#I was in bed last night and jumped out to figure out how they sew collars on

[thresholdbb]

I need to add buttons and darts, but I feel like I've done pretty good so far

[pbandjesse]

Happy Easter to those who celebrated and happy trans day of visibility for everyone. It was a nice day off. Not as full and exciting as yesterday but it was still really good. I feel more rested. Still tired but not in an upsetting way. Like I am just a little sleepy and cozy.

I had a ton of trouble falling asleep last night. But I got to sleep until 9 so it was fine. When I woke up I was still real tired though and thought I would take a nap later but that just didn't happen. Ah well.

I got up and got dressed. I need to wash my hair tonight but that's a late problem. I would go find Sweetp and have some breakfast.

I would spend time in our room. Making the bed. Picking outfits for the week. Laying in bed and scrolling on my phone. It was a lazy kind of day.

Eventually I would go down to the studio and actually got some work done. I put on a video and set up my new folding table and it is just so nice to have a good surface to cut fabric on. It made it a lot easier and I was able to get 14 new bears cut out with the new pattern I drew out. Longer arms so I can make them segmented. I'm very pleased.

I would set up my machine and sewed 4 of them before I stopped to have lunch.

I would make cream cheese wontons. And they were good. And after that gave me some energy I did some cleaning and vacuuming. I also realized how nice it was outside so I figured out how to wedge the screen door using some blocks of wood so I could have the back door open. And it worked! Like it's not perfect or permanent. But for now it's great. I will have to figure out a bit for drilling into the metal or the stone of the house itself for actually attaching a door. But for now this makes a huge difference.

Once I had that set up I would clean the floors and put some stuff away. I also hung up a few things we had sitting and waiting. I sorted the mail we had sitting on the island. It felt good to get stuff done.

I had another food break. And hung out with sweetp. I considered doing an Easter thing but I chose not to do anything but rest. Just enjoy the day. And waited for James to get home.

When James did get back I had to unwedge the door so they could come in. But that was fine. Getting it wedged again was the hard part. But we will try again tomorrow probably to get an actual screen door that actually fits. Or another solution. The weather won't be as nice tomorrow so it's not a rush but it is something I want to handle ASAP.

James would jump into making us Tex Mex. And they would get on a call with friends to play DND while they cooked and I played Pokemon for an hour. It was fun but since it's so close to being completed totally it's barely fun and it's just grinding. But it was still nice to play a little.

Now James is sitting on the couch still playing with their friends. And the sun is setting. And I would like to go wash my hair. And hopefully sleep better tonight.

I hope you all had a really nice day. I love you all. Goodnight!

[nitewrighter]

I love the cinderella short so much, I hope one day it will be a finished story but no worries if that doesn't happened. I love reading your writing! 💖

Well now's as good a time as any to continue it, right? We spent a lot of time with Cindy last chapter, but now that we’ve more or less caught up to the ball, we can jump back to Princey boy’s perspective!

So.

Let’s do this.

---

The foot fetish joke.

You guys won't fucking shut up with the goddamn foot fetish joke.

My boy was out here fighting for his life (figuratively speaking) and you guys are all "hoo hoo he had a foot fetish. I'm so creative and no one has ever suggested this before." Fuck off.

Princey boy is staying up late, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling. He looks like absolute shit in the mornings--I mean the five o' clock shadow is kind of hot but his eyes are hella bloodshot and his skin routine has been thrown COMPLETELY off so he looks rough. The man is HAUNTED because he just met someone and he thinks they're amazing and they seem like one of the kindest, funniest, most genuine people he's ever met, and they laugh at his jokes but my guy cannot remember a single damn identifying thing about them and he is so goddamn worried about their wellbeing. They looked so scared before they took off at midnight and he doesn't know where they are! He doesn’t know if they’re okay! He doesn’t know if they're eating! He’s like, pretty sure they’re not eating because they were putting away a frankly concerning amount of spinach puffs! He doesn't know if they even have a bed! He doesn’t remember if they had bruises (he’d remember if they had bruises, right? What the fuck is wrong with his head?!) He's barely eating, himself! He is SUFFERING and you fucking vultures are sitting pretty over here like “lol he wanted an excuse to touch feet.” Again, fuck off! My boy is going through it! 

YES, all he had was the shoe, but he didn’t start with the shoe because that’s impractical.

Like any proper investigation, you start by asking the entire castle staff what they saw that night at the ball and ya boi has been THOROUGH. Here is what he has learned:

“Yeah I mean I definitely saw shit that night--I mean officially, I’m a footman but for bashes like this? My job ends up being mostly making sure drunker guests quietly get back to their carriages. Oh--a girl? Showed up late to the party? Yeah I remember there was someone I had to give directions to... she looked great. Uh... no, I don’t remember her hair color... or eye color... or her dress... Oh! But she fixed this button on my coat that one guest nearly yanked off! Even sewed a little flower into the holes, isn’t that cute? Who just... carries a sewing kit on them, right? Er--sorry, I know it’s not uniform regulation--Oh it’s okay? Awesome. Wait--you’re taking my coat? But I like this coat--Right. yes. Of course, your highness.”

“A girl wandering the corridors? Um... there was this one incident where one of the lordlings left this massive slosh of wine on the parlor carpet and--look, I’ve only been here a couple months since I got promoted from dishes, and me and three of my girls were trying to scrub it out while all the damn lordlings went on smoking their pipes and chuckling--Oh--not that you’re like that, Your Highness, but anyway I was kind of freaking out because I knew if I called in the head housekeeper it would turn into this whole thing, but then this girl... just kind of... wandered in. I don’t think she really understood the whole concept of ‘Brandy in the parlor is a gentleman’s thing’ but she just leaned over us and went, ‘Oh! Lemon juice!’ And before I could say anything she just hurried out. 5 minutes later she comes back with a lemon and a goblet of water. I ask her where she got the lemon and she said ‘the gardens--is that allowed?’ I didn’t know how to respond to that but get this: The lemon and water worked. But she was gone before I had time to thank her. It’s strange... I don’t remember her features very well... I remember thinking she was very pretty but more so she seemed... kind. A little nervous, but kind.” 

“Oh the catering table? Yeah I was there all night--well you know actually I was running back to the kitchens to make sure shit wasn’t on fire, but yeah, I was more or less there all night. A girl? Oh the perky one! I mean, yeah, I’m used to talking about the food, ‘cuz, y’know allergies and whatnot, but she was... really interested in how to make them. She asked how I kept the breadcrumbs crisp on the stuffed mushrooms--no one appreciates my passion for breadcrumb crispness! The key is using three different bread loafs with a distinct variety of freshness and staleness and- What did she look like? Um... tall? I think? Oh but everyone was wearing heels that night, huh... hm...”

“You’re telling me I had 8 of the pageboys running interference on the rest of the guests so you two could sneak off to the gardens and you didn’t kiss her? Bro! What the hell! I mean--um... Sorry. Your highness. What? What did she look like? Dude, are you insane? She looked awesome. You know how her hair was like... um... uh... Wait. What the shit?”

And Guard Captain Brad has now somehow convinced himself that Mystery Girl is a criminal mastermind even though nothing is missing from the Palace. 

“It’s obvious. She dosed the entire party with some kind of neural agent. That’s why she was hanging out at the buffet table all night and that’s why no one can remember her.”

“Brad, why would she do that if everyone was already distracted with the literal fucking party. Why would she dose everyone when she was eating literally everything!?”

“I don’t know... but she was eating all that stuff to cover her tracks... hell she may have even built up an immunity to poisons. She’s crafty...”

“Brad.”

And through all of the interviews with the staff, Princey boy is stuck with one painful, painful fact staring him right in the face: HE was the one spending the most time with her! He spent more time with her than anyone! He should know more than anyone! AND HE CAN’T FUCKING REMEMBER HER FACE. My boy is being gaslit by the fae and he doesn’t even know it.

But he’s not stupid. He is staring at this shoe, this shoe that is the hope and bane of his existence, and he says, “You know what? There aren’t a lot of glass shoes out there. And this shoe was definitely custom-made. All I need to do is find the person who made the shoe, ask them who they made the shoe for, and I find mystery girl and I get her out of whatever fucked up situation she’s stuck in, and then *cough* *mumble* maybe we get married or something I don’t know I don’t want to pressure her.” *mumble* *cough* So that’s what he does. He is very practical and reasonable and methodical and haha I’m just kidding he calls in literally every glassblower and crystal craftsman in the realm to look at...the shoe.

Which he has had put on its own cushy little velvet pillow on its own fancy little pedestal in the palace reception hall for this occasion. I dunno, it seemed more professional than just yanking the shoe out and saying, “Did you make this shoe?” 

So in come all of the glassblowers and crystal craftsmen from all over the kingdom, and they don’t really know the details, they’re busy guys, they got their own stuff going on, and the Prince gestures at the shoe on the pedestal like, “I must know which of you has crafted this fabulous shoe!”

And like... okay yeah, this is where the foot fetish stuff starts leaking into the story but I swear to god he was mostly doing it as a cover for the whole, “the girl wearing this shoe might be the love of my life but my dad is going to get really fucking weird if something like that gets out so you know what let’s just let everyone assume I’m into... craftsmanship.” And like, the internet is not a thing yet, Quentin Tarantino is not a thing yet, we don’t really have the cultural consciousness to know about Foot Guys™, so it’s generally accepted that, “Okay, this is about craftsmanship. Maybe he wants to commission a glass sculpture or a chandelier or something. Or maybe he wants the windows re-glazed.”

But Glass shoes, as you might imagine, are really not a thing most glass craftsmen would make. I mean, at first there’s a handful of guys who are like “Oh this is about a commission, I’ll just say I made the shoe and then I can land that sweet sweet royal commission.” So they step forward like, “I made the shoe.”

“No, I made the shoe.”

“No, I made the shoe, your highness, don’t let these charlatans fool you.”

And knee-jerk the prince hits all of them with, “Great! Who did you make it for?”

And then there’s this beat of “...oh shit, this isn’t about a commission.” And a significant amount of the glassworkers leave while the dudes who stepped forward are stuck bullshitting like.

“um... a fair maiden?”

“A mysterious fair maiden.”

“Showed up in a an indigo cloak, with only her ruby lips visible beneath the shadow of her hood!”

“...ruby lips doesn’t sound like her...” the prince mumbles.

“Um... blushing lips? And the cloak wasn’t indigo, it was periwinkle.”

“Fucking dumbasses, obviously, she sent her own valet with her measurements.”

The prince just kind of folds his arms like, “You can leave and you won’t get in trouble for claiming to make a shoe you didn’t make.”

And the lying craftsmen are at least smart enough to see their out and they are SHOOP. Outta there. So between them leaving and all the guys who ditched as soon as they realized this wasn’t about a commission, only a handful of glass craftsmen remain. 

“...I don’t suppose any of you made the shoe?” the Prince says, and oh boy you can just feel the despair sinking into his whole frame, but the glass craftsmen just... steadily step forward.

“To be honest, your highness,” says one, stepping ahead of the group with a slight bow, “I didn’t make the shoe. But a glass shoe is such an unusual commission that I just want to see how whoever crafted it did so. I’ll admit it’s a selfish reason, but at least looking at it could improve my craft.”

“I might be able to tell you where it comes from!” another pipes up, “I apprenticed abroad in the east!”

“I apprenticed in the north!” another glassworker calls out.

“I didn’t study abroad, but I’ve always been a little bit of a chemist, myself,” says another, “The way that slipper catches the light... I might be able to tell you about its composition.”

And there’s kind of a murmuring agreement from the glassworkers behind this guy and the Prince is like, “Oh, these guys are the hardcore artisans. It’s not about them, it’s not about me, it’s about the art.” So he kind of scoots to the side and is like, “Well if there’s anything you can tell me about this shoe, anything at all, I would deeply appreciate it.”

And all the glassworkers just briskly step forward and are staring at this shoe. Gesturing at it like, “May I?” and the prince is like, “By all means” and they’re picking up the shoe and poring over it.

And then they’re talking,

And then they’re talking a little more intensely about lead levels, and chemical compounds for this level of opalescence, and then they’re holding the shoe up in sunlight trying to identify what went into it to make the light shine through it so... prismatically.  And then they’re debating about blowing vs. molds  vs. carving.

And then they’re arguing.

And then they’re REALLY arguing and the prince is cutting in like, “Okay you guys are all getting really heated so I’m just gonna put this shoe back on its little pillow--” and all the glassworkers are so caught up in their argument that they barely notice but then ONE glassworker just breaks off from the group, pointing a shaking finger at the shoe that the prince is carefully placing on the pillow and there is fucking fear in his eyes.

“No man made that shoe. No human made that shoe. No creature of god made that shoe,” he has a thick accent and his voice is shaking as much as his hand.

“Come on, man,” says another glassworker, “Surely you don’t really think--”

But the thick-accented glassworker is furiously crossing himself and doing the gesture of the horns at the shoe while anxiously backing out of the room.

“I will have no dealings with that shoe. I am honored by your invitation, your Highness, but I must leave,” and he does.

So everyone in the reception hall is kind of standing around awkwardly.

“The shoe isn’t... that weird, is it?” the Prince says to the other glassworkers, and they kind of mutter amongst themselves for 90 seconds before quietly looking back at him.

They don’t have an answer.

So all princey boy has to find mystery girl is a shoe.

And the shoe is fucking weird.

[iminye]

Maedhros and which of his siblings caused him the most amount of headaches because let's be honest neither Fëanor nor Nerdanel probably ever had something like a child caused headache - they're just as chaotic as the rest of their family.

Celegorm. He was and still is just the liveliest bundle of engery the House of Finwë has seen since Lalwen was a kid. It's a given that he would get out of bed as soon as his body said yep I'm well rested now which is anywhere between 4am and 6am, and for Maedhros (designated long sleeper he is) that is waaay to early. His bad that Celegorms favourite playmate before Huan came along was him. So most of his teenage days would start with getting jumped on by his younger brother, who would be demanding loudly for Maedhros to get up and play hide and seek or catch or whatever with him. It doesn't get better when Celegorm gets older but at least Maedhros has ways (volunteering to help out with court matters no matter how boring) of avoiding him by then.

Maglor. Just so loud. Too loud. Especially when he was still a baby and would wake up at the oddest hours crying for food, attention or whatever. He's probably the only one who ever caused Nerdanel a headache as well. There have been nights where Maedhros would lie awake while his baby brother would scream heaven and hell together while his parents did their best to figure out how to calm him down. And please don't let me start talking about every time Maglor was teething. He gets a lot calmer as an adult thankfully BUT he absolutely loves, loves to tease and annoy the shit out of Maedhros when he is in a particular mood. Better but not really.

Curufin. Just like his dad. Curufin is not a loud child neither is he very lively or an early bird or anything, so in theory he shouldn't be further down this list but just like dad Curufin has the tendency to discuss everything at length and he will not back down until he won the discussion. According to Indis Curufin probably is even worse than his father in that regard, worse than Fingolfin even and that is... something. Poor Maedhros is the one who would be caught up in most of Curufin's stubbornness. Valar help him if he ever finds himself in a discussion with both Fëanor and Curufin at the same time.

Amrod and Amras. As individuals they would probably the last ones on this list. Calm happy babies and children, not too loud, no early birds, always occupied, never lonely. Really the perfect dream. It's just... There's two of them at the same time and they ask questions. A lot of questions. And all of them are directed at Maedhros because he's the cool older brother who knows everything, quote Celegorm. At any given time he had two red haired shadows trailing after him which makes his secret meetings with Fingon duties as crown prince a lot harder

Caranthir. He's just last because as soon as he was able to walk and talk he just did his own thing. The don't bother me and I won't bother you sort of thing. Honestly besides Finwë Maedhros might be the only person Caranthir never yelled at. When everyone else becomes too much for him Maedhros would hide at Caranthir's favourite spot and watch his younger brother sewing. They suffer together in silence.

Honorary mention

Nerdanel. He loves his mom. He really does. But Nerdanel is a total workaholic and scatterbrain and Maedhros is 98% sure that she would have probably unintentionally starved herself to death over her work because she forgot the concept of food. He constantly has to make sure to bring her food and water and maybe get his father to drag her out into the city now and then so she doesn't like get permanently stuck there.

Fëanor. Honestly it's a miracle this man hasn't blown up himself or any of his children yet (he will but that's a matter for another time) given how many over the top and definitely not child proof experiments he was running all the time. But the thing that gives Maedhros headaches is his stubbornness and like unwillingness to even try to get along with Indis and her children. It's objectively speaking more the family drama than Fëanor that causes Maedhros headaches. The Finweans and their stubbornness...

[naranciasimp]

hey! could i request a prosciutto x female reader scenario where she comes back from a mission clearly hurt and panicked, and is afraid that her crush, prosciutto, is going to scold her so she tries to hide it and fake being well (while not being very good at it)

lots of fluff in the end pros takes care of her.. feel freed to add some things if you want to

I Could Never Be Mad At You

AN: This is probably the longest fanfic I have ever written. This ended up being more of a La Squadra x Reader than just Prosciutto but I hope you like it! Under the cut for length. 

You opened the door to La Squadra’s hidden base as quietly as you could. You poked your head around the door to make sure no one was there. Luckily it seemed as though everyone was doing their own thing.

You stumbled through the door while holding your side. You do not know how this happened. You were always so good on missions. You took down enemies left and right. Even Risotto was impressed by your skill.

Sadly, today was the day your winning streak came to an end. You didn’t kill your target, he got away. You felt guilty and nervous. This was going to set the whole team back a pay check, Risotto would have to go out of his way to clean up the mess you made and the other members would probably hate you for at least a month. The one thing you were most scared about was Prosciutto scolding you. You had a feeling he was going to extremely be disappointed and that was the last thing you wanted.

The pain you felt was insane. Everything hurt and you felt like you were on the verge of passing out. You just needed to make it to your room. You kept a secret med kit in there for situations like this.

After stumbling around you finally made it to the door of your room. You reached out to open it when someone appeared behind you. It was Pesci.

“Oh Y/N! You’re back. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he said in a happy tone. From where he was standing he couldn’t see the wounds on your body.

You hummed in response hoping that would be enough for him to leave you alone. You always talked to Pesci. Out of all of La Squadra you were by far the nicest to the boy.

Pesci could tell something was wrong when you didn’t face him with a bright smile like you normally do. “Y/N? Are you ok?”

The room began to go black. You could feel yourself losing consciousness. Before you could respond you felt your head fall back with the rest of your body.

Pesci quickly caught you before you hit the ground. He immediately saw the huge amount of blood covering your stomach. Your arms and legs were covered in gashes. Your head was bleeding and you had a black eye.

Pesci screamed at the sight of your unconscious, bloody, body in his hands. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Don’t…. tell….. Prosci-” Those were your last words before you passed out again. Of course that didn’t matter now. Pesci screamed and when something happened to him Prosciutto was always the first to show up.

Prosciutto ran to you both. “What happened,” he yelled. He saw Pesci holding what looked to be a girls body.

Pesci face was pale and it looked the most frightened Prosciutto had seen. “Fratello! Help!” Pesci moved so his brother could see what happened.

Prosciutto felt his heart stop. He was a man who stayed calm under pressure, the man who always had a plan, one of the best gang members Passione had ever seen. In this type of situation he would just yell at whoever got hurt to step up their game, patch up their wounds and hand them over to Melone so he could handle the rest. He would later come in to apologize for yelling, tell them he was proud of them and all of that other good stuff.

Now was different. Now it was you. His one weakness. The woman who he would do anything for. The one person he cared about the most.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Pesci stay with her!” Prosciutto ran off to grab one of the medical kits.

“It’s gonna be okay Y/N just stay with us,” Pesci said. He was trying to be brave but the worry in his voice was clear. Prosciutto showed up again. He opened the door to your room and threw the med kit inside.

“Come on Pesci grab her feet, we’re going to put her on her bed.” The two boys easily carried you into your room and gently placed you down.

Prosciutto opened the medical kit and ordered Pesci to go tell Melone what happened. Once the younger boy left Prosciutto began to take off your clothes. He hoped one day he would see you undressed but he did not want it to be like this. Your unconscious body still laid on the bed now in just a bra and underwear.

Now that you were undressed Prosciutto could see all of the wounds you received. The most concerning one was on your stomach. You had been stabbed by something and by the looks of it you opened the wound more by moving.

Prosciutto was not the healer of the team by any means. He knew how to fix simple wounds and he was better at it then others but he didn’t even know where to begin with your wound.

Thankfully Melone was here at base today. He ran to the room with more medical supplies. “Move out of the way,” Melone ordered. Prosciutto did what he asked.

He began to get to work on your wound. Your injury brought a lot more attention to yourself then you would’ve liked. Soon enough the whole entire team was inside the room. There was lots of What happened? Is she ok? And many swear words beginning used.

“Everyone shut up! Risotto and Prosciutto stay here, the rest of you get out now,” Melone shouted. He was never one to lose his temper, that was Ghiaccio’s job. The more La Squadra yelled the more nervous Melone got, he did not want shaky hands while trying to keep you alive.

The whole room went silent and Melone continued his work. Everyone he ordered to leave left. They all sat outside your door waiting until they could come back in. Their “whispering” was incredibly loud but they were really trying their best to behave well.

Melone called Risotto over. “Try to see if you can stop all the iron from leaving her body.” The leader did as he was asked and activated his Stand. Prosciutto stood in the corner of the room waiting for commands from Melone, Risotto used his stand until the purple haired man was finally able to sew up the wound. 

After many hours the job was finally completed. Your body was cleaned of dried blood and all the cuts were bandaged up. Risotto slipped off his coat and very gently moved you into it. He had a feeling you would be upset if you woke up and were indecent. Melone cleaned up the room and put away the remaining medical supplies.

Risotto, Melone and Prosciutto left the room. They walked into the hallway and saw all the other men at their feet. They all stood up and faced Melone.

“Y/N is still unconscious. She was badly injured on her mission but we do not know how. Once she wakes we will figure out what happened. For now she just needs to rest. I fixed her up better than any doctor could, I promise you all she’ll be fine.”

The men all let out a sigh in relief. “Can we go see her,” Formaggio asked.

Melone shrugged. “I need to watch over her for the night to make sure nothing bad happens. If you wanted to I suppose you could stay in the room too. But you must be quiet.”

“I’ll spend the night with her too,” Prosciutto said. There was no way he was going to leave you alone in your current state.

“Ok! Does anyone else want to stay with us,” Melone asked.

“I do,” the whole group said in unison. They might be a group of deadly assassins but there was no denying how much they loved and cared for their teammates.

Melone let out a small laugh. “I’m afraid the room is too small for that.” Seems like Melone forget his friends are stubborn as all hell and don’t take no for an answer.

So everyone stuffed themselves into the room. Most of them laid on the floor. Only ones in chairs were Melone, Prosciutto and Risotto. Everyone tried their best to stay awake but it was so late at night and the stress had token a lot out of them. Even the three boys in chairs were beginning to get sleepy. Eventually everyone fell asleep except for Prosciutto. One of the most lovable qualities about Prosciutto is his will power. For a split second he heard a whine that sounded like yours. His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of his chair. He ran to your bedside.

“Y/N? Y/N are you awake,” Prosciutto asked desperately. There was no response. He felt tears prick his eyes. Was he really so in love with you that now he’s hearing your voice in his head?

“Where….. where am I,” you asked in a weak voice. The biggest smile appeared on Prosciutto face. You were alive, you were ok. “Your awake….” he cried loudly.

At the sound of the sudden commotion the whole team woke up. Illuso turned on the lamp next to him. “What the hell is going on?”

“Di Molto she’s ok,” Melone exclaimed. He ran up next to you. The rest of the team sprung up along with him to come see you.

“Don’t scare us like that,” Ghiaccio said. The whole team was very happy to see you awake. They began asking you questions left and right and trying to talk to you.

Prosciutto noticed how confused you looked. “Everyone get out. Y/N needs some time to collect her bearings.”

The whole team grumbled but did as they were told. “Feel better Y/N,” you heard Formaggio yell before he got the door slammed on him.

You tried to sit up but Prosciutto quickly stopped you. “Don’t do that, you could hurt yourself more.”

You hummed and refused to look him in the eyes. This was so embarrassing. You got so hurt you passed out and caused all of your friends to worry about you.

“Y/N, what happened on the mission,” Prosciutto finally asked.

“There was a Stand User and a group of men with him. His Stand nullified all Stand attacks. I just had to fight with my fists. They all had knives...”

Prosciutto sighed. It was no secret that you were the weakest of the group physically. You could handle one person of your size but nothing else. He should’ve been the one to go on that mission. Prosciutto was fairly strong and had perfect aim with his gun, if he was on the mission it would’ve been finished in no time.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know you tried your best. From now on we’ll always send you out with a partner. You can be with me and Pesci, no one will hurt you then. At least those fucking bastards are killed now.”

You gulped. “A-about that….” You felt tears forming in your eyes. “I failed the mission, I couldn’t kill the target.”

Prosciutto eyes went wide. What? How did you fail a mission? That’s never happened and he was sure it never would. “Are you saying that those men who hurt you are still out there alive?”

You sadly nodded. “Prosciutto please don’t be mad. I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to the team and you.”

He patted your head. “Dolcezza, I’m not mad at you.” He gave you a loving smile and kissed your cheek. “I’ll be right back, stay here.”

The nickname and the kiss left you too flustered to do anything. Your crush just kissed you and acted like it was nothing!

While you flipped out over the kiss Prosciutto was angrily stomping to the main room. He slammed open the door. The boys looked to him and asked what happened.

“Their still alive. Y/N couldn’t finish the mission. The sick assholes who hurt my girl are still out there. Get them.”

The team usually takes their orders from Risotto. Prosciutto has never sent anyone on a mission. Right now though things were different.

Risotto stood up. “I’ll go.” Ghiaccio stood up too. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want any of those mother fuckers to be alive by the end of the night.”

Prosciutto was very happy that those two men were going. He knew they would give the target what they deserved. The blond headed back to your room and the other members waited for their turn to see you.

He saw you crying. “No no, don’t cry Bella. I promise you no one is upset with you.”

You choked on your sobs. “But I heard yelling and doors slamming.”

He grabbed your hand and gently rubbed it. “They were just excited to get their revenge on the people who hurt you, that’s all.”

Prosciutto had never been this gentle with anyone ever. He was treating you like a glass that could be broken at any minute.

You couldn’t fight the blush that was creeping onto your face. Prosciutto noticed it and gave you another kiss. “I’m very proud of you Y/N, as a teammate and as your lover.” For the rest of the night Prosciutto never once left your side. He was going to be there for you no matter what.

[syndxlla]

Part ten of the More To Love Series

Summary: The ball is tomorrow night and preparations are in full swing in the Mandalorian Palace. In desperate need of a break from all of the Masquerade planning, you get away from the palace for a few hours. This gives you a chance to reflect on your relationship with the Knight, learn more about his past, and grow closer with Koska.

Word Count: 10.9k, NO ‘Y/N’

Warnings: SMUT (handjob, grinding, this is like actually sort of gross if you over think it so just don’t over think it thanks <3), THIS IS EXPLICIT, 18+ CONTENT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Swearing. Mentions of: blood, scars, fighting, hand-to hand combat.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: insight of recent events surrounding my tumblr, I have added an additional in-text warning for the smut scenes. This will continue for future chapters for those who do not wish to read the explicit scenes of More to Love.

Author’s Note: HEY, it’s been a little while, huh? Happy to be back. THANK YOU FOR 1k FOLLOWERS HOLY CRAP!! You all mean so much to me and the support of this fic is unlike anything I could have ever asked for! Also... the smut in this gets,, nasty. Like not that bad it isn’t super kinky or needs lots of warnings it’s just... like gross if you think too hard about that so do me a favor and don’t overthink it haha. OKAY LOVE YOU ENJOY

Part Nine

“No, If you keep that elbow down it will throw off your balance.”

“Okay, what if I hold it like this.”

“No it will get more tired faster.”

“Well how long do I have to keep it up like this?”

“Until the song ends!” You sigh, your fingers coming up to hold your eyebrow out of frustration. You and the Knight have been in the library for nearly an hour trying to learn how to waltz together and if you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he had two left feet. He was starting to get the hang of it, though. Slowly but surely and through a lot of trial and error but you don’t have very much room to talk because an hour before this one, he was just as frustrated with you because you couldn’t swing at him with nearly enough power needed to make some damage on anyone. This is how you’ve spent your last two evenings with the knight. The two of you sarcastically bullying one another in learning the opposite’s art. It was already Friday, the ball was tomorrow and you weren’t sure if he was going to be able to pull it together in time. The worst part is that you haven’t had anytime privately with him to do your... usual antics. There was always someone with you, usually Korkie or Koska, or the dance and fighting practice took up too much time to really have any fun.

The palace has been bustling the last two days. Every servant has had a task they were always doing, there was no down time for them which meant lots of downtime for the Royals. If there was no one to set up tea, then there would be no tea, simple as that.

Because of the high workload put on the staff of the palace, each royal has been subject to dinner in their own rooms alone this week, which was a dream come true for you. Dinner was your least favorite time of the day because of how painful it was to get through socially. And it also meant you got to spend more time with your own thoughts. You still aren’t sure what to do about the marriage, especially since you’ve admitted to yourself that you think you are falling for the beskar-clad knight who stands watch outside your door.

Even Soniee has been spending less time inside your quarters pampering you (you could really use a bubble bath). At all hours of the day, there was either a team of butlers carrying large bouquets of flowers down ornate hallways, a chef interrupting your dress fitting with Soniee and Koska to have you try another flower-flavored mousse, or an immediate meeting with the Queen to learn about some of your guests who will be at the masquerade and how to properly greet them. One time yesterday, you were asked to review the lanterns they picked out for the garden decorations. You were so indifferent to the ones they picked that the servants actually sent you back inside out of frustration. Along with the controlled chaos of preparations, the mask making has still left you feeling guilty. Just this morning you caught a glimpse of Koska’s shaky hands that had clearly been pricked by one too many needles while sewing jewels into the Queen’s mask. You must have apologized too much because she eventually got snarky and asked you to quit saying sorry about it. As much as you would like to dance with your knight with others looking on, you weren’t sure if it was worth all the pain and labor others were putting themselves through for it.

Party planning was exhausting, and on top of all of it, you needed to teach the most uncoordinated man in the kingdom how to waltz. It genuinely baffled you how he was able to be so methodical and perfect in hand-to hand combat and in bed but can barely hold his own in situations such as these. There was something charming about that flaw, however.

Now, the golden sunlight of the aging day was pouring into the towering windows of the Mandalorian library. It had made the room warm, and showed just how valuable the knight’s dark skin was as his bare hands soaked in the rays. You caught yourself staring at them a few too many times, which to your dismay, he caught you doing.

“You’re staring again.” He says while the two of you are practicing the basic 1, 2, 3 waltz step. Your eyes jump back to the emotionless visor of the beskar helmet which looked down at your face. You didn’t even realize you were looking at your hand holding out to the right, studying the way his knuckles looked and how clean his fingernails were.

“Sorry… It’s just that dancing is usually an emotional thing, you’re supposed to play off of eachother I suppose.” You shrug, stopping the dance. You realized you had been searching for something to play off of, anything, even if it’s just the calloused fingers of a hard worker.

You wouldn’t think the two of you would be so far behind and underprepared but for a majority of these rehearsals you’ve been the one leading as he figures it out. You know how bad it would look if you were the one leading tomorrow, and you’re starting to lose hope that you’re going to pull this off. You had wished you started teaching him earlier, but knew that he would have never agreed before now.

“Princess, you do realize that you’re probably still not going to see my face if we dance tomorrow.” He drops your hands. You sigh, you did know it, you just didn’t want to admit it.

“I know… when do you take it off?” You couldn’t remember if you had asked this already. Maybe you were out of line for asking, but a piece of you didn’t care, you deserved to know.

He was quiet, he always was when you asked him something personal. Maybe he was hoping you would get the idea by now…

“When I eat, when I sleep… sometimes around my son. Sometimes around other guards.” He said as he walked towards one of the library windows. You followed him, a few footsteps behind. He stopped at the glass, his reflection disturbing the pristine scene outside. You could see the beach from this window, not as well as in other parts of the castle, but the horizon of the Mandalorian sea was still in view. Your reflection came up behind his. You could see the exhale of his lungs from the shift in armor weight.

“I understand if you never want to show me.” You said. You didn’t really believe that, but you did respect him, and because of that you had to accept the reality that he may never show you. Maybe you were just trying to convince yourself that. You walk a little further to him and stand up on your tippy-toes so that you may rest your chin on his shoulder, looking out at the world below. It was so peaceful from up here. You’ve only left palace grounds once in the last two weeks and you desperately want to again. Being cooped up inside an oil painting was getting exhausting. “I want to go somewhere.” You mutter, your arms wrapping around his waist to hug him from behind: a pure and innocent act of affection.

“What?” His helmet turns to the side just a little bit so that you might hear him better. “Like… the Garden? The Parlor?”

“No!” You chuckle against his pauldron, “Outside, I want to get out of the palace again.”

“Did you forget what happened last time we went out?” He asks meditatively. “We can’t risk anything happening to you before tomorrow, The Queen would be furious, and even worse, Koska would be too.”

“Of course I didn’t forget! I’ll have the scar to always remind me” You giggle at his remark. “And besides, I-I want to go to the water.” You step out from behind him to look out at and gesture to the gentle waves against the golden beach. “I’ve been on a sandy beach before.” You clear your throat.

“We… might be able to arrange that. How about we go on Sunday? After the ball?” He attempts to negotiate.

“Or we could go now? There’s no formal dinner tonight.” You suggest.

“Your parents are coming in tonight, along with a number of other guests, not to mention Grand General Vizsla, all the Royal Guard is to be presented to him at nine.” He groans, but you were determined to convince him. You really needed a break from all of the planning, fittings and tastings.

“So? It’s barely five! We can just go for a little while!” You say as you look at the grandfather clock that sits nestled between two bookcases. You weren't feeling very optimistic, you doubted he would not budge, he’s always been so stubborn. “I can repay you…” You bite your lip. You were also incredibly horny and remember overhearing a maid back home talk about sex on the beach. It had always excited you.

He sighs again.

“Please? For me? I seriously deserve a break, so do you.” You reach out to stroke his hand. You knew that would probably work, it has before.

“Fine-“

“Really!?”

“Yes, but we have to tell Koska just so they don’t think we’re missing again.” He turns to walk out of the library. You silently congratulate yourself on getting the most unmovable and obedient man in the galaxy to go against his orders and do what you want. You happily skip behind him. “It takes a while to get all the way down to the beach so we should probably take a horse.” He says on the move. “Do you know how to ride?”

“I’m royalty, of course I do… do you?” You revising a teasing eyebrow.

He scoffs at your question, “There is much you do not know about me.”

“Well, you make it sort of hard for me to learn.” You roll your eyes playfully. He elbows you in the side, knocking you off your balance. You attempt to do the same to him, nudging him right back but not even getting the boy to budge and hurting your funny bone a little against the Beskar.

It takes you two a few minutes of complete silence and portrait-perfect stature to get all the way down the palace into the servants quarters. The only other time you had been in these narrow, stone hallways in the ground level of the Mandalorian Castle was earlier this week after Korkie begrudgingly led you back to your quarters in a wet peasant gown and a stinging bicep.

By the time the knight and yourself had made it down here, he was leading you through the maze of corridors, past helmetless knights who all nodded out of respect as they passed you, and into a wooden-arch. The room you had entered into must have been the servant’s common room, because it was about the size of the dining room. A candle-lit, wooden chandelier hung over four long tables, unlike the glass and oil-lamp chandeliers in the rest of the palace. A large fireplace burned on one wall, illuminating the room more and several small, gothic-arch windows towards the ceiling allowed warm light to pour into the cozy hall. Several handmaidens bejeweled masks at one table, twice as many sewed the bases of the coverings at another. One table showcased all of the finished designs, which depicted extravagant bird beaks, colorful fox and wolf snouts, towering cat and rabbit ears, ornate peacock tails, sharp antlers and horns on some and even incredible tusks on a few. They were all breathtaking, and while you felt guilty for making so many staff members work double-time, you appreciated their handy-work in making your dream come true.

The fourth and final table was mostly empty, a few elderly and child servants ate potato soup at it, and one maid cleaned her finger-nails at the opposite end. Everything was so simple and normal, it was such a display of controlled chaos that almost made you forget about the corruption in Mandalore… almost.

A sharp whistle rang through the room, and immediately, everyone dropped what they were doing, stood up swiftly from their seats on the long benches that paralleled each table, and turned to look at you before bowing deeply and diligently. They hadn’t even noticed you were there at first and interrupting their normalcy was not what you intended to do, but then you caught sight of who it was that sang the whistle. Koska Reeves was walking through the bowed, silent heads to you and the Knight. She looked exhausted, her hair was down and over her shoulders instead of pinned up in the intricate braids she usually wore them in when she was around royalty. The amount of fly-always was distracting but you couldn’t blame her, she would not disappoint the Queen with her work, even if that meant looking a little rough and disheveled.

“What’s the meaning of this? All royalty is supposed to be approved before coming in here.” She says to your knight chivalrously, then turns to you, “This is no sight for you, princess.” Something told you that she wasn’t only referring to the activities taking place in the common room. “I am sorry for our disorder.”

“No worries, Lady Reeves. There’s no need to apologize. I am most impressed by the work done on the masks for tomorrow.” You gesture to the table with the completed designs.

She sighs and smiles, “Thank you.” She nods before turning around, “Carry On!” She calls out to the room and everyone returns to normal as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, as if you weren’t even there. There was something you liked about that, something that reminded you that even though you have a lucky bloodline, you’re human too, and not all that different from the workers in this very room. Their daily routine was fascinating to you. “What do you two want?” She hushes her voice and drops her “right-hand woman to the queen”, first lady-in-waiting and head of the Mandalorian royal staff persona. She’s now the same brash friend you two shared.

“We want to go out for a while, it’ll just be a few hours but we knew we needed to tell someone in case anyone notices that we’re missing.” The Knight nods, explaining the situation. She raises a questionable eyebrow.

“Absolutely not, we cannot risk anything happening to her before tomorrow night.” Your heart drops.

“That’s what I said, but she’s incredibly convincing.” He shrugs, tilting his head just enough to show the extra bit of emotion. Koska looks between the two of you, her hands perched firmly on her hips. You caught sight of her hands again, which were now bandaged tightly with the same white gauze that she wrapped your cut arm with earlier this week. You wondered if that was done to dress bleeding wounds, keep the shakiness from over-working and late nights in control, or a dreadful mix of both. A terrible feeling told you it was the third.

“Vizsla is going to be here.” She raises an eyebrow, her intimidating demeanor hasn’t gone away even after she’s become aware of your little secret (well, actually massive, life-altering, “how-the-hell-am-I-gonna-fix-this?” secret). “If you aren’t here, that could result in a court-martial from the Queen herself.”

“Sounds tempting.” He replies.

“You and I both know what’s going to happen to you and your little boy if you step out of line, even once, which is why I’m guarding your scandle so close to my heart.” Her voice get’s real quiet when she says that, and he shifts his weight. Your heart drops, what in the world could she mean by that? “You know what could happen to you if I accidentally slip something, that’s why I won’t cover for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” You whisper. She glances at you and then right back to him.

“Wow, you really haven’t told her much, have you?” Koska’s arms move from her hips into a fold over her chest. He doesn’t respond.

“Told me much about what?” You ask, worried about whatever was going on that you didn’t know about. Every day you’re reminded about how much of a stranger he really is to you.

“All she knows is that I had an old job, that’s all she needs to know.” He bites back, his voice equally hushed.

“If you’re fucking her, she deserves to know a lot more, but that’s just my opinion.” Koska chuckles once and you blush red hot. “I mean, at least tell her your name.”

“Why is this happening here? Now?” He gestures to the very crowded room. “Look, we just want to go down to the beach for an hour at the most. We’ll be back long before Vizsla gets here. You won’t have to cover for us, I swear.” He tries changing the subject but your mind is racing with the possibilities and confusion of the conversation you were just welcomed into.

Koska looks between the two of you a few times again, carefully considering what’s on the table and the risk. “Fine, one horse. I mean it, only one because if two are gone, someone will notice and then I’m gonna have to do exactly what I told you I wouldn’t do and what you said I won't have to: cover for your ass. Get out of here.” She beckons her head to a door that leads outside as a smile spreads across your cheeks. “Djarin! Don’t be late!” She calls out as you begin walking. That’s the second time you have heard that word, both times uttered from Koska’s mouth. Something wanted you to believe that might be his name but you were far too scared to find out for your own. You would try to remember it this time.

The knight leads you out of the room, and you watch Koska over your shoulder as you follow, studying the way she stood still immediately after you walk away, taking a few deep, sharp breaths and then promptly returning to her work. You wondered if she was tired, remembering that not everyone who lives in the Mandalorian Palace has the same relaxing lifestyle that you have.

Despite the aging daylight, it was still deathly hot. The heat of summer bled onto your shoulders, which were still partially covered due to the scarring cut in your muscle. The clothing only added to the heat. The part of the Castle grounds you were were foreign to you. They weren’t the beautiful, lush and trimmed gardens or breezy courtyards you usually spend your afternoons in, no. It was dark, the tall height of the palace shading the courtyard where knights sparred and a pair of little servant girls chased one another. One wall that lined the courtyard was the horse stables, and another was a blacksmith. The golden light shone through the stables, and you were able to spot the four white horses that took you and Korkie to Keldabe earlier this week despite the beasts being backlit.

“You can ride, I’ll just walk.” He says as he guides you to a palomino, a tall horse with a Caramel body and pure white mane.

“Are you sure?” You ask, not wanting him to have to walk.

“Of course.” He says as he mindlessly bridles the horse, petting him on the nose a few times. “Do you prefer a saddle?” He asks. You nod, and he swings the seat over the back of the steed.

“Does this horse have a name?” You ask, reaching your hand out to pet his neck a few times. The horse nickers at your touch.

“He likes you.” The Knight chuckles. You smile at the statement, and continue to stroke the soft hair on the neck. “Clove.” He says, his voice velvet and full of caring. The knight knew this horse. They had a bond. “Here.” He holds his hand up for you to hoist yourself onto the saddle. You were in no way dressed for riding, and the saddle wasn’t even a side-riding seat, but you would make it work. You knew that on the palace grounds you would have to ride side-saddle, it’s customary, and how you learned. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t ride regularly. The horses back home in Corellia were massive beasts, animals suited for harsh winters and heavy amounts of snow, thick fur covers their ankles so that they can trudge through deep snow and pull sleighs. The Mandalorian horses were far more majestic, more like show horses than work horses. Clove was gentle, though, that was something that wasn’t common for the strong horses up north. He didn’t move a muscle or bat an eyelash as you heave yourself onto his back, adjusting yourself to sit properly, the knight’s hand holding yours tightly as you positioned yourself and then rearranging the heavy skirt of your dress to properly cover your legs. His plan grazes your shin as he does it, and your eyes immediately catch the visor of his beskar helmet. You liked to think he was looking at your eyes, too. The moment is so still, time freezing for half a second.

He starts to walk the horse out of the opposite side of the stable and into the field behind the palace. You could see the tree line of the garden from here. The bridle was tightly wrapped around his hand as he led the two of you out of the palace and into the hot, hot sun. This was the first time you’ve ridden a horse in a very long time, and you had almost forgotten how much you loved it. A cheesy smile was on your face, and your eyes cycled from the mane of the horse, the shoreline ahead, the back side of the ornate castle and the top of the helmet of the knight. The sun reflected off of the beskar, causing a bright illumination to shine on the bodice of your gown. He walked methodically and quietly, and you wanted to start a conversation with him but it didn’t feel right.

Comfortable silence is often overlooked, something taken for granted that is really only shared between two trusting people. You aren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced a genuine comfortable silence with anyone before. Being a royal has a lot of “fine print”, one of which being that no one ever shut up. Korkie isn’t the only self-centered, talkative royal in this world. The thing that sets Korkie aside from the rest is the fact that you’ll have to deal with it intimately for the rest of your life.

There was something wildly attractive about the introvert by your side. Because he was few with words, it caused you to seek them out, and cherish what little you did get. He was warming up to you, opening up and every time you get a moment alone with him, he says a little more. Your conversations now are very different from that first night in the castle when he helped you untie your corset. All he said originally was “Goodnight, Princess”, and now he’s telling you about the stars and teaching you how to fight and defend yourself. The idea that it’s happened too fast has crossed your mind several times, but you considered that when you’re alone with someone almost all day, every day, you’re bound to get to know one another quicker than usual. However, you’ve also been afraid that you came off too harsh, maybe you jumped into it all too fast and overwhelmed him. What if he’s only complying to the relationship because he’s obligated to through his duty? You had to admit that there were a number of insecurities surrounding your friendship, you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t think that. Maybe you felt that way because you relied so heavily on him to get away from the other boy in your life who you can’t escape no matter how hard you try. Was it entirely possible that the knight feels about you the way you feel about Korkie? That very thought made you sick, your stomach twisting and preventing you from enjoying the beautiful landscape ahead.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. He noticed that you had tensed up. You silently curse yourself for not hiding it better.

“What?” Your look down at him, forcing a false smile. He was looking up at you now, his hand resting on your knee. Your eyes move from where he holds you and back up to the visor on his helmet. “Oh… nothing.” You hum.

“You are a fool if you think you can hide anything from me.” He tilts his head and your cheeks burn with blush. You sigh, knowing you should tell him. The chances are that expressing these concerns to him might give you a piece of mind… or they could do the exact opposite. You aren’t sure if you can take the emotional weight of resenting two men who you admire. You admire them for entirely different reasons, however. You admire Korkie for his dedication to his kingdom, and you admire that he’s genuinely trying his best. However, you admire the Knight for his kindness, his patience, his protection. You admire his velour voice, his plush lips, and the way he touches you. You admire that he’s a father, that he’s split his dedication between his duty to his kingdom and his duty to his son. You admire his deep chuckle, and the way he kisses you, the way you can see him laugh when you shoot him silly faces during dinner. You both admired and was frustrated by his obedience to his creed. He kept promises, no matter how life-altering they may be.

As you reflect on all the reasons he meant anything to you, you felt a sense of peace. It was better, the feeling in your stomach, that is. You decide it is right to tell him, you recall your governess explaining to you that all good relationships are built on enthusiastic communication, and you wanted your relationship with the Knight to be considered ‘good’. You sigh and then speak up, “I just…” You take a sharp, deep breath in the middle of your sentence before speaking up again, “just lots of insecurities, I suppose.” You shrug.

“Insecure- about what?” He asks.

“Everything, but especially us.” You didn’t really want to have this conversation, but you knew you had to.

“May I ask why?” His tone was sincere.

You aren’t sure how to reply at first. “Is it too fast? Am I too much?” You ask after careful consideration of what you were going to bring up first.

“What? No.” You think this was the first time he had ever replied immediately after you ask him something. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know-“

“Yes you do… tell me.” He reassures.

“Our personalities are different, you’re quiet and stoic…”

“Is that… bad?”

“No! No, not at all. Royals just aren’t that, and I worry if we’re compatible enough. And don’t mistake me, I admire that about you, but I fear I’m too much for you.” You sigh, shaking your head. Clove nickers again as if he’s listening in on your conversation and chiming in. He doesn’t respond right away which you’ve gotten used to, but if it was any other situation you wouldn’t be overthinking it. You can’t take the silence anymore and speak up, “And there’s the added factor that I’m totally cheating on Korkie with you-”

“-If I thought you were too much, do you think I would let you teach me how to dance?” He interrupts. The words halt in your mouth, and you look at him almost dumbfounded. “Or do you think I would be teaching you how to defend yourself? Fucking you on a royal sofa in an un-locked room? Risking my title to take you to the beach?” He almost sounded… angry? Had you offended him for thinking that? Your legs tensed up on the horse, and you regretted everything you had said. He did have a point, you hadn’t really thought of that.

“I… suppose you’re right.” You mutter.

“I don’t have to be doing any of this,” He grabs your hand, holding it in his and uses his other hand to halt the horse. The three of you pause in the field between the beach and the castle. There had been a downgrade so you were mostly hidden but you could still the upper-towers of the palace. He looks up and you, and you find yourself wishing you could see his eyes again. “But I do because I’m… fond of you.” It sounds like he’s having a hard time getting the words out, but that isn’t very uncommon for him. Your heart flares up, this was the first time he had ever admitted anything like that.

“W-what?” You ask, sounding like a fool.

“I know, it’s crazy. How could a halfwit like myself deserve a Princess like you?” He chuckles under his breath. “Maybe the elf laid a spell on me, I don’t know. But I do know that ever since I was given the duty of protecting you, my life has been different.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I don’t know what it is but I-I-“ You smile fondly, and use his hand to hop off the horse. You bring your hands up to hold the back of his neck.

“It’s not a spell.” You whisper. “I feel it too.”

“Then it’s a spell on both of us.”

“Maybe.” You move your hands up to his helmet, desperately wanting to remove it, but you remember what you told yourself the other day. If he wishes to show you his face, it should be his choice, he deserves to be the one to take the beskar off. You would respect that. Instead, you just run your fingertips along the lip of the helmet, looking into the visor enchantingly. “Then it would be a wonderful spell.”

His hands find their way to your waist, hugging you to his chest. You rest or head on his shoulder and just close your eyes, feeling his chest plate move with each breath. It’s so still, the summer breeze softly runs through the tall grass. You can hear the waves gently hugging the beach, and the two of you just stand there like that. Completely alone, the only companionship being one another and a mindlessly-grazing horse. No one to interrupt. No doors to lock. No Princes to lie to. No thieves to fight. Just the two of you. If you could stay in that moment for the rest of your life, you would. In the earlier days of your relationship, you used to worry you wouldn’t like what his face looked like, worried that he might be unattractive to you. But every selfish desire you had about his physical appearance dissolved with the wind. No matter what he looked like, or what his past was, or what his name was, you didn’t care. You didn’t care because he cared for you, and you cared for him, too.

Before you can soak in the moment any longer, you’re swiftly grabbing his wrist, and tugging him towards the beach. The stillness of the moment is lost, but you’re quickly giggling as he’s chasing you down the small slope to the beach. You pull your skirt up as far as you can so you don’t trip on it, and find yourself being unable to slow down before the hill meets the shore. The soil slowly becomes more and more sandy, and your feet are bolting against uneven land towards teal, clear water. Before you can reach the ocean, however, strong hands are wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against the Knight’s chest. You can hear the low rumble of chuckling in his throat, and you have the biggest, dorkiest smile of all time on your face. He spins the two of you around a few times before setting you back down on the beach.

You’re out of breath from running, and your hair is already untidy from the unexpected change of direction. The wind blows it just softly, letting it pull away from your face and neck. He tucks one rogue strand behind your ear, and then cups your face. You hadn’t even realized he’s been gloveless this entire time. You close your eyes and rest your cheek into him. You turn your head ever-so-slightly to kiss his palm, laying a sweet and innocent peck to his calloused skin.

You wonder if he’s hot with all that armor on. If you were too warm with a dress, only he knows what it’s like to have to spend summers so formally.

He’s the one to pull away, walking towards the water. You follow him, and the two of you stand against the tide. You kick your shoes off and pull your dress up again. Stepping into the water. You giggle at the tickle of the sand and smile at the feeling of the warm water against your ankles. He watches you fondly with his arms crossed. The water in Corellia is never this warm, and you throw your head back in bliss, breathing in the salty air. This was the happiest you had ever been since you arrived in Mandalore. The break from all the rules and customs was very needed, and you soaked in the sound of the waves, a distant call of a gull, and the wind keeping your hair out of your face. The best part was the fact that you were experiencing it with the Knight. There is no other person you would rather spend this memory with. You bite your lip and close your eyes and you never want to leave, you want to stay here forever. You hear the sound of metal clinking behind you, and something heavy hitting the sand. You turn to look at the Knight, who had discarded most of his armor. His boots have been carefully set next to one another, and beside them were his pauldrons, wrist guards, thigh plates and breastplate. The chainmail was the next thing to be removed, leaving him in only the dark-brown underclothes. His trousers were heavy duty, covered in various pockets and made out of thick material, but his tunic was a thin material, still long sleeved, but flowy, allowing the fresh, summer breeze to run through the fabric. The two items of clothing were held together by a pair of black suspenders, and the entire ensemble made him oh so… human.

You had only seen him with all his armor on before, and witnessing his shell being removed was both humbling and inspiring. The armor added quite a bit of bulk to his stature, it rounded out his shoulders, boosted his posture, and broadened him out. That was the first thing you noticed about him on the first day you arrived, he was ample in size and it made you feel so primal and safe. Despite his smaller stature without the armor, he wasn’t one bit less attractive to you. He was still the same guy who you were slowly falling for and didn’t even know it. But as he cuffed up his trousers and rolled back his shoulders, you felt so comfortable in his presence. He wasn’t just a mass of armor and creeds and rules, no, he was just a man. He was a single father, a guy who doesn’t know the first thing about dancing, and a boy born across the world in the Nevarro frontier. He was just a man.

You couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest that came with this thought. Everything about him was far more simple than you initially thought.

He walked towards you, and you held out your hand for him to take. He laces his fingers with yours as he steps into the shallow water with you. Your dress drops, dipping into the water and getting wet but you can’t even be mad about it. Your smile is big as his hand tightly grasped yours, the two of you looking out at the horizon.

“When I was a boy-” he begins, his voice quiet, “I wanted to live on the sea. Join a ship crew and travel the waters. There was always something so adventurous about that thought.” He shares. You turn to look at him as he speaks, studying the contour of the helmet with your eyes.

“What stopped you?” You ask, not entirely sure if he would share, but this time he was the one to start the conversation, and you felt like he might this time.

He sighs, you see it, he turns to look at you, the two of you staring at one another as the temperature slowly dropped with the sun on the horizon. “I was orphaned when I was only five.” He shrugs, your heart breaks. “It was one of the Mandalorian wars that caused it.”

You can’t imagine what it’s like having to serve a kingdom so intimately when they were responsible for the death of your family. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, letting him know that you’re here for him. “I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“It’s not your fault, it was so long ago I don’t really remember it.” He looks down at the water.

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” You smile apologetically. You really did appreciate that he felt comfortable enough to share something so serious with you. While you were grateful that he had begun to open up to you, it still didn’t answer any of the questions about Mandalore’s past, and what Koska was referring to a few days ago. It didn’t tell you what his past job was and why he’s serving the royal family now. However, you supposed it didn’t really matter, not right now, not today.

After a little minute of listening to the waves, he reaches down into the water, picking up a flat, thin rock. He runs his pointer finger along the edge, outlining the shape before hatching it into the space between his index finger and thumb, reeling back, and flicking it out so it hopped over the water’s surface seven or eight times before falling in. You looked at him enchanted, like he had just expressed a magic trick to a bright-eyed child.

“How did you do that?” You ask in awe.

“You’ve never seen anyone skip a rock?” He asks. You slowly shake your head. You’ve been cooped up inside a wintry castle your entire life, of course you haven’t.

“Teach me.” You say a little too forcefully. He chuckles and looks down at the sand, looking for a pebble that might work. He bends down eventually, and picks out a similar looking rock to the original.

“So, you want a rock that’s thin and flat, like this one.” He shows you the sediment. You reach your hand out, taking it and outlining the edge of the stone with your finger similar to how he did. He walks behind you, sloshing in the water but eventually gaining position. He wraps his left arm around your waist, and cups your right hand which holds the rock in his. “Now, don’t throw it quite yet, okay?”

“Alright.”

“You’re gonna flick your wrist like this,” he motions both of your hands at the same time, pulling back and then shooting forward quickly. He does it two or three times before speaking up again. “You’ll use your pointer finger to pull back like the trigger on a crossbow, it will give the rock enough spin that it stays on top of the water.” He makes you do the motion along with him a few times again. “Your shoulders will draw back almost like you’re pulling back an arrow on a bow.” Again, he does the motion with you, your back flush to his chest. You admired that he was able to relate everything to weaponry. He definitely knew his way around combat, that was apparent to you. “Then, you add all three motions together, aim for the horizon, and-“ he pulls back with you and before you know it, the rock is spiraling out of your hand and onto the surface of the ocean. It doesn’t skip, though, and instead plops right into the water.

You frown and look back at him. “What did I do wrong?” You ask, you knew he would know what needed to change.

“You didn’t flick your finger enough. Try again.” He pulls another stone out with a grunt, and holds you against his body to pull back and send another rock out. This one skips once before plopping into the water again. You sigh out, frustrated. “Here, try without me.” He says after handing you a third flat stone. You carefully practice the motion once, desperately wanting to impress him. You then pull back and give it everything you got, only for the stone to plop in without skipping at all again.

“Ugh, lemme try again.” You say angrily. You can hear him laughing at you, but you ignore it, ready to try again and determined to get it right this time.

You must have thrown four more rocks after that with no results. Each time he tried giving you just a little more advice about different things, “Follow through” or “You had too much spin that time”. You were starting to get really frustrated, having never had to really work for anything in your life before, and you knew he was starting to have a hard time finding flat rocks. You would not give up on this.

“Maybe we can try again next time-“

“No.” You say forcefully, “We do not leave this beach until I skip a damn rock, so if you want to be back in time for your evaluation with Vizsla, I suggest you find me another rock.” You raise an eyebrow as you pull out your diplomatic royal voice. He holds his hands back in defense and then tosses you the stone he already had waiting for you. You sigh when you catch it, taking a deep breath and remembering all your training. Don’t spin too much, follow through, add all three motions together, have faith.

You pull back the stone, praying that it will all go according to plan because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take failure. You pick out your target with your eyes before adding together all the advice given to you and sending it. You can hardly believe your eyes when you see it skip at least five times over the water. You cheer out in accomplishment and look over at the Knight, smiling big and triumphant. He runs through the water to you, shouting with you.

“I knew you could do it!” He grabs your waist, congratulating you. You giggle out of achievement. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asks.

You roll your eyes and playfully punch his arm (which luckily this time was not covered by pain-inflicting chainmail). “A lot easier than having to dodge your hits.” You admit.

“I’m proud of you.”

“It’s just a rock skip?” You wonder why he would be proud of you for that and ask yourself if you really are that pathetic.

“Yes but you put your mind to it and did it! I know some guys in the royal guard who would have given up on their third try, but you didn’t!”

“I was just trying to impress you.” You sheepishly chuckle.

“We’ll consider myself: Impressed.” He laughs and you blush.

“They don’t teach royals that.”

“Well of course not, I learned how to do that from the guy who took me in after my parents died. You picked it up much faster than I did.” He nods and you smile again.

The two of you catch your breath from the exuberant laughing, but you aren’t able to enjoy the still moment because all too quick it all comes crashing down quickly when he’s pushing you into the water. It isn’t very deep, but the unexpected soak makes you yelp out in surprise. Your initial reaction is to be frustrated, but you can hear him chuckling by your side and you can’t help but mischievously smiling in response. He’s standing, still dry with a hand over his stomach as he laughs at you. You roll your eyes before reaching up to pull him in with you, he yelps out stupefied as he’s splashing down into the tide next to you. You laugh out at him, sitting up in the water which is about waist deep. He wipes some water away from his visor and then splashes you, swatting a handful of the ocean at your face. Your laughing immediately halts from a mouthful of salt water. Your slight makeup washes off, and your hair is starting to get wet, too. You look over at him with a frown before copying his action and spraying him right back. He laughs at you, and you remember that you can’t win this. He has a helmet to keep his eyes clear from the water. You groan out of frustration, and wipe your eyes dry. He’s just looking at you, panting. His clothes were soaked now. You crawl to be closer to him in the water, which thank goodness it wasn’t too cold because you’d be rushing to get out, but the summer weather made it enjoyable to just sit there together.

[SMUT BEGINS HERE]

You’re next to him, running your fingers lightly up and down his right arm, looking at him fondly. He catches his breath, and brings his wet hand up to cup your face again. You close your eyes, hoping he takes the hint, which he does because a few seconds have your eyes are closed, his arm his pulling away from your touch against it and his lips are pressing into yours. You can tell he completely took the helmet off this time, which means he would take his time kissing you instead of a quick peck to shut you up.

The two of you sit in the water of the Mandalorian Ocean, both of his hands reaching up to hold you as he kisses each eyelid as if to say “keep ‘em closed”, before moving to your lips passionately. His left hand holding your cheek while his right hand finds its place on the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You breathe deeply as he practically devours you, his lips moving hungrily. Your hands find their way to his thighs in the water, running your palms up and down the strong muscle, making sure to take notice of the healing wound on his upper-thigh. Your hands eventually find their way to the waistband of his pants, running your fingers under them to pull out the tuck of the tunic. Fingernails come out of the water and up soft abs that flinch at the stroke. It’s hard to work around the suspenders, but you’re able to still run your hands over his torso, getting to know his body for the first and hopefully not the last) time. He has a few scars, you can feel the fresh tissue under your fingers and wonder what caused them. He’s still kissing you, his left hand moves down to hold your jaw and you keep your eyes tightly shut out of fear of this ending too quickly. The kissing noises are obscene, wet and needy amongst the sound of the waves. The Knight licks into your mouth, his tongue hot and forceful as it explores your mouth, you can taste the lust on his lips, and you happily welcome the sensation.

His right hand works around the way your gown has flared out in the water and eventually wraps itself around your ass, pulling you up onto his lap. You’re mostly out of the water now, just your shins being completely submerged. You’re slightly weighed down by the added weight of a wet skirt, but you sit comfortably on the guards lap, your hands coming up to wrap around his neck, kissing him from above now. The kiss is forced down, and this time you’re able to lick into his mouth, nibbling his lip and deepening the kiss further from the angle. You can’t help your hands from cupping his face now, pulling him into you.

Your noses rub into one another, and both of his arms lift you up from behind. Your back arches into him, and your breathing hitches, getting heavier and hotter. He starts to get hard, you feel it under your body, and a mixture of the kissing and the pressure beginning to press into your cunt is really starting to turn you on. You start to just softly grind against him, moaning a little bit at the feeling of his growing cock against your heat. His hands help you, making the humping motion more smooth and natural. The kissing becomes sloppy now, and the water from the wet bodice is making your nipples just that much harder.

Your hands are reaching down to slide the suspenders off his shoulders, and then you’re pulling his shirt up and unhooking the trousers. Your hand is reaching in and finding the base of his hardening, thick length. He groans at your touch, and you’re bending down to kiss his neck, sucking deep, purple hickeys into his golden skin. You’re needy, still grinding against him and trying not let the water slow you down. He’s sighing breathy moans and grunts in your ear as you start jerking him off. The water does make it hard, but there’s something about the added sensation of the flowing water that really made it unique. You swipe your thumb over the head a few times, getting drunk with the unexpected control you have. This was the first time the two of you have fooled around that you really got to have total dominance. You liked it… you really liked.

He did too.

Your clit is able to rut so slightly and deliciously into your fist and his cock, and you’re having a hard time not letting your eyes open and flutter in pleasure. The same shocks of ecstasy ran up and down your spine, and he held you closer to his body, using his strong hands to cup your ass and knead the soft skin. You’re panting, your free hand reaches down to rub your clit, both of your hands working in between your legs as you straddle the Knight. You’re going to cum already and can’t believe it’s happening so fast but choose not to hold it back. You’re moaning out loud when you cum against your fingers, graining against his lap fast and squeezing his cock a little harder.

“Fuck, did you just cum?” He asks deep in his voice, growling in your ear. You hum out in response against his neck pathetically, and all dominance you previously possessed dissolves as you keep jerking off your Knight. “Dirty girl, kiss me. Keep those pretty eyes closed.” His throat is dry, which you remember from last time that that means he’s close, too. You reach up to kiss him again, going in tongue first and breathing in his scent deeply. One of his hands reaches around to cup yours that is working his length, holding it and adding pressure and then making you go faster, you happily oblige and soon the pace is quick and he’s grunting against your lips. He cums in your hand, you feel the heat of it. He’s panting and sighing and it’s all so hot you think you could get turned on by it again.

He rests his head on your shoulder after cumming, catching his breath. You take your hand out of the water and you tangle your fingers through his hair, toying with the curls as he sighs against your wet skin. You open your eyes now, looking out at the horizon, lashes heavy with lust.

[SMUT ENDS HERE]

“Gross.” You chuckle.

“You liked it.” He hums against your collar bone. His hands are steadfast on your lower back, holding you there against his chest. He doesn’t have the cold breastplate separating the two of you, so your hearts were pressed against one another, beating in perfect synch. You could also finally feel how warm his body was, despite the wet clothes and gentle waves. In your peripheral, you can see some of the brown curls.

Your heart warms, this might be the happiest you have ever been. The two of you must have sat like that for a long time because your skin was starting to prune and your hair was slowly drying with the wind. His breathing had completely calmed, and he was so still and quiet that just for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. The sun was almost down completely, only a little sliver of it peaking over the water. You watched it as it fell to its resting place in the ocean, the sky still blazing oranges and yellows but cooling with a soft, pale blue from the top down. It was so… serene, so peaceful. Nothing like the crashing waves of Corellia. This was the best part of Mandalore yet. It’s saving grace.

The crescent moon is on the horizon when he’s turning to kiss your ear one more time and asking you to close your eyes as he pulls the helmet back on.

“We should probably get back, I don’t want to be late for Vizsla and I’m afraid I’ve started to lose track of time.” He stands up and holds his hand out for you to take. You attempt to hoist yourself up out of the water, but the wet dress has added so much weight that you can’t lift your legs up. You grunt in effort, but there’s no budging. “Huh, looks like we need to take that thing off.”

“Again?” You look up at him, you knew he had a smug smirk under all that beskar. You reach behind you to undo the corset just enough for you to step out of it, water dripping from your undergarment as he yanks you up and out of the warm water. “I’m starting to think you just really like seeing me naked.” You mutter and don’t realize how close you were to him while saying that until after. You catch your tongue, holding your breath as he looks down at you.

“Yeah, something like that.” He mumbles in response and you believe you could faint and die right then and there. He doesn’t let the moment stew for nearly as long as you would have liked for it, however and he’s pulling the sopping wet dress out of the water and carrying it back on shore. He hands it to you when he gets to his armor, and you try ringing some of the liquid out from the fabric but it’s almost too heavy for you to even hold in your arms. He re-assembles his gear on top of the wet clothes and you know that can’t be comfortable. Sand clings to your bare, wet feet, and you're desperately trying to brush some of it off before slipping your shoes back on. He’s resituated too fast, he has dressing his armor down to a perfection and you’re sad to see your beach adventure come to a close so quickly.

Before you know it, he’s walking up the hill again with you by his side, making your ways to Clove who has been diligently and patiently chewing on the grass in the field this entire time.

“Ride with me.” You ask as he helps you onto the palomino. “Please.” You ask. “We’ll get to the palace faster and then maybe you can get out of those wet clothes before you have to go to the meeting.” You ask. He sighs but then nods with a shrug, hoisting himself onto the horse behind you. You were riding normally now, and situated yourself comfortably into his chest. The wet gown lay on the back of the horse and you wished you had thought about removing that before getting into the water.

As the two of you start a gentle gallop to the palace, you feel your hair get drier. At one moment he reaches his hand up to run bare fingers over your healing bicep.

“We should have kept this out of the water.” He says in your ear. You twist your head back to reply.

“It’s okay, really. It’s starting to feel a lot better.” You reassure.

“It looks better, but the salt water can only do bad things to it.” He explains. You shrug, unsure of how he expects you to respond.

The three of you arrive at the castle just as the sky begins to darken, both of you still damp from the ocean but your hearts still full and bodies still riding the orgasm high. The Knight helps you off the horse, and now that you aren’t alone, you feel very aware that you’re only in your undergarments and really anyone could see you. You pull the wet gown off the rump of Clove, which was so saturated that it made his fur wet. You hold it against your body, trying to cover yourself up as much as possible. The Knight removes the saddle of the horse, storing it away and removing the bit. He stretches the beast’s ears and then walks over to the far side of the stable to grab a carrot out of a bucket before handing it to Clove as a reward for his hard work. You watch him as he expertly takes care of the animal, like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Then, with no warning, the two of you hear the shrill voice of none other than Koska Reeves.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.” She’s crossing over the dirt courtyard to the stables. Her hair has been done now, put up into the customary braids they usually are in. She was now wearing the royal blue color reserved for the Queen’s court, a golden sash sitting on her hips. She held the dress above her feet and she hustled in your direction. You felt scared, you knew Koska meant business, and was not afraid to scold. She was intimidating, to say the least. “You’re soaking wet.” She gasps when she gets to the stable fence. “Come with me, Princess. We must get you changed before anyone sees you or the Queen will have my head.” She sighs, opening the gate for you to walk through. “As for you, Vizsla’s here early.”

“What.” You heard the drop in his voice from panic. “Why?”

“No one knew, he just arrived before we could do any regular welcoming. The evaluation is starting in ten minutes, I suggest you move your ass.” She shakes her head. You were incredibly thankful you had both rode Clove now. He wouldn’t have made it back in time if you hadn’t. You did feel a twinge of guilt, however. You shouldn’t have pushed for that so much and risked him missing his mandatory meeting. But an overwhelming part of you was more than happy that you got to experience those few hours alone with him. He swears under his breath before bowing to you, shrugging apologetically and then full sprinting towards the servant quarter’s entrance. “I would take that from you,” Koska says in reference to the wet dress, “But I’m already in my ceremonial dress. I can’t get it wet. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I can manage.” You nod. The two of you begin to walk back inside, and the night time breeze runs over your wet body, making you shudder ever-so-slightly. When you get back inside, the Knight is nowhere to be seen, and there’s only a fraction of the people as there were earlier. The masks had all been moved somewhere, which let you know they finished them. A mother sat on a chair by the fireplace, nursing a small baby and three young boys who couldn’t be any older than seventeen all sat around one table playing some type of card game and eating buttered bread. They were the stable boys. The three of them stared at you when you walked in, in awe of your unparalleled beauty and the fact that you were carrying a massive, heavy, wet dress.

Koska led you down a hall adjacent to the fireplace. You could see into a few sleeping quarters. The little ones were dozing off, and in one room was a couple laughing together. The small community that existed underneath the palace was something you deeply admired. You wouldn’t have had any idea any of this was here if you hadn’t pushed for today’s events, and you truly loved it. You loved how all these people found refuge and a home here.

You wished you could, too.

Koska stops at one door, taking the wet dress out of your hands and tossing it into the room before closing the wooden door shut and progressing back down the hallway. She eventually opens up a door to a small room with a single bed and large chest.

“Is this your room?” You ask, looking around and familiarizing yourself with it. A single embroidery hoop with a half-done pattern sat on the bed, on the windowsill was a melting candle whose wax had dried in a cascading pattern on the ancient stone, and at the foot of the bed was a small table with a wash basin and hairpins.

“No, It’s my sister’s. My room is closer to the Queen’s.” She nods. You had no clue Koska had a sister. She opens up the chest and pulls out a dry under-slip and simple but pretty purple dress. It wasn’t a ballgown and had long, bell sleeves in a similar fashion to Koska’s. There was some moon and star embroidery on the bodice.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” You said, starting to shiver a little now.

“Her name is Alva, she works in the kitchen.” She nods as she crosses over to the table, opening up a little box to pull out a horse-hair comb.

“Will she mind us using her things?”

“Well, you’re the Princess, so I hope not.” She shrugs and crosses over the room again like a madwoman, pulling a wool blanket from the chest. “Here, strip and dry off.” You look at her, confused. “Alright… I’ll turn around then.” Koska rolls her eyes and turns to face the wall. You peel off the wet slip, and use the wool material to wipe your body dry. It wasn’t nearly as soft and luxurious as the cotton robes you have five floors up, but it will do for now. You have sand everywhere, and you mean everywhere. You brush it off as best you can, hoping it doesn’t make too much of a mess for anyone to have to clean. You then pull on the dry clothes, and clear your throat when you’re done and decent.

Koska turns around and smiles. “Sit, I’ll brush your hair for you and then escort you back upstairs to see your parents.”

You had completely forgotten that they would be arriving tonight. You get a twinge of adrenaline. You’ve been so homesick, and it will be nice to see some familiar faces after such an emotional two weeks. You sit at the stool in front of the table, and Koska carefully combs out your knotted but drying hair.

“So… It looks like you two had fun.” She says. You smile and blush.

“Yes, we did.” You chuckle.

“That’s good, it’s been so long since he’s had fun. He deserves it.” She hums in response and you immediately question how they know one another so well again.

“How do you know each other?” You ask, knowing there's no harm in that.

Koska sighs, “We… used to work together in a sense. He’s a good man, an even better father.” She shrugs. So that’s four people you can think of who know about his son, You, Koska, Peli and the woman from Isla’s bar… although that situation seemed different, magical almost.

“You two never…” You trail off, not really wanting to hear the answer but not stopping yourself before you ask it anyways.

Koska laughs out loud this time, stopping the combing motion, “Oh stars, no. Never. I have someone else… and he has you.”

Your heart warms at that phrase. “Who is this ‘someone else’ you speak of?” You ask, enjoying the casual girl talk the two of you are sharing.

She hums again, “You’ve met her, she’s shorter than me and far more serious, she has a fire burning, but she’s special to me.” You can hear the smile in Koska’s tone.

You wonder who she’s talking about.

—

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Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

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Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

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[toherlover]

more fun here

pairing: din djarin x reader (no use of y/n)

Summary: after spending the last 3 weeks on a bounty, din decides to give you the day off, but personal space was the last thing you wanted after spending so much time alone. 

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings/tags: alcohol, drinking, language? maybe? i dont remember, lots of fluff, mutual pining, mostly from din’s pov 

A/N: hi so i have never actually posted a fic before oop. i have them i just ~dont share~ so this is something new to try for now! 

Mando jumped when the hatch fell open, shaken out of light sleep. His hand immediately fell to the blaster tucked into the holster but froze when he saw her trudging up the ramp. She was holding some sort of drink in one hand, her other arm held out to the side as if she was walking on a balance beam. The girl was muttering under her breath, obviously concentrating way too hard on not spilling whatever liquid was frothing in the glass. 

When she got to the hull of the Razor Crest she let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Hey Mando!” the girl yelled a little too loud, “I’m home!!”

The Mandalorian said nothing. She leaned against the frame and held the glass out to him, panting and starting to slide to the floor.

“I- I got one for-for you!”

He had given her the day to be off on her own, considering how safe the new system they’d landed in was known to be. Maker, she’d spent the last three weeks couped up in the crest by herself. Cabin fever had never really gotten to him, but when he came back this time, bounty flung over his shoulder, it was obvious that it had gotten to her. 

He’d felt bad telling her to stay on the ship and only run to the shop when necessary, especially when she butted back in argument. The girl probably didn’t realize it was for her own good, a protective measure. She had rolled her eyes in annoyance, but when Mando didn’t falter in his stance through the fight she reluctantly agreed. He hadn’t meant to leave her alone this long, he truly thought it’d be just over a week, and there was a pang of guilt in his chest for leaving her here like this. 

In his absence, the girl had thoroughly redecorated the ship. All sorts of… things, crafts, maker-knows-whats, were sitting atop crates, hung on the walls, clearly made using whatever she’d found rummaging through the spare parts bin and in the singular shop connected to the docking bay.

There was a string of little flickering lights hanging across the hull, pieced together from old console controls. It looked like she had sewed together some old fabrics to create some sort of rug, too. 

The girl herself was asleep on the floor, surrounded by papers covered in writing and doodles. It was a mess- whatever she’d been writing was scattered and out of order. The kid was tucked under her arm, completely limp and snoring quietly. They looked like they’d passed out on the spot, mid-activity, on the Crest’s floor. She was wearing an odd combination of clothing he’d never seen before, had she made them herself? The child had a crown woven out of old wires sitting on his head, a matching one had clearly slipped out of her hair.

Mando silently thanked the stars not only for the fact that she was asleep when he got back, but that he had a layer of beskar to hide the smile he couldn’t keep from inching across his face. When he’d hired her a few months back to watch the kid and help copilot as needed, the girl had seemed so harsh. Her knuckles were scarred and she sneered when she called him out on his shit. Which she seemed to love to do. 

In the cockpit, they’d sit in silence for hours, something the Mandalorian usually valued with others, but he wished she’d say something. Anything. Occasionally he’d feel her eyes trained on his helmet, or he’d glance back at her to see her clearly thinking deeply about something, but it was never a shared thought. It was quiet. 

He’d never admit to it, but he was terrified that she was scared of him. Maker, she’d seen him come back out of breath and dragging a body behind him. She was always standing by when he was at his worst, catching her flinch out of the corner of his eye didn’t make it any better. 

But there were moments. Moments he was sure she hadn’t noticed him watching. Moments when she was soft. There were little things. Like how she always gripped the armrest a little tighter and squeezed her eyes shut right before they landed, or how she places a gentle kiss on the kid’s head every night before tucking him in. He doubted she was aware, but she sticks her tongue out just a little bit and fiddles with her necklace when she’s concentrating. Sometimes she leaves little reminders around the ship for them both; they’re always signed with a smiley face at the end. 

There were a few times he’d caught her humming to herself and dancing around on her toes. She was graceful- he wasn’t expecting that. For a fighter pilot with such a callous attitude, she was so delicate. So he stayed back, knowing she’d stop the moment she knew he was there. 

Or how she left a third woven crown hanging from his seat in the cockpit. No, she didn’t wear a helmet, but it was pretty clear that she hid behind her own layer of beskar, too.

But they had never shared a moment like this: the girl slumped in the door frame, holding a drink out to him with a straw stuck in it. The child toddled over to her.

“Hey little dude!” she put the drink on the floor and held her arms out to him. “Look, sorry I’m back just a little smidgen of a bit late,” she said, words slurring, bopping him lightly on the nose. “I sorta kinda,” the girl’s voice didn’t get any quieter as she tried to whisper, “forgot where we were parked.” She shook her head and held a finger to her lips, “Don’t tell Mando.”

The Mandalorian let out a sigh loud enough to be heard through the vocoder and her head whipped around to face him. “I’m-” she started to get up, “I’m sorry I’m a little bit,” she held on to the wall as she stumbled forward, “a little bit late.” With a huff she gave up and sat back down on the floor, but continued to scootch herself closer to him, only stopping a foot or so before his feet. 

Still, he was silent, and the color seemed to drain from her face. Under the cold stare of his visor, she tucked her head back like a child expecting to be scolded. After a few moments, she glanced nervously around the room, looking anywhere besides where she knew his eyes would be. She couldn’t tell the man in front of her was doing everything in his power to stifle a laugh as she struggled to sit up straight. 

“Hey, so you’re actually a reeaallly quiet person,” she said softly, fidgeting a bit, “and I don’t know if you know or realize it or not, or if it’s on purpose, b- but when you go all quiet like this I really don’t know- I mean I’m terrible at reading the room anyways- but I can’t tell if you’re mad and I just-”

He cut her off. “I’m not mad.” Her face lit up slightly. Honestly, he wished he was angry. He should have been angry. His ship was a mess. But when she sat in front of him like this, he found it hard to be even the slightest bit irritated. He’d asked her to be back before nightfall, and for once she didn’t ask why or argue back. 

“Oh.” She smiled softly then leaned all the way back so that her head skimmed the floor. She reached behind her, grabbing the blue drink and sliding it forward as she sat back up. “It was fun. Probably not your scene, I don’t really know, but the music was good, you would have liked that. You should have come.”

With a sigh, the Mandalorian rose to his feet and held a hand out to her, offering to help her up. She smiled again and let him pull her to her feet, immediately placing a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. His hand landed on her waist to keep her upright. “I don’t really do parties.”

She looked up at him. Somehow, even in her intoxicated state, she always managed to look him directly in the eye. “Yeah, I know. Sorta figured. To be really honest with you though, neither do I, I just wanted to do something a little bit different, yah know?” 

“I know.”

They stood there in silence for a minute, then she rested her head against his chest. He froze. She’d never shown an ounce of affection, let alone stand together like this. He knew she was drunk. He guessed the girl wouldn’t remember this in the morning. But still, he held her tightly and savored the moment. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but she leaned against him anyway. 

“But the credits I’d give to see you dance in this tin-man suit,” she knocked on his chest and giggled. 

“I don’t really dance.”

“Liar. You can so dance. No way you’re that quiet and sneaky and can’t.” Her nose scrunched up as she scoffed at him, poking at his chest plate. “Me, however, whew, you really don’t know what you missed, shiny. You’re holding the worst dancer on this side of the galaxy.”

His head cocked to the side and he paused, watching her poke fun at herself, thinking of all the times he’d caught her tiptoeing around with the child. All the times she would sing quietly and swing her hips while out and about. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “No I’ve seen you dance, you dance all the time.”

Her lips parted as a confused look fell across her face. He couldn’t fully read her expression, but it was clear a million thoughts were flooding her brain. He was instantly worried that he’d offended her. Not only had he invaded her privacy- he admitted it to her face. He worried she’d step away and the moment would end, that she’d go to bed and leave in the morning, taking her pay and her bag. But with one eyebrow raised and a soft smile playing across her face, she wrapped both arms around his neck. 

“So I guess you owe me one then, huh? I brought you back a drink and everything.”

-----

You picked up on his almost inaudible laugh even through the modulator. Sure, you’d had a few drinks. You had been a little past the point of tipsy as you neared the Crest, but you were coming to your senses now. Were you over-exaggerating your state of mind? Most indefinitely. You couldn’t help it, though. The last 3 weeks had been an absolute shit-show. 

You were fine until the end of the first week, then you started to get worried. The thought of him kept you up at night, so you told yourself that there was no way you could have possibly missed him. You only cared because this was your wellbeing now. I mean, before you got this position you spent every minute alone, too. This wasn’t any different. 

Except that it was. And you hated that it was. This was just supposed to be another job. Somehow this man in a metal suit had weaseled his way into a soft spot in your heart.

He’d been so patient. Sure, you knew how to fly a ship, and you’re not clueless when it comes to mechanics, but this ship was unlike anything you’d seen before. So he taught you. 

When he came back bloodied and bruised, he’d explain exactly what he needed you to do. In one instance he had gently guided your hand, slowly realizing he didn’t have to patch himself up anymore. Maybe he liked having you there. It was impossible to tell; maker, the few times you’d tried small talk it seemed to push him away even further. 

But you didn’t want him further away. 

You wanted him right here.

Figured that one out week two. 

Week three the kid decided you didn’t need sleep. He cried and whined until you hung up that makeshift strand of lights. Then he sat and stared up at them like they were the most beautiful thing in the galaxy. So you made more things to pass the time. And more. And more. 

You don’t even remember finally falling asleep, so waking up in the cot was a surprise. You slipped out of bed to figure out what was going on but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard him laugh.

The hatch to the cockpit was open, and from the low angle, you could just barely see the child sitting on the Mandalorian’s lap. 

“It looks cute on you, kid.” The baby giggled and reached out for his arms. The wire crown was sitting on his head again. “How does mine look?” 

The crown you barely remembered making for him during the third-week fever dream was clearly resting on his head, atop the helmet and all. The baby cooed.

When you landed he practically announced that the day was yours and you were free to go off and enjoy yourself. You thought about asking him to tag along but worried it’d be overstepping. Maker, the man had to have been just as, or even more, exhausted as you. Your pity didn’t run too deep, though. You knew it was selfish, but you hoped that maybe he’d want to be with you.

You tried your hardest to not seem disappointed when you turned to see him still in the hull as you strode down the gangway. You walked to clear your mind before popping into a cantina, which ended up being the center of life, and finding peace with the bottle. 

The buzz had almost completely worn off by now, and you were back. And he was back. And he was holding you like he couldn’t risk letting you go. 

-----

He looked down at her and let out a sigh. “Next time, sweet girl. We need to get you to bed before you’re out on the floor.”

Her face flushed pink at the sound of his words. Stars, at least he hoped that was why. He could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes asking, ‘sweet girl? When did you get so soft on me?’ 

She pushed up on her toes, flattening her body completely against his. Her arms were still around his neck, and he carefully brought his hands together behind her waist. Had he not been wearing the kriffing helmet he would have been able to feel her breath against his neck as she nestled herself impossibly closer. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered.

He gave a curt nod, his body stiff and tense under her.

“I wanted to leave the second after it started,” Her voice dropped even lower and her eyes fluttered shut, “... figured it’d be more fun here with you.” 

His heart stilled as he realized her invisible beskar helmet had been lifted. He hoped it fell from her shoulders and rolled down the ramp, was lost in the night, maybe even stolen by scavengers, never to be seen between the two of them again. 

She could feel his grip on her back tighten as his head relaxed onto her shoulder.    

“Tomorrow night we’ll stay in,” his voice was just loud enough to pass through the modulator.  

A smile crept across her face, “I’ll hold you to it, Mando.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

“I know.”

[its-toasted]

July 12, 2013

I.

I snap to sitting straight. Ooow.

I'm up. Oh, I'm in bed. Good bye.

No. I need to write down the dream.

Can't remember. It's hot. I'm shleep. I'm sweating. Some haunted version of grandma's house, again, I hate it.

It still felt like bad wallpaper and tomato eggs and saturday cartoons until June. Now I never want to think about it. I'm not even scared of witches, I don't think, but it's different in the dream. I'm always alone. It's like I'm being hunted.

Chased by some raggedy hag who looks like she could be Hansel and Gretel OG. She's never quite the same, but the skin is gray and the eyes are black. There's just nothing there, fuck that.

She's been getting closer lately. The garden or windows were bad enough. One time, I open the door and she's crouched on top of the fridge. One time, she has no legs and just lunges. One time, she crawls fast over creaking wood and it sounds like more than four limbs. One time, I hide behind the master bedroom door, holding my breath, and she waddles heavy through the hall with a lamp, and the hurried rhythm makes me shiver.

There it is. I write it down. That's how you do that.

Not that the scrawling is very legible anyways. I started recording dreams to remember the good ones, but I figure it doesn't make sense to stop just because they suck. There's something nice about writing as soon as you wake up, though.

Phone at 8%. Almost 6:30 AM. Why do I do this to myself? Sometimes it's like I'm averse to putting myself in a position to live normally.

I put down the bane of my existence, and for a minute just breathe. Just a dude in bed. It's mid-summertime. Things are good. I got a car last month, a maroon Subaru sedan. I try to focus on that. This witch has been ruining my mornings. I've never been prey.

My door nudges open and I legit jump.

Tsuni's head peeks through. Motherfuckin' dog. She's all smiles.

Tsuni is a middle-aged mutt now. She's a Yorkie-Schnoodle, two-toned deep brown and cream like a wolf, but with big droopy ears. A barker, of course. She's our lil bougie genius. You can often find her in some tasteful sweater, we treat her well.

Her last owners didn't, and it showed for a long time. I remember the first day mom was waiting at the bus stop with a puppy in her arms. Home changed after that.

II.

The first night Tsuni came home, she messed up the floors bad. I guess more like the first couple years.

Anytime a grown man towered over her, she shrunk into fear and started to leak. One night in December, her eyes went buck wild instead, and she bit pa's hand so hard that umma had to sew him stitches. I haven't seen blood in the foyer otherwise.

It took us a while to grasp her defensive reactions. If you want her to be comfortable, approach honest. Always come correct.

So don't shout. Or hide shit in your hands. And your laugh might startle her. She doesn't like to be touched while resting. She hates a camera in her face. Don't give her anything you want back. Just don't be on any bullshit, she'll suss you out quick.

Tsuni vaults onto my bed, all grace. I sit up and snap once. I thought she wanted a rub down, but she puts her paws on my chest and stretches low like she does. Then her snout's grody in my face, tail brushing my shin.

I know she wants out. Fine, fine. Git offa me.

We got her at one year old, and she knew no tricks. By year two, she knew everything in the book. The smoothest criminal finessing us for treats. Always so clever, we could never say no.

How to explain her smarts...

Once, after bringing her back inside, I wash her feet, take off her sweater, and go upstairs to clean up. Few minutes later, I'm at the sink and she comes to my feet with a different sweater and sits proper patient. She must've pulled it from the cubby. I mean, c'mon. I am puddle.

I guess a lot of pet owners can understand, but she is truly family. If we can't find her for five minutes, then hell is absolutely upon us. I wrote a poem about this once.

We speak the same language. She's basically a bumbling toddler, but too fast. And sharp, I think she can read a room as good as anyone.

Her trauma didn't fade for mad years, because things take time. But these days you couldn't tell. She falls asleep on my lap and lets Mac throw hands. She adores umma most, no doubt. And pops pretends like she's such a burden, but might treasure her company more than all of us. When I see him play with her, I remember how good he was with us when little.

She moves like a yung queen 90% of the time. I swear, she mirrors umma's mannerisms. I only see echoes of her in pain when we raise our voices, or it's storming something fierce outside.

Thunder really gets her down. I used to think she got shook, but now I know she just gets sad. Like a person might when it rains. I'm glad to have a thunderbuddy when it's brisk.

I know the father of the family friend we got her from. There's no way it's the mother. I see him across the pews in church. I haven't smiled at him in years. Sometimes I bet I'm glaring because I want to destroy him. Mac gets me. Our gut says his kids wouldn't mind.

III.

I'm not ready to get out of bed. I didn't see Jay had texted me late last night until now.

"Yo mom gone batshit. Lemme slide"

Sent at 2:36 AM. Fuck. Jay's a clown, I know she's sleeping somewhere in her car right now. It's humid as hell. I wish she'd just use our basement key, she doesn't have to ask but insists she's imposing.

Jay (not to be confused with J) is my neighbor. Well, four doors down. We didn't really get to know each other until we started high-school, but we've been close ever since mid-freshman year.

Jay's pretty enigma. South-type gorgeous. Sunkissed, maybe 5'10. Super athletic, got a strong second gear. I think I'm tryna keep up if we running a 400.

Kind as a baseline, but really hard on herself, like you wouldn't believe. Her therapist put her on benzos, and she went under for a minute. But she was in rehab half of sophomore year, and we wrote each other letters every week. Junior year was mostly good. I'm hella proud of her.

I'm not sure I've had many anchors before her. I always have my brother Mac. I have my boys, and even if we don't talk about everything, we know what we mean to each other. Everything else that seems good cracks under enough pressure. It's true that most people can't be trusted, but I try not to look at them that way.

But I never worry about me and Jay. Doubt I'll ever need to.

And don't get it twisted -- she has an objectively fantastic mother. And she she gets it. Any kid would be so lucky, I do envy her. Like, if I was in jail, I'd call Mama Smurf before umma. Not that I'll ever get caught.

But family is family and it's different, I can get that. I text Smurf that Jay's here so she stops worrying, only because I know where to find her. I think.

I don't know where dog went. Oi! Where you at. One dipping whistle and she jingles to my feet. I grab my earbuds and keys and her leash, and we slip out the open garage.

IV.

I can't even remember what life was like before dog. What did I do all day? Read books, play gamecube, play ball. I guess a lot of novels, and more cello and piano.

I guess this summer is when I really stopped practicing every day. I haven't thought about it much, it just happened, and umma for once has said nothing.

I'm taking Tsuni to the farm park. It's the closest non-residential place to home. We used to run the wood trails, but this summer we've only been cruising the half-mile loop. We usually lap twice, she's getting old-ish.

Sometimes I don't think I treat her well enough. Like when I know she's jonesing for a massage off the lates because she nuzzles my calf, but I'm too busy writing or texting or watching or playing. So I try to make it up to her like this. She doesn't get my full attention, but I think anywhere outside home is pretty swell to her.

Country radio on low, as it goes. Her head is a hazard out the window. She'll only come in if the car stops or I call her name.

It's a brisk 6-minute drive to the farm park. They host bluegrass festivals here a few times a year, and corn maze and pumpkin picking in the fall. This place is such a labyrinthical gem, and very few come here on a normal day. I didn't know places like this existed still. Everything good always seems so, taken.

After pulling into the park's long winding road, we ride toward Ellie's faded truck and a bump. I don't know much aside from her name, but she looks really sweet. It's mostly the same faces around here. She smiles and waves, and Tsuni looks down Jojo and Bonnie (or Donna?) in the backseat.

It's all big sky and foliage until we pass the three red barns. We pull up to the first big lot. I'm scanning for a gold RAV4. I see Vic with his pitbull, about to enter Sycamore.

At first I think Jay's not here, but then I catch her tucked at the far corner of the clubhouse, under the shadiest tree. I can see she's still asleep, with the windows quarter-rolled and a bright orange Clemson cap over her face. 60% odds there's a lit citronella candle in there, because I saw her do that once.

I pull up next to her hella quiet. There is a candle, but near the right window. I reconsider. I put the car in park. Big Green Tractor by Jason Aldean is crooning quiet like a lullaby, absolute classic. One of her faves.

I crank it all the way up in one twist.

My eardrums erupt. Jay's body shoots awake, I bet worse than mine did this morning. So sudden her boob hits the horn. Tsuni barks like an alarm, and I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.

The candle is fine. She blows it out.

Her voice is smooth and light, like a blackbird. "Fuck you, dude."

V.

After I recover, Jay steps out, stretches, and yawns wide as wheat field. She falls into my passenger seat. Tsuni starts to smother her cheeks with checkup vibes, but doesn’t like citronella. Jay wants to spark, but I say after I walk and drop off dog. Then we can grab brunch.

"Can't complain about a good-ass plan."

"So what happened with Smurf?" Her eyes stay locked on fur.

"You know. She doesn't want me to have anything good in my life."

AKA she still can't work at the pool bar with us, I assume. Her parents are members of the country club, so I guess that might be weird. I wonder if Smurf knows we drink on the job.

Some new chick finally quit after Tony went ape-shit on her for mixing terrible cocktails. He overdid it, which is in-character. I think savagery is a legitimate career path in most industries. Honestly, I'm not sure what the fuck he expected from a 16-year-old homeschooler.

I really thought this was an easy dub for Jay, but her mom must've said no. "Whaaat? Why. What's the move now?"

"You could've just asked one of those. Ionno, don't wanna go home. Her face is gonna piss me off. Let's smook. Tsuni wants some too!" Jay tries on soft puppy eyes.

I look at dog. Dog looks at me.

"No she don't. Come walk with us."

She scowls but grins. "Y'all are fuckin' weirdos. Nah I wanna sleep more, I got here at like 3. Come find me in your basement later."

Word. I kiss her on the cheek and kinda taste dog before she steps back onto the concrete. I think people think it's weird, but it's just been a thing of ours since she came home last year. It's nice having things of ours.

We never talked about it, it just felt right the first time, and still does. Don't entire European countries do this anyways? I could dig it.

There are some stables with historic exhibits and equipment, and a large fenced "shade garden" where I like to light up occasionally when no one's in sight. I've learned so many flower names there, whoever wrote them all is my hero.

There are three marked trails, but seven total if you know where to look. We're hitting the Belgian farm loop again, it's most convenient anyways. We repark next to nobody and hike up the old oak stairs.

I look back and Jay's SUV is slinking out of the shade. I raise three fingers high, I guess as a gun. She wipes her windshield back.

VI.

Why didn't I charge my phone? What's wrong with me? I was in my car for like 20 minutes. I wanna use my earbuds, but my phone down to 4%.

The walk up to the trail crossroads feels strangely like the trek from gym to sanctuary at Seacroft retreats, both in terms of distance and elevation scaling. I cherish Seacroft, it's just a big vacation with some of my faves and hyungs and nunas. I think those cabin sleepovers made me love church. I might've had a couple firsts there.

I like worship music too. Judge me less. Still love gospel from a 5-piece band. Their fifth is actually a violist, that does not say violinist, and my girl Liza (lie not lee) can play. She stays perfect in the background. The music means more to me than praise these days. I think worship feels pretty empty now, but it doesn't really bother me anymore.

We did kiss right once. Jay, not Liza, she's too pure. Keeping her off my mind can be hard. It was just a few stretched seconds outside a house party. I don't remember what we were talking about before it.

Bliss until the door swung open and we left trance and cooled into laughs. Now every time we get that close we just smile.

She blushes damn good. Sometimes I kind of ache for her.

I have to stop thinking about her this way. I'm talking to someone else! Why does this happen. Tsuni zigzags in front, rarely dipping into the tall grass on the edges. I'm on autopilot. I love getting into grooves like this, no matter what for. That's why I like weed.

I think I only go to church for the people, and for Mac and umma. I think she goes for the people too. Even Jay has a blast when she joins for outings. If you can find a place that looks past antiquated bullshit and focuses on accepting people, it's not bad. Even if it's run like a dirty business.

I wonder if I should feel bad for not feeling any divine experience there. Or for how much time I spend chasing what parents and pastors and pricks label as sin. But exploring only feels sinister when an adult says so. Otherwise, why would weed be wrong? How is it worse than liquor? Or coffee? Or cigs? Or soda? I don't think it is, I think it's always what you make of it.

I'm still thinking about Jay's mouth. I don't think we should, and she'd probably regret if we did. I guess that makes sense. We need each other too much like this, so we'll call it a one-time thing.

This is how I feel on a good day. It's deep July, and right now I could be a canvas. All I see are lush greens and golden rows and open blues. I wish I brought my notebook. Tsuni stretches the leash 'til there's no slack.

There's one scarecrow, standing high in the heart of the wheat field. He has a ragged cape and a pointed black hat. I could never believe that shit works. How could a bird in flight fall for something like that.

[writtenvisionary]

Not Her Idea

Read on Ao3

WC: 2.9k

Summary: She most definitely did not adopt a small black cat and name him Mini Noir. Nope. But she can't help but swoon over what an adorable sight the real superhero with his mini namesake is. Based on this Tumblr post by @akuma-eater

It wasn’t her idea. It most definitely was NOT her idea to adopt a black kitten and name it after Chat Noir. Nope. If you ask, her parents were the ones who insisted. Because it was not her who suggested it.

She would definitely regret it later if she did. But she didn’t.

Although as Marinette pets the small, soft creature, a smile forms on her face. He rubs up against her, craving attention. Of course she gives it to him; who is she to deny?

She was still debating if she should tell her partner or not. His ego is already so huge, and there are so many of his fans that have named a pet after him already. If he knew that his own partner named her cat after him?

She would never hear the end of it.

There was also the fact that Alya would freak about the name and start demanding answers, because what teenage girl in Paris wasn’t attracted to the, admittedly hot, superhero? Again, she would never hear the end of it.

But when the words slipped out of her mouth in class, her friends immediately wanted to see the new kitten. Which makes sense. She really should have expected it. So she said that they can all come over after school and meet the little guy.

Now she’s frantically running around her room, tidying up before they make their way into her space, while Mini Noir innocently sits on her chaise, staring at her with wide green eyes.

All posters of Adrien ripped down: check. Scattered trash in garbage bin: check. Litter box cleaned and kitten has food and water: check. Fabric put away: check.

“Tikki, hide,” she whispers to her kwami, who promptly phases into her purse on her desk.

She takes a deep breath.

“Alright, you can come up!” She calls.

Footsteps are then heard making their way up the steps, and suddenly she’s not alone in her room anymore.

Attention is immediately turned to the kitten on her chaise. She watches in awe as Alya coos over her, and Nino rests a hand on his girlfriend’s shoulders, keeping her grounded. He reaches over to pet Mini Noir with his other hand, who leans into his touch and starts to purr.

Marinette glances over at Adrien. Her knees buckle at the look of pure happiness in his eyes, and she can feel a her cheeks heating up. Their eyes meet and she smiles.

“Y-you w-wanna pet the smitten, I MEAN kitten?”

He sends her a grin and nods. 

She somehow finds the strength to look back at her other friends.

“Hey guys, can A-Adrien see him?”

Yeah, she hates the stutter just as much as Alya does.

They agree and happily back up so that the blonde model can pet the little creature. Adrien slowly takes a few steps forward and puts out his hand for the kitten to smell. After deciding that Adrien is apparently a safe human, he rubs against his hand.

“Aw,” he mumbles. “He’s so sweet.”

Her heart melts.

“Hey, Mari. What’s his name? You didn’t tell us at lunch.”

She barely hears the question. Her eyes are trained on her crush as he carefully picks up the kitten and sits down, letting Mini Noir stand up on his lap. He gently pets him, coaxing him to lay down.

“Marinette,” Alya says, catching her attention.

“Oh,” she looks to her, then gulps.

Should I tell her? She’s not gonna let me live this down.

…. Oh, whatever. He needs people to refer to him as something.

“Mini Noir, or just Minou.”

Marinette looks back to Adrien, not wanting to see her bff’s reaction, and bites her lip. 

His grin had softened, but his eyes are watering. He continues to pet her kitten, who had finally laid down, as he blinks to stop the tears from falling.

“Are you okay, Adrien?”

He looks up at her, and suddenly he can’t stop the salty liquid from rolling down his cheeks. A smile crosses his features.

“I’m perfectly okay. Just… wish I had a cat.”

Not that she has a say, because she sucks at lying herself, but she can tell that he’s not telling the truth. Something seems… off.

“I get it. I’ve wanted a pet for so long. I can’t imagine what it’s like being alone in that huge house with no one, not even a pet,” she says, and woah she just talked to him without stuttering.

Adrien nods, looking back down at his secret namesake, and scratching behind his ears. Even though it may compromise his identity, he has to come visit tonight as Chat Noir. He has a right to meet a cat named after him, right? He doesn’t want to leave him at all.

But he has no choice. His father needs him home by four o’clock to get ready for his interview at six. Not that he’s excited for it, but he doesn’t want to disappoint the man any more than he already has. He’s sick of being a failure.

With that depressing thought in mind, he lets out a sigh.

“I gotta get going, guys. Let me know if you ever wanna hang out again and I’ll see what I can do.”

The three of his friends nod, Marinette looking oddly worried, and Adrien takes Mini Noir in his hands. He stands, handing the kitten to his favorite everyday Ladybug, but not before leaving a kiss atop the cat’s little head.

After he leaves, the atmosphere turned awkward. 

Nino grunts.

“His dad is getting on my last nerve,” he grumbles. “You guys don’t even know half the shit he goes through. I wanna get him out of there, but I don’t know how.”

Marinette’s eyebrows furrow.

“What’s going on?”

“Yeah, Nino, you haven’t even told me anything. And I’m dating you. So?” Alya asks, hands on her hips.

The DJ sighs, taking his cap off and running a hand over his short hair.

“Gabe isolates him from his friends, doesn’t eat with him at dinner, and Adrien has to set an appointment to even see him. That’s neglect. Gabriel is not a good father, and something tells me there’s something he does behind closed doors that Adrien can’t tell me about.”

Alya and Marinette stare at him, now concerned.

“Well, what can we do?” Marinette asks.

Nino shakes his head.

“Nothing. I’ve tried to talk to Gabriel, and obviously I was banned from the mansion. Adrien doesn’t think there’s anything wrong, Nathalie keeps saying that it’s not her business, and the Gorilla doesn’t even talk.”

“True, and even if we’re able to convince Adrien that his father is a dickhead, we won’t be able to do anything because he’s rich and famous and will probably be able to overrule any charges we press,” Alya explains with an eye roll.

The entire subject makes Marinette’s heart pound, and she honestly just wants the focus to go back on her kitten.

So, she swallows and forces a smile.

“We’ll figure it out. You guys wanna play with him for a bit while I help my parents down in the bakery?”

Both friends agree with an excited nod, so she hands off Mini Noir to Alya and rushes down the stairs. The tension in that room was too much for her to handle. She needed to get away.

—

Marinette sits at her desk, hand-sewing her latest design with soft music sounding from her speaker. Her face twists in concentration as she tilts her head, readjusting the position of her hands to work at a better angle.

A knock at her top bedroom hatch startles her.

Gently setting down the piece she was working on, she stands and takes a few steps to the other side of her room. Then she glances up at the window on the hatch above her loft bed, and smiles at the sight.

She really should have guessed.

He comes by every other night. Originally, it was for some pastries for his kwami, but it soon became time for him to unwind after a busy day. She has come to quite enjoy his presence.

It’s why she named her kitty after him; he was so important to her, and so was Chat Noir.

“Coming,” she calls to him as she steps up the ladder.

When she reaches the hatch, her eyes lock with the black cat hero before pushing it open.

He jumps right through the opening, landing right on top of her bed. She shakes her head as she closes it, eyeing him through her peripheral. His forearm lay over his eyes, head on the pillow, breathing heavily.

“You good, kitty?”

He nods, pulling his arm away to look at her.

“My dad wanted me home for an interview earlier and then said he didn’t want me to go,” he frowns. “I had to leave my friends. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t even need to!”

“Aw,” she mumbles, lowering herself at the end of her bed.

“Well, I think I have something that will cheer you up!”

One of his eyebrows perks up, as well as the corner of his lips. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She holds up a finger, trying to stifle an excited smile, then makes her way down from the loft.

A soft mew is heard from below, catching Chat Noir’s attention. So he looks over her railing, and the pure glee he feels when a black kitten is spotted cannot be tamed. His grin hurts, eyes following Marinette’s movements as she struggles to catch him (or her, he didn’t know) from running around the room. When she finally secures the small creature in her hands, she huffs a sigh of relief. Chat bites his lip, watching in awe.

She’s so adorable. 

Oh, and the cat’s adorable too.

Marinette struggles as she walks up her ladder, out of breath, but ultimately looks up at Chat Noir with a winded smile.

“Meet,” she swallows, “Mini Noir, or Minou.”

“Aw, oh my gosh. You named him after me? Mari, really?”

She could tell that his question was full of innocence, despite how teasing the word’s connotations are.

“Of course,” she feels her cheeks heat up. “You mean a lot to me. I would name a million things after you, Chaton.”

Chat Noir tried to stop it, but tears started forming all over again. Just… knowing that he actually means something to someone… it’s overwhelming. Not to mention that he loves cats. This is like a double whammy.

He’s so happy. He wishes he knew how to thank her. For now, a simple smile and hug would have to do.

She lets herself be engulfed in his arms, replying to his “Thank you” with an “Always.” He makes sure to leave room for their furry friend, who had resolved to curling up in Marinette’s lap.

When they separate, Chat Noir immediately looks down at the kitten, petting him with a smile.

Mini Noir stares at his honorary father with wide, green eyes and a little heart-shaped nose that nearly makes Chat melt. He scratches behind the kitten’s ears, enjoying the purrs that erupt from him. He wishes he could restrain himself from purring, but that seemed frivolous because he doesn’t even know when he starts.

Marinette giggles beside him and he sighs, not taking his eyes off Mini Noir.

“Was I purring again?”

“Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p.’

Then fingers are running through his hair and everything around him comes to a stop. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into her touch. His purr returns, unwillingly, as he accepts the pets from Marinette. An angry meow from her lap makes his hand start moving again, giving Mini Noir the same treatment that his favorite fashion designer was giving him.

He was in heaven; experiencing pure ecstasy, feeling a kind of love that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. And the kitten… he just feels so appreciated.

Understandably, he’s disappointed when she pulls away. He glares at her, frowning hard, but she only boop’s his nose and hands the kitten over to him.

“Sorry, Chat. Gotta get those treats from the bakery, and set up the video game. Have fun!”

He shakes his head, leaning back on the bed and letting the kitten crawl on top of him. His little paws knead into his leather suit, leaving his claws to dig into the leather, so he ends up having to tenderly pull his paws off of him. He rubs the pads, gently massaging them. Mini Noir lets him, surprisingly. In fact, he plops down onto his back and stretches, allowing his paws to web out.

Chat Noir giggles, “Hey, princess? Are you sure this one’s for me?”

She scoffs.

“No, Chaton. This is my kitty. You just get the pleasure of seeing him a lot.”

He feigns hurt, dramatically gasping.

“You mean that I’m not your kitty?”

Marinette groans, “You know what I meant. Besides, aren’t you Ladybug’s kitty?”

Chat shrugs, looking back at the cute ball of fluff on his stomach. He smiles.

“I don’t think so. She calls me ‘kitty’ but it’s just a nickname. We’re not together or anything.” His voice drops into something smaller as he takes ahold of his mini’s paws again. “I wish we were, but she doesn’t like me like that. I’m sure I annoy her.”

The designer wanted nothing more than for him to believe that he was not annoying but he had such a low self-esteem that it was hard to really convince him of anything. But she sighs and does her best anyway.

“Chat Noir, you are anything but annoying. If she doesn’t see how amazing you are, she’s missing out.” Her tone turns predatory. “And if she ever says you are annoying, or stupid, or anything you’ve said about yourself, I will NOT hesitate to send her a giant punch to the gut.”

Her empty threat causes a smile to break through his chagrined frown, and a chuckle to escape his larynx (yes he pays attention in science class).

“You always say the right thing, Princess. Thank you,” he admits.

Marinette was going to reply, but her mother called her name from downstairs. She sends her two kitties a nervous smile.

“Be right back.”

Then she exits the room, abandoning the symbols of bad luck on her bed. She just hopes they will behave until she gets back with a tray of yummy, cheesy pastries.

To her surprise, they do. It’s Chat, actually, who ends up falling asleep, while mini Chat Noir prances around her room. He was de-transformed, but luckily he had already turned away from the hatch, hiding his true identity from her. This made her sigh in relief.

A snore sounds through the room, and she shakes her head.

Poor kitty doesn’t get enough sleep.

She makes a point to grab a throw blanket from her chaise on her way up to him, then drapes it over him. Then she heads back down the ladder to catch the little kitten, before bringing him back up to the real superhero. Mini Noir immediately settles in next to him, curling into a little ball flush against his side. Marinette can’t help but mumble a tiny ‘awe’ at the sight.

“Psst, Chat. Can you hear me?”

Nothing. He’s out cold.

Plagg flies in front of her with crossed arms, grunting.

“What is the meaning of this, Pigtails?”

Marinette shrugs, “Meaning of what?”

Plagg rolls his eyes.

“Why is there another thing here? I thought I was the main event!”

“His name is Mr. Mini Noir, or Minou. You can call him Chat Noir Jr, for all I care, just whatever you want to call him, Plagg, but nothing disrespectful,” she looks at him with indignation. “It’s a small kitten. Please be gentle.”

Plagg scoffs, floating over to the cat. She wants to turn and see his interaction with the other cat, but then she’d risk seeing Chat’s civilian identity and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“This is family, Pigtails. We’re the same breed—“

“No you’re—“

“—And I will always love my kittens. I just don’t always outwardly show it. My insults are laced with love, little lady.”

She tilts her head slightly in admission.

He floats back in front of her, that scowl returning on his magical features once more.

“Okay, now where is my cheese.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand. She smiles and shakes her head.

“It’s on my desk. Be quick before Chat wakes up.”

She watches Plagg glance over her shoulder at the sleeping boy, before he nods and promptly takes flight. Then she feasts her eyes on the way he inhales a multitude of cheese triangles that have been sat on the desk in front of him.

Only one minute passes before he’s back at her side. His tiny arms are crossed over his chest.

“Thanks, Pigtails. Where’s Tikki?”

Marinette smirks, “If she didn’t come out, that means she doesn’t want to see you.”

He rolls his eyes, floating back to his chosen.

“Rude,” she can hear him mutter angrily.

Plagg zips back into the ring, and a flash of green light encases her room before fading away. She is left with two sleeping black cats and a heavy load of homework.

—

It most definitely was her idea to adopt her mini chat noir.

That’s certainly why she’s sneakily snapping a few photos of the pair, snickering as she does so.

What’s one kitten without another? Just lonely.

Something tells her that Chat is already lonely enough outside of the mask. She didn’t want him to feel that way anymore. Who is she to deny him of a friend?

She doesn’t regret it. In fact, she is very happy with this turn of events.

Things are now paws-itively purr-fect.

[i-am-ironic]

So I'm dead then. Interesting.

Sorry this took so long to get out a lot of stuff has been happening and I've been super busy. Anyway i saw this idea a LONG time ago and it just seemed perfect for daminette.

**************************

As Damian opened his eyes he looked around. This room was not familiar. He was not at the manner then, so where was he? The room was far too pink for his tastes, and was that a dress in the corner? No this definitely wasn't the manner.

"Marinette!! Get up you are going to be late for the first day of school!!"

Damian jumped, wiping his head around. Next to him was a girl who was just starting to wake up. She had black hair that fell just around her shoulders. She sat up in bed and stretched. wait a minute, WHY WAS HE IN THE SAME BED AS HER???!!!! This was bad this was very bad!!! He was only 13!!! what happened!!

Damian tried to push himself away from her only to fall through the rail on the side of her bed. The girl, Marinette, didn't seem to notice him she simply climbed down the ladder and, grabbing some clothes, headed to the bathroom. He could hear the shower turn on so he decided to look around.

She had a sewing machine on a desk with a sckech book open next to it. The sckech book held elegant dresses and tuxedos with embroidery so perfectly placed you would have to wonder if it was part of the fabric.

There were pictures on the wall of the girl's friends, one boy seemed to take up most of the space, perhaps her boyfriend? Damian also found a skylight that appeared to open onto a balcony.

When Marinette reappeared she was wearing a nice outfit, still drying her hair off from the shower.

Damian decided now was as good a time as any to ask her what the heck he was doing here, "Excuse me miss," no response, "I was wondering where I am and who you are." Still nothing, "im trying to talk to you!" Damien said reaching out his hand to grab her by the shoulder. His hand passed right through her. He stared at the girl who was still packing her backpack, and then at his hand which was becoming more solid every second he wasn't touching her.

He grabbed his own hand and could feel the scars on it from the league. But when he tried to touch Marinette again his hand passed through her, this time she shivered a bit. Odd he could touch himself but not her, could he touch other things? He reached out to the wall, his hand rested on it until he pushed more and he began to slip through the wall. Very interesting.

As Marinette walked down the stairs to the voice that had called her before Damian followed testing things as her went. Marinette sat down to eat breakfast with who he asumed to be her parents before rushing off to her first day of school.

As Damian followed her throughout the day he discovered several things: he didn't have legs anymore. Where his legs had once been was now replaced with a flowy tail (like the genie in Alddin). He also couldn't be seen or heard by anyone, he had tried to speak but nothing happened. And to top it all off he was in France!! He probably should have figured that out by all the people speaking French but it hit him when marinette had gone to the Eiffel tower after school. Well not exactly marinette, ladybug had gone to the Eiffel tower when fighting a monster called stone heart.

After Stone Heart was defeated marinette went back home and detransformed, Damian hadn't seen her receive the earrings so seeing a giant floating ladybug was strange, but to be fair he was flying right now too.

"Oh marinette that was great! I knew you would make the perfect Ladybug!" Said the.... thing.

"Thank you Tikki!" Oh so that was the things name.

"It was your first day and......" Tikki paused, "oh marinette im so sorry, I didn't know."

"Whats wrong Tikki? What didn't you know?"

"your soulmate...... he's here." As if that explains everything! How was that supposed to help him.

"What do you mean my soulmate is here?" Marinette asked.

"If your soulmate dies before you meet them then they come to watch over you, most humans have soulmates they just don't know about it until its too late...... I can sense yours. I'm so sorry marinette."

so he was dead, that made a lot of sense actually. The last thing he remembered was fighting his clone and then darkness. He should be angry he knew that, but he really didn't care. He liked this girl, he felt safer with her in one day then he did with his father after a whole month. Still he wanted to try to tell his family he was alright..... ok maybe he wasn't alright but he was happy.

Marinette's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "What happened to him?"

Tikki closed her eyes trying to concentrate, "im not sure, he died bravely, in battle. Other then that i don't know."

Well she was correct, he did die in battle with his clone. He wondered what had happened in that battle after his death. Had his family succeeded in defeating his mother, or were they all dead too now? He had no answer but what he did know was that he should try to find them.

That night he began flying away in the direction he believed America was, he reached the sea faster then he had expected. One advantage about being dead was that he didn't get tired, he just kept flying.

Then suddenly he was back in marinette's room as she stretched on her bed. Sunlight was streaming through the skylight. Every time he tried to leave he reappeared at the exact time Marinette woke up every day. The day repeated much the same as the day before, one of the girl's in marinette's class called her names and didn't get in trouble, a monster was beaten by Ladybug and her partner Chat Noir, and he floated around.

Eventually he discovered he could leave massages for marinette on her phone, in the steam on her mirror, or if she left a notebook out overnight. He left small things like, "don't forget about you math test!" Or "Alya said you could go to her house for cookies after school" or "talk to chat noir before he becomes a problem." You know important stuff.

Damian discovered he had grown quite fond of his 'Soulmate' as Tikki had called her. She would talk to him sometimes, about school, ladybug stuff, everything. He would answer back when he could with a note or send a sign, she always seemed to understand.

One day after hearing Marinette talk about how hard it would be to find HawkMoth Damian decided to do something about it. That night he Searched evry house on the east side of Paris. When marinette woke up he was at her side.

He wasn't sure how long he looked, every day was spent with marinette and every night trying to find her enemy. He really wasn't sure how long he had been dead, it felt like he had always been like this, but at the same time like everything was brand new.

After what must have been weeks of searching he found Hawkmoth. The man was nun other then Gabriel Agreste. As damian raced back to marinette's house he got the familier feeling of being pulled away from his spot to Marinette.

Except he wasn't at Marinette's house, he wasn't even in Paris, he was in the batcave looking up at his father.

"Damien! It worked!" Cried Batman still holding his disoriented son.

Damien had no idea what was going on, one minute he was going to tell marinette who her worst enemy was and now he was half way across the world and appeared to be alive, again.

"Father? What am I doing here? Where is marinette?"

Bruce frowned at his son, "Who's marinette?"

Just as Damian was going to answer a loud crash came from behind them. He just got back and already had to fight someone. Great. The fight didn't take long once Damian discovered he had super powers given to him by the same crystal that brought him back to life.

After his family explained how they had brought him back using magic and that his grandfather was also alive again, he had his own explanation to give.

"Everything is all fuzzy."

"Thats alright Damian, you have been dead for months." Tim said.

"But i wasn't really dead," everyone glanced around confused as Damian continued, "I woke up in Paris, and she was waking up and I didn't know what to do, she is a Hero. She knew I was there. She knew I was dead. She is my soulmate."

"Damien are you okay?" Bruce said, this wasn't like Damien at all, he should be mad he let himself die not concerned for someone who didn't exist.

"I have to get to Paris! I HAVE TO TELL HER ABOUT HAWKMOTH! She has... to....know........" the end of his sentence drifted off as Dick pulled the needle out of Damian's arm.

"When he gets up, we will have to tell him that he was hallucinating, we don't need him running off to France to find someone who doesn't exist."

Soon the memorys of Marinette and his time being dead grew distant. He was unaware of the confusion he had caused in Paris.

Tikki could always feel marinette's soulmate as he traveled around Paris. Until he vanished. She immediately got Marinette out to the bathroom to talk.

"Marinette he's gone."

"Who is gone, Tikki?" Marinette asked.

Tikki frowned trying to feel him, "your soulmate he isn't here. I can't sense him anymore."

"There must be a reasonable explanation, maybe he just went out of Paris?"

"No, he isn't anywhere it's almost like he isn't dead anymore."

"But that's not possible, right?" Marinette asked almost hopefully.

"I've seen it before, but don't get your hopes up."

*********************

This isn't the best but I did my best. The ending definitely needs some work. I'm still learning to write so this is the best I could do, I think I'm going to do a list of ideas and have people request whichever one they want. If you like that idea let me know.

Tagging:

@ivymala07

@iloveitwhen

@chocoleteicecreamlover

@crystalangelluna

@clumsy-owl-4178

@pawsitivelymiraculous

[blrush]

If Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding was a serious drama with hour long episodes - Part 2: Newlyweds.

In his dream Ho Seon was blind, reaching out for something he could not find. Lights and shadows danced around him, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Drowning in confusion and a profound sense of loneliness, he kept reaching out and stumbling through empty space. Then his hands fell upon a face - he drew his fingers across smooth skin, tracing the outlines of features – the curvature of a small button nose, heart shaped lips – Ahhh, he knew this person, this was his person, he felt relieved, calmed and reassured – the dream faded away and he fell back into a deep drunken sleep.

As morning light filtered into the room, Ho Seon awoke to the same sense of loneliness. The bed was cold and empty beside him, as it was every morning. He rubbed cracked sleep from his eyes and saliva from his cheek, his mouth was still furry from alcohol. Then the events of the night before came flooding back – drunk, celebrating, the wedding – THE WEDDING! He was married. He looked around the room, and found the figure of a woman sitting away from him, her back turned as she tied her robes. Had she slept beside him? Had they slept together? No impossible, if he had been too drunk to remember the events of the evening then he certainly would have been too drunk to participate in any marriage nuptials.

What must she think of him? To get himself so drunk, and pay her no attention on their wedding night. But he had been so scared, so desperately at a loss as to how to behave, or how to speak to her. This wedding was a sham, and his overriding guilt had made him drink himself into a stupor. She must have figured out something was wrong – what kind of noble marriage is organised in a fortnight, and then rushed through without her family or any friends present? She must have felt like a prize pig, being trundled up and carted off to some town she’d never visited, to marry a man she’d never even met.

Worst of all, she didn’t know the true flaws of her new husband, nor the real reason for this pretence. How disappointed she would be when she found out.

Even if he had been sober on their wedding night, he would not have been able to consummate their marriage. He had only been with a woman once, and once was enough for him. The thought of lying with a woman had never appealed to him – when his friends had come of age, they began visiting bars and brothels, eagerly encouraging him to join them. The only time he had been with a woman was with a kisaeng on a visit to the city.

His friends had insisted that he “wet his whistle”, as he was getting too old to be a virgin. They were all drinking happily with kisaeng girls in their laps, and were slowly peeling off to their rooms for the night. He had barely spoken to the girl beside him, who eventually gave up, and was attending far more diligently to his friend, who now had two girls on either side of him, playfully planting kisses on his cheeks and giggling with each other. When it was time to retire, his friend pulled him up by his collar, and dragged him with them to their room. The women began undressing them both, kissing his chest and running long fingers-nails up and down his arms. His nerves and discomfort must have been evident to the experienced kisaeng woman who gently guided him into the activities, placing her hand over his, and telling him where to touch herself and other girl. It was all overwhelming and confusing. His senses felt heightened, and his nervous energy was dancing about his body. Eventually, in the dark milieu of bodies, he accidentally touched his friend’s body – his broad flat chest and stomach felt taught and firm, completely different from the women, and it sent a ripple of arousal shooting through him – he kept touching. Slowly, his friend noticed, and quickly drew himself back, placing one of the girls between them. The shame of that moment had stayed with him for years, and he had not had the courage to sleep with another woman, or man, since.

Of course, he could not hide this disinterest in courtship from his mother for long. He was certain she would catch on, even if he would joking brush off her questions with a charming smile that would show his dimples and say; “Oh but Mother, you know I could never leave you!” or “But Mother, no woman could ever live up to you!” His mother was a warm and kind person, but she was no fool – she was a keen observer of people’s moods and behaviours, she always said she could spot a crook, swindler, or cheat a mile away.

He had once had a friend from school whom he played with often, but his mother would always warn him “Don’t get too close to that boy, he’s no good – he’ll betray you one day.” Their friendship eventually broke down after he stole a valuable book from Ho Seon, and years later when they crossed paths, he had boasted that he “had so many wives and courtesans” that he “could never tell which child belonged to which woman.”

And so, he knew he could never fool a mother such as his – but he was happy living in denial for as long as he could. Whilst it took him by surprise, he was thus not so utterly shocked when she announced she had “had enough” of his “indecision and adolescent brooding” and that she had told his great-uncle in the city to find him a fit young wife as soon as possible.

Ho Seon also knew, deep down, that there was something more to it than just her stubbornness, or any sort of social pressure. His mother had been growing weaker each year, losing her vision and the dexterity in her hands. He noticed that she no longer enjoyed sewing or drawing, she who had once been such an accomplished and artistic lady – now preferred to spend her time weeding the garden or walking. Every turn of season, as winter came around, she would be laid up in the house for weeks, with a cough so hoarse and violent that he feared she would soon lose her voice all together. She was desperate for him to marry, not only so there would be more young women around the manor to help her – but he suspected, so that she could be sure their family line was secure, and that Ho Seon could provide her with grandchildren before she passed away.

On his first morning as a newlywed, he thus did not feel a sense of joy or excitement, but a sad kind of submission to his new life and a guilt and pity for the girl sat before him – who would be resigned, unknowingly, to a marriage to a man who could not truly ever love her or tend to her in the way a husband should.

No. That was not fair. He should strive instead to be a good husband, to dote on her and care for her as much as he could. When it came to physical intimacy, he would have to speak with her candidly, and be honest about his feelings. But, if she was a young maid this might all be too shocking – what if she is so disgusted by him that she never spoke to him again? What if she reports him to his family or the court, or demands an annulment? 
He would have to careful. He would have to get to know her first, to determine her character properly, before deciding how much he should tell her, or how much he could trust her.

He sat up, and cleared his throat so she would know he was awake. She turned slowly toward him and gave a small bow of her head. She was indeed a beauty, but unusual looking all the same. A king of striking beauty, rather than the soft round faces of the young maids in town, or the plump young pregnant wives of his friends – she had more angular features and sharp narrow eyes, that seemed to observe him with a severity and maturity that he did not expect from someone so young – as if she might pull a dagger out from her sleeve at any moment if he moved the wrong way.

“Good morning.” He began, unsure of himself, but wanting to put her at ease. He raised himself up onto his knees. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. Please excuse my behaviour.” He gave a deep bow.

~ ~ ~

Ho Seon was on his hands and knees on the bed, bowing toward Ki Wan. He didn’t know how to respond. It seemed Ho Seon was impossible to predict. Ki Wan had expected the arrogant bravado of a wealthy only-son of a noble family – and yet was confronted last night and now again this morning, with a gentle, humble, young man whose manner seemed so deeply genuine that it was making Ki Wan feel embarrassed. He felt like he was playing a trick on a child. He must come clean. But how could he reveal himself now? To do so would be to make a fool out of Ho Seon and ruin any chance Ki Wan might have of salvaging a plan, an alliance, or even a friendship with the man. So, he continued to stay quiet – fearing that his voice alone might give the game away. He nodded politely to acknowledge Ho Seon’s gesture, and when Ho Seon smiled at him – he felt himself smile back.

“Shall we go find breakfast?” Ho Seon began, brightly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Ki Wan felt panicked for a moment, before a woman’s voice came muffled through the doors.

“It’s only me! Are you two awake? Would you like some breakfast?”

Ho Seon rolled his eyes pointedly, and mouthed “my mother” at Ki Wan, who felt himself smiling again. His stomach was in knots, he was so filled with guilt and fear that he felt sick – and yet Ho Seon was so effortlessly charming, his kindness was so disarming, that Ki Wan felt an immediate sense of kindship and attraction – he wanted to be friends with this nobleman – and perhaps, if they had met under different circumstances, they could have been.

More gentle rapping at the door, and then Ho Seon’s mother announced more loudly “Are you awake? I’m coming in.”

Suddenly Ho Seon was a flurry of movement, he jumped up, messed up all the bedding, threw a pillow halfway across the room, and raced over to sit beside Ki Wan. Ki Wan gave Ho Seon a look of confusion, at which Ho Seon gave back an obtuse expression as if to say “You knowwww…” and leaned close to Ki Wan.

“So it looks like we… ” Ho Seon whispered to Ki Wan, his face intentionally turned away from the door – his cheek almost brushing Ki Wan’s own, as he leaned in close.

Oh. Ki Wan had read about these things before, and seen illustrations. He understood perfectly well – in theory – what was expected of a man and woman on their wedding night, but the thought suddenly made him blush.

It was precisely then, of course, that Ho Seon’s mother opened the door and entered the room. Finding them sitting conspiratorially close, Ki Wan blushing quite literally ‘like a bride’. She looked overjoyed at the sight, as she carried in a tray of breakfast.

“I know I should have sent the maid.” She began, “But I was too excited to see you!”

She lay the tray down on the table and sat herself down opposite them. She eyed the bedding, strewn across the room and giggled to herself.

“I remember when your father and I were first married, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other!” She laughed.

“Mother!” Ho Seon objected.

“What!? You’re a married man now! You can’t be shy about these things!” She gave him a playful slap on the arm.

“You will embarrass her!”

“Ahhh yes, yes. Sorry dear. Please don’t mind me, I’m just an old widow – I speak too freely. You will get used to it.” She smiled openly at Ki Wan, her cloudy grey eyes crinkling shut, and her deep dimples still visible beneath her wrinkles and laugh lines. There was no mistaking that Ho Seon was indeed her son.

Suddenly Ki Wan felt filled with motivation – if he could keep up his charade, perhaps he could really be welcomed into this family as a daughter in-law. Wouldn’t it be nice to be surrounded by such kind and loving people who smiled so much? But how? Perhaps just for a little while, and then he would run away, feign a kidnapping, or an affair, or better yet – his own death. And then what? Go back to his life as Ki Wan? What was so appealing about that? He had no trade or skill, he was an under-educated noble-man from a fallen family without connections to get him a decent court job. No, it seemed the best chance at a life that would keep his belly full and a roof over his head would be to stay here. His only option was to somehow make an ally of his husband. In his desperation and loyalty to his own family, he had unwittingly made himself a prisoner of this family, and of his own lie that he was now forced to follow through.

“Come, eat – you must both be hungry!” She laughed again.

Ki Wan began to help himself, before remembering there was probably some custom or etiquette he was forgetting – was he supposed to serve his husband first? He had no idea. Luckily Neither Ho Seon nor his mother seemed phased, as they had both started eating. Ho Seon simply filled Ki Wan’s bowl with more food, and poured them both some tea. If Ho Seon made one more kind gesture, Ki Wan feared he may break down and cry.

“Come here daughter!” His mother in-law chimed up. “Let me look at you properly.”

Ki Wan sat frozen in his place, if he got too close – surely she would notice! He looked to Ho Seon who was obliviously munching on his breakfast happily.

“Come on! I don’t bite I promise!” She demanded.

Ki Wan shuffled closer to her around the table, his heat beat erratic. He kept trying to look down at his hands. She then reached up to grab his chin, turning his face this way and that – she moved her own face closer and then further away, like she was examining a chip or crack in some piece of fine porcelain, deciding whether to fix it or throw it away.

“My eyesight’s not what it used to me” she said, “But I can tell you are a real beauty. Let me see your hands.” He was practically shaking! Surely, she would tell by his hands! She grabbed at them, turning them over, feeling the skin between her own small papery palms.

“Good! Strong hands, not too soft!” She declared, “I can’t stand women who don’t do any work. I don’t like to keep too many maids – I hate having strangers in my house. I’ve kept the same maids since I was married, and I won’t be hiring a new one for you until you have children. So, I hope you are happy to tend to some of your own chores, we all chip-in around here.”

Ki Wan felt she needed an answer to this, so he gave a simple but firm “Mmm!” in as high a pitch as he could manage without it sounding put-on.

After breakfast, Ho Seon’s mother took Ki Wan on a tour of the manor - showing her which buildings were for what purposes, which gardens Ki Wan was free to use, pointing out with pride the recent flowers and plants she had been growing.

Ho Seon fell in step behind them, letting his mother chatter away happily with her new companion – who she didn’t let go of even for a moment - clutching onto Ki Wan’s arm the entire time. At first Ki Wan thought she was just so pleased to have a daughter in-law, but after a while, he realised she was using him more for balance and strength.

“You don’t talk much!” She proclaimed at one point. It didn’t sound accusatory, more of an observation.

“She’s just shy mother.” Ho Seon piped up from behind them, “You can be very intimidating you know. How could she get a word in anyway?”

His mother laughed at this, “You’re right haha! I do talk too much! Sorry dear, you take your time once you’ve gotten used to life here, feel free to speak openly with me – no need to be formal or stand on ceremony.”

Ki Wan was grateful, once again he had managed to avoid the issue of speaking. His natural voice was not so deep that it would give him away as a man, but it was deep enough that if he tried too hard to put on a woman’s voice, or raise his pitch too much, it would sound forced and that was what he feared would give him away.

~ ~ ~

In the evening Ho Seon’s mother mentioned that should like to have some dresses made up for Ki Wan, and that she would need to take her measurements. The look of abject horror on Ki Wan’s face must have been enough for Ho Seon to jump to her defence and make an excuse.

“I think my wife is a little tired mother, it’s been a long day in a new home, I think we should just go and rest.”

“Oh ho! I see” She looked knowingly, “I know how much you must want to “rest” haHA!” She joked in her usual good-natured way. “But I do need those measurements if I am to send them off to the seamstress. Your wife only bought one good dress you know! No daughter of the Ryu family can be seen wearing the same single garment every day, people will think we’re gone broke!”

“Yes yes, okay mother.” Ho Seon replied, “We can manage it ourselves I’m sure, just lend me the tape and we will give you her measurements tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

In their bridal house alone once again, Ki Wan realised he was indeed as tired as Ho Seon had claimed. The emotion and exhaustion of the last two days had caught up to him, he had barely slept the last two nights – preparing himself at home, then being on watch all last night, hoping Ho Seon had drunk enough not to wake up or drunkenly attempt to consummate their marriage. All day, around his mother, Ki Wan had been supressing his natural self – don’t move too much, don’t speak, don’t laugh. It was totally unnatural and he was completely drained.

Whilst Ho Seon tended to the heating and the candles, Ki Wan began removing his hair pins, and taking off his jacket without even thinking about what he was doing. Somehow, alone in this little room – he had already accepted this as his new home, a space where he felt safe and comfortable.

Ho Seon had removed his hat and his own outer-layer and was standing somewhat awkwardly aside, fiddling with something in his hand.

“I suppose, we should take your measurements for my mother – otherwise she will not leave you in peace tomorrow.”

Ki Wan nodded. Ho Seon fiddled with the tape in his hand then almost tossed it at Ki Wan, before getting out a piece of parchment, some ink, and seating himself down at the table.

He cleared his throat “If you take the measurements, I will write them down for you.”

Ki Wan nodded again, and began unravelling the tape. He had helped his sister with this task once before, but it was a lot easier to do on someone else than on one’s self. He stretched the tape out, holding it taught between his fingers in one hand, and pulling it up to his shoulder with the other. He repeated this step with the other arm, though the tape came lose this time from his fingers and he had to start again.

Ho Seon stood up from the table. “May I …. Would you like me to help?”

Frustrated, but grateful, Ki Wan nodded again. This was all so absurd, but the sooner they could complete the task the sooner Ki Wan could fall asleep – and then all these problems would seem like a dream, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it all again until morning. The bed looked so warm and inviting, and he hadn’t even been able to sleep on it last night. Ho Seon approached him cautiously in the half-light, and Ki Wan handed him the tape.

~ ~ ~

Standing in front of his new wife in the candle-light, Ho Seon was once again struck by her beauty. Her distinctive bone structure was casting incredible shadows across her face and bare skin where she had removed her jacket. The white ribbons of her undergarments only accentuated the shape of her collarbones more, and he couldn’t help but stare.

He must have been staring too openly, as she brought her arms up to cover herself more, hugging her shoulder and covering her chest. She looked frightened. He shook himself and took a small step back, averting his eyes to the floor.

“Sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have stared. I will just take the measurements. Sorry if I touch you, I will try not to.”

He took the tape and began focusing on his task, trying desperately to look only at the tape and not her body. As he worked back and forth between her and his parchment, where he scribbled the measurements, he thought to himself; why do I feel so nervous? She is my wife, surely, I am allowed to look at her and admire her? But when before had he ever wanted to admire the form and body of a woman? This was an entirely new development. Perhaps because she was his wife? Perhaps he felt differently toward her than other women? Was this what happened when you were married? Perhaps one is instinctively drawn to their spouse in a way that does not apply other people?

But, regardless of his own new feelings, or his desire and curiosity to explore them, she was clearly still uncomfortable around him. She still refused to speak, she seemed perpetually guarded and fearful. Yet, it did not strike him that she was fearful of him, rather she was on edge – fearful of everything around her, like she was going to run away at any moment. Indeed, he sensed she was somehow calmer around him than his mother – which seemed to him to be counter-intuitive for a young bride.

He took a step closer, and reached the tape gently around her ribcage and brought it together under her breastbone. They were standing so close now, as he looked down he could have smelled her hair or kissed her forehead. He watched her chest quickly moving up and down with her breath, and he fought the urge to touch her there. It would have been uninvited, and he had promised not to.

For the last measurements, he first took one end of the tape and held it against the top of her shoulder.

“Hold this, please.” He asked her. He felt he had barely whispered it, but the room was so quiet that his voice seemed to echo in the space. He could hear her breathing, short and sharp like she was trying to control it or stop herself from making any sound. Why was she so scared? What kind of home life had she come from, or what kind of married life had she been expecting that she should have reason to be so scared? He drew the tape down to floor where the touched the top of her foot. Then he tugged on it for her to let go. Kneeling down in front of her, he took the tape once more – this time wrapping it around her hips, pulling it tightly to compensate for her large skirts, holding it in place with his hand on her lower abdomen.

Whilst reading the tape he felt her move just slightly and her breath almost stop, as if she was holding it. Out of the corner of his eye his saw her hand move from her side toward him. At first, he thought she was going to push him away, but instead all he felt was the most delicate of touches - she drew the back of her hand softly across his temple, from his brow to his ear, as if she was wiping away a bead of sweat. Then, she quickly withdrew her hand and stepped away from him – leaving him frozen, kneeling on the floor.

TBC (Other parts here!)

Authors Note: Well this is getting VERY out of hand, I’m now at like 8000 words and this is just scenes based only on the first 2 episodes haha

I have changed a lot of the plot from the show for the sake of my own continuity, and to raise the tension and the drama cause we need some FLAVOUR. Namely, I have kept KiWan’s identity and gender a secret for the TENSION and have established Ho Seon as gay, for the dramatic irony. Get ready for some ANGST in the next chapters, shit’s gonna get real.

Note: Kiseang were Joseon era courtesans and sex-workers. Not that historical accuracy is top of my priority list haha

I think I will have to post on AO3 for ease of reading and keeping track. Link to come when I have time tomorrow.

Sorry this is still unedited - but if I keep going I will ask for a beta haha

Enjoy!

[write-haikyuu]

Quarantine things (ft. Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei, Ushijima Wakatoshi & Kita Shinsuke) | headcanon

Quarantine has been forcing me to be productive with school but I’ve been having all these spurs of ideas in my head. So I wanted to write this before I forget it, and so I can feel like I did something today before I work on more essays and hw. :) 

Also, side note I’ve been doing Yoga with Adriene to help with my chronic back pain. PEOPLE! If you want start yoga during quarantine I 11/10 recommend her channel on YouTube. Stay healthy and stay safe <3 

Yamaguchi Tadashi

You notice how much he’s willing to try new things, now that time has freed up.

Baking croissants, juicing veggies and fruits, rummaging through the pantry to make dinner with boxed food (because he wants to make sure you both only go grocery shopping when you absolutely have to). 

When it is time to go out to the public, he makes sure you both glove up, sanitize, and wear bandanas with sunglasses (at the market). 

You know those Korean grandmas that wear those sleeves and visors?

Yep. You two are that couple. 

“Grab the box from the inside Y/N!!” He’s sneaky like that 

He’s paranoid, but he still wants to make sure you both use this time to spend quality moments together ...because he knows you’re not able to visit a lot of friends and family right now :(( 

Walks at the park during the most unexpected times throughout the day

You both have a dog, his name is YamYam 

Tadashi uses this time to really upgrade the dog’s instagram and make him go dogstagram viral I dont know why I’m so obsessed with making Tadashi internet famous ok :( 

Sleeping in all the time (morning cuddles are a must) 

Don’t you think that I would forget about his terrarium. He still worships that buddy everyday! By now your days with Tadashi are filled with dog walks, healthy receipes, plants, and daylight cuddles. 

Tsukishima Kei 

Dalonga coffee, dalonga matcha, dalonga everything with our boy Tsukishima. 

Ever tried egg coffee? You protested against it at first but Tsukishima kept teasing you how great it was until you finally caved in and tried it. 

It’s. The. Shit. (However you want it interpret that) 

Every morning, without fail, you both sit over at the kitchen island and sip on coffee or tea. Bedhead, pjs and everything. You don’t say much, but its the quiet and peace that rises in the morning that makes you appreciate these moments with him. 

Contrary to popular belief, Tsukishima is actually a hopeless romantic. So you’ll have these evenings where he makes a new playlist from Spotify and just starts grooving to the beat with you. (This is shared between you and Tsuki ONLY). Copyrights on Tsuki’s jazzy hands. 

He loves seeing you move on your own and as some may think its him dreading it, he LOVES it when you drag him into dancing too. 

When you watch TV show together at night, he likes to psychoanalyze the characters with you

“But what do you think of this. He’s turned into a cereal killer because of childhood trauma from his aunt feeding him much coco puffs.”

“The hell Y/N?? that doesn’t even make any sense! It’s bc he worked at the grocery store and the manager always assigned him to restock the dry cereal and oatmeal aisle.”

You read in bed separately together, but you’ll lean on each other for back support. 

Stillness with Tsuki is all he’s ever asked for, all he’s ever wanted with you. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi 

Sure, most of the time his mind is on volleyball. But when it comes down to it, the person he spends most of the time thinking about is actually you. 

He’s estatic to spend time with you in quarantine! He makes sure to not break his routines though, so he’s always encouraging you to work out with him in the morning. Whether or not you’re a morning person, you also try to push yourself to exercise! So Toshi doesn’t have to run by himself, plus you’ll get fit too! 

But there was this one thing Toshi never really got into, but by being with you more, he’s finally come around to it. 

It’s Yoga baby. 

Volleyball is an intense sport. So with all that practice and endless hours he’s dedicated, Toshi usually goes to physical therapy to work on his muscles. Since everything is closed, he started doing yoga with you to relieve some back pain :’( 

He can’t thank you enough, because his posture is straighter and he doesn’t toss and turn in his sleep like he did before

Y’all I hate to break it to you but... Tendou finally got him. After all those ads on the Weekly Shonen Jump, he’s discovered Amazon Prime. 

He’s looking at things on amazon and adding it to his cart!!! He never buys it though 

“ Y/N, I think an air fryer is a good idea”

“What? No we have a toaster oven”

“But according to the (amazon price tracker app) it’s the lowest it’s ever been.”

The air fryer was indeed the best thing that’s ever updated in your household. 

He laughs more, he smiles more, he’s just really happy to be domestic with you. Home with you is like his safe space. Because he can let his guard down and lean on you for emotional and mental support. 

Kita Shinsuke 

This quarantine really concerns him. Not because he’s neccesarily afraid of contracting the virus, but worries about his grandma potentially getting it :(

So you both make a very, very tough decision and figured it was best that he spent his time with his grandma to nurse and take care of her until the shelter in place is lifted. 

But the week before he leaves, you and Kita spent an entire two days sewing face masks and care packages for his neighbors. 

He makes sure to meal prep for you some food throughout the week and even teaches you some basic recipes to get you through the month. 

You and Kita both go on this massive cleaning spree where you bleach and tidy up everything. 

By the end of it, there was more than enough bags of clothes to give away to a donation shop near by. 

On his last days with you, he spends as much time with you doing things unrelated to the pandemic! Like DIY face masks and cutting up fruit as you both play Bananagrams together. 

When he’s off to his grandma’s he makes sure to religiously facetime you before bed! 

You teach his grandma how to use dog filters over the phone and sometimes you forget he meant to call to talk to you. 

You somehow ended up talking to his grandma for half an hour, listening to her talk about baby Shinsuke childhood stories. 

I dont know, you miss him so much. He misses you more. But you both are so understanding and supportive of each other that counting off the days doesn’t even exist anymore. You just find new things to share and talk about over the phone everyday. 

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.39

Word Count: 2,319

Characters: Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Isaac Lahey, Reader

Pairings: Eventual Deek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, some fluff

A/N: last part of the year?

A/N 2: Can literally anyone leave some feedback on the series? I want to know if people are actually enjoying it

A/N 3: Happy Holidays

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

“Derek, what are you doing?” you felt his hands travel down your waist as he stood behind you.

“I missed you,” he whispered. 

He pressed his lips towards your neck as you closed your eyes softly, clenching your jaw.

Before you could protest, you felt your back hitting the wall, Derek’s lips pressed against yours as he put his hands on your thighs, lifting you gently. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he began walking to his bed. He put his hand on your head, pulling it back roughly, pressing his lips on your neck.

You breathed heavily, closing your eyes as you held onto him tightly.

---

You opened your eyes, taking a deep breath as you jumped up, feeling your neck aching. You must have fallen asleep.

You sat on a chair, next to Derek’s bed as he still laid there, unconscious.

Maybe he was really tired, and maybe that’s the reason he didn't wake up.

You checked your phone, scrolling past the messages from everyone. It was nearly 7 AM, which had made about four hours since Derek collapsed. 

Your mind thought back to your dream before you shook your head.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't miss him, that you didn't still love him, even after everything. But the pain you felt after he cheated on you, even after he said he didn't love you and he never did, it still hurt. You tried to ignore it for the most part. The two of you were doing just fine as friends for the past couple of weeks, before last night anyway.

You began to grow more worried, seeing Derek still asleep. You ran your fingers through his hair, looking down at him.

“(Y/N)?” his eyes were still closed as he said your name softly.

“Derek, I’m here,” you frowned, holding his hand.

“What happened?” he opened his eyes, holding your hand before sitting up.

You sat next to him, stroking his hand softly.

“I don’t know. You just collapsed. Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing his head.

“Headache?” you said.

He nodded again, as he massaged his head softly.

“I don’t think drugs work on wolves,” you said.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” you asked.

“No. Well, sort of. I’ve been blacking out since I healed Cora,” he replied.

“Since you healed Cora? It’s been weeks,” you frowned.

“I’m aware. But I’m fine. I’ll get through it,” he said.

“That’s not good,” you shook your head.

“I'll be fine. Uhm, thanks for staying with me,” he nodded.

You smiled softly as you heard Peter’s voice, as the door opened.

“I didn't interrupt anything, did I?” his eyes motioned to Derek’s bed then back at the two of you.

You let go of Derek’s hand, inhaling deeply as you stood up.

“I’ll see you later,” you smiled softly, walking away.

---

You stood at the door, in front of the McCall’s house. Your phone had died before you had a chance to text Isaac. You knew he was staying with Scott now.

“(Y/N)? It’s been a while,” Melissa wrapped her arms around you tightly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. How are you doing?” you stood next to her, walking into the McCall house as the two of you walked to the kitchen.

“Well, everything is crazy, but we’re managing,” she started.

You heard someone’s voice behind you, turning around as your face dropped.

“Agent McCall,” you said in a monotone voice.

“(Y/N),” he replied with the same tone.

“I think you need to get to work,” Melissa motioned to Agent McCall, glaring at him.

Before either of you said anything, he walked away.

“So… he’s staying with you,” you started.

“He’s on the couch, it’s nothing special,” she shrugged.

“I know it can't be easy,” you replied softly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“As I said, I’m managing,” she smiled softly.

“Well, how about you sit down? I know Scott and Isaac probably aren't up yet, so I’m gonna make you some coffee and some breakfast,” you said, leading her to a chair.

“Oh, (Y/N), no,” she started.

“I insist,” you said.

She nodded softly, as you began making some eggs, and some coffee.

“Hey, Mrs.McCall, me and Scott,” you heard Isaac start as his face dropped, looking at you.

“Hey,” you said.

“Oh my god,” he ran to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you hugged him back.

“You’re… alive! Where have you been?! Why didn't you answer my calls? Or texts? Or tell me you’re okay? You’re back! Oh my god,” he began to bombard you as ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll explain it all later,” you shook your head.

“Uhm, no. You’ll take me to school and you’ll tell me everything,” Isaac tugged on your arm.

“Wait, I’m making Melissa breakfast you little needy. You need to sit down also,” you motioned to the chair as he rolled his eyes, sitting down.

You could see the smile on Melissa’s face as you continued making eggs for the four of you.

---

“That’s… something. No powers? At all?” he asked softly.

“Not until I figure this demon crap out. But being human is so boring,” you sighed.

“So, you basically, spent the last few weeks with Derek,” Isaac started, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What are you trying to say?” you frowned.

“Nothing, I’m just saying to use a condom,” you immediately smacked Isaac’s arm.

“Shut up. God, you're worse than Stiles,” you sighed.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t still like him?” Isaac asked.

“I didn't say that,” you shook your head.

“So you do like him,” Isaac said.

“I didn't say that either,” you sighed.

“I don’t get it,” Isaac shook his head.

“I’m saying that I don't want to talk about this right now, okay? Of course, I still care about him, but I’m not ready to forgive him for Jennifer. About what he said. I just don't want to talk about this, okay?” you raised your voice slightly, resting your head on your hand, and your elbow on your car window.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac said, his voice low.

“It doesn't matter. Sorry,” you shook your head.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you two belong together,” Isaac replied.

You scoffed slightly, driving into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High. 

“Well, how are things going with you and Allison? Are you still madly in love with her?” you replied.

“We’re friends, okay? And Scott’s one of my best friends,” Isaac rolled his eyes.

“I thought you said Scott said it was okay,” you asked.

“He did. I still feel bad,” Isaac sighed.

“Well, that guilt is what makes you a good person,” you gave him a fake smile as he rolled his eyes.

You smirked, before hearing your phone off, getting a text from Derek.

“Hell no,” Isaac said, as you looked up, seeing the twins approach Scott.

“They’re… what's going on?” you frowned.

“So much crap has happened since you left. For example, Scott, Stiles, and Allison are going crazy. But that's not important right now, I’ll tell you later. I need to go help Scott,” Isaac grabbed his bag.

You kissed his forehead softly.

“Be careful,” he waved to you as he got out of your car, walking to Scott.

---

“Stop moving,” you glared, taking the needle as you stuck it into Peter’s finger, hearing him yell out.

“You know, you don't have to be so rough,” he winked as you pulled the string through his finger.

“That hurts,” he grunted.

“Good.” 

You continued sewing his finger back on, as he continued whining. You ignored it, purposely pushing the needle into the wrong place.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Derek said, covering a small laugh.

“I don’t get why I can’t help you with this,” you shrugged.

“You don’t have powers. It’s just Peter,” Derek assured you.

“Exactly. It’s just Peter,” you sighed.

You turned to face Peter, before clenching your jaw, running your fingers through your hair as you sat down in front of him.

“So, now’s the part you tell me what I risked my life and digit for,” Peter said.

Derek looked at you, before opening the box, revealing Talia’s old claws. It was all that was left of her after the fire.

You held Derek’s hand softly, knowing this wasn't going to be easy for him. 

“They’re all that was left of her after the fire. I need to ask her something, and this is the only way to do it,” Derek explained.

You laid the claws on the table, looking back at Peter then at Derek.

“Fine, but under one condition. I get to keep them afterward,” your face dropped as you gave Peter a look.

“Sentimental value. She was your mother, she was my sister,” you could tell Derek was holding back his tongue as he raised an eyebrow.

“What? Am I not allowed a little bit of sentiment?” Peter exasperated.

You looked at Derek, as he looked back at you. He motioned to Talia’s nails silently, asking you your opinion.

You shrugged, shaking your head. It was his choice.

“Fine,” Derek put the claws back into the box, handing them to Peter.

Peter smiled cheekily, as you got up, walking away with Derek.

“What do you think he wants with them?” you asked.

“I don’t know, but he can’t do anything that bad… right?” Derek asked.

You leaned against the wall, as he crossed his arms, standing in front of you.

“I have no idea. We’ll just have to keep a close eye on him,” you said.

“Well, let’s do this, yeah?”

---

You sat on your knees, in front of Derek while you held his hand, stroking it softly.

“Peter, I swear if something goes wrong, I’ll kill you,” you threatened. 

“That won’t be my fault,” he replied.

“Whatever,” you glared at him, looking back at Derek.

 Derek opened his mouth to speak, before shutting his eyes tightly, squeezing your hand as Peter stuck Talia’s claws into the back of Derek’s neck.

You looked at Peter, as he breathed heavily, clearly struggling as Derek’s grip on your hand softened.

You waited there anxiously for a few minutes, before Peter pulled away, pushing away from Derek. Derek gasped for air, his face covered in sweat. 

“What happened? What did you see? Did she say anything about me?” Peter immediately began asking Derek questions, as you stood up next to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded softly, clenching his jaw as he looked at Peter. His eyes were bloodshot as he looked up at you.

Peter continued to nag him, asking him about Talia as Derek ignored him. Derek stood up, pushing past Peter as he walked out of the loft.

“Derek?” you ran after him, running out of the loft.

---

“That’s… a lot. Peter’s the last person I’d expect to have a kid,” you stood outside the loft, leaning against your car door as Derek stood in front of you.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Derek scoffed.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah… I don’t think I realized how much I missed her,” Derek started.

“Don’t you ever miss your mom?” Derek asked.

“Well, I don't… sometimes I do. I don’t like thinking about her,” you shook your head softly

“It’s been almost 8 years and I… I still think about them. About all of them,” Derek said softly.

“But that’s normal. Derek, you went through something… something big,” you said.

“I lost just as much as you. You barely seem to think about it,” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“That’s… no,” you started.

“Your grandparents are dead, your mom’s siblings, all dead, you don't have any other cousins or any other family that’s still alive. Well, besides your dad… but,” you tensed slightly as you looked down, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“(Y/N)?” he said softly. Your eyes watered as you shook your head.

“My dad’s not… he’s dead,” you whispered.

Derek was silent for a minute before speaking.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“I lost control of my powers. I killed him,” you sniffled as you turned away from Derek.

“It's not your fault,” he stroked your cheek softly, turning your face to look up at him.

You looked up at him nervously, before inhaling deeply.

Screw it

You stood on your toes, leaning up as you pressed your lips against his.

Oh crap

You immediately regretted your actions as you broke the kiss, your face red as you shut your eyes in embarrassment.

He put his hands on your face, kissing you once more as you stumbled back slightly, hitting your car as it began to honk loudly.

You broke the kiss, as the two of you began to laugh.

“Nice way to end the night, yeah?” Derek smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” you scoffed.

You heard your phone go off, getting a text from Isaac.

“You have to go?” he asked.

You nodded softly, wrapping your arms around your waist.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” you kissed him again, before leaving.

---

“Isaac,” you dropped your bags, running to him as he wrapped his arms around himself, rocking softly.

“What happened?” you wrapped your arms around him tightly, as he held onto you.

“I-It was so cold… I can’t stop thinking about… my dad, t-the freezer,” Isaac stuttered as his voice broke. You could feel his tears on your sleeve as you stroked his hair softly.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I-I don’t…” he began to hyperventilate, gasping for air as you shushed him, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“You don’t have to talk, kid,” you whispered.

You heard Isaac cry softly, laying down in your lap, as you continued to hold him, running your fingers through his hair softly.

[halpertstuna]

red cheeks - jj maybank

A/N: this was supposed to be a short blurb but you know me, i always have to add way too much details. so let’s just pretend it is. don’t know how i feel about this but i hope you guys enjoy(:

quick reminder, REQUESTS ARE OPEN<3

-> prompt list <-

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 2,171

summary: jj knows you always have something to say and gets suspicious when all of the sudden you stop talking back.

warnings: maybe like one mention of smoking, cursing, probs typos and i think that’s it really, if you notice something else lmk

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit: @anakin-skywalker )

—

Ever since the day JJ first met you, he’s been nothing but a flirt, and you always had something to say about it. Whether it was a sly comeback, a witty comment or a mean burn. From eye rolling to flipping off, you never let him forget he’s got absolutely no chance.

But lately, you’ve been awfully quiet around him, as if your hard exterior all of the sudden became much softer.

And he noticed.

The first time he became aware something changed, was one Thursday afternoon. You parked your car in front of the chateau, exiting it, then made your way towards five folding lawn chairs, two of which were occupied by Pope and Kie’s butts.

“Hey! We haven’t seen you all week! I guess you got John B’s text” Kie greeted you with a warm smile.

You plopped down on an empty chair beside her, filling it with your presence. “Yeah, I’ve been busy,” you stated as you looked around, followed by the question “where is the idiot anyway?”

“i’m right here!”

JJ said like a frisky pup, exiting the chateau as he took a swing of his almost empty beer bottle.

“surprisingly enough, i’m not talking about you this time” you retorted, smiling at him sarcastically.

“He ran out of liquor and chips, so he went to the grocery store to get some more” Pope answered your already forgotten question as JJ’s essence filled the air.

“What do you need him for anyway?” Kie questioned, “I need to talk to him about something”

“You can always talk to me princess” JJ said through a smirk as he sat on the armrest of your chair, then brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, expecting an elbow in his ribs. But nothing followed his action. That’s when he perceived the faintest of flushes creeping up your cheeks.

At the beginning he thought nothing of it, but the way you practically flew out of your lawn chair with John B.’s arrival, made him a bit skeptical.

When John B. parked the Twinkie you offered to help him put away the groceries, and walked him inside with bags of food, snacks and beers in your hands.

As you assisted in unloading the contents of the bags to the fridge and cabinets, he trailed off “So...did you tell him?”

“Shhhh!” He cackled at your reddening face “keep it down Rutledge! Or I swear to god I’ll sew your mouth shut, you indiscreet meatloaf.”

John B. was your best friend far before the other pogues came along, he knew you like the palm of his hand. He always suggested you had a thing for JJ and that you rather enjoyed the attention he gave you, yet you always revoked his claims, stating he was nothing but annoying.

Until you realised John B. might have been right all along.

It happened last Friday. You guys threw a kegger at the boneyard and for the first time, you actually took notice of how JJ gave all of his undivided attention to some touron.

As you stared at the tan boy, you found yourself wishing it were your hip he was caressing.

Suddenly he paid no heed to your existence and that’s when you realised all of your feelings and responses to his so called annoying actions, were you denying yourself to him. And as he talked her up through his enchanting smile, you realised you didn’t want him to give that teasingly, flirty care towards anyone but you, and for a brief moment you found yourself actually missing his antics.

Luckily, you were quite gifted with the ability to hide your feelings, almost no one could see through you. Just almost. Of course you couldn’t hide anything from John B., just by the way your eyes flickered past JJ as he led the touron to the spare room, he noticed something was wrong. Different.

Later that night he nudged you until you broke, admitting your feelings for JJ were true, and during that week, he kept trying to convince you to tell him how you feel. With no luck, you hadn’t said a word. Instead, you had been trying to avoid JJ by avoiding the rest of the pogues.

“Well, did you?”

“No you melon, if I had I would’ve told you, obviously”

“Okay Juliet” he teased and you poked his side making him flinch then chuckle.

“No but seriously, you should do something about it”

“Do something about what?”

JJ chimed in, walking towards the two of your figures that were sat on the kitchen counter.

“Nothing” you said simultaneously. You started feeling nervous and decided to jump off and walk out, leaving the two alone inside.

JJ had a bewildered expression on his face, he was expecting a ‘keep your nose out of my business’, yet instead you just walked passed him avoiding eye contact, which was very uncharacteristic of you.

“What’s up with her today?”

JJ asked as he hopped on the counter, taking over your former spot next to his best friend.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, you couldn’t have possibly missed that. She is way nicer to me than usual”

John B. shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn’t know what he were talking about.

Curious, JJ couldn’t help himself, “So... did she ask about me?”

John B. rolled his eyes at the question, he was fully aware that all of JJ’s courtship wasn’t completely an act, he knew JJ was fairly infatuated with you, yet he felt it wasn’t really his place to interfere, knowing you have the right to tell him when you’re ready. And even though he did try to push you to do it, he still knew where to draw the line, not selling off either of his best friends to the other.

“Yes”

JJ looked at John B. wide eyed waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t he impatiently blurted “well!? What did she say!?”

“I believe her exact words were ‘what can I do to get that nitwit to leave me alone’”

JJ jabbed his side and in reply, John B. smacked the back of his head gently, saying “what is with you guys and my ribs today? Leave them at peace you feisty goon”

“She didn’t actually say that right?” JJ tried to play it cool, pretending it didn’t really bother him but it was apparent to John B. he somewhat cared.

“I’m just joking dude, ask her yourself if you want to know so badly” He replied as he too, hopped off the counter joining the rest outside.

At the beginning, JJ was only inquisitive by your behavior, but with time he got suspicious.

You didn’t only stop talking back but stopped being around him as well, like two days later, it was the moment he stepped foot in the chateau that you were all of the sudden in a hurry to leave although only seconds before you were talking about how comfortable the couch was and how you never wanted to get up. Every time he was around, you avoided his eyes, touch and tried to ignore his overall presence, you talked to everyone regularly but whensoever he’d tempt start a conversation, you’d shy away.

He didn’t understand what happened, he even contemplated the possibility you were mad, yet it made no sense, for he couldn’t recollect a reason to why you would be.

He couldn’t recall saying or doing something that could hurt you either, so the only alternative left to think of, was that you actually began hating him.

Unbeknownst to him that your attempts at avoiding him were for the exact opposite reason.

You were petrified that if you told him and he didn’t feel the same way, it would ruin everything.

Sure, he always pinned after you, constantly reminding you how much he did want you, but that was just JJ. He hit on every girl with a heartbeat, you never thought of his gestures as anything more than his sheer nature. So you never even considered to confess your feelings for him.

Two weeks have passes by since you guys all sat together at John B.’s, two weeks since JJ developed his suspension.

You were doing a history assignment when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up then reflecting on the glass of the framed picture of you and the pogues that was sitting on your nightstand. You decided to ignore it in favour of the unfinished essay, knowing if you checked it now you’d be stuck on your phone for ages.

A couple of hours passed by and you completed all of your work.

You rushed to pick up your phone, practically collapsing onto your bed, ecstatic that you finished and can finally rest. You unlocked it only to find out your very much needed break was over. You had a text from John B. asking you to come over to the chateau asap.

You reluctantly got up and drove to the chateau, wondering what could possibly be so urgent - but not urgent enough to call.

As soon as you got there, you noticed a mop of blond locks peaking out of the hammock, you immediately recognised them as JJ’s.

You tried walking passed him but his words halted you in your tracks.

“He’s not in there,” you turned around to meet his drowsy figure laying on the hammock with a lit joint resting in between his lips.

“And hello to you too” he added, knowing you saw him.

“Hi” you walked closer to him, lips curving into a faint smile.

He diverted his gaze upwards, it was quite for a few moments, then he asked “Are lobsters mermaids to scorpions?” mesmerised by his own question he narrowed his eyes, making you giggle and roll your own.

“JJ, how high are you?”

“Six foot, why?”

You scrunched your nose at his answer, face palming at his stupidity.

“Well i should probably go look for John B.,” you declared beginning to make your way towards your car when he admitted, “I actually sent you that text”.

You turned around with furrowed eyebrows to meet his guilty eyes.

“I’m going home JJ”

“Wait! Please, stay” he plead. “I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted it to be face to face but I knew if the text was sent from my phone you wouldn’t be here right now”.

It took you a moment to comprehend his words, his actions, eventually realising it was true, you gave in. You approached the hammock signaling him to move and he obeyed, you got in and laid beside him, hands on your stomach as an awkward silence filled the air.

“Well, did you swallow your tongue or something?”

He was actually thinking about a way to ask his question in a gradual manner.

“how come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately?”

But failed.

“what do you mean?”

“oh come on, you‘re nicer than usual”

“i mean, i’ll punch you in the face if you want” you asserted confidentiality as if you didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“I’m serious! First you started ignoring my comments which is very unlike you, since you always talk back. But then you started ignoring me in general. It’s like you always seem to be away when I’m around or at a distance when I try to engage conversation. What’s up with that? Are you mad at me, did i do something?”

“What? No JJ, you didn’t do anything”

“Then why?”

You stayed silent, not wanting to admit you had feelings for him. He continue throwing possibilities, trying to justify your actions, going crazy but knowing you probably won’t tell him what’s going on. And you only grew redder by the minute.

“I mean it’s either I did something to upset you, or- Wait a minute-“

He turned to look at you, a mischievous smile of realisation painted across his face, “you like me”

Your eyes widened, mouth slightly agape as you didn’t know what to say yet still tried to stall “I will squeeze your kneecaps”

“You didn’t say no!”

“Why did you get high anyway?”

“It took you two hours to get here, I thought you weren’t coming- Ah! You’re trying to change the subject! you didn’t say no!”

“Just shut up and kiss me you dill hole”

With no hesitation he launched his entire body to his left in an attempt to hover over you and do as told, but instead, he ended up flipping the hammock upside down, hurling both of you onto the solid ground.

You were out of breath as you guffawed, the sound of your heavy laughs mingled filling the air, when his hand found its way to your hair, pulling out a leaf that was tangled in it.

He brushed the loose locks behind your ear, his eyes holding nothing but utter adoration towards the girl beside him, since he now knows, he will never cease to make you blush.

—

taglist:

@infinitelycharmed23 @queenofthepouges @bibliophilewednesday @bijleegiregi @princessnnylzays

feel free to add yourself to my taglist!

[iliumheightnights]

Remembrance | Robb Stark x Male Reader

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Robb Stark x Male Reader

Summary: (M/N) finds Robb alive after thinking he was dead. 

A.K.A, an alternate universe where Robb survives the red wedding somehow.

…

“King Robb and Lady Catelyn are dead! Killed by the Frey’s at the twins!”

(M/N) stopped as he heard those words. Not just two days had passed since he had left his love to deal with Theon. He had been worried about leaving Robb, but the man assured him he would be okay. He should have trusted his instinct. Now Robb was dead and he wasn’t there to protect him...at the least to die with him.

When they arrived at Winterfell they found that the ironborn had all been killed or captured and the Boltons now held it as their keep. (M/N) couldn’t believe it, there was practically nothing left for the Starks. He knew that if he tried to retake Winterfell he and his forces would die. He ordered his forces to fall back and then disbanded the war party. “Return to your keeps, swear loyalty to the Boltons,when I find Bran,Rickon, Arya or Sansa...be prepared to retake Winterfell.”

…

It had been months since the events of the red wedding happened. (M/N) was haunted by the visions of Robb. He couldn’t remember if he told him that he loved him before he had left. That was the part that (M/N) worried about the most. He didn’t want the last thing he said to Robb to be awful or an argument.

It was a common occurrence for him to see Robb in his dreams whenever he went to sleep. Robb would be standing there like any other day and smile at him with that stupid grin. (M/N) would try to get to him but before he could reach him Robb would look like he had just been stabbed and would fall just out of (M/N)’s reach. And those were the good nights.

Sometimes when he would be travelling he would believe that he had seen his lover standing in the treeline, or sometimes he would think he was among the crowd of people. It was never true. He couldn’t seem to get it through his head that Robb was gone, the king of the north was dead. He thought about what Robb would say if he could see him now. He’d laugh at him for being so weak, for not being able to move on. 

No. Robb wouldn’t think that at all. Robb would apologize for worrying him, apologize for leaving so soon. He would tell him how much he loved him and how they’d meet again. (M/N) knew that's what Robb would really say. He saw how broken his love was after his father was killed in kings landing, he’d never judge (M/N) for grieving.

Sometimes (M/N) hated the fact that he was alive. Why was he still breathing when Robb and most of the Starks were dead or missing? Missing. He had to find the Stark kids, that’s the least he could do for Robb, Ned and Catelyn. So that became his next mission, he knew that Sansa was being held by the lannisters. Bran had been at Winterfell with Rickon if anything Osha and Hodor would protect them both. Arya was what concerned (M/N), the lannisters said they had her...but he knew they were lying. Arya couldn’t be captured by anyone.

So that’s what (M/N) had been doing now. Searching for the lost Stark Girl. He had looked everywhere, From king's landing to even casterly rock. Everywhere he looked he didn’t find her. His search finally brought him to one place he was hoping to avoid. The Twins. Of course, he couldn’t just go around asking for a missing Stark. They’d have his head before he even thought of escape. His best chance of finding out if she was here would be to sneak into the dungeons.

Sneaking into the dungeons was no easy feat, for some people. For (M/N) all he had to do was kill a guard and take their uniform. Maybe it wouldn’t work for say the Lannisters, but for the Frey’s they were too stuck up to truly notice that he didn’t belong. He approached the dungeon and spoke to the guard. “You lucky Bastard. Lord Frey says you get to go have fun with the others, I get stuck guarding the pigs tonight.” The guard laughed and handed him the keys before he started walking away. “Sucks for you! Imma go find a nice woman to bed.” (M/N) rolled his eyes and waited for the guard’s footsteps to quiet. Once the coast was clear, he turned and entered the dungeon.

The cells were mostly empty, probably because Walder Frey liked to execute his prisoners rather than waste food on them. The few cages that did have prisoners looked like they had been there for a while, but no sign of Arya so far. Then (M/N) caught his breath as he took in the sight of someone he didn’t think he’d see ever again. “No...it can’t be. Robb?” He stepped closer to the cell and the man inside looked up. The man’s eyes widened and quickly stood up rushing to him. “(M/N)! By the gods what are you doing here?” (M/N) felt Robb’s hands grab his own on the bars. He actually felt him. He was real, he was alive. He looked exactly like he had, but with more messy hair and beard. “How are you...nevermind. Let’s get you out of here.” (M/N) quickly unlocked the cell and was engulfed in a hug by Robb. “Oh gods...It’s so good to see you. I thought I’d never see you again.” (M/N) hugged him back but quickly let go. “I thought the same, we’ll talk later but now we have to go. Here.” He handed Robb a cloak from the wall. Must have been left by another guard. The man quickly put it on. “So what’s the plan?” Robb asked. “You follow my lead.” He gripped Robb’s shoulder and began walking out of the keep. (M/N) quickly checked the hallway and was glad to see it still empty. “We’ll go through the secret entrance. That’s how I got in here.” Getting out of the Twins was surprisingly just as easy as getting in. They never expected someone to come and steal the king in the north.

(M/N) and Robb made it back to where (M/N) had left his horse. “Okay you’re up first, we need to go.” (M/N) quickly undressed from the Frey uniform and got back into his regular outfit. He grinned as he caught Robb watching him. He helped Robb onto the horse and followed soon after. “Okay let’s get out of here before they realize you’re missing.” (M/N) wrapped his arms around Robb’s body and grabbed the reins. The two booked it as far from the Twins and the Freys as they could.

As they rode it seemed to be too quiet. “What happened to you? I thought you were dead?” Robb stiffed a bit. “I thought I was. I had been shot multiple times and stabbed, but somehow...not enough to kill me. Walder Frey wanted to use me as a hostage in case the North retaliated...but I can see that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.” (M/N) let out a huffed, forced laugh. “North’s in a large civil war right now. No one’s saving anyone anytime soon dear...I heard they sewed Grey wind’s head onto your body. I’m guessing it was some other poor sap?” Robb nodded. It got quiet again. “I’m sorry about your mom Robb. She was a strong woman and I’m sure she’s watching over you with your father right now.” Robb didn’t say anything but leaned back into (M/N). They were quiet the rest of the ride.

They rode on for another day and only stopped to rest when they were sure they were far enough not to be followed. They arrived at an old hut, it seemed to be worn down by the weather. “Here, this looks abandoned. We can rest in here for the night.” (M/N) jumped off the horse and helped Robb down. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You don’t need to coddle me.” (M/N) tied up the horse. “Oh I think I do. I thought you were dead for months. I don’t want you out of my sight again.”

The inside of the hut was at least still stable. The roof didn’t look like it was about to collapse so that was the most important thing. (M/N) started a small fire in the fireplace and pulled out his pack. He took out a knife and threw it towards Robb. “Here. Get yourself cleaned up. Looking more like a wildling now.” Robb laughed and took the knife. “You wish.” Robb was going to start but stopped as he had an idea. “Why don’t you help me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at his love.

(M/N) sighed but grabbed the knife and began shaving him. He kept his hands steady as he worked his magic. “I’ve missed this...well not shaving you but just getting to feel you. I never thought I’d get to do this again. Glad I was wrong.” Robb smiled and rubbed (M/N)’s arm. “I’m glad you were wrong too.” (M//N) finished shaving Robb and cut his hair down back to the length it was at before the red wedding. The two looked into each other's eyes and leaned in. (M/N) felt Robb’s lips on his and pressed deeper. It had been so long and he almost forgot what his love felt like. 

The two broke apart and cuddled together in front of the fireplace. “So what happens now? I can unite the houses and rally them against the Boltons and Freys.” Robb said but (M/N) only shook his head. “I can’t see that going well. The red wedding killed many of your loyal men and the survivors won’t easily come back just yet. Perhaps you and I should figure out how to save Sansa or to find Arya or Bran and Rickon.” Robb frowned. “We’ll find them, I want them to be safe. Protected. But I also want my family home back. Those Boltons-” (M/N) interrupted him. “Will pay for what they’ve done. But there��s nothing we can do right now. For now just try and relax and we’ll come up with a plan tomorrow. For now…” He let his fingers move across Robb’s chest. 

“Let’s make up for lost time.”