#( he mocks people for being stupid to fall into his tricks )

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

WHAT  TYPE  OF  VILLAIN  ARE  YOU ?

* 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄

NO MORAL COMPASS

You are cold, analytical, and you strive to be as objective as a person of flesh and blood can be. Either don't understand the concepts of good and evil, or you understand it perfectly and think it's a load of bull. Some may call you selfish, some may call you unfeeling, but you're just doing what you believe will yield the best results, plain and simple. Why bother with petty ideals of right or wrong when you can do what will actively help those you give a fuck about? Your goals may be selfish or noble or anything in between, but you will not let anyone make you feel like garbage for going after them. You couldn't care less about what people brand you as. You just care about getting shit done by any means necessary.

TAGGED: @colecassiidy ( thank you for requesting my husband! )

TAGGING: steal it from me, idk many people who write a villainous muse lmao

[florencetypemaniacs]

Please dear author, what would ROs reaction be to MC falling asleep like in the tale, with a kiss of true love to awake them, but........RO's kiss didn't work? 💔

💛 Marcel

When you didn't wake, all Marcel could do was force his breathing, because if he didn't, it would stop. His heart broke into a million pieces. You two weren't meant to be in the fates, but he was going to save you. He couldn't stop caring. He couldn't stop loving you, no matter what this meant. He tried to smile, gently moving some hair out of your eyes.

The eyes were still closed. 

"Don't worry, love; I'll find a way to break the curse if it is the last thing I do." He spoke softly in your ear, his voice clear and determined. 

🧡 Margaret

Margaret's body shook as she sobbed. From the moment she realized she loved you, she believed God or some kind of fate brought you together, like in the fairy tale books her mother read her as a kid.

But this was real life, and those were stories. There were no happy ever-afters. She failed you, and her body sagged against yours, her forehead touching your own as she kept whispering.

"Im sorry." Over and over again. 

❤️ Owen

Usually when Owen was upset, it was anger that quickly followed, but as he watched your eyes stay closed, all he felt was sadness. Of course, you didn't wake up. 

How stupid do I have to be to think I deserve love again after....

Owen didn't want to think about him; he just sat there, cradling your head as rare tears ran down his cheek. 

💙 Rosemary

She rubbed soft circles in your hand, her tears flowing freely. As stupid as it sounded, she hadn't believed in true love since her ex, but that all changed when you came into her life. 

You made her believe again, and now you were gone—worse, then death—hell, in death she might be able to visit you. You were in an endless sleep, and she was awake. Alone and awake. 

She laid down beside you, closing her eyes as tears still poured out of them, hoping sleep would take her to you by some miracle. 

🩵 Tai

Tai was about cold, hard facts—something that was hard for him when it had anything to do with you. You were everything to him. He loved you. It scared him to death, but he loved you, and it wasn't meant to be by fate.

When the kiss didn't work, he felt like he couldn't breathe until he kissed you again. In a different angle, on your forehead, then on your cheek, until he realized he was crying. 

He didn't know what to do, and he hated it. It was worse than being wrong. He shook his head, holding you close. He was going to wake you up no matter the cost because maybe he wasn't your true love, but you were his, and that was a fact.

💚 Zane

".....no....no...." Zane whispered. 

All Zane felt was fury. You tricked him. Somehow you tricked him. Was this your plan to make him fall in love with you and then leave him....to what....break him? 

He got up and started pacing, pointing an accusing finger at you with your eyes still closed, mocking him. 

"You said... you said we were going to be together forever. You said you loved me! You liar! I love you! Why can't you love me?" He screamed, his anger not at you but at himself. 

He never knew what love was before you, so was it all a lie? Was it all some kind of story that people made up to make themselves feel better? Zane put his head in his hands, his mind racing as he questioned your relationship.

It broke him.

[plainclothesdisaster]

hello to the three people this will interest but here is a context-less climactic scene for a tlt x life series au that I may or may not write more of

———

“You knew?”

“Well of course I knew,” Scar says, his chipper smile unfazed.

“How long?” Grian doesn’t bother to hide the outrage creeping into in his voice.

“Oh, since about the second laboratory. Or at least I had a pretty good idea, it’s all pretty complicated for me you know.”

“Quit it,” Grian snaps, “I thought you were done pretending with me.”

“I’m not pretending. It really is complicated stuff.”

Grian lets out an exasperated huff. Scar keeps smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Then… what have you been waiting for this whole time? The others- everyone is in danger here. Why not just… eat me,” he breathes, “Eat me and be done with it.”

Scar doesn’t stop smiling, but he’s fighting to keep it up now. He doesn’t say a word. Grian can’t stand it.

“Oh I get it.” There’s an edge in his voice now, ragged and sharp. “You can’t stomach me. You couldn’t imagine being stuck with someone like me-“

Scar looks at his hands, fiddling with his fingernails. “Grian. No, I- it’s not-“ It’s all the confirmation Grian needs.

He can’t- won’t- let Scar be this stupid.

“This is the power of a Lyctor we’re talking about Scar! With power like that you could reshape the world. All your stupid daydreams could be real.”

“Grian-“

“Just hold your nose and it’ll be over quick.”

“I don’t want it.”

Grian takes a step back. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want it. Not if it would mean…” He looks up at Grian. He’s not smiling now. “I won’t do that to you.”

Grian closes his mouth. He didn’t notice it fall open.

“You never cared if I died before.” It’s barely a murmur.

A hint of a smile pulls on Scar’s lips. “What was that you called me earlier? A con man selling lies?”

Grian feels his shoulders fall. He thought he’d gotten so good at seeing through all the tricks. Turns out Scar could still fool him. He hates that he’s impressed.

“This part isn’t a lie though.” He grips Grian by the shoulders, looks him directly in the eyes, radiating that familiar crushing sincerity. “I will never do that to you.”

Grian doesn’t reply. He searches Scar’s face for some punchline, or another mask he’s hiding behind. But he doesn’t waver.

Grian’s heart beats like a bird throwing itself at the cage of his chest. A part of him had been so resigned that Scar was going to get him killed. His foot had always been halfway through that door, per se. Even before he understood the cost of lyctorhood he’d never really expected to leave Canaan house.

He chokes on that thought as he shrugs out from under Scar’s hands. “Okay. Alright. I believe you. So what now?”

“I think it’s about time we get the hell out of here.” Scar’s smile is back, relaxed, fixed in its place.

Grian raises an eyebrow. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

Scar tilts his head in mock thought for a moment. His smile widens. “Oh I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always do.”

An incredulous laugh escapes Grian. Even now, Scar could still make him laugh.

[beevean]

Not even surprised that the defense for Lanolin boils down to an ad hominem "you just hate women!!!!!", because of course it does. It happened the same thing with Surge, it's to be expected.

But I can't help but laugh at the examples. "Silver was tricked but you didn't hate him, clearly it's because he has a penis 🥺" were you there the decade following 2006? Because I was. Trust me, Silver was plenty hated. Silver used to be endlessly mocked for "trusting Satan" after one single vision and no explanation. His popularity is much more recent, only slightly helped by his boss fight in Generations.

And Knuckles? Really? You think people were okay with him being tricked? Oh man. For the fandom, his personality was nothing more than "dumbass always falling for Eggman's lies", to the point that Boom went with it and made him a more typical meathead. (to be fair, Knuckles has been tricked 4 times canonically in the games, so yeah it got old)

The fans don't like stupid characters, whether that stupidity has a justification in-universe or not. If that stupid character has also a horrible attitude about it, is objectively a bad biased leader but isn't called out for it, puts herself on a level above other characters for no good reason ("Silver is one thing, you and I are soldiers" - can't you just feel the condescension?), and struts around with an unearned arrogance not backed up by her previous actions... yeah, no, it's not her tits some fans have a problem with.

[kathyprior4200]

Hazbin Hotel Season One Episode List (reordered/remastered by HelluvaScribe)

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 1: “Overture” (Focus: Charlie)

Charlie meets with Sera, Emily, Adam, and Lute at the Heaven Embassy to discuss her issue of Sinners being killed by the Exorcists who are both male and female in this version. Adam swears less and is more of a tragic villain than a sexist swearing jerk. Sera explains that Sinners are killed to balance out Hell’s overpopulation and worries that too many demons will rise against Heaven due to Roo’s influence. She realizes that Sinners and Hellborn who die become food for Roo, but not knowing how to stop the chaotic eldritch goddess from taking over all the worlds (who is watching Sera, Lilith, and Alastor also), she allows Adam to continue his killings to at least stop the overpopulation and satisfy her master Roo. But to Charlie, it appears that the angels want to instill fear and control them like Lucifer told her in her childhood. Sera explains that she doesn’t like seeing Charlie’s people killed but at the same time, it can be considered a freedom from their immortal suffering in Hell. Charlie then proposes to create a rehabilitation hotel to redeem Sinners, to get them to do behaviors opposite to their sins in life, this method would then weaken Roo and increase Heaven’s safety. Adam and Lute still hate all demons and Lucifer because of how they were raised, but with the persuasion of Emily, Sera is willing to give Charlie a chance. Sera gives Charlie six months to redeem a Sinner before the next Extermination. With more people going to Hell in the modern world, Roo becomes stronger, thus the Exorcists try to eliminate more demons who they suspect may be under her control (Sinner and Hellborn alike). The Hazbin Pilot continues after the meeting, Alastor, Husk, and Niffty enter and the hotel commercial is made. Song: “Chasing Rainbows”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 2: “Radio Killed The Video Star” (Focus: Sir Pentious and Vox)

Sir Pentious arrives at the hotel threatening to destroy it, but is defeated by Alastor. He is taken in by Charlie and she tries to do the clapping game, trust falls, and the no drugs roleplay, but Angel Dust and everyone thinks it’s stupid. Vox and Alastor get into a heated rap battle. After Vox loses the battle, Vox plans to use Sir Pentious as a spy to humiliate Charlie and the hotel on TV and it works. Charlie nearly gives up her hotel project, but Angel Dust catches Sir Pentious as a spy. Sir Pentious apologizes to Charlie and she forgives him, but he and everyone else don’t trust each other. Song: “Stayed Gone”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 3: “The Brain” (Focus: Baxter)

Baxter enters the hotel, creates his lab and plans to take over Hell, and sings about his backstory. He and Sir Pentious get into an argument over who’s the best inventor. Baxter later searches for cactus juice to use against his enemies, leading him to a desert. Charlie and friends go after him and after being tied up by outlaws, Baxter rescues them. Baxter unleashes a giant sea monster once they return to the hotel. Song: “Hell Domination”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 4: “World’s Fair” (Focus: Baxter, Sir Pentious)

Sir Pentious and Baxter argue over who is the better inventor. Charlie tries to curb Angel Dust and the client’s desires to use weapons. Only for a weapon’s expo to tempt them. Alastor’s shadows cause mischief, making Baxter and Sir Pentuous more angry at each other. They both sign up and during the sign up, Vox mocks Sir Pentious and tricks him into revealing the location of Angel Dust’s pet pig Fat Nuggets. Using the pig to bring Angel Dust and the hotel staff against each other, he sends Velvet to the hotel to steal the pig. The expo goes underway with contestants from all the Rings in a singing and weapon display acts including Helluva Boss inventors, judged by Carmilla Carmine the top weapon’s dealer. Sir Pentious is tempted by Vox to experiment his ray gun on the pig to win the contest and Vox’s approval but Sir Pentious nobly trips and works with Baxter to save Fat Nuggets and return him to Angel Dust. The crew return to the hotel on Baxter’s sea monster. Song: “Sir Pentious vs Baxter”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 5: “Hell’s Hyena” (Focus: Crymini, Husk, Angel Dust, Katie Killjoy/Tom Trench, Velvet)

(Crymini and Cherri Bomb cause trouble/vandalize the hotel – Husk takes her in, she talks with him at the bar several times. Crymini causes trouble as she sets fire to things and does graffiti on the walls and plays loud punk rock and metal at night…earning a bad review from Katie Killjoy, Tom Trench and Velvette as they do a surprise inspection on the hotel to try and ruin Charlie’s rep once again. Thankfully, Crymini scares them off and rips their papers.)

(Crymini, Angel, Charlie, Vaggie and Husk go to a carnival and Crymini is upset at Husk telling her what to do)

(Crymini runs off and shops with Loona and Octavia at Stylish Occult, becoming fast friends. Sadly, Loona and Octavia do not take her offer to check out the hotel yet.)

(Crymini later gets attacked by a rival hellhound gang, her hellhound group fights them off, but she gets terribly wounded. Her gang, all grown up, says “you’re on your own, we let you couch surf, but now we have better things to do than babysit.” This creates a flashback to Crymini being neglected/abused by her mortal parents, neglect at foster homes, her 90s hazing death, and almost being homeless like Loona but finding work in the porn model industry. Narrowly escaping the Hellhound gang (and an evil Valentino) she begs to stay at the hotel. Husk takes her in, and she lets out her feelings to Husk at the bar…they apologize and have their father-daughter moment, teaching her card tricks and sharing drinks. She, Husk, Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb get along, but she is more tense with Vaggie and Villa).

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 6: “Masquerade” (Focus: Angel Dust, Husk, Valentino)

Charlie decides it’s time to put her ‘Princess’ status to use with Angel’s boss. Song: “Poison” In Part 2, Angel endures a rough day of work on the porn set. His abusive director feeds his drug habits and brings him down. After he returns home and suffers yet another rejection from Husk, he leaves and nearly gets himself into serious trouble, only saved by Husk intervening. The two have a more real conversation and a more solid friendship blossoms.” Songs: “Poison” and “Loser Baby” (no singing Angel in Loser Baby)

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 7: “Angel In The Dust” (Focus: Angel Dust, Aracknis, Henroin, Valentino)

“Things get ugly when Angel Dust encounters his homophobic mafia boss father and his cynical brother Arackniss. It gets worse when a rival gang tries to attack the hotel with angelic weapons. Angel Dust has to confront his family and his past, making a decision to continue his redemption journey.”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 8: “I Wanna Be Loved By You” (Focus: Mimzy, Alastor, Charlie)

Mimzy, a rundown jazz club owner in debt, seeks refuge at the hotel. Her presence attracts loanshark collectors, who not only want their money back, but her blood. The Hazbin gang are forced to protect her from the collectors, despite her being a bit of a diva. Vox sends loan sharks after Mimzy.” Song: (1920s jazz Alastor Mimzy duet: “I Remember Now”)

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 9: “The Helsa Hotel” (Focus: Charlie, Vaggie, Helsa, Sevaithan)

“Charlie runs into her old boyfriend and her princess rival at a dinner party/Baphomet Ball hosted by the Von Eldritch family. Part 2: When Helsa creates a rival hotel for the rich to outshine the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie must plan on bringing it down.”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 10: “Deadly Grace”

 “In this 2 part Episode, we learn of the origins of the Sinner Carmilla Carmine and Vaggie as a Sinner turned Exorcist turned demon. We see her ex-Exorcist life.”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 11: “Unholy Romance”

“Charlie is distraught after learning that Vaggie is an Exorcist. Vox uses the information to brainwash the demons of Hell against Charlie and her friends. Charlie must find a way to forgive and reconcile with Vaggie.” Song: ?

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 12: “Cherri Bomb’s Away!”

Angel Dust’s reunion with Cherri Bomb gives him an opportunity to show how far he’s come.

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 13: “Welcome to Heaven”

“Charlie goes to Heaven to try and prove that her clients are improving. Not having fully fixed their relationship, Vaggie becomes jealous when Charlie forms a bond with Emily. Since there was no proof of redemption, Sera allows Adam to continue the exterminations.”

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 14: “Hello Rosie!”

Charlie and Alastor recruit demons to protect the hotel. Rosie reminds Charlie that her hotel is about redemption and she and Vaggie finally come back together.

Hazbin Hotel (Helluva Scribe Remix) Season 1 Episode 15: “The Show Must Go On”

Charlie and her team fight the Exorcists. Vaggie earns her wings after defeating Lute, Charlie fights Adam until Vaggie delivers the finishing blow. Lucifer arrives and helps the gang rebuild the hotel. Lute demands Lilith to go down and defeat the Hazbins. The Vees plan their next brainwashing/technology scheme while the Eldritch family is up to no good. Sir Pentious becomes an angel and Adam becomes a demon.

[kafkaoftherubble]

Dear emperor is about politics and the horrors of man made gods, how we sometimes idolize people to the point of worship.

But actually it's about the complex friendship between Ira and Edith, how politics tore them apart but their genuine mutual (platonic) love and respect for each other brought them together in the end and made Ira give Edith a second chance. He missed the friend he once had and eventually let her challenge his political beliefs because he just wanted her back.

BUT ACTUALLY dear emperor is about how disabled people and people who look different deserve to live.

Brandi was born with mental health issues while Ira's disabilities came later in life after serving in the military. They both deserve help, not because they're good people, but because they're human and as humans, we need to help each other.

Lewis has no disability but he has a birthmark that has made him stand out. He's been mocked for it and it sometimes it's almost a disability because the uneducated masses assume it's dangerous or some kind of disease or that he's dangerous because of it. It's just a way his face looks!!

And Edith. Her disability (left arm stuff) is self inflicted and so what? Even if she has it because of a stupid mistake, she deserves help as well. Even people who didn't think things through and are now disabled because of a dumb mistake deserve help. Someone who lost a limb doing a dumb trick deserves as much help and support as someone who lost one in a car accident.

Dear emperor is about love and kindness, how we have to be kind and help everyone, even if it means sacrificing luxuries or large amounts of our time and energy. As people who can help, we should.

Bruh, my late-night brain leaps into any sort of imagination easily (too easily in fact), and THIS? This created a whole ass studio of you on red velvety sofa, and then a bespectacled woman interviewer is sitting about one leg apart from you, and then there's a marble-constructed fireplace kinda thing behind you two, and because I don't know how you look, you're just Haanit-but-a-bit-smaller on a sofa, and you're basically being interviewed and the bespectacled woman took her glasses off and chewed on the tip while nodding attentively.

I'll say, with the way you let their lives play out in the story, it's more than just "disabled people deserve to live." It's that they are capable of feats and contributions as any able-bodied and/or neurotypical people. They are remaking countless lives—their enemies', their allies', and above all, their compatriots'—with their own striving. And it wasn't necessarily done despite their disabilities, or that they managed to scale hardship and achieve greatness equaled to an able-bodied/neurotypical folk. It's that their experience directly impacted them and shaped them such that they made their own unique contributions. They knew things the other folks didn't know, and because of that, their voices enriched the collective discourse and understanding of what it means to be in a community we called society.

All that mandates about being "normal" or "approved by State" has created only a very specific kind of people with uniform ideas which leads to stagnation. If Edith and Co. had been removed because they didn't conform to a narrow band of what counts as "normal and non-defective," then Odeda would only continue its fall.

It's not about how diversity, including disabled people, is good for a population. It's about why.

[sandpumpkin]

Hello! For the sun, sea, scares event I was wondering if you could please do Kid with demon? And for the ending could it be treat?

I hope I did this right.

Hallo! thank you for the request!! I hope this is okay!! I just had the idea after writing the Killer one from this batch... I love these goons.(°◡°♡)

Sun, Sea, Scares

Kid - Demon - Treat

Kid sat in the garage working on his precious motorbike. The bar light above him flickered loudly. He glanced up and frowned and glanced back down. The room fell dark, lit only by the sunlight streaming in from the far window. “Damn it.” Kid cursed slowly moving to his feet. “I just fixed that stupid ass light.” he stood on the nearby table and banged the ceiling next to the light, that usually fixed it for a few hours but it did nothing. Groaning, Kid climbed down from the table and navigated through the organised mess that was their communal garage. 

The spare lights were at the far end of the room near the breaker switches. Kid clunked into a rolling tool caddy, sending its contents scattering to the floor “Fu-” Kid stopped and glanced over his shoulder, he could have sworn he heard footsteps behind him. Not really being able to see properly Kid shrugged and started to turn back to the mess at his feet but in his peripheral vision he spotted a shadow. Turning sharply he glared into the darkness and saw nothing, huffing he turned again and again he saw a face..if it could indeed be called that. Hollowed out eyes, that seemed to draw in the darkness. It had spine-like teeth like that of an anglerfish. Kid slowly took a step backwards without taking his eyes off the face. Just the dark playing a trick on me.

Kid jumped as the sound of nails tapping rhythmically on the metal counter beside him. Slowly and ridgely he turned to the creepy noise coming from beside him. Kid inhaled deeply. Peering over the counter was a singular eye, its long tendrail fingers rapped against the metal again. Kid whirled around and made a run for the breaker. He fell straight over the same tool caddy and scrambling to his feet like a deer on ice, he stumbled right into the wall. Fumbling for the big plastic box in panic, glancing over his shoulder and seeing the faces grow closer and closer to him.

Kid wrestled with the breaker switch trying to get the stupid lights to turn on, pulling out the fuse to see if it had blown, the figure appeared directly by his face an ominous light shining from within. Kid shrieked, jumping backwards only to fall over into a stack of box. He landed in a heap, his legs sticking out of the boxes like a turtle flipped onto its back. The breaker switch clicked loudly as it was switched back on and the bar light flickered back into life. The garage illuminated in bright light. Three people stood there with huge masks on, taking them off to reveal the pranksters within. Wire and Heat were in heaps of laughter. Killer chuckled and holding the mask under his arm, with is other hand on his hip with a smirk plastered on his face.

“That’s what happens when you prank people, Kid.” Killer mocked “You scream like a banshee.”

“I recorded it. I’m setting it as my ringtone.” Wire sniggered, playing back the scream for Kid to hear. Kid’s face matched his hair.

“You assholes!” he snapped, trying to squirm out of the box. “You’ll pay-”

“I’m sure we will…when you get out of that box.” Killer mused.

[rikas-things]

Twisted Wonderland: Keys to the Future part 2

If you'd like to see all of the parts of Twisted Wonderland KTF, please click to the Table of Contents 👇👇👇

★☆★☆★☆(⁠◕⁠ᴥ⁠◕⁠)★☆★☆★☆

She ran across dozens and dozens of classrooms, courtyards and alleyways, nearly bumping into a few students just to make sure she didn't get caught by the murderous racoon creature.

She felt the now smoldering spot where the fire hit the top of her head and growled at the bare scalp that she felt instead of her usually thick, soft tuft of hair.

She had to adjust her glasses each time she turned as she didn't want them to fall off and risk losing her vision along with the addition of ending up in a strangely familiar place.

"Come back here!" Grim's shrill voice wasn't far behind her, and soon the searing heat returned, one fire blast almost touching her ear, another was about to claim her leg had she not thought to move it.

A few people in uniforms different from the robes she wore (students?) looked on and dodged the fireballs in horror as they gawked.

As she saw a pair of folks carrying a cart of books, she threw some at Grim in an attempt to slow his chase.

True to his small frame, he nimbly dodged them all, jumping and ducking while the few unlucky students and faculty had to deal with a book being flung at his face or other unfortunate places.

She yelped as he increased speed, to which she jumped over the rest of the books, while Grim just burned the bookshelf to ashes, much to the panic and dismay of the holders and the onlookers.

Without a second thought she would throw various random objects at Grim, to which he would dodge with ease.

"Hmph, your aim sucks! Maybe you need new glasses, huh, four-eyes?!" he mocked as he sent fireballs her way, to which she narrowly dodged.

One managed to hit the bottom of her robe, and she skittishly patted it down as other flames went her way.

She saw a globe and a bottle of glittering liquid and grabbed them without thought.

She threw the globe at Grim, and he dodged- but this time, she was prepared for that as she opened the bottle and threw the glistening liquid at him.

He paused and examined the strange liquid.

"Huh?"

He then regained his air of smugness.

"Look, human! Your stupid tricks can't touch me, or did you not learn that by-"

Inch by inch, his movements began to stiffen.

"Wait... what's goin' on?"

Realization then panic lined his features as his limbs were entrapped by the stickying liquid.

"Ugh! I'll just..."

He attempted to burn the liquid away, but it had no effect, which caused him to panic even more.

"What the hell did you do to me?!" He yelled as he couldn't move his legs or tail.

Using this opportunity, she turned and ran without a second thought, moving further throughout the building until she landed outside, where few students were around.

She used this time to catch her breath, collapsing on the walkway.

As she calmed herself, she replayed the events of today in her head:

She dreamt of a shadow talking about flowers of evil, then woke up to a talking animal who wanted her clothes, only for said animal to attempt to murder her via fire, like a medieval judge trying to kill a gypsy for refusing his advances.

Was all of this a dream?

She pondered the thought for a moment before wincing at the dull ache from where Grim managed to burn her head and the bottom portion of her robe where the glistening gold was reduced to an ugly rusty brown-black.

None of that felt imaginary at all.

She can still feel the pain and fear in her heart, the aches in her head and legs, and her heavy breathing hitting her lungs.

The nighttime wind blowing at her face, the soft glow of the moon, the warmth of her robe...all of that felt very real.

She wasn't sure if she'd even be able to tell if she had been dreaming or not, so this whole experience was new to her.

All she knew was that this place was strange, even a little dangerous.

But another thing tugged at her too, a feeling that had been growing since the moment she woke up:

Excitement.

Yes, as afraid and confused as she was in regards to being chased around a strange place, she couldn't help but wonder about the why's and hows of such a place.

Why the coffins can float in midair without so much as a problem.

How that glistening liquid was able to harden like cement.

Why she was here in the first place.

It felt like the start of an amazing adventure, and while she wasn't prepared for the ride, she was very much anticipating it.

A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth as she stared out at the sky, students flying together on their brooms beneath the glow of the full moon.

It looked breathtaking.

Maybe she should just stay here and enjoy the scenery?

The shadow of the trees created a nice frame for the sky, and the moon was a wonderful centerpiece.

If only she had a camera-

FWOOSH!!

She felt it before she heard it.

It was hot, and easily whizzed past her head, something blue.

The joy and excitement she had nearly crumbled as the realization came to her as fast as that fireball and she turned to meet eye to blue eye to him.

Grim laughed like a super villain as he put his paws on his hips, his fur looking completely soaked.

This didn't look like the stuff she poured on him; in fact, some of the liquid was still dripping off of his "elbow".

[clairecrive]

hi! I just recently found your account and I've been spending all my time reading everything you've written, and I wanted to tell you that I absolutely adore your writing! it's so beautiful.

I also wanted to request a friends to lovers nikolai x reader fic (you don't have to make it friends to lovers if you don't want to!) something along the lines of this: they get seperated after the battle with the darkling at the end of siege and storm and reader has to go with alina but they finally reunite? and everyone is super smug because they knew it would happen.

sorry for such a long ask and no worries if you decide not to do it! I hope you're doing well!!

Fools, pistols blazing and shock

A/n: a promise is a promise and the second most requested fic was Nikolai and angst and so here it is! friends to lovers is not my favorite trope but I enjoyed writing this. I hope you will too x

Thank you so much for your beautiful words btw, they mean the world <3<3

tags: @jupiterandbutterflies , @agentsofsheilds , @for-bebbanburg , @randomoutsiders , @hannaxmaria , @vintagebitc , @story-scribbler , @crowssixof , @odetostep , @lizzie-he4rts , @korol-lantsov , @subjecta13-thefangirl ,@gallysonegoodlung , @a-c-lee , @mriddlemethis , @carnationworld , @thanossexual , @luvxginger , @sanna2020 , @partiesandblurrypolaroids , @edithsvoice , @wafflesandschemingfaces , @snugleo , @sugarmelonwater , @dobwhore, @sassybadqueen , @anything-forourmoony, @snokoi, @imaginingimagines, @vintagebitc_,

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

"So," he twirled around, "how do I look?" With a theatrical gesture, he stopped in front of you.

You looked at him, head to toe, before saying, "Like a fool I know."

He was imperturbable, by the smirk on his face one would think that you had paid him a compliment. "The answer was far simpler: handsome."

"You look like a prince," you conceded, " but so does your brother so take that as you will." And with that, you walked to your assigned post leaving a scandalized Nikolai behind.

The dinner went by smoothly even if you had to bear Vasily being his annoying self. So far so good. The important thing was that the people around the table were under no threat. The rest was bearable.

And no, it had nothing to do with Nikolai winking at you from time to time. Flirting was second nature to him and Alina's presence by his side was a cold reminder of how things were.

It took one look at her for your face to go as blank as Mal's on the other side of the room.

You had disconnected from the conversation at the table for a second, your attention going to the exit where a Grisha soldier had just walked in to talk to Zoya. If you had been paying attention to Nikolai, you would have known what to expect.

But you hadn't and so the next few seconds were pure chaos.

The unthinkable happened.

Black shadows filled the room, leaving no chance to the people they had appeared before. The Queen's scream brought your attention back to the table and consequently to the Vasily. Or rather, to what was left of him.

Beside him, the kind had crouched down to hide and was cowering behind the throne. The Queen clutched her son's body to her chest wailing and screaming. Then your eyes fell on him, standing tall in front of his parents shooting away.

You didn't know what you were going to do. You didn't think. You just acted and the next thing you knew, you were running towards him shooting fire at whatever tendrils of shadows you could see.

"Nikolai!"

In a moment, you reached his side, covering his back for every possible attack.

"You need to go," you urged him over the sounds of crying and shooting. A shot of light filled the room blinking you for a moment and panic shot through you at the possibility of Alina being hurt.

"Take your parents and Alina and go Nikolai. You can't stay here!" You insisted again, still back to back, unwilling to let anything happen to him. If he meant to argue you didn't know. You heard him speak but his words went unheard over the chaos in the room.

You turned around just in time to see one of those things trying to make their way to him. The tendrils of fire that shot through you slowed it down but it was only a shot of wind coming from a squaller that did the trick and sent it away.

Nodding in the squaller's direction you took Nikolai's shoulders and turned him towards the secret exit behind the throne.

"Stop playing hero and just go for Saint's sake!" Under normal circumstances, he was stronger than you. And well, he still was but too busy worrying about getting his family to safety and covering your back, he ended up succumbing to your shoves.

"I can't leave you here!"

"You can and you surely will! I'll make sure that Alina is safe," ushering him and his parents towards the exit, you didn't give him time to argue. Once they were through the door, you closed it behind them and melted the lock.

You allowed yourself only a moment to worry about him, to mourn him if things were to go downhill for you. Only a second for you to mourn the future that you knew you were never going to get with him.

Then it was over. Your heart locked away and your mind focused solely on the battle ahead. You needed to make sure that Alina was alive and get her to safety whilst also trying to save as many as you could along the way.

A piece of cake.

*+*+*+*+*+*

You knew that he had made it out of Os Alta alive. You had gotten word that he had arrived safe and sound to one of his hiding spots scattered around the country.

Alina and a group of other Grisha, including yourself, had managed to make it out alive out of the capital as well.

All was as well as it could be under these gloomy circumstances. And yet, you couldn't help but feel like you had lost.

Too many had fallen under the Darkling's wrath. Too many had given up their lives in honor of Ravka's freedom. Too many sacrifices for you all to be hiding in the tunnels like scared cats.

But you had a plan. You just needed to be in the same room as Alina, all of you at once, and you were going to make your way up.

It was only a matter of time before you were going to see him again.

*+*+*+*+*+*

It turned out that you were right. It was a matter of time indeed before you saw Nikolai again.

As always, he couldn't help but make a grand entrance while praising his good looks. For once, your eyes didn't roll in mock annoyance. The joy of seeing him again, safe and sound while also saving your asses, prevailed.

And the moment his eyes met yours? Priceless.

Despite being in the middle of running away and fighting the first army's soldiers, you felt like there was only the two of you. Nothing mattered besides Nikolai, his stupid smirk that shone brighter than all the stars combined.

It turned out that that moment came with a price indeed. Your distraction paved the way for an almost fatal mistake.

Too lost in Nikolai's eyes and restraining yourself from throwing yourself at him, you didn't notice the soldier sneaking up behind him. Or well, you didn't until it was too late.

The movement caught your eyes, but the bastard had his pistol already drawn. You had the presence of the spirit of pushing Nikolai out of the way before a shot was fired.

Focusing on the bullet you tried all your might to melt it, but you knew it was a desperate attempt since you had noticed it too late. Trying and losing was better than not trying at all so trying you did.

However, what turned out to be life-saving was Nikolai's counterattack. While you exercised the small science, Nikolai quickly drew his own pistol and shoot at the soldier.

Time seemed to slow down as you stared in front of him, hands in the air while Nikolai moved behind you. Right before your brain registered that while you had indeed managed to burn the bullet, it was still coming your way at high speed, another object entered your field vision.

At that moment you didn't exactly decipher what had happened, you blinked and the bullet was not there anymore. However, your stupor was short-lived as other soldiers were coming your way after hearing the noise.

At that point, Nikolai tugged you away and towards his awaiting ship knowing that the soldiers would surely outnumber you.

It all happened in a blink. One moment you were on the ground hellbent on not dying, and the other you were up in the air.

That, combined with the stress of the last couple of weeks. exhaustion and dehydration put you in a state of shock. Resulting in you staring numbly ahead of you.

Then, when you felt a hand on your face, your brain started working again and your eyes slowly began to focus.

"Are you injured?"

Nikolai was moving your head left and right to check for wounds and after that, he moved down on your neck and vital points. But you weren't hurt.

"It's so typically you to swoop in and save the day in the most dramatic way possible that I shouldn't even be surprised."

Your sarcasm reassured him that you were fine more than the absence of physical wounds. Leaning back on his haunches, he gave you a lazy smirk. "You know me, always read to save damsels in distress."

You almost hated how handsome he looked in that moment but the fact that he basically had saved your life made it really hard for you to get mad at him.

"Not a damsel and not in distress but I appreciated your gesture," you fired back falling naturally into your usual easy banter. "Thank you, Kolya."

"You shouldn't be thanking me. I did it for a whole selfish reason." His features morphed into seriousness which was usually something he left for meetings or that kind of stuff. Seeing it now directed at you, seriously worried you.

"Since when does Nikolai Lanstov shy away from gratefulness and compliments?" You tried to jest but to no avail.

"I'm serious."

"Alright, so why did you do it? You have tons of other Grisha available."

"Because a world without you is not a world I want to live in."

Well, damn. Trust Nikolai to make you completely speechless.

"That must be the shock talking," you murmured still taken back by his words.

"I've almost lost you, y/n, I'm not going to waste any more time avoiding my feelings." Crossing his arms on his chest, Nikolai lightly shook his head. Damn, there was no smirk on his face, no twinkle in his eyes. He must be serious.

"I should be having an epiphany moment since I was the one who almost died," you protested.

"Feel free to declare your undying love for me then."

"Ass. Now I'm tempted not to do it just to prove you wrong," you glared at him but sighed knowing what you needed to do. "But, as much as it pains me, you're right."

Your eyes flickered between yours and the sheer intensity of them gave you enough confidence to bear your heart to him, "I do love you, you know."

"Well, let's be honest, who wouldn't. I'm amazing," with a careless shrug, Nikolai gestured to himself. Which, of course, made you glare at him.

"Joking, I take it back. You're insufferable." Your mock-annoyance did nothing but amuse him to no end. However untruthful they might be, Nikolai played along with your words. While also progressively leaning closer to you.

"Nope, can't do that love. You signed your destiny, you're mine." You would have retired, of course you would have, but the truth is, his lips were more interesting than any witty comeback ever could.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you��re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[hanazou]

𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙪𝙮𝙖.

(while being shorter than him)

— a chaos of fun!

Word count : 1.5K

Shelf : Hardback

Genre : Romance and fluff, slight crack

Note : Sorry, anon! There was technical issue so I have to post this without your ask! I hope these are detailed enough to your expectations? I wrote more than I expected I would. Once again, thank you to the-foreigner for helping me figure out the tags!

Please enjoy!

 Where have you been all his life?

To say that Chuuya would simply be attracted to you because of your height sounds shallow, so let me phrase it this way; Chuuya is so used to having look up to people since many are taller than him all his life, both men and women, so it kind of does something different to his psyche when he sees you, being shorter than him.

Not to sound stereotypical but it's a given instinct that when you see someone shorter than you, you get the impression that they're cute and it triggers your protective instinct, right? This is what Chuuya feels about you. And since this sensation is new to him, he cherishes it.

Also, since Chuuya leans more towards masculinity, in your relationship with him, you're making him feel more manly. To speak a bit bluntly and in a nutshell, you boost his ego.

You make him feel even more confident and comfortable with himself. It's not that he wasn't confident before he dates you, you're just making him bolder with more sense of control and masculinity, making him feel validated. More dominant and more alpha.

But what does all of that mean, you ask? Here's the highlight of this post; Chuuya will pamper you as your prince charming while simultaneously being your playmate. Perfectly balanced.

Why? Because seeing you being petite, smaller than him, makes you appear as someone he should protect, but the romance doesn't replace the fun. When it comes to being Chuuya's darling, things never get overly cheesy. Yes he can be romantic (he is), but he's not the type to use sweet talks 24/7. He uses his "rough" ways to communicate his romanticism, one of them being your equal, hence the "playmate" dynamic.

Chuuya tells himself that you're his cute, little darling. He will say this to you straightforwardly except the "cute" part. If he casually and accidentally calls you cute from a slip of his tongue, you can definitely tease him back to get even.

He can be the big spoon and the "top" of your relationship, but he will be a switch if he's feeling sluggish. Being the "lead" sometimes makes him need a break, not from you, but from the energy it takes. Chuuya is an emotional guy and can be downright hysterical, and that takes energy, so he will turn to you for solace when he's worn out. To achieve that, Chuuya will utilize your height to bury his face into your neck or lean his forehead on your shoulder when work wears him down.

"Stay like this for a while," His voice blurs into mutters with his face on your shoulder. "Just three minutes."

Pat his head. Do it.

If you're the one feeling low, just put your head against his chest when you're both standing. Chuuya will be confused at first, but he'll silently ruffle your hair with your forehead still against his chest. It will be calming, I promise you.

Whether you're Port Mafia or a regular civilian (I find it easier for him to date someone from the PM though), you can count on Chuuya to be protective. He's already a protective guy by nature but when he sees you, his shorter darling, anywhere close to danger, that protective instinct doubles or even triples.

In fact, he wants you to rely on him. It's not that he wants you to be dependent—Chuuya just wants you to know that he always has your back. He's the combination of loyal and protective, so he wants to prove those qualities he takes pride in to you. Trust is a strong element for him, and by letting him know you count on him, you’re already securing his utmost loyalty and love.

One of the highlights of this post is his hat. You're shorter than him and it makes it easier for Chuuya to just plop his hat on your head on random occasions. No words, no thoughts, just putting his hat on you. It's the subconscious acts of love like this that makes him feel whole with you.

Kouyou will like you for colouring Chuuya's life. She'll make comments about how you both are fun to watch at, especially when you're both doing your silly dating antics, such as "My, my, energetic as always, aren't you both?"

Speaking of dating antics--Emotional maturity? We don't know her.

Doesn’t matter if you're only 2 cm or maybe 10 cm shorter than him. He will take any height advantage and have fun with it. A little too much, in fact.

Chuuya is not above using his ability to put objects in places he knows you can't reach but is close enough for you to struggle, just to watch you squirm. Confidence does things to this man, mischief being one of them. On the instances where you really can't reach up and it's not because of his tricks, something like this is bound to happen ;

"Huh, can't reach the top shelf, can ya? Don't worry, I've got you." He says, chest huffing with pride, before getting a ladder himself.

"...."

Mostly will lift you up to help since he wants to take the small chances to bond with you over simple moments. Short people solidarity. The height boost isn't much since short + short doesn't exactly equate to being tall, but hey, it's the thought and the comedic moments that count.

Speaking of comedic moments;

"Have you reached it yet?!" He asks loudly, craning his head from below you to see upwards. You're sitting on his shoulders and he's making sure he doesn't move around too much, or else you'll fall.

"Just a little bit more—!" You grunt, arm stretched. "Lift me up more, will you? Jump or something!"

"Do you want to fall? Forget it! Just reach higher!

"Maybe I can stand on your shoulders. Hold still--"

"Oi, this vest is 60,000 yen! And this is already the highest I'm lifting you! That's enough, I'll lower you down and just use my ability!"

"No! I'm already grazing it!"

And then you both will proceed to bicker in that weird, eye-catching position, for at least 2 more minutes. It will end if you either jump off him or he floats you down using his ability, and usually it's the latter.

[Sometimes the positions will switch (you lifting him up) but he's a solid 60 kg, it will be a challenge for your muscles and a good workout routine. Good luck getting him to agree to it though.]

[If that happens, chances are your legs will wobble just within seconds from lifting him. Good thing is it increases the humour and mischief in your relationship, downgrade is that it's too silly and stupid to look at to make it feel romantic]

Want to get back at his pranks? Here's a solution. Chuuya will vaporize if you use his clothes. He's taller than you, so let's say his shirt looks like a dress on you.

"W-What do you think you're wearing?!" Is what he shouts, but his flustered face says otherwise. [Bonus: for more critical hit, wear his choker(s). It does ‘things’ to him]

Yeah it's the little things like this that boost his confidence and optimism, and you don't mind him acting like the prince charming in an armour.

If anyone calls you (or even both of you) short, Chuuya will be pissed and defend you and himself since he assumes you also don't like being mocked for your height. He takes it upon himself to "fight" for you too. He has the "we're in this together" mentality.

And so do you. If any Port Mafia's enemies try to waver your confidence or Chuuya's by mocking your heights, it's going to be hell at that point.

If Dazai ever spots you and Chuuya together in public, he will say "Congratulations, Chuuya! You finally found someone shorter to date!" just when Chuuya mumbles "What's that shitty Dazai doing here?" under his breath.

Chuuya will try to kick his face while yelling "Huh?! What'd you just said about us!?"

Don't take what Dazai said personally, he did it to get on Chuuya's nerves, not yours. Instead, why don't you hold Chuuya back so he doesn't chase Dazai?

“Don’t you ever get bored arguing with him?!” You struggle to pull him back. You have to shout to outmatch his shouts.

Chuuya will be interested in height-related shenanigans with you, such as actually reading obviously fake advertisements that promises height growth and asking you if you're interested. He will only do this with you because he knows you won't make silly/berating comments about him. As I've said, trust is the secret ingredient in dating Chuuya.

"Hey, do you think this is real?" He shows you the poster he picked up. The dirt left by his sole on it is still there.

"Chuuya," You try really hard to stop sighing. "At this point, we have to stop lying to ourselves,"

But if the advertisement doesn't sound fake, let's say it utilises supposedly "effective acupuncture techniques", you will lessen the mature act and entertain him a bit.

In short, you and Chuuya will have an energetic and youthful relationship. It doesn't matter where you two are, be it in the cities or the ground zero of battle; if you two are there, people will see one hell of a lively, energetic, short duo.

📜 ; like what you read? visit my bookshop!

[amethystpath-writes]

Fool-Proof

(NOT A PR0MPT) I finally finished the thing I talked about writing for weeks! Enjoy, everyone <3

******

Patrolling the streets perhaps wasn’t entirely necessary amongst a storm, Hero thought. Who would be out right now, besides an adventure seeker looking to dodge a fallen tree or be struck by lightning?

The wind was strong enough that Hero struggled to remain standing. She was knocked into a sidestep, then another, then another. She would get herself knocked down if she wasn’t mindful of the gusts.

Then again, she would also get herself knocked down if she didn’t watch her footing as she came closer to a stumbling figure in the distance. Through the rain, the person was difficult to see, but they were at least obviously human. Not some alien emerging from the rainwater, or something odd like that.

“Hey! You doing alright? The weather isn’t really great for a stroll; you should head into the nearest building. Storm is only going to get worse!”

It was very likely the person didn’t hear her. After all, Hero could barely hear herself past all the rain falling around her ears. How was the rain moving at a rate faster than sound? Didn’t matter. She just needed to get closer.

As Hero neared, she realized the figure had an arm wrapped around themselves. Their stumbling was getting worse, back was arching more. They were coughing, gagging. “Do you need some help? I can walk you to the nearest building. Is it okay for me to help?”

The person looked up, now within earshot of Hero. Even as they turned so slowly, Hero could recognize the hair, the jaw, the cheeks, the physique. She took a step back. “You escaped.” The words were choked, shocked, unpleased. Hero took another step back, ignoring the way the rain now began pelting the side of her face. “How? I- I made sure it was all fool-proof.”

She wasn’t so scared as she was confused- maybe a tad irritated. Who could have let him get out?

“Fool-proof?” Supervillain muttered, just loud enough for Hero to hear. And, just before lightning could dash across the sky, a loud boom followed shortly after. “Is that what you call it? Well, I reckon I should be glad I’m not a fool.”

“You’re hurt.” Hero could tell by the way Supervillain spoke- how quiet he was being, how raspy his voice was, as if he’d been crying some time ago. Maybe he had been- certainly seemed like it by way he held his abdomen. “I don’t suppose you squeezed through the bars to escape?”

“Bars don’t bend.”

“Then how’d you get out?”

Supervillain’s head lifted, and his back straightened ever-so-slightly. “What would you think if I told you I was let out?”

Hero swallowed, shook her head. No one would have let him out. No one was so stupid to release a supervillain.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know the panic you’re feeling,” Supervillain said, chest seeming to suddenly hurt much less than before. “I know that you’re aware of my influence- how easily I can turn one’s mind to benefit my own actions and ideals.”

Well, yes. Now that Supervillain said it, Hero did feel quite unnerved. At first, she was only irritated- only puzzling out how he might have escaped. Now, though…if what Supervillain said was true, that someone let him out, that meant she had more enemies, more people to be wary of. Hero would turn her head at everyone she crossed paths with now.

“I’m not in any panic. I-” Hero’s gaze fell to the right of Supervillain’s figure. There was someone in the distance- standing much like how Supervillain was earlier, crouched over, holding themselves. “What did you do?”

“I,” Supervillain said, a barely contained smirk forming on his face “escaped.”

In the distance, the person collapsed, hand never leaving their side until they met the ground, where their arm then unconsciously flopped. Hero didn’t wait a moment. She left Supervillain where he stood. He was laughing in his mocking way, loving the victory he so obviously achieved.

The rain picked up, beating and pounding against Hero’s skin. If she weren’t so focused on helping this fallen person, she’d be worried her skin was being peeled off by the rain.

Of course, the wind contributed itself as an obstacle, as well, knocking Hero side to side. Once to the left, twice to the right. It pushed her like a hundred devilish hands, away from her goal, then towards it, and away again. It tossed her like a ragdoll, all the while another figure appeared. And another. Another. They were all falling. She couldn’t help them all.

As she approached the first body, Supervillain’s voice ran perfectly clear behind her- no rain hindering the sound waves he sent in her direction. “How great of an idea you had, Hero.”

She swallowed, unturning. The rain was gone, the clouds vacant from the sky. The moon shone on the wet street, an ominous setting for anyone, surely.

“What could go wrong in a prison full of the most notorious people?”

It was now that the body in front of Hero turned their- no his- head, now facing Hero in full.

Villain. He gave a fake coughing fit- one Hero only knew was fake because of the smile he bore on his face as he began standing. Villain wasn’t sick, as much as he wanted Hero to think so before revealing himself. This- all of it- was an act orchestrated by Supervillain. The storm, the fake injury, the various others collapsing. It was a trick.

Before she knew it, one person after another was approaching her, trapping her in a close circle.

“You can take us out one at a time,” Villain told Hero. “But you can’t fight us all.”

The circle closed even more, everyone taking a step closer to Hero. From an outside perspective, one might have thought a demonic ritual was in session.

“You like to think you’re fool-proof, Hero, but you’re not.”

[lottiebagley]

Snow covered courtyards- Oliver Wood

When he'd asked her to the ball he'd been certain she would say no. They'd been friends for a while but never particularly close, simply in the same year and house and therefore knew each other through mutual friends.

He'd always thought she was kind of unattainable, she seemed to always look perfect, she was smart and funny and kind and top of her classes. He never knew why but she always avoided Oliver a little, he spent nights laid in bed listening to Percy's snoring and racking his brains for any reason she might avoid him, an insult from years ago, a history between him and one of her friends but nothing quite came to mind.

It wasn't until a few weeks before the ball that he realised that maybe the reason she avoided him was because she wasn't quite as unattainable as he'd thought. He'd laughed at first when his best friend shrugged that she probably just had a crush on him, mouthful of cereal and a slightly bemused look on his face.

After that conversation he slowly allowed his brain to convince himself she just might like him back. After all why else would she blush when he catches her eye? why would she go to every quidditch game no matter how awful the weather? why would she giggle a little with her friends when he passes?

And so, Oliver Wood let a little spark of hope light in his heart and he began to plan how he would ask her to the ball.

He thought about asking her after they won a quidditch match when he was high on adrenaline but he didn't like the idea of being muddy and sweaty and with the fucking Weasley twins, their relentless teasing playing in his mind before it even happened.

Next he thought about making some production out of it in the great hall like he'd seen a few other people do, but he knew she'd hate being the centre of the entire school's attention.

He contemplated asking her at a party, figuring some liquid courage might make the prospect of asking his dream girl on a date a little easier, but didn't want her to think it was some drunk decision.

He settled on approaching her with a bouquet of flowers and just asking it, after all, he knew he was a good looking guy and most people found him charming if not a little intense. What he didn't think about though was that most people didn't make his heart beat too fast, his hands go clammy, and his words come out a stuttering mess.

Oliver announced to his friends one morning that today was the day he'd ask her out, they'd grinned widely, given him a pep talk, mocked him a little for his nerves and sent him on his way and Oliver had every intention to ask her out.

It was then that Oliver learnt the age old lesson.

Girls travel in packs.

No matter how hard he tried she was surrounded. Between classes, at meals, in the common room, christ even on her way to the bathroom. Whenever he saw her she'd have a gaggle of girls with her all of which would eye him with curiosity and smirks when he attempted to approach.

It took Oliver a further three days of attempting to catch her alone, his friends seeming to find the entire situation funnier by the hour, before it had happened. He'd caught a glimpse of her with Cedric.

Oliver Wood hated Cedric Diggory, hated that he was so often compared to him, hated that he had swoopy hair that made girls swoon, hated that he too was a good quidditch player. His newest reason though to despise the boy who showed him nothing but kindness was that he didn't clam up around her. He talked to her with ease and made her laugh.

If he'd done a little digging, Oliver would have easily found Cedric was a family friend and she viewed him like a brother. Through exasperated mutual friends sick of both their pining he'd have probably also learnt she had a massive crush on Oliver and had turned down multiple boys in the hopes Oliver would ask her to the ball.

He didn't dig though. Instead he scowled in the direction of Cedric and her, they were laughing by the quidditch pitch as the Hufflepuff practice ended and the Gryffindor's arrived for their own. She had been on her way to the greenhouses to grab a book she'd accidentally left there when Cedric had jogged over, unknown to Oliver actually asking if the Gryffindor had plucked up the nerve to ask her out. She had brushed her friend off, thinking it would be a miracle for Oliver Wood to fancy her back.

"Hurry up Wood, she's a good one, she'll get swept up all too soon," Fred smirks as he passes Oliver on his way into the changing rooms.

And with Fred's words in his mind Oliver grabs the bouquet of flowers from the office and marches towards her, Cedric spotting him coming and quickly taking his leave.

"Hi," He calls, cursing himself for not thinking to say her name when she doesn't even turn around, not used to him approaching her, "Hi-Y/N,"

She turns then, still clad in her uniform, hair blowing in the light wind and a small smile on her face.

"Oliver-uh-hey," She blushes a little as she falls over her words

"You're a really hard girl to get on her own," He comments. Fucking christ why does he sound like a stalker? The question spins in his mind but she seems to not think anything of the comment, instead blushing a little

"Oh- my friends and I are kinda inseperable," She shrugs lightly, not wanting an awkward silence so instead opting to ramble "They only aren't here now cause they are busy. Meg's at detention, Ali's with her boyfriend and Katie's tutoring some second year in potions. I'd have waited for one of them to be with me because honestly I kind of hate walking alone- not cause I'm weird or un-independent or any thing, I just, well I get a little anxious and feel like people are staring at me and-" She silences herself, suddenly coming to her senses and realising how crazy she's making herself sound. "Sorry,"

"Don't be. I think it's cute when you ramble," He admits, blushing as red as his quidditch robes when he realises what he's said.

"Did you need something or have I just embarrassed myself over a polite hello?" She questions, he chuckles a little making her feel mildly less uncomfortable.

"I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the ball?" He questions. He feels a weight off his shoulder's once the question has been asked. Like suddenly even if she says no at least he could tell himself he tried.

"With you?" She questions, she realises she probably sounds more idiotic by the second but can't quite convince herself to believe her long term crush would actually ask her out.

"Uh-yeah," He's taken aback by the question and feels stupid for even thinking she'd consider it and suddenly the even if she says no bullshit is just that, because shit if the girl in front of him with wide eyes and a nervous smile doesn't say yes he thinks his heart might break in his chest.

"Like a date?"

"I was hoping,"

"I'd love that,"

Oliver feels like the luckiest person on earth. Watching as she blushes a little, but her smile is wide and god if he doesn't want to kiss her right there.

"Great,"

"Good,"

"Cool,"

"Yeah,"

Neither of them is quite sure what comes next and the interaction seems to run even more awkward. "You'll pick her up!" Oliver rolls his eyes at the sound of George Weasley, although thankful for the prompt, she blushes, peering behind him to see the entire Gryffindor quidditch team watching them.

"I'll pick you up," He confirms

"Right," She nods

"At 7? Outside your dorm?"

"Sounds good,"

"Okay," He grins brightly, still thinking this entire thing is his mind playing some cruel tricks on him.

"So you should go, your team awaits," She reminds, he nods, partly wanting the interaction over before he can make even more of a fool out of himself or ruin something before it even has a chance to start and partly wanting to live in this moment of pure joy for the rest of his life.

"Right, so I'll uh- see you at the ball- and- uhm- around before obviously," He stutters a little

"Great, I'll see you in both those places," She confirms, realising only after she's spoken how idiotic she sounds.

"The flowers Wood! Christ you're bad at this!" Fred shouts

"Always thought he had game," Harry comments

"We all did kid," George agrees.

"Sorry about them," Oliver apologises

"It's okay," She smiles gently, waiting patiently as he stands staring wondering why her eyes are flickering from him, to his team to his hands and-

"Oh right, these are for you," He confirms, passing the bouquet over and grinning when she blushes a little

"Thanks Oli,"

"Any time," He nods

**

When she pulls open her dorm door Oliver is certain time stops.

She looks like an angel, her makeup perfect, hair flowing in curls with a small section pinned back as to see her face clearly, Oliver is certain nothing else has ever looked as beautiful. She's dressed in a golden gown that shimmers in the light and makes her look like a princess.

"You- I mean- it- you look beautiful," He stammers over his words and his face goes redder by the second but she smiles at him

"Thank you Oli," She smiles up at him and when their eyes meet both of them feel their hearts hammering in their chests.

"You ready?" He questions, she nods, smiling when he grabs her arm in his and they walk together to the hall.

The hall looks like something out of a fairytale. Seeming to glow an ice white, lined with glittering trees and a glance at the ceiling showing a sky full of stars that gleamed in the air.

"You want to dance?" Oliver questions, eyes falling to the already slightly crowded dance floor, the students dancing to the waltz that plays.

"Think you might loose a foot if we try," She admits, glancing at the girls who swirl around the floor effortlessly and feeling a little self conscious she can't do the same.

"It'd be worth it," He grins, pulling her along with him.

"Hey Oli?"

"Yeah?" He questions as they come to the edge of the dance floor

"These heels are really high. Please don't let me fall,"

"I've got you," He assures, smiling when he notices her physically loosen the panic in her eyes dissipating.

It takes them a few stumbles and a couple of toe treads but eventually they pick up the dance. He watches with a grin as she stares at her feet in focus and with time, and a few glasses of the punch Fred and George spiked, she relaxes, feeling at ease in his arms and becoming more comfortable with the slightly confusing dancing.

Oliver whispers commentary about the ball that makes her laugh and he loves the way she talks with such excitement that he can't help but follow along with every word. He's pretty sure in that moment he could die happy and she's almost certain this is the best night of her life.

As the minutes tick into hours they become more and more comfortable with each other, sure there's still an awkward teenagers with crushes layer to the conversation, but they learn they have a lot in common and find it easy to make small talk that they both actually enjoy.

"Do you wanna go get some air?" She questions at around 11, the dancing has changed from formal waltzing to jumping around to the band who'd been hired for the event and they were both hot and a little sticky from the crowd.

He nods in confirmation and smiles to himself when she immediately takes his hand in hers to pull him along behind her, she seems to have no idea he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

She takes him to a small moonlit, snow covered, empty courtyard.

"Anyone would think you wanted to get me alone," He teases lightly, she blushes a little but playfully shoves him

"Maybe I did," She shrugs, he grins cockily "Or maybe it was a little crowded in there and I'm a polite date who didn't want to just abandon you," She isn't quite sure where her newfound confidence around Oliver is coming from

"I'm going to go with the first option," He grins, she laughs a little before shivering at the cold December breeze that wraps around them. He's quick to shrug of his black formal jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders and blushing when she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

"You wanna dance?" She questions, he laughs a little at the idea of leaving a ball to go and dance but nods.

Her arms wrap around his neck as his circle her waist, he hums gently and she smiles a she glances up at him. Oliver Wood looks like a god in the moonlight and she thanks her lucky stars that it's her who got to be in that moment with him.

They dance slowly, eventually pulling each other closer. She laughs when he twirls her under his arm and he grins when her hands begin to brush through the ends of his hair.

"Tell me something," She speaks quietly, his arms pulling her even closer.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything about you," She decides, he takes a deep breath, figuring now's probably the best moment he'll ever get to tell her this.

"I've had a crush on you since first year,"

"You have?" She sounds shocked and he can't help but laugh at the idea of her not realising he's practically head over heels for her

"I have," He confirms with a grin

"Why'd you never say anything?" She questions. Her heart feels like it's beating a million miles a minute and she's almost certain he can feel it

"You kinda avoided me," he shrugs

"Yeah I did," She laughs

"Why'd you do that?"

"I was scared to make a fool out of myself," She admits

"Yeah I get that," He nods

"You do? You always seem so- I don't know- at ease,"

"Around everyone but you I kinda am," He shrugs, she blushes a little at that. "You wanna know something else?" He questions.

They're still swaying a little but there's not much movement at their feet, instead the entire thing looks like a loving embrace and she figured to an extent it kind of was.

"Sure,"

"All night I've thinking about if I were to try and kiss you. If you'd kiss back or you'd pull away and laugh in my face and I'd have made a fool of myself," His words leave her breathless and his charming grin only makes it better

"There's only one way to know for sure," She whispers.

His lips crash to hers in the moonlit courtyard, the snow falling around them. It's slow and gentle. Holding years of emotion and there's no need to rush, in that moment they both know they have forever to hold each other this close. It's a little toothy from both their wide grins but as his hands cup her cheeks she's sure nothing has ever been as perfect as this moment and the boy she's sharing it with.

MASTERLIST

[chudleycanonficfest]

Took Far Longer Than It Should've

Day 9, Story #1 is by CandyMan91

Title: Took Far Longer Than It Should've Author: CandyMan91 Pairing: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Prompt: Soulmate AU Rating: General Audiences

A calm and quiet morning Ron Weasley woke up like it was any other day, except it wasn’t any other day, it was his birthday. Excitedly, he walked down the stairs in his too-short pyjamas that once belonged to his brother Charlie and settled down at the dinner table. 

His mother had made him his favorite, pancakes with a side of bacon and pumpkin juice. As they sang happy birthday Ron suddenly felt a slight warm sensation on his left wrist, he dismissed it as nervousness or perhaps hunger. As he reached for the syrup the left sleeve of his pyjama shirt rolled up.

“What’s that?” asked Ginny sitting on the chair on the left of Ron.

“What’s what?” asked Ron as he poured the syrup over his pancakes.

“That mark on your wrist,” Ron turned his wrist over and indeed there was a stranger mark on his wrist. It looked to be a dog similar to a Crup, except it was missing its forked tail, a Jack Russel terrier if Ron was correct. There used to be one at Uncle Bilius’s place back when he was alive. 

However, there was also a different mark, unlike the other which was a dark maroon. This one looked like a faint periwinkle blue. It was also not a dog, but instead an otter. It looked as if the dog was chasing the otter, but not like a hunter chasing its prey, but like a playmate.

This conversation was brought to their mother’s attention and as she settled her eyes on Ron’s stranger mark she gasped. 

“Arthur!” she said in a loud voice. Ron’s father’s eyes shot up from his copy of the Daily Prophet, and as he saw the random mark on Ron’s wrist, his eyes widened beyond what Ron thought was possible. He looked at his wife as if to ask what to do, before he cleared his throat and settled down the newspaper.

“Listen son,” said his father. “There are special people in the magical world, more so in certain ways than if I may say powerful wizards like Albus Dumbledore.” Ron nodded, not getting his father’s explanation. “When these people turn 10 years of age, something weird occurs to them. They like you get marks.”

Ron’s eyes nearly bulged out of their skull, was his father serious? Was he really more special than the most powerful wizard since Merlin?

“They are known as soulmates,” said his father. “They are people who are destined to belong to one another. That mark you have on your wrist is or will appear on your soulmate at 10 years of age.” 

So that was it. He had the same mark as another person, and according to his father that person and he were destined to be together. Ron could see by his parents’ faces that although it seemed like good news, they weren’t necessarily good ones.

“But,” said his mother. “You see Ronnie, some people are quite jealous or confused about this. When it’s time for you to grow up and get a girlfriend or a boyfriend, they won’t necessarily be your soulmate. And as such they won’t even bother staying with you, because to them someone with a soulmate is as good as stolen.”

Ron gulped, was that what made him so special? A sort of brand that turned him into some sort of freak?

“If you want to we can hide it of course,” said his mother hurriedly as he saw his face fall at the news. Ron couldn’t have nodded faster. Her mother went to her room and returned with Bill's old leather wristband. As she wrapped it around his mark he couldn’t help but ask.

“How will I know when I meet them?” 

His mother gave him a warm encouraging smile. “You just will.”

On a simple house in Hampstead Hermione Granger couldn’t believe it. It was her birthday, not only on a Saturday giving her free time to read any book she liked and avoid her teasing and mocking classmates, but a witch had just turned into a cat in front of her. She couldn’t believe it, she was a witch, that’s why she could never fit in. She was special, and she was going to a place with special people like her.

It was her father who had brought up the thing as they had decided to dub it. 

“Is that why Hermione has that peculiar mark on her wrist?” Professor McGonagall, if Hermione was correct, looked strangely at her father. Her mother put her hand on Hermione’s back, who felt her cheeks go pink at the attention. She removed the ribbon she used to hide the thing.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened as they saw a periwinkle blue otter being playfully chased by a Jack Russel terrier, unlike the otter the dog was a faint dark red or maroon.

“Oh my,” escaped from her mouth, before she realized it.

“Oh my?” repeated Hermione’s mother.

Professor McGonagall proceeded to explain everything she could about Soulmates, how they worked, their view in the wizarding world, as she continued to speak fear began to set in Hermione. Of course it wouldn't be that simple, as she asked what they could do the old witch suggested hiding the mark until she was older. It looked like Hermione would have to wear her red ribbon for a while longer.

Ron Weasley was talking to Harry Potter and not only that, but it seemed that he liked him as much as Ron was beginning to like the legendary boy. As he brandished his wand about to show his new friend a spell that hopefully turned his old grey rat yellow he was interrupted by the arrival of a girl.

She had bushy brown hair, a button nose, along with buck teeth, but she was still pretty. She has asked the same question as the other boy that had come through moments ago, as their eyes met Ron felt a tug in his stomach and he had to gulp and look away when he thought he was about to blush under her gaze. He missed as she too settled her gaze away from him.

He cleared his throat and hoped Fred and George hadn’t tricked him.

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” he said, and nothing happened. He felt incredibly embarrassed and the pretty girl wasn’t making it any easier.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. “Well, it’s not very good is it?” And Ron stopped listening after she started rambling on. Maybe looks were deceiving as his mother said, as the pretty witch looked to be everything but sociable. “–I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” 

“I’m Ron Weasley”

She didn’t know what she had done wrong, she was trying to help him. Perhaps, she had been a tad bossy or maybe she could have phrased it a bit better, but was she really as annoying in the Wizarding World as she was in the Muggle one. Perhaps, her classmates hadn’t been wrong about her.

And she wondered just why Ron’s words had hurt her more than any other. It had hurt enough for her to break down and go to the girl’s bathroom and miss not only her classes, but the Hallowe’en Feast as well.

As Hermione got out of the bathroom stall she was faced with horror as a troll was right in front of her, its foul smell filling the bathroom. She screamed, and then the door banged open. Had the teachers come for her? But, she only heard a slight familiar voice… and Ron’s voice.

As the troll’s club fell down on its small head and the three went back to the Gryffindor Tower they all thanked each other and went to bed. Why hadn’t she recognized Harry’s voice, but Ron’s voice was something like the voice of an old friend? The boy barely tolerated her, and he made no attempt at hiding it.

As she woke up the next morning she joined Harry and Ron on their way to breakfast. Ron went to talk to his brothers about something she hadn’t heard clearly leaving her alone with Harry.

“Thank you,” she said. “Again, for saving me… If you hadn’t got there in time…” she didn’t finish her sentence as a shiver ran down her spine at the memory of the beast.

“You should thank Ron,” said Harry to Hermione’s surprise. Her expression must have told Harry something because the next moment he was explaining himself. “I reminded him that you were still in the bathroom, and you didn’t know.” The green-eyed boy looked at the back of his ginger best friend. “Never saw anyone run that fast.” 

Hermione too looked at the back of Ron, but instead of admiration as Harry had shown her cheeks went pink.

They were at a DA meeting, she looked as beautiful as ever of course. They were practicing their Patronus charm, Ron was having a hard time making it Corporeal, for the time being he could only get a wisp of smoke. He tried focusing on his happiest memories, but somehow most of them ended up with Hermione’s face.

But, that would only remind him of the truth, that he had a soulmate somewhere in the world, that destiny had set to screw him up with a bird or a bloke somewhere in the world, that no matter how much he wanted to he could never have what he so wanted, but he couldn’t control himself. He looked at her wild set of brown curls, her beautiful plump lips, her button nose and her beautiful brown eyes. To hell with his soulmate, if he had to carve the mark out of his skin with a knife he would bloody do so if it meant having Hermione.

Suddenly, there was applause and cheering in the room. Ron turned his head and his eyes just couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Hermione had successfully conjured her Patronus, but that wasn’t what shocked Ron, her patronus was an otter. She looked up at him, and seeing him had made her blush as she turned her gaze away from him.

An unrelenting barrage of happiness coursed through him and with the knowledge that Hermione Granger of all people was his soulmate he conjured his own Patronus.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he casted and a Jack Russell Terrier shot out of his wand and ran around the Room of Requirement, there was another round of applause which was now directed to him. It ran around the room and started chasing around Hermione’s otter, it playfully ran behind the other Patronus and the otter started swimming in the air as Ron’s terrier happily barked at it.

Ron set his eyes back to Hermione who looked as shocked as he had felt moments before, Ron gulped and unwrapped his old leather wristband that he had always been careful to use as a way to cover his mark. The wristband fell to the floor and his mark was available to everyone in the room, with all his Gryffindor courage he walked across the room towards her and showed her his wrist.

The otter which had been a faint periwinkle blue seemed to shine as it was no longer translucent. Hermione gasped as he looked from his wrist back at his eyes. She unlaced that red ribbon she always wore in her right wrist and the same mark appeared. They looked back at each other, and something shunned bright in their eyes, Ron couldn’t take it anymore and he put his lips to hers. He could sense her momentary surprise, before he felt her arms wrapped around his neck.

The gasps, the cheers, everything seemed to pass over their heads. As they detached the look that they had for each other told Ron something.

It Took Far Longer Than It Should've.

[eliemo]

Purple Skirt

Summary: Patton and Logan look amazing in their skirts, but Virgil knows he doesn’t get the same freedom when it comes to clothing. 

TWs: past abuse, past gaslighting, self esteem issues

Notes: Thank you to @self-taught-mess​ for giving me the idea to make the skirts angsty. Sympathetic everyone. Taglist at the end

Masterpost

The first time he’d been able to even look at a skirt without wanting to throw up was when Patton had come bouncing down the stairs, looking absolutely delighted in his new suspenders skirt, and Virgil had smiled along with him without even thinking about the memories. 

He was so happy and radiant and god Virgil wished he could do the same. The idea of wearing a skirt around the mindscape, never giving it a second thought, allowing himself to be comfortable and confident like Patton could be was...amazing. 

Logan had donned a skirt a couple weeks later, wearing it as casually as any other outfit, and he’d barely batted an eye when they had all jumped up to compliment him. 

They were all so...comfortable with it. And of course they were, they were allowed to be. They deserved to be. Everyone was, except Virgil. He knew that. 

Which is why he had no idea what had possessed him to start wearing a skirt in the privacy of his own room. 

It was a horrible idea, and his hands started shaking every time he shut his door and put on the dark purple skirt, but...but he liked it. He liked wearing skirts, and the light side’s outfits had reminded him of that. 

He’d tried to wear skirts a few years ago, but the Others had very quickly shut that down, drilling into his brain how selfish and horrible it was to even consider outfits like that an option. 

Anyone else could wear a skirt. Anyone else could wear whatever they wanted. But Virgil didn’t have that right. Virgil was disgusting and useless, and he didn’t deserve that comfort. 

Besides, they looked horrible on him. He didn’t need to look any more pathetic than he already was. He’d been mocked and beaten and screamed at for forcing other people to see him like that, for thinking for a second that it had been remotely acceptable. They’d made themselves very clear, and they hadn’t stopped until Virgil had understood. Anxiety didn’t get to wear skirts. 

Now...now he knew he wouldn’t be beaten if he was caught in a skirt. He knew by now not to assume his family would hurt him, especially not over something so small. 

But he’d still be told off. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be wearing something like this, knew it was disgusting of him to even try. Patton and Logan looked amazing but Virgil was...well, Virgil. 

Still, after seeing Logan and Patton’s skirts he hadn’t been able to help himself. He was careful about it, only changing once a week at most with his door locked, always when he was sure he’d have time to himself where no one would come looking. 

The first few times, he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, taunts, hate, and repulsion echoing in his head every second the skirt was on. He hadn’t been able to keep it on for more than five minutes. 

But recently, he’d started to feel a bit more comfortable. He knew it wasn’t ok, knew better than to risk letting anyone see him, but...with no one around to tell him how disgusting he looked, he allowed himself a few glances in the mirror, and let himself keep it on for longer. 

It was comforting, freeing, and...maybe if it was anyone else, it might actually look good. 

He should have known better than to drop his guard like that.

Virgil had put his skirt on about half an hour ago, closing himself off in his room until dinner, his usual ripped jeans laid out for him to quickly slip on before heading back downstairs. 

He’d gotten too comfortable- too relaxed, lounging on his bed with his music playing and his eyes slipped shut and his head went foggy, losing track of time completely.  

“You in there, Hot Topic?” Roman’s call and gentle knocking didn’t startle Virgil like it usually would, and he groggily lifted his head from the pillow, slipping off his headphones. “Can I come in?” 

Virgil rubbed sleep from his eyes, pushed himself up on the bed, and waved a hand to unlock his door without a second thought. 

He then immediately realized his mistake as soon as the handle started to turn. Shit shit shit--

He scrambled off the bed, suddenly wide awake as his feet hit the carpeted floor, but he didn’t have a chance to get anywhere to hide before Roman was standing in the doorway, eyes going wide. 

For a split second, Virgil let himself be overtaken by dangerous, desperate hope. The light sides had pleasantly surprised him so many times already- it was ok for him to make mistakes, it was fine if he dropped something or made a loud noise or talked too much- so maybe...maybe this was ok too? 

But then Roman opened his mouth, and old instinct and far too familiar fear took over. 

“Sorry,” Virgil blurted as he shrank back, wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t...s-sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to--”

“Wait, what?” Roman stepped closer, and Virgil internally cursed himself for flinching. This wasn’t like last time, this wasn’t like last time. “Virgil. Why’re you sorry?” 

He shrugged, suddenly hyper aware of the way the plaid skirt hugged his waist, draping just above the knee to show off the black and white striped stockings. He found himself absently tugging at the end of the material. 

“I...I’m not--” he cut himself off when his voice grew unsteady, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’m not supposed to, but I- I wasn’t going to leave the room. I know I- that I can’t--” 

“Oh, Virgil of course you can.” Roman’s voice was soft, always so genuine, and this time Virgil didn’t flinch back when the Prince took another step. “You look amazing.”

Virgil’s shoulders hunched on instinct, and he scrambled to figure out if that was sarcasm in the Prince’s tone, because he’d been expecting something far more hurtful. 

“I...you don’t have to, I was just- it was stupid. I- I forgot I was wearing it, I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Roman said, but his smile suddenly dropped. “Oh, Stormcloud you’re shaking.” 

Oh. Virgil hadn’t even realized how bad he’d started trembling, too scared to meet Roman’s eyes despite them radiating nothing but kindness. 

“Hey.” The Prince held out his hands, and Virgil risked a cautious glance up from the floor. “Come here?” 

Virgil let his shoulders drop, but his defenses were still raised, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always expecting some kind of trap or trick. He still couldn’t help it. 

But he let himself close the distance between them and fall into Roman’s chest, letting out a shuddering breath as strong arms wrapped around him, gentle but secure. 

“You can wear a skirt, Virgil,” Roman said. “Did you...think I would be angry with you?” 

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to speak again just yet. All he was able to manage was a small nod against Roman’s chest. 

“Why?” he asked, voice still soft but Virgil thought there was a hint of something defensive. “I wear skirts all the time. So does Remus. And Patton and Logan have--” 

“I know.” Virgil took another small, trembling breath. “And you- you all look great. Obviously. Everyone can- everyone can wear whatever, I’m not...I just...can’t.” 

Roman pulled back slightly, but Virgil couldn’t meet his gaze. “Why not?” 

“Because I’m...I’m gross, and I shouldn’t...I can’t. Not like you guys, it’s not...it’s not allowed. It’s...probably bad for my influence over Thomas or something.. Plus I, uh- I look horrible in most things anyway, so…”

He trailed off, and his heart sank when he caught a glimpse of the look on Roman’s face. He was watching Virgil intently, head tilted slightly, eyes filled with something sad and...and angry. 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Shit, he’d been talking too long hadn’t he? He was being annoying and he was still making Roman see him like this and he probably just wanted Virgil to shut up already. “I didn’t mean to ramble, I’m sorry, I’ll change and then--” 

“I’m not upset with you,” Roman said, and Virgil quickly fell silent. “This is...just one more thing they took away from you, isn’t it?” 

Virgil shrugged, back to wrapping his arms around himself like a useless shield. He felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes, face burning hot, and he quickly blinked them away. 

“I guess,” he muttered. “They didn’t really want me to...like myself. It’s still...hard, you know? To get their voices out of my head.” 

He tried not to think about it. He tried to block out the vicious, horrible things that had been said to him every time they’d raised a fist, their words just as powerful as a punch. 

They’d hurt him so bad, and they’d worked so hard to make him hate himself as much as they hated him. 

He wasn’t going to roll over and accept that. Not anymore. He’d get better now that he had people who loved him by his side. It just...god, it was so hard sometimes.  

“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil didn’t think he’d ever heard the Prince sound so grim. “Trust me, Virgil. I know.” 

Virgil didn’t doubt that. He dug his foot into the carpet, doing what he could to remind himself that Roman wasn't upset. The prince wasn’t disgusted by him, he didn’t think he was pathetic, and he wasn’t angry that Virgil was making him look at Anxiety longer than necessary. 

“Yeah, well. Self esteem is overrated.” 

Roman laughed, but he was still staring at Virgil with something sorrowful and uncertain. “Maybe. But if it helps, I think you look absolutely stunning.” 

“What?” Virgil scoffed, even as he was sure his face was bright red by now. “N-no, I...I don’t. Look, I can just change--” 

“Virgil, have you even looked in the mirror?” Roman asked, and Virgil tried not to flinch because those words had been said to him before, just under very different circumstances. 

But Roman was suddenly taking his hands, dragging him (gently, of course) into Virgil’s bathroom, standing in front of the sink and looking in the mirror. It was something he tried to avoid as much as possible, but with the way Princey was beaming at him...for the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to be so apprehensive. 

“How long have you had this?” Roman asked, and at Virgil’s blank stare he quickly gestured to the outfit- an older black hoodie over a white shirt, black and white stockings, and the plaid purple skirt. 

“Uh...I don’t know, it’s just some clothes. The skirt is kinda new, though. I had to make a new one after my old one was…” destroyed, was really the only accurate way to put it. And they hadn’t even waited for him to take it off. Somehow he really doubted that would make Roman feel any better. “Lost. It’s...it’s pretty stupid, I know.” 

“Not at all,” Princey said, and Virgil didn’t know why he couldn’t just give in and believe him. “Just look! You’re beautiful!” 

He seemed so excited, eyes brimming with awe and eagerness, Virgil couldn’t bring himself to protest. Even when he was struck with the familiar urge to avert his gaze as soon as he came face to face with his own reflection. 

It was just...him. Nothing special, nothing particularly good, just plain, dark and brooding Anxiety. But he’d been taught, over and over and over again, to hate every little thing about himself. Just like everyone else already did. 

But that had been a lie, just like nearly everything else he’d been told. The people who mattered didn’t hate him, and they did much more than tolerate his presence. 

He just...didn’t know where to start when it came to liking anything about himself. 

Luckily, Roman already seemed to be two steps ahead of him. 

“You are not disgusting,” he said, completely catching Virgil off guard. “And I swear, if I could I would run my sword through every single person who ever put that thought in your head.” 

“Please don’t.” It came out a whisper, soft and pathetic. They’d had this talk before, countless times, but each time it sent terror shooting through his chest. “Please--” 

“I know. As much as I want to make them suffer...I would never betray your trust by doing something so selfish. It will always be up to you whether or not I go after them.” 

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, relief just as dizzying as the last few times. “Thank you.” 

“But I mean it,” Roman said. “They were so, so wrong. We think you’re wonderful, Virgil. We...we all think you’re amazing. I know you don’t see it, but- but we do. And every day you shine just a little bit brighter.” 

“Princey--” 

“Did you know Patton couldn’t stop crying that first night we found out about what happened to you? He kept it together right until you fell asleep and then he...Logan held him until he exhausted himself. And Lo was...we were all so angry.” 

Virgil couldn’t turn around, instead staring at Roman’s reflection through the mirror. “I...I’m--” 

“This isn’t a guilt thing,” Roman clarified. “I’m saying we didn’t understand. We still don’t. How someone could look at you and not see someone incredible. You’ve been through so much and we’re...I’m honored to get to meet the person you always deserved to be.” 

And, yeah Virgil was definitely going to cry now, fresh tears just replacing the ones he wiped away. But maybe that was ok, because Roman’s eyes were red and watery now too. 

“Back to the point,” Roman said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can wear what you want. Always. My only request is that you don’t outshine me.” 

Virgil snorted, even as uncertainty and apprehension still rested heavy on his chest. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Princey.” 

“Well, I stand by what I said,” Roman announced, clapping his hands together. “You look stunning. And I’m sure the others will agree. Patton will be thrilled to have another skirt-buddy. Why don’t we head down so you can--” 

“No!” 

Roman had already started for the bathroom door, stopping in his tracks and spinning back around at Virgil’s outburst. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but…

But the terror that had hit when Roman had caught him just moments before, the disgust with himself that had just been starting to dissipate a bit...all of it hit full force again at the thought of going downstairs like this. 

He wanted to. He wanted to know he could be comfortable and learn to feel ok again so bad. But he couldn’t. There was no way. 

“Virge--” 

“I can’t.” And now he was going to upset Roman, after the Prince had tried so hard to get Virgil to stop being such a coward. And now he probably was going to be angry- or disappointed at the very least. Virgil wasn’t sure which one was worse. “I’m sorry, sorry it’s just--” 

“Hey, it’s ok,” Roman said, with way more patience than Virgil deserved at this point. “I’m not going to force you out of your comfort zone, Emo. Prince’s honor. We go at your pace, and your pace only.” 

 Virgil stuffed his hands into the hoodie pockets, fighting the urge to pull up his hood. “You’re not, like...mad?” 

“I’m not mad, Virgil,” Roman assured, and smiled. “Take your time. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.” 

“Ok.” Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shaky and small, and once again he wondered what he’d done to deserve this much kindness. “Ok. I’m uh, I’m gonna change. I’ll be down for dinner soon.” 

There was no annoyance, no frustration or exasperated eyeroll. Just a nod from Roman and another gentle, understanding smile as the Prince slipped through the door and left him alone again. 

For a moment, standing in his silent bedroom with his black jeans in his hands, Virgil considered keeping the skirt on. 

He wasn’t...he wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t the selfish, horrible, grotesque villain he’d been taught to think he was. 

He had the right to say, do, and wear whatever he wanted. He was just as free to exist and express himself as anyone else in the mindscape. 

It was what his family told him, over and over and over again. And it was what he was trying desperately to begin to believe. 

But he was almost positive that if he tried to step outside right now he’d have a panic attack before he reached the bottom of the stairs. So he took another deep breath, steadied himself, and changed back into his regular jeans and oversized hoodie. 

He wasn’t going to suddenly lose the right to recover if he took his time. There wasn’t a time limit to all of this. And like Roman had said, they’d be there when he was ready.

-- 

It was another few weeks before Roman heard a knock on his door, timid and familiar enough for him to know it was Virgil before he pulled it open with a smile. 

The anxious side was standing in the hall, arms wrapped around his middle as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, shoulders hunched in a defensive stand and...oh. 

He was wearing the outfit Roman hadn’t gotten the chance to see since their talk in his room, complete with the plaid purple skirt that the Prince thought looked absolutely perfect on Virgil. 

“Good afternoon,” Roman said, fighting to sound as nonchalant as possible, all too aware of how big of a deal this was. “You heading downstairs?” 

Virgil took a minute before nodding slowly, chewing incessantly on his lip, still fidgeting in the doorway. 

“Alright,” Roman said, hoping it was at least a little encouraging. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

He could see Virgil trying to compose himself, recognized the slow, deliberate breaths he was taking in an effort to fight against rising panic, and Roman’s heart throbbed at the watery, scared look in his eyes. 

“Could you…” Virgil trailed off, squeezing his hands into fists. “Could you come with me? Please?” 

Roman softened, and stepped into the hallway. “Of course.” 

It wasn’t until he held out a hand, letting Virgil latch onto him and squeeze as tight as he needed, that he realized just how bad the anxious side was shaking. Just like the first time Roman had seen him in the skirt. 

As nice as it looked, it was a fairly simple outfit. Roman had worn far more extravagant things, and other than excited compliments from Patton, no one really looked twice. 

He couldn’t imagine what the others had done to make Virgil so afraid of being seen in a skirt. 

But this wasn’t the time for that. Roman forcefully pushed his anger back down, and squeezed Virgil’s hand in response. He didn’t stop trembling the entire trip down the hall. 

When they reached the top of the stairs, Patton and Logan’s voices began to filter in from the living room, and Virgil suddenly stopped, breath catching in his throat, looking to Roman with wide, panicked eyes. 

“What...what if they--” 

“Nothing bad will happen to you,” Roman said. “I swear it. But we don’t have to do this today if you aren’t ready. Like I said, we go at your pace.” 

Virgil’s eyes were glued to the stairs, tense and unmoving, clutching Roman’s hand like he thought it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Roman was fully willing to stand here for hours if it meant Virgil would be comfortable, but it only took a few minutes for his breathing to even out slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders coming undone. 

“Ok,” he said softly, probably more to himself than to Roman. “Ok. I’m...I’m good. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Roman promised. “Your pace, Virge. I’m here.” 

They made their way down the steps together, slow and steady, Roman letting Virgil move as fast as he wanted, stopping to take a few seconds to breathe whenever he needed. 

Logan and Patton were lounged on the couch by the time they made it to the living room, the logical side lost to the contents of the open book on his lap. 

Virgil suddenly froze in the doorway, looking up at Roman like he thought the Prince was the only thing standing in between him and certain death. 

And then Patton glanced up at the movement, and Roman couldn’t remember the last time the moral side had smiled so wide. 

“Oh my gosh! Virgil, you look so good!” 

Virgil automatically flinched against Roman’s side as Patton jumped up from the couch, but Roman could see surprise battling with doubt and confusion as he took in Patton’s happiness. 

“I...yeah?” 

And in the middle of it all, a small flicker of hope. 

“Yes!” Patton practically squealed. He rushed over to take Virgil’s hands, and Roman stepped away with one last reassuring smile. “I didn’t know you liked skirts, kiddo! You should have told me!” 

Virgil was searching Patton’s face, probably making sure there wasn’t any hint of hidden disgust in his words, before relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah, I...wanted to try it, I guess.” 

“You look so pretty!” Patton was bouncing up and down now, Virgil’s hands still in his. “Don’t you think so, Logan?” 

Roman glanced at the logical side still seated on the couch, unsurprised to find a look of pride and quiet understanding.

“He does,” Logan agreed. “The outfit itself is aesthetically pleasing, and the colors suit you very well, Virgil. I am glad you were comfortable enough to try something new.” 

Virgil shrugged, cheeks turning a light shade of red, briefly meeting Roman’s eyes with a small, thankful smile. “It’s...it’s whatever.” 

“We should have a skirt day!” Patton announced suddenly. “Can we have a skirt day?” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “A...skirt day?” 

“We can all wear our skirts together! Do you think we could get Janus and Remus to join us?” 

Roman chuckled, beyond relieved for the small smile now beginning to overtake Virgil’s features. “I’m sure you could, padre.” 

“Patton, it is simply an article of clothing,” Logan pointed out, completely lost. “Why do we need an entire day dedicated to wearing it?” 

“Because! It’s--” 

Patton was suddenly interrupted by Virgil suddenly wrapping his arms around the moral side, pulling him close in a tight, almost desperate embrace. 

Virgil so rarely was the one to initiate physical contact, as much as he needed it, always terrified of being seen as needy or ungrateful. From what Roman had gathered, Virgil had been told he was too disgusting to be touched in any way other than violent. 

“Oh, kiddo.” Despite his obvious surprise, Patton didn’t hesitate before hugging back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, honey? Did I upset you?” 

Virgil shook his head, still clutching Patton’s shirt as he pulled back. Roman wanted so badly to rush over and hold him close when he realized Virgil was smiling through his tears, so clearly overwhelmed but so so relieved. 

“No- no, it’s-” he took in a shuddering breath, struggling to get a hold of himself. “I’m...thank you. I just- I love you all so much.” 

And then he was covering his mouth with his hand, crying quietly as Patton gathered him back into his arms, squeezing his eyes shut but relaxing further when the other two sides hurried to join the embrace. 

Roman couldn’t even imagine the weight that had just been lifted from Virgil’s shoulders, how rewarding acceptance without question must have felt. Especially when for him, every step forward was like climbing a mountain. 

He caught Logan sending him a questioning look, but he quickly shook his head. Later. They could talk it out later. Right now…

Right now Virgil just needed the reassurance. And Roman knew they were all more than happy to remind him they would never get tired of giving it to him. 

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @basilthefourth @snowtrashowl @thefingergunsgirl @trashtm @stubbornness-and-spite @kieraelieson @alias290 @darkch1ld @craz-ewaters @damy-02 @frogdog145 @gattonero17 @madamedraconis @stoicpanther @@love-to-read02 @that-spider-fan-over-there @thatoneloudowl @rich-flower-17 @demigodbookdragon @i-gobymanynames @wyvern-tales @spoopyseason66 @gaylotusthatexists @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @that-one-fander @alias290 @yalltookmyurlideas @theantisocialghost @dark-strange-daughter @joylessnightsky @nova-galexa @luckymasie @stayarmy321 @starsinger @unhygienic-andy-the-anon @deathdarknessdevils @d-rizzle83 @spoonfullofcrofters @sarcasmremovedsoul @bananabread123443 @alpacadraws @nonbinaryemonugget @espepspes @awesome-and-unique-username @starshinemoonglow @honeybonesvirgil @fandertrash24 @tracingstarlight @sanders-fanders @heartwitchhouse @major-disaster-enby @a-poor-anxious-baby @franticfandomfanatic @the3rdpansexualpanda @a-flying-gay @hermitcreature @darkle-elkrad @coaltail121 @i-really-like-dragons @blagi @the-daydreamers-rebellion

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 7: Boyfriend Recommendation

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[masterlist]

It has been 2 months since you moved to Hyogo. In those 2 months, it’s safe to say that you and Kita have gotten pretty close. You didn’t develop a romantic dynamic, but it certainly isn’t platonic either, considering how vocal you are about liking him.

Kita allows you to tease him and do pretty much anything you want as long as you don’t cross the line he never mentioned, but you know is there. It’s all fun and jokes between the two of you, or at least you’re enjoying. You’re not really sure about Kita’s feelings. He never reacts or reciprocates to your actions.

On Kita’s side, he’s not really sure about you. There are times he feels like he likes you, but then the contrast of your personalities make him question your compatibility as a couple, if ever you become one. He just can’t imagine dating someones like you: extravagant, outgoing, impulsive, sometimes childish. His heart is telling him to go for it, but his mind is just so hesitant.

The only thing you have in common is Rice. That’s it. You both own Rice. But even how you raise the dog is conflicting.

He wants Rice to sleep in the living room? You want Rice to sleep in your room.

He wants Rice to eat less food because the dog’s getting fat? You feed him more and give unnecessary snacks.

For the meantime, your relationship label is: Rice’s parents.

“Rice, come here,” you call the dog, patting the space in between your legs. “Wanna join me in today’s live?” Rice barks as a response and excitedly goes between your legs. He doesn’t understand what you’re saying, but the way you’re patting the mat is making his tail wag.

You go to your Instagram and start a live. A few seconds later, you see people coming in so you greet them. “Hello everyone! Did you have a nice day? Ohh... Some of you are still at cram school. Then why are you watching my live? Shouldn’t you be studying?”

You continue to go on live, showing your viewers what Rice has learned in the span of two months. Sit, down, roll, play dead, paw, other paw, nose: those are all you’ve taught him. Kita taught him the more practical tricks. Like, get your bowl, go to your bed, stay, wait, don’t go out. Sometimes, when you go to school, Rice goes to the fields with Kita and help him carry his towel.

“Can you do the my boyfriend does my makeup challenge?” You read, making you laugh. “I love the video recommendation but can you also recommend a boyfriend?”

You see names pop up in the replies but you don’t actually mind them. You look for questions but you just see names, so you decide to end the video like that. “I have to go now. I will consider your recommendation hahaha. Bye!”

Turning the live off, you hear the door open. Rice hears it, too, so he excitedly runs to your door, waiting for you to open it. “Dad’s here? Are you excited?” Rice barks so you rise from your bed and open the door for him. He runs to the front door and you wait for Kita at the living room.

“Hi,” you greet him with your usual smile. He ignores you and heads to the kitchen, holding Rice in his arms. “Why does he look mad?” You mutter to yourself. You follow him in the kitchen, linking your arms with his. “Bad day?”

He humms then shakes you off. You pout. You hug him from behind this time and he lets you stay like that, knowing you won’t give up on your tactics. “I watched your live,” he speaks up after a long moment of silence.

“All of it?” You ask him, burying your face on his back. You take in his scent and sigh in satisfaction. He smells really fresh despite staying under the sun the whole day. He smells like home. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Let’s do the makeup challenge your fans suggested,” he suddenly tells you, ignoring your question. You let go of him and pinch his side, but he still doesn’t give you a reaction.

You cross your arms, leaning on the counter top behind you. “No.” You reject his offer and he faces you with his stone ace.

“Is it because I’m not your boyfriend?” He raises an eyebrow.

You shake your head. “You don’t even like being in front of the camera. Why would you film a video with me?”

He dodges your question again. “I can hide my face from the frame.”

“You are acting suspicious right now,” you furrowed your eyebrows, eyes squiented. “What’s the catch?”

“Nothing. You just get new content,” Kita answers which Rice barks at. “See? Even Rice agrees.”

“Are you sure you’re okay about filming? What even went in your mind that you’re suddenly on board about this makeup challenge?” You chuckle, not believing what’s happening. Kita hates being filmed. He doesn’t even want his pictures to be taken. He’s private like that.

“The boyfriend recommendations,” he mumbles quickly as he turns so you don’t hear him. “Nothing. Just felt like it.”

After a lot of thinking you finally say yes to him. You set up the camera in your room, the screen hidden from you. The mirror is also covered with a piece of cloth so Kita can surprise you with the look he’s going to do on you. He finally enters your room in his matching cotton maroon pajama pants and sweats.

“I have a nightgown that matches yours! I wanna wear it, too!” You excitedly tell him, shoving him out of the room so you can change.

After changing into a plain silk slip on dress in the same shade, you call him to come back in. He stops at the doorway as he sees you. The way you look so simple yet so attractive causes blood to rush on his face and somewhere else in his lower body. He won’t admit the latter, but he can feel it.

“Want to start filming?” You ask him, not noticing his red ears. He nods at you and stands at the side, waiting for a signal for him to come in the frame.

You do your usual introduction then finally explain what’s going to happen in the video. “So for today’s video, I will do a challenge that has been requested a lot and for a very long time now. Today I will be doing the ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge. But the man in this film is not my boyfriend. I want to clarify that before you jump to conclusions. He’s...” you take a glance at him and he’s looking at you nonchalantly so you feel shy. “Umm... he’s the other parent of Rice. We are co-parenting Rice. I guess you can say that we are good friends.”

Kita finally enters the frame, but only his shoulder to hip can be seen in the camera. “What do I call you?” You ask him and he just shrugs. You smile, an idea popping into you’re mind. “I’ll call you baby.”

“No,” he firmly says, but you just stick your tongue out to him. He looks down at you, then gulps. The sexual tension between the two of you is growing, and you’re aware. You have fun teasing Kita because you know he won’t do anything about it, which is something that made you fall deeper for him.

“Whatever, baby,” you giggle. He pinches your cheek in irritation so you whine jokingly. You go back to recording and leave the fate of your face on the man beside you. “So we will now start the challenge. Baby, go on.”

Kita does a sarcastic gagging face at the nickname before he goes through your makeup box. He picks up a random sponge and foundation. “Is this right?” He asks you but you don’t answer him. “Wait, you really don’t help me even just a bit?”

“No, baby,” you tell him. The nickname coming out of your mouth sounds so natural. He likes it, but he won’t tell you that, but he won’t stop you from calling him that either.

“If you turn out ugly after this, it’s your face’s fault,” he says in a serious tone so you jokingly punch his side. He puts an amount of liquid foundation on your forehead, and you feel it drip down the nose of your bridge. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”

After doing your foundation, he grabs an eyeliner. “Already?” You chuckle and he puts it back on the table. He takes a contour palette and confidently grabs an eyeshadow brush. He does random strokes on your eyelids, lowkey scaring you.

He stares at you intensely before looking away with a disappointed look on your face. “Baby, what did you do?”

“Wait, I think this will fix it.” Kita takes the eyeliner again so you close your eyes, allowing him to draw on your lids. “It doesn’t look that bad with your eyes closed.”

“Should I just close my eyes the whole time?” You snort. You hear him say open, so you look up to him, your eyes meeting his. He takes his lower lip in between his lips, concentrating on your lids. ‘May all the gods help me not do anything to this man.’

He continued doing your makeup in silence, while you do almost all of the talking, asking him the most random questions which he answers calmly despite how weird the question may get.

“Baby, if a cockroach lands on a soap, will the cockroach be cleaned or will the soap be dirty?”

“You know what (Y/N), this is by far the most stupid question you’ve asked, not just in this video but ever since we’ve met.”

Kita is putting mascara on you when you suddenly open your eyes, causing him to poke the stick in your eye. You groan in pain so he drops the mascara on the table and attends to you.

“Baby, are you okay? Let me see.” He grabs both of your cheeks, and checks your reddening eye. The pain has subsided due to him calling you baby. He blows on your eyes, his face getting closer to you.

“Baby, huh?” You mock and he rolls his eyes at you. He continues to do your makeup, being extra careful this time.

“I think we’re done,” he says after putting wand of the lipgloss back on. He takes a look at you and chuckles.

“How bad is it?” You ask him in worry.

“Don’t you trust me?” He pouts and you shake your head. He puts his hand on top of your head, and shakes it gently, making you laugh. “You’re so annoying.”

“You like me like that!”

‘I do.’

Kita finally removes the cloth from the mirror so you see yourself. You gasp, not expecting Kita to do a good job. It’s not the best, but it’s something you can wear out. It’s simple but somehow looks so elegant. Just like Kita.

“You did a really good job.” You smile at him. You start filming for the outro of your video after that.

After doing the outro, Kita just stands there and looks at you. “What?” You chuckle, looking his way.

“Nothing. You look good,” he replies, making you a flustered mess.

“Stop saying that. I won’t be able to resist and kiss you,” you threaten him with a pout.

He shrugs. “Go for it.”

Heat spreads across your face from his words. You scream in frustration and he just chuckles. Kita walks closer to you while you hide your blushing face in the palm of your hands. “Don’t move any closer. I swear I will do it.”

“I told you already, go for it.” He bends down to your sitting height, but you look away. “This is the only time I will allow you to do it.”

You remove your hands away from your face, then you see that Kita’s face is close to yours. “What is with you today?” You groan, turning your back on him.

Kita spins your chair to make you face him again. “I don’t know. The jealousy and your nightgown I guess.”

“What?” You stutter, not comprehending his words.

Before you can even ask what he means, Kita’s lips are already on top of yours. Your eyes widen in shock, not processing anything. A few moments later, you give in to his lips. And at that same time, he pulls away, leaving you disappointed.

“Good night, baby.”

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Note: Just a short update because school and work are taking so much of my time skskksksks hopefully I get to go back to my daily updates after hell week :|

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