before, despite the tours he’d been on, although he supposed that it wasn’t so surprising, with him having only been there a week. The Wen sect’s domain, like its city, was vast and sprawling, teeming with people and buildings alike; it would take many visits, he expected, before he would learn it all. Still, Wen Ruohan had promised him the freedom to wander where he willed, and no one stopped him as he headed into the palace, seeking his sworn brother through the usual signs of his presence: the overwhelming concentration of qi, and the usual disarray of guards and servants that invariably had to rearrange themselves to account for the presence of their sect leader.

He found him, too.

Wen Ruohan was smiling the same smile he had given Lan Qiren earlier that day, full of satisfaction and pleasure and amusement, a bowl of wine dangling between his fingers as he leaned back in his seat, his entire posture suggesting that he was enjoying himself as he watched a good show – only what was in front of him was terror and blood and bile, men and women strapped to horrific devices as they screamed and bled and begged for mercy that they would not receive.

Lan Qiren must have made a sound, though he did not realize it, because Wen Ruohan turned to look at him, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “What are you doing in the Fire Palace, little Lan…?”

The Fire Palace, Lan Qiren thought, feeling strangely numb. Yes, that sounded right.

He’d heard all the rumors about it: how Wen Ruohan was violent and bloodthirsty, how he craved power and control, that he enjoyed torturing his enemies unmercifully until even death was a blessing.

He’d heard.

He’d just…disregarded it. Thought it was false, perhaps, or maybe he’d just lied to himself and pretended that because Wen Ruohan was kind to him that he was kind to everyone else.

“Who sent you here, little Lan?” Wen Ruohan asked, his brows coming together in a frown. “Tell me.”

He wasn’t happy. Of course he wasn’t; Lan Qiren wasn’t supposed to be here – he hadn’t been taken to this place, probably purposefully, and he was a creature of habit and routine, which he rarely if ever broke without warning. If he hadn’t feared for Madame Wen’s life, he would never have gone himself, much less in such a rush.

Madame Wen…she must have known what he would find here.

She’d known.

He should have known.

“Little Lan?”

An elder brother was meant to guide and educate the younger. Was this what he was supposed to let Wen Ruohan guide him towards?

“…Lan Qiren?”

Lan Qiren flinched violently at the sound of his name, but it spurred him into motion – he staggered back a few steps, unable to get his bearings for a moment, and then he grabbed blindly at some terrible-looking sharp objects lying on a nearby table waiting for their turn to be used. A flick of his wrist sent them into the throats of the victims, ending their suffering in a gout of blood, and then he turned on his heel and fled, tearing off the too-expensive guan as he did, the pearls falling on the ground behind him.

“Lan Qiren!”

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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chrstbll · 3 years

Text

miracles and lucky days| ben hargreeves

(gif not mine)

+tags: @lalisbitch @spaceclone-mom , @meowmeowrex23 @strangeyouthcrusade

plot: after coming back from the 60’s, instead of finding the sparrow academy, the group come face to face with a much more positive outcome of their actions.

The words of Klaus were diluted, inaudible and ringing loudly in your head. Your limbs could barely hold the weight of your body, and the nausea from jumping between timelines hitting your stomach didn’t quite put you at ease. All was blurry at first, not hearing nor seeing properly caused you to feel light-headed as well, but before your legs or your mind gave in, somebody strong arms held you up protectively.

- Are you good? – Diego’s gentle call for you brought you back to reality. He was always a little bit concerned about you. He didn’t show it in great actions, it was in the seemingly unimportant things he did for you. There wasn’t anything romantic involved between you two, instead of that it was a deep understanding of each another that made you appreciate the other significantly. You nodded to confirm that you were in fact all right, shrugging it off with a smile.

Klaus was right. After you successfully registered what he was saying, a wave of relief washed over your heart, mind, and soul. Your whole being. For once, all seven of you managed to successfully jump back to 2019 without any harm or mistake being done. It was quite unbelievable. A dreamlike scenario which proved itself to be nearly impossible to believe. Looking around the hall, everything seemed to be all right. It felt okay. The aura was intimately comforting, yet something was amiss. Different. Changed. It certainly was not a malicious ambiance that you discovered, but one new, something yet unexperienced thing. The others noticed it too, as all six of them were looking around suspiciously. Memories, feelings, and people rapidly invaded your mind, those you haven’t thought about a lot. Pogo? Grace? Are they okay now?

Luther suggested to enter the living room ahead of you, so that’s what you all mutually agreed to. Five was the one who went further on before you heroically and begged all of you to proceed with caution, because we don’t know what’s waiting for us there. The walk from the hall to the living room happened painfully slowly given that the feeling of uncertainty was sitting in one and all’s eyes and was at fault for your lack of speed. Upon realizing the academy was unnervingly noiseless, the anxiety birthed a huge lump in your throat, which you couldn’t swallow. Your heart was terrified from the possible negative outcome of this time jump. What if that moment of clarity and amenity was only a façade and was only felt because none of you faced reality in the short but drunk moment of arrival? Sometimes you thought about how nice it would be to just live without worry. To live in pure bliss, without a care in the world. Without a problem in the universe to solve. How astonishing it would be not to recall what loss, trauma, or sadness feels like. But then again, we would live in ignorance that way.

Turning towards the divans and sculptures in the living room, your attention automatically focused on the small moving figure, who was absentmindedly cleaning the shelves with dusting feathers. Recognition hit you like a truck, as the character of an ape appeared before you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Mercifully, it was a positive reaction, a sentiment you haven’t undergone in a long time.

- Pogo?! – Allison was the first one to call out their siblings’ friends’ name. Barely letting his name roll from her tongue, the sea of emotions instantly overthrew her, and tears stormed down her face. Their beloved guardian turned around in shock, he looked so puzzled, it was as he didn’t recognize the people in front of him. You feared that was the case. What if we screwed it up even more?

- Oh, children. I was waiting for you all to return – he’s spoken politely and gifted us with a kind smile, just like he always did. You almost forgot what a courteous and caring figure Pogo was. His scarce although deep voice reminded you of simpler times. A type of nostalgia which you subconsciously yearned for god knows how long. Everyone gathered around him in a matter of seconds, engulfing him in a suffocating hug. Pogo was still bewildered from the sudden act of affection, as you all were from seeing him alive and breathing, but in this instant of happiness, the questions why and how didn’t matter. What mattered was the present minute, what you currently knew as is.

And next, a voice broke the silence.

Who would dare to turn around first? Who wanted to confirm that the voice that was just heard from behind them, came from a legit source? On a serious note, was it even real? Your minds are only playing tricks on you. You were ecstatic for having Pogo back, but it would be too good to be true to turn around and see the possessor of the voice. We can’t have all the wonderful things. It never went that well for you. Your bodies turned stiff, and your feet were frozen on spot. But what made you fear to turn around? The horror of hearing something that’s not truly there or facing it bravely. Something…someone you haven’t faced in roughly two decades.

- What the hell took you guys so long? – the annoyance sounded so raw, hence genuine. You could hear and understand the words crystal clear; then why didn’t you believe your ears?

The group hug disassembled at a snail's pace and turned to face what they never expected to see ever again in their lifetime. You, on the other hand, had secretly wished for a moment like this. Your heart was aching for the chance, not caring about being rational nor delusional. It kept the faith in your soul steady.

- Please, tell me I’m not the only one who can see him – Klaus muttered.

- Ben – Diego confirmed in a hushed tone without letting out any more words as he didn’t need to. He was the bravest out of all of you to speak up.

So, there he stood in his monochrome outfit, with his black leather jacket hugging his form and a coy smile painted all over his face. The faint rosy cheeks, lively eyes and vivid emotions displayed told you everything. The Ben standing in front of you was very much real, and more importantly, alive, and well.

- All of you look like you’ve seen a ghost – he grinned from ear to ear, and his light-hearted joke legitimately freed your body from the tension which held you in your place so aggressively. Number Four didn’t hesitate one second longer, and slammed himself against his brother, who sweetly returned the embrace. Registering it, savouring it, then finally loving the physical contact, Klaus broke up in a hysterical laughter. The group succeeded to pull the strings in a way his death was luckily prevented. How the hell did we manage this? But he didn’t care. All that mattered was the present minute, what he currently knew as is.

- You’re telling me, man – his laugh slowly started to die down, but his joy only rose. Of course, a group hug was crucially needed and initiated effective immediately. Everyone surrounded him, and you held onto each other tightly, so he never slips away from your grasp again. You admitted it to yourself, that it felt heavenly, but more precisely, it felt so damn terrific. The others eventually backed away, but you stayed right in front of him.

- Hey, you – were all he needed to say for you to go flying into his arms – Where have you been? I missed you – his confession was a simple, warm, and loving anecdote, and it broke your heart in the best way possible.

You missed me?

Your loud sobbing, and ocean of tears was baffling and a mystery to him, and he looked at the others with a perplexed expression. They asked him to just let you be because they understood everything perfectly. Each tear was valid and every one of them had a reason. His arms were wrapped around your body, as he was shielding you from all the cruelty in this world. His embrace wasn’t tight, but fond and sensitive enough. You weren’t greedy at all; it was just all too marvellous. Hearing his stable beating heart as he held you close to his chest completely fulfilled you. A featherlight kiss was tenderly placed on your forehead by him, in an attempt to calm you down. It failed, as more droplets of salty water coated your apple-like cheeks. Even so, the kiss was given so compassionately, it must have come from heaven itself.

Maybe you were in Heaven. Maybe your life ended when you arrived in the hall. This isn’t real and I’m probably dead in Diego’s arms by now. But what if you accepted it as your reality now? You couldn’t believe it, even after feeling his touch and his kiss on your body. It might be because you thought you didn’t think your wish to see the person closest to your heart again would ever come true. After the horrific months you went through, it was certainly an impossibility to be gifted with something this enormous, significant, and joyous.

Maybe miracles and lucky days exist. Maybe they existed both on the same day in favour of you. I’ll accept this, I deserve this. You absolutely deserve to be happy and to drop the burden that’s been weighing on your soul for years. Nobody deserves to live their lives in inescapable guilt and grief. Having Ben back in all your lives meant the world to you. You were thinking about how you might have to fill him in on the details of the previous events, but that was a case for a later part of the day. For now, it was nice to bask in his love and warmth. You’ll care about every other issue later. This was the only feeling that mattered in that moment. Peace finally taking its rightful place back in your heart, which has been waiting for it for a long time now. He radiated pureness, an energy which was incomparable to anything else. Clutching his jacket was your anxiety making sure he doesn’t leave again. Maybe he was reading your thoughts, but at the same time he was realizing he’d never leave you even if it meant his life.

- I missed you too.

#ben hargreeves #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #netflix tua #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves fluff #ben hargreeves fanfiction #tua x reader #the umbrella academy imagine

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gentlemancrow · 3 years

Note

Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #JonTim #jonathan sims #Tim Stoker #Crow Writes #Ask Drabble #wordsintimeandspace

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ridiasfangirlings · 3 years

Text

Title: some nights you are the lighthouse, some nights the sea

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: Waves crash on the shore, wearing away at the ruins already half-swallowed as a boy rises out of the sea like a righted ship, and though he doesn't know it yet everything is written in that instant. Munakata has never failed to understand anything in his life, until Suoh Mikoto.

Notes: I swear I will stop writing in present tense soon it just didn’t flow as well when I tried to change it. Somehow Mikorei of all things breaks my writer’s block.

Some nights you are the lighthouse

some nights the sea

what this means is that I don't know

desire other than the need

to be shattered & rebuilt

- Ocean Vuong

On the shores of memory, he meets a wild boy in the sea.

Munakata recalls this only vaguely, like the last vestiges of a dream which fade upon waking. He was wearing a sun hat and good walking shoes, traveling to see the remnants of a disaster that called to him like a foghorn in the night, the staccato beats of morse code that steered him towards a place he needed to see with his own eyes. The place where a great upheaval occurred, one that the child that he was didn't fully understand but still felt inexorably drawn to nonetheless.

Munakata Reisi is a singular man and was a singular child. From the start he carried a question in his heart that tugged at his steps but never weighed him down, a burden that he carried in thin arms, splayed across a small pale back, the weight evenly distributed so that no part of it ever became too much for him to bear. Still, though, a weight – because even from the start he was different and he didn't know why, and the wrecked edges of a shattered island called to him. In the place where only water was now there had once been buildings and people, lives that crashed together and stopped violently in a rush of destruction that they knew nothing about.

Standing at the seashore at that time, Munakata has hazy memories of seeing a flash of red hair as a figure rose out of the sea, crimson against the sky. He thinks maybe their eyes met for just an instant – or perhaps it only felt that way, that those eyes pierced his. And sometimes he recalls that he'd had a dream then, of being the kind of person who could see this disaster coming and prevent it in any way possible. But he thinks that at that moment maybe he forgot the dream and became trapped in the gaze that he couldn't even fully see instead, in a presence that called to him in an entirely different way.

(And sometimes in his dreams Munakata holds a weight in his hands and stretches out to give it to that figure in the water, and yet he never walks away any lighter.)

The image of the dead city around him haunts him for a long time after, but Munakata thinks that at the time perhaps he believed the world was still beautiful nonetheless.

–

“And there is the matter of the Red King.”

“Oya?” Munakata raises an eyebrow, hands behind his back, showing full deference to His Excellency. It's not as if the hierarchy of Kings was placed right into his brain when he awoke, of course, but Munakata was always raised to be polite to his elders. Even so there's a vague sense of strain between them and Munakata suspects that perhaps he was disliked right on sight.

(It's not a feeling he's unfamiliar with.)

“The Blue King and Red King are two whose natures are always at odds. As head of Scepter 4, it will be your duty to keep him in check.”

“Of course.” He is wrapped in Blue, in the mantle of a King, and he's ceased to be the Munakata Reisi who stepped aboard that plane to return to Japan. Kingship has answered the question in his mind and stolen the burden from his back, and Munakata welcomes it. That he's perhaps lost 'Munakata Reisi' at the same time is of no concern, because Munakata Reisi and the Blue King were always one and the same.

“His name is Suoh Mikoto.”

“I see. I will keep that name in mind.”

(Waves crash on the shore, wearing away at the ruins already half-swallowed as a boy rises out of the sea like a righted ship, and though he doesn't know it yet everything is written in that instant.)

As soon as Munakata leaves Mihashira Tower he has Awashima begin gathering intelligence on the Red King. He himself is too busy for such a thing, instead searching through the roster of the previous Scepter 4 and through pages and pages of names, civil servants, job applicants, looking for those with talent who may catch his eye. Munakata's mind is always working, looking ahead two moves, three, plotting the best course. He once wished to be the one who would see disaster coming and make a plan to prevent it and he intends to do just that. He has not become the Blue King to do any less.

He remembers the name Suoh Mikoto and makes a note to pay a visit to the Red King. He's heard the tale of his predecessor and the former Red King, and how that crater he once walked along the edges of came to be. Munakata isn't concerned. He may not know Habari Jin but Munakata knows his own value. Surely he and this Suoh Mikoto will be able to talk things out like adults, where Munakata will lay out unassailable arguments about why the Red King should cease any activities that could cause unrest in the current world, and they will come to an agreement of peace.

(In the wreckage of the world, he meets a boy in the sea and turns away from him, but the image burns itself behind his eyes and never entirely leaves him. The world is drowning, and beautiful still.)

–

Munakata Reisi was always known as a good child, and has never gotten into fights.

He has been this way for as long as he can recall. When his brother came home from school covered in bruises and grinning (“You should see the other guy!”) their parents would lightly scold him in a manner that suggested such a thing was to be expected of a rowdy young boy. Even so, Munakata had never seen the point in it. When Taishi tried to teach him how to fight he had picked it up immediately of course, because he was that sort of person, but he had never bothered to raise a hand against another child. It was preferable to discuss things with others instead, to turn them to his side and make them into allies rather than enemies, and he never so much as saw a day of detention or a word of warning from his teachers.

Perhaps that explains the exhilaration he feels when he realizes that he would very much like to punch Suoh Mikoto's head in.

He had tried to do things the proper way. He had planned out exactly how their meeting was to go, how he was to show the Red King that there was no point in acting the way he did. Everything should have worked perfectly, each piece in its place, but – that man was unreasonable, in the manner of beasts, and more troublesome than expected.

Munakata had researched him beforehand but no research could have prepared him for such a man. Even seeing him so close the first time they properly 'met' – he had watched from afar before this, planning his moment (and somewhere, very far away, waves and water, a sun hat on his head, and an old man sitting on rubble, but that had long since sunk beneath the limited memory of a child and turned into only a dusty dream) but they had not met face to face until the time he had chosen. The moment Munakata had spoken to Suoh he had realized that this man was different, as he himself was, but in a way utterly beyond even Munakata's own calculations. This was a beast, this was a flame, this was a lion pacing in a cage too small to hold its body. It was as if Suoh lived inside iron bars, always two steps away from melting them into nothing and escaping into that world of crumbled buildings and shoreline where cities had been. The downfall of civilizations, all held in check inside this man, by the thinnest of chains.

It is intolerable.

In the world of order that he would create, chaos is not needed. In that moment Munakata had known it, that His Excellency had been correct in giving the task of taming to Munakata. In order to create the world that he wished to see such a man needed to be kept tight in check or else his waves would overtake the sea wall that Munakata's hands would build.

Munakata Reisi is not a violent man and he does not care for settling matters with boorish methods. Even so there is something satisfying in the way his fist collides with Suoh's stomach, with the bruising crack made by the scabbard of his sword as it connects with Suoh's face. Suoh only brushes it off and smiles – teeth baring in the bright light, a star on fire out of control – and Munakata scowls in response.

It doesn't occur to him until hours later, body still sore, bruises forming purple under his uniform, that he had dropped the crown of the Blue King somewhere along the way, and it was truly Munakata Reisi who had enjoyed attempting to beat Suoh Mikoto into submission.

Looking back at it, that's really the moment he was lost.

–

“You're here, again.”

“It does appear we often cross paths, does it not? How unfortunate.”

This time it's in an aisle at the supermarket. Munakata has run out of tea and requires more and Suoh, it seems, is purchasing cigarettes and some manner of frozen pizza. There is a 'No Smoking' sign on the wall and Suoh's cigarette smoke is curling around it like a contented cat.

“Yeah. Unfortunate.” Suoh blows smoke and Munakata reaches over and takes the cigarette from his hand. There's nowhere to put it out so he wraps Blue power around it instead and places it in the nearest trash can, something which Suoh seems to find far too amusing. “'S weird seeing you here anyway.”

“Contrary to your assumptions, Suoh, I do require groceries as much as any other person.”

“Hmm. Looks like it.”

“It seems you are not inclined to do the same.” Munakata gives the items in Suoh's hands a distasteful look and Mikoto shrugs, scratching the back of his head.

“Kusanagi's out. Figured this would be easy for dinner.”

“Ah, I see. I imagine it is difficult for you to survive, with your caretaker away.”

“It's probably difficult for you to survive with your mouth shut.” Mikoto walks past him and Munakata follows easily, not even certain why. It's no problem, he supposes. The Red King and the Blue King are of warring natures that both oppose and attract each other, so it's no wonder he should feel the need to keep an eye on Suoh even in a place as mundane as a grocery store.

“On the other hand, perhaps I should congratulate you on discovering the impulse to cook. Please be certain to use an oven like a civilized person, so that no fire trucks need be dispensed to deal with the aftermath.”

Mikoto snorts at that and reaches over to grab a lollipop from the end of an aisle. In one move he pulls the plastic off and stuffs the candy into Munakata's mouth, ignoring the indignant huff of surprise that Munakata makes in return.

“Maybe that will keep you quiet.” Mikoto walks on towards the cashier and Munakata irritably removes the lollipop from his mouth (he supposes it's good that Suoh at least bothered to remove the plastic, and he makes a note to pay for the candy when he reaches the register as he is certain Mikoto will not).

“Such an intolerable man.”

–

The first time they kiss is in an abandoned building, propped up against rubble created by their own fight, and somewhere a burst pipe is dripping water into Munakata's eyes.

“Heh...not so uptight now, huh, Munakata?” Suoh's voice is low and predatory, and Munakata scowls as he slams Mikoto's head back into the wall behind them. Mikoto responds by kneeing him in the stomach and then arching up to kiss him roughly on the mouth.

This wasn't exactly as Munakata had planned things. The idea of himself kneeling over Suoh Mikoto on a dirty warehouse floor, surrounded by dust and debris, with their mouths crashing together and their hands scratching marks along each other's skin...it's completely unlike him. The Blue King would never allow such a thing, never permit this sort of man to get so close to him.

Even so Munakata Reisi can't stop himself, hands wrapped in Suoh's coat, dragging him close, and Suoh uses one leg to flip their positions and pin Munakata to ground. He leans in for another kiss and Munakata smashes their foreheads together instead, and Mikoto only smiles and wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. As a rough hand pushes his shoulder back and leans in to bite at his neck Munakata grabs a fistful of Suoh's hair and yanks hard – but not quite enough to pull him away, and the heat of Suoh's body is like a fire that burns too hot, that will burn itself out in no time.

Some time later he reunites with Awashima and the rest of his men, collar pulled up to hide the marks on his neck, and decides that this will not happen again.

(That night he dreams of standing on the wrecked shore and looking at the sunset as a great black silhouette emerges from the ocean and blocks out the light. Hands grab him and pull him under, pull him close, and a warm mouth crashes against his. Oxygen is breathed roughly into his lungs with the bite on his lips and he isn't really sure, if he's being drowned or being saved.

Perhaps a bit of both.)

–

Suoh normally sleeps at the bar but he rents a room in the city as well, and that is where they tend to meet. There are still those moments in empty buildings and hidden alleyways, tearing at each other in the middle of battle, but if they are going to do this – and apparently they are – Munakata would prefer to have some order in it.

Surprisingly Suoh doesn't often sleep afterward, though he isn't one for cuddling in the aftermath either (which is not to say that Munakata would expect or wish for such a thing, as far as that goes). Suoh is a lazy barbarian with no sense of responsibility whatsoever but lying side by side Munakata can tell somewhat more, the signs that are hidden behind the flat looks and bored shrugs. There is a fire behind Mikoto's eyes and he is never quite certain if Suoh wants to let it burn or snuff it out.

That's his way of Kingship, Munakata supposes, reaching for his own pack of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand. They speak the same language but in separate dialects and that makes all the difference, inflections and intonations that make the words sound right and the meanings differ. Munakata wears the mantle of the Blue King like a second skin, a part of his skeleton that moves with him, while to Suoh the Red King is only an anchor around his waist – he can only stay afloat for so long, and Munakata is keenly aware that each breath to Suoh is one exhale away from death.

He pulls out a cigarette and without even looking Suoh lights it for him in a movement so easy it seems nearly practiced. They dance side by side now, but one day the music will change and their rhythm will shift, and the Blue King will do what must be done.

Without thinking he reaches out and presses a hand to Suoh's bare chest, feeling the heat beneath the skin. Mikoto raises an eyebrow and blows smoke into the air.

“Never heard a heartbeat before, Munakata?” A slow drawl, with the undertone that he knows what Munakata's thoughts are, and Munakata scowls.

“Your power is far too out of control, if I can feel it at a touch.”

“Maybe.” Mikoto shrugs. “We can't all be the perfect King like you, I guess.”

(If he was perfect he wouldn't be here, but Munakata leaves the Blue King at the door before he enters into this apartment and steps inside only Munakata Reisi.)

“Do you truly intend to rush to your own destruction?” Munakata brings his own cigarette to his lips, eyes steady on Suoh's face.

“Does it matter?” Mikoto faces him fearlessly, as always, and Munakata finds himself thinking that this time his eyes are the eyes of a man rather than a beast.

“You realize what could happen if you were to allow such a thing to occur. The previous Red King's fate must not be repeated.”

“Maybe that guy got tired of it too.” Mikoto tilts his head back, smoke curling from the cigarette held between his lips, and Munakata finds himself wondering what Suoh gets out of this relationship between them, what words Suoh Mikoto reads between the lines of Munakata's meaning. “Being in this place.”

“I cannot allow that.” His words are measured and 'that' remains a question in the air.

“Yeah. I figured.” Mikoto stares up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “In that case, I guess I'm countin' on you.”

“As always, no sense of responsibility.”

“Isn't that what the Blue King's sword is for? Upholding justice?” Mikoto shifts to look at him, grinning without mirth.

“My sword will do what is necessary to protect the peace of this city.” A piece of the Blue King has attached back to him and so he can speak for both himself and the second skin he wears.

“Yeah.” Mikoto falls back against the bed, smiling faintly, and for a moment Munakata wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, lose all composure and smack this irritating man in the face until he's satisfied. “I figured that's what you would say.”

“Please do not do such tiresome things that would force my sword to be sullied by your barbarian's blood,” Munakata sniffs primly.

Mikoto chuckles, but doesn't give an answer.

–

It’s the longing for destruction that he can’t understand, nor does he want to. There is something deep within Suoh, ravaging and impatient, that gnaws at him every day, begging to rip flesh, to burn. Munakata can’t grasp the feeling and it worries away at him, that something exists in this world that’s beyond his comprehension.

“You think too much.” Suoh leans back against the brick wall, blowing smoke. There’s a bruise darkening the side of his face, and Munakata’s stomach still aches slightly from being punched. It’s the easiest way for them to communicate in language that the other can understand.

“Better than not thinking at all, in the manner of certain people.” There’s a slight testy edge to his words and Mikoto grins.

“You don’t need to understand everything, you know. Sometimes you just need to let shit happen.”

“If it is my power to rebuild something broken I wish to do so. Unlike yourself, I have a world I wish to create.”

“Yeah, yeah. The Blue King’s like that, huh? You’ve always been a busybody, Munakata.” He says it as if they’ve known each other for years (and Munakata sometimes feels as if they have, as if it wasn’t only ‘the Blue King’ that answered the question in his mind but Suoh Mikoto as well).

“One among us must be.” Munakata turns to face him, expression pointed and serious. “There is an answer beyond breaking that cage, Suoh.”

Mikoto looks surprised for only a moment and then his features settle into something of a wry smile, oddly fond, and he blows smoke into Munakata’s face.

“Yeah. For you, I guess so.”

“Do you intend to have me kill you someday?”

“Maybe.” Mikoto shrugs. “You’re a trustworthy guy, figured it’s better than relying on that old man.”

“I will not hesitate, if given the opportunity to be the one to finish you.”

“Thought you’d say something like that.”

“Then do not test me.”

“Right.” Another slightly fond smile, and Suoh shakes his head.

“And please do not do me the indignity of attempting to apologize once I have cleaned up your mess.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Suoh rolls his eyes and Munakata plucks the cigarette from his mouth, leans in and breathes in the smoke from Suoh’s lungs.

(Whether he would have it this way or not, Munakata has his duty, and the task of filling those ever-expanding cracks on Suoh’s soul is beyond the scope of what his hands can hold. They both know it, and that’s the only reason things work between them.)

–

“You can't save everything.” Mikoto bites Munakata's lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood, and Munakata pulls hard at his hair, hands wrapped in fiery red strands. Mikoto bares his fangs in a smile.

“I do not recall ever saying that I wished to save you.”

“Yeah, well, it's written on your face. You're easy to read, Munakata.” Suoh falls back lazily, licking his lips slightly, and Munakata irritably rubs at the teeth marks that are forming a bruise just above his collarbone. His cravat will hide it, and the fact that he even thinks about that for a moment shames him.

“As are you.” Which is a lie, something that rankles at him constantly. Munakata Reisi has never in his life failed to understand something, until this man.

“That's your problem, Munakata. You don't need to be right about everything.” Mikoto shifts as if to bite him again and grins widely when Munakata pushes him back down.

“That I do not feel the need to give into base animal instincts like you is not due to any need for 'being right'.” Munakata gives him a cold glare. “You do not need to give into the Red King's urges yourself, Suoh.”

“Didn't say I was going to. This is me talking, not some form of a King that you've made in your mind.”

“This is where it differs between us then.” Mikoto tries to sit up again and Munakata pushes him down once more, straddling him and staring down intently. “You are a King, Suoh. You should know what that entails.”

“This is why you're annoying, Munakata.” Mikoto's eyes are piercing and Munakata refuses to be the first to look away. “What're you gonna do when what you want and what the Blue King wants aren't the same?”

“My will and the Blue King's will are as one.” Munakata leans down over him, dangerously close, and Mikoto tilts his chin up with a finger.

“That's a funny thing to say in your position. This isn't 'the Blue King,' right?” His fingers brush against Munakata's lips and part of Munakata wants to bite down and draw blood even though he knows it's wholly unlike him to do so.

“Consider it an act of subduing the beast.”

“That's crap and you know it.” Mikoto pauses, looks him in the eye. “You're better this way anyway, Munakata. Don't be that guy unless you have to be. I'm not the only one livin' in a cage.”

“Responsibility is not a cage, Suoh.”

“Not that. You’re not just the Blue King, idiot. What're you gonna do when that Sword falls?”

“Unlike you, I do not intend to lose myself so far that such a thing would be a concern.” Munakata's so close he can smell the cigarette smoke lingering on the tips of Mikoto's hair, see the wild glint in his eyes. “Suoh. The road you are on will lead only to destruction, you realize that.”

“Yeah.” There's something dark and hooded deep behind Mikoto's outer display of nonchalance and Munakata wonders what kind of dreams Suoh has during all that time he's asleep. “Guess I do.”

“I will not allow it.” The force of his own words surprises him.

“It's not up to you.” Mikoto moves under him and suddenly the tables are turned, and Munakata is the one flat on his back. “I told you before. I'm gonna live my way, and die my way.”

“This is not only about you, Suoh. You realize should the Red King's Sword fall again it will--”

“I know.” Mikoto moves away as quickly as he lunged, hands behind his head and leaning back against the bed as Munakata sits up. “It's somethin' I accepted a long time ago. Don't know why you can't.”

Because I saw a drowned city once and determined that I would be the one who saw this tragedy coming and prevented it, no matter the cost. But he can't say those words, and bites Mikoto's throat instead.

–

In the end things go as they'd both always expected, and Suoh is at least enough a man of his word that he doesn't apologize – not to Munakata, at least – when Munakata's sword pierces his chest.

The last vestiges of the Red King's power have already begun to fade and it's odd, to see Suoh Mikoto looking so still. Normally Munakata knows him as a man who, even asleep, radiates power and ferocity, a wild beast in a cage only because he allows himself to be. This body is not like him at all, still and red in the snow, and somehow for the first time the sword feels heavy in Munakata's hand.

There is a change in him, he knows that. It's as if something was pulled out of him the day he met Suoh Mikoto, drawn out inch by inch from deep within, and now with Suoh's death it remains stuck in place, halfway between his ribs and his heart, unable to move any further. Munakata kneels down beside the body and finds himself thinking that if he was a romantic he might take a moment to place a kiss on the dead man's lips.

He doesn't, of course. Instead Munakata takes the cigarettes from Mikoto's pocket and places them in his own, and the mantle of the Blue King is resting unsettled along his shoulders. Something has split apart, a piece of himself that shattered off when he wasn't looking, and yet he feels almost whole. As if there had always been a second question in his mind that he had never been aware of until now but somehow Suoh Mikoto had already answered it for him.

Munakata Reisi makes his way through the night step by step, a single blue figure stark against white snow, and lets the shattered piece remain where it's fallen.

(Off in the distance somewhere he can see waves, crashing against the shore, a deep blue sea that stretches out along into infinity. A boy breaks the surface, red hair burning like a wildfire in the light of the setting sun, droplets of water thrown into the air with his emergence, carrying all the untamed wildness of the waves within himself. Munakata takes a step towards the water and the boy turns, their eyes meeting for just a moment and – a smile, perhaps, wild and fleeting like the wind – the boy disappears back beneath the water, swimming for the far shore. Munakata watches him until he's no more than a speck on the horizon, and then turns and walks away.

Behind him the waves are still crashing, and the boy swims on.)

#Mikorei #k project #Munakata Reisi #Suoh Mikoto #fic #I tried making it past tense and it just felt more stilted idk #anyway angst time #why are they like this

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