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minniepetals · 1 year

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cry me a river | the pawns

— summary: when pawns are used well, they are the soul of the chess. you might as well take advantage of what you’re given

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 6.4k

— warnings: none

— PART 22 / previous post / masterpost

“Why did she call you buttercup?”

“Buttercups reminded her of me,” you answer Yoongi as take your steps into Bangtan’s manor for the first time in weeks. “Bright and yellow, pretty little thing.” You pause. “And a weed in her path.”

“She was never on your list?”

“Nari had always been insignificant,” you say with arms crossing over your chest, wanting to leave it at that.

But Yoongi isn’t satisfied with the short answer. “You never told me how the two of you got involved.”

“What can I say,” you shrug, “the Vipers were our ally so inevitably, we met. I caught her attention with my face and she grew intrigued and envious.” He told you his history so you might as well entertain him with yours. Just a little though. Only a little. “I’m sure you know it better than I, your little sister—”

“She’s not my sister.” He’s quick to cut you off, stern and firm. Yoongi isn’t someone who cares too much about the things that leave people’s lips. He lets them yap off as much as they’d like, so when he does ever speak up on things, you know just how serious he is.

So you nod, sending him a tight smile. “Right, right. That little celery,” you correct yourself, “she can get a bit crazy when she doesn’t get something she likes, or when the attention is shifted away from her.”

“She’s never had her attention shifted away in the times I lived in that manor,” Yoongi says and you give him a blank look.

Small little Yoongi, probably just the same as you who never received attention and love and was just seen as nothing more than an heir who was meant to fulfill his role. On the other hand, you never saw your father loving another, or even having the ability to love at all. There’s a bit of comfort knowing your father was incapable of feeling, so he had no one to show it to and you had no one to grow envious of, even though it did take you a while to get smart about understanding him. Yoongi on the other hand had to grow up seeing his father show his affection to someone else.

He got out quicker than you though, and fled the scene before things could go downhill.

You came to a realization too late. It was your body that had to force you to “wake up.”

“So imagine what it was like when that moment finally came to her.” Up the stairs and to the right. It’s a bit funny you’re getting used to navigating through this manor like it’s your own. Once upon a time, it was yours. “The spotlight switching from her to me gave her quite the scare.”

Yoongi opens the door to Namjoon’s office and you walk in casually.

“I met her before I met you,” you say and he gives a moment of pause before following you right in when you take your designated seat, the same seat you’ve always taken whenever you walk into this room.

Namjoon’s already sitting across from you, taking a sip of coffee from his cup with Seokjin stood to his side as his second in command. Yoongi takes his position on his leader’s other side while Mingyu stays to your right.

“Do you know Alexander Larsen?” You start without hesitation, leaning back into your seat and trying to make yourself comfortable.

In truth, you will never get comfortable.

“Alexander Larsen?” Seokjin raises a brow at your question. “You don’t mean from the Norwegian mafia, do you? You’re not talking about the Kingsmen, are you?”

“So you do know of him.” You cross a leg over the other, feeling satisfied.

“You want to go after an old man?”

“It’s not the grandpa I want to go after, it’s his son.”

“Karl Larsen?” He shares a brief glance with Namjoon, expression marked with hesitation. “That’s a bit…”

You ignore his trailing comment to continue your point toward Namjoon. “I’d like to get close to gramps and I know you have connections to do so.”

“He’s a don, Y/N. A Godfather. A Norwegian Godfather,” he stresses. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” Right from your proposal, he’s already denying his offer to help but you’re not about to back down.

“You told me I could use you as my pawn,” you remind him of the contract the two of you made a few weeks ago. “You aren’t supposed to ask me questions and force me back on my plans just because a certain man I want to go after happens to have a Godfather as his father. If I get close to Alexander, my plot against his son would be much easier.”

“It isn’t easy getting close to Alexander,” you hear a different voice coming in through the door but you don’t have to look to know that it’s Hoseok. “Going after a Godfather is the equivalent of signing off your death certificate.”

“Not to mention Alexander is linked to the Italian mafia and you know how dangerous they are.” You roll your eyes when Jimin follows along.

It feels like being scolded all over again.

“Why’re you leaving the scope of Korea?” Taehyung asks.

“Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

“I said no questions,” you point directly at Jungkook who in turn ignores it by looking away, and return to the boss who sits at the center of them all. “If you’re scared, you can just say that.”

Namjoon frowns at your words, shaking his head subtly. “I can get anyone for you, Y/N, but I don’t want you messing around with foreign mafiosos.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re trying to walk into a battlefield.”

“The whole world has been a battlefield, Namjoon, and just because this particular boss is tougher than other soldiers out there doesn’t mean it’s enough to have me back down. I’m not backing down. I want Karl Larsen dead.”

“It’s dangerous territory.” Still, he denies you the help.

You let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s what you said the last time I proposed leaving Korea.”

“Yeah, and remind me what happened last time?”

Hwang Leehyun.

A living nightmare.

You cross your arms across your chest when he hits you with that, their eyes piercing without any hints of backing down and you suddenly have this urge to punch someone in the face. It feels like being in the eyes of your father all over again, being told you cannot do this or that, that you must do that and this. Like a child who does not, who can not, make her own decisions without the permission from her parents.

“Why do you even care whether I make it out okay or not?” So you snap with a click of your tongue, anger fueling. “This is my mission and my plot against the person I want dead.” You turn to Hoseok. “I’ve already told you I don’t care what happens to me down this path I’m walking on. If life decides it’s done with me, then so be it.”

If I die, I die, you told him once and Hoseok, frustrated in his own sense, turns to your right hand man instead of facing you.

“Aren’t you going to stop her?”

When all eyes fall on him, Mingyu has to take a moment to spare you a glance. You, who shoots a glare at Hoseok for even thinking of looking to him rather than addressing you. And knowing just how you feel, your commander answers in a calm tone.

“Whatever the boss wants, I provide and clear the path to let her get through. It is not my duty to stop her, therefore I hold no protest.”

Hm. Good answer.

“Just what are you feeding your Reapers?” When Hoseok turns back to you, you send him a cheeky grin.

“Loyalty. They’ll always take my side no matter what wrongs I’ve committed.” You look at the rest of them. “You should know about that.” And a bit of awkwardness they clearly don’t enjoy too well walks in, but you decide to ignore the effect those words had on them. “Mingyu knows his place and he knows what his title entails. It’s not his job to stop me. He’s here to clear the path for me and back me up, all the while doing what he can to get me back on my feet if things start going downhill and provide protection.” You give a little pause before adding. “You should learn from him.”

“The last time we let you do what you wanted, you ended up hurt.”

You frown at Seokjin when he says that, eyes avoiding his because you know just what he’s trying to imply. That moment of weakness you had turning to him. Why did you make that mistake?

You were just desperate to find a safe haven after what Leehyun did.

“The only thing with Karl is that he’ll get out my angry side, that’s all,” you say, resting back into the seat you’re in. “The situation won’t be the same. He wasn’t a creep, just some asshole psychopath who should have minded his own business.”

You and your stubborn streak. Namjoon knows you don’t have it in you to let your plans fall to a pause just because someone declines the help you’re seeking for. So he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing into his temples. “Like Hoseok said, getting a Godfather involved in your plans is the equivalent of choosing death.”

It doesn’t matter what sort of thing Karl has done to you to earn your anger. He’s still a son of a powerful man.

“I know,” still you say with acknowledgment, unwilling to back down. “But there will always be risks when it comes to going after people, and in this case, I’m walking a fine line between life and death, but as long as I can prove my worth and show Alexander that I’m a better pawn than his son, I have a higher chance returning here safe and sound. And besides,” you intertwine your fingers into one another and have your hands sit on your lap, “when it comes down to it, you’re all great at getting out of a sticky situation. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure I can rely on my pawn’s protection. You’re not trying to go back on your words again, now are you, Kim Namjoon?”

A promise is a promise.

A vow is a vow.

The Reapers have learned to master it and have proven again and again that their pledge to you is something that is unshakable.

Namjoon asked you to collapse into him. They vowed to never let you fall.

And yet here you are now, a shattered mess of glass.

It looks like your choice of words gets to him because Namjoon’s shifting in his seat, uncomfortable, but he has no reason to say no to you now, not after you’ve brought the contract he wrote back into his face. And the past that left you scarred.

“.....I know someone who might be able to get you in contact with Alexander,” he finally says, “but it will be up to you to figure out how to get him on your side.”

The corner of your lips curls upward. “That’s all I need.”

And before the conversation can move on, Mingyu bends down to your side, whispering something into your ear. “They need you at The Academy.”

You give him a nod and uncross your legs to begin standing again. “Let’s pick up this conversation another time, yeah? You should prepare for my absence for at least a month or more. It won’t be easy getting close to a Godfather, after all.”

And with that, you walk off with Mingyu tailing along, leaving the seven of them still unsure about all of this.

“Sunoo refuses to sleep, my lady. I used to wake up to him trashing in his sleep and having to force him to wake up and ask him what was wrong but he never tells me anything. Now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I just see Sunoo on his bed, wide awake. The teachers and I have tried to help but…nothing’s helping him.”

Jungho stands with his head lowered as he fiddles around with his fingers, those little shoulders of his trembling slightly, and when you look at the headmaster for confirmation, she simply nods.

“So you asked the headmaster to call for me, yes?” The little boy nods at your question. “And why is that, Jungho? Why do you believe I can be of help?”

“I-I don’t know, my lady,” he answers truthfully, “but…Sunoo is my best friend and…and I want to help him get better so I thought…I thought that you would have a higher chance at helping than I.”

“You believe that I, someone who doesn’t know him quite as nearly as you do, who has spent years growing up with him, can be of better assistance?”

Jungho nods again. “Because..”

“Because?”

“When he did sleep…Sunoo used to call for your name.”

A droplet falls onto the floor where his feet stands, then another is quick to follow along, but Jungho keeps his head buried against his chest so that all you can see is the back of his hair. So you give Mingyu a look and he nods in return, turning to the child with a hand on his shoulder to lead him away while you head for the dorm the two of them have been assigned to.

Sunoo sits with a blank stare when you enter the room and shut the door behind you. Under the little boy’s eyes are dark bags that shouldn’t be there. He looks worse than the last time you saw him, a little daintier, not quite as skinny as he used to be when he worked under Ying but he might as well be getting back to that stage.

To that little child who was all skin and bones, his clothes too baggy for him when he’d look up at you determined and unwilling to give up hope.

He’s grown since then, putting on some meat, cheeks less hollowed, and a little more life in his physique, but that little spark of hope he had in him is dim. He hasn’t even realized you’ve walked in and Sunoo is someone who’s been taught to stay on high alert due to the fear instilled in him.

You’ve been trying to heal these children but just what are you doing if he’s still like this?

“Sunoo.”

When you call his name, he looks up with a slow reaction, though his eyes widen at the sight of you as expected. “My lady?” His voice is small and when he goes to shuffle from his bed to reach the floor, his legs give in underneath him when he tries to get to you.

You grab ahold of him before he can hurt his knees, picking him up effortlessly and setting him back onto the bed. He sits there with wide eyes searching for something, little fingers gripping onto the sleeve of your shirt a little too tight it turns white.

There is fear in his eyes, you realize.

The fear you never got to see when he hid them in that room the two of you were in because he wanted to be brave, because he wanted to uphold the promise he gave unto you.

A child shouldn’t have gone through that.

“When was the last time you’d eaten?” You ask him, knowing that asking him if he’s eaten at all is dumb because it’s clear he hasn’t eaten in a while. You take the hands that balled onto you, placing them onto one another in his lap but knowing not to let it go. It probably gives him comfort knowing he can physically touch you.

“I…” His voice shakes so he’s quick to shut himself up with his teeth biting onto his lower lip. It quivers so he lowers his head and you give him the privacy by standing from the floor to sit beside him on the bed instead.

He keeps himself as silent as he can, and you watch the way he struggles, the way those little shoulders tremble in the way Jungho had and the way you remember the rest of them did when you rescued them that night.

Hiding. Hiding.

All for you.

You feel some sort of hatred boiling within you because you know that all this hiding is for you and you hate yourself for doing this to them.

“Do you know something, Sunoo?” You let one hand remain holding his while the other reaches behind to rub along his back. “There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying.”

He remains quiet but there’s a little jostle in his body when you say that. As if he’s surprised, as if he can’t believe you’d just said that.

“Do you believe crying is a sign of weakness?” You ask him and he gives you a small, honest nod. “Why do you believe that, Sunoo?”

“Because you hate it.”

Of course the reason comes back down to you. You’ve instilled something in them your father instilled in you. That crying is weak, that loving is dumb, that emotions must never be revealed to another because no one will care for you if you fail at these three tasks.

You’re becoming your father.

You want to punch the wall, kick something, anything, shoot a bullet into someone’s head, bring out a knife, and stab it into something. Anything.

But you know not to, not before a child, so rather than wanting to take out your anger onto something, you let yourself seek peace in the child.

You cup Sunoo’s face and force him to turn your way so that he cannot hide, so that you can allow yourself to see the tears that splash onto those eyes of his, and when they fall out from the corners of his eyes and you see the way he watches with surprise and redness in his pupils and on his cheeks and nose and lips, you press your forehead against his, forcing him to stop running away.

“There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying,” you repeat your words to him once again because it’s hard. It’s hard trying to find any other words to comfort him because you’re bad at it, because you don’t know how to do it without giving a part of yourself to him. “You are seven, Sunoo. You are supposed to cry when something hurts you.”

“...” You see the way his lips quiver rapidly before he allows more tears to form along his waterline and inevitably fall.

“Do not bite your lips, you will hurt yourself.” He tries to remain silent but you refuse to let him, swiping a finger to let him loosen up, and with your permission, Sunoo cries as a child should.

He voices his frustrations, lets out the screams he’s been holding in, and cries as loud as he can while you hold him in your arms, covering his head into your chest so that he can still feel your presence and know that you aren’t going anywhere. That you’re accepting him. That he doesn’t need to hide from you.

Have you ever cried like this?

So loud and broken?

You did once. So many times. So many years ago.

When you were scared and frightened. When you had Mister Butler there to hold onto you when you needed to let the tears out.

“Do not bite your lips, you will bleed.”

He was the one who taught you that it was okay to let it all out when you cried, that it was okay to be loud, that you didn’t have to fear anyone hearing you.

It feels like a distant dream more than anything, however, because ever since the first few days of being sent to the White Room after Mister Butler died, you had let the fear return to haunt you once again. The fear of being loud. Succumbing to the silence.

Fearing the noise.

“You were gone, my lady.” Sunoo’s voice allows you to return to reality. “You were..you were dead, my lady.”

“...Was I?”

“I dreamt it,” his voice croaks. “She killed you.” So those were the nightmares that feared him into refusing to sleep when he needed it. He dreamt of your death, of him being unable to get you out of that situation.

You admit if it weren’t for Yoongi, Nari would have most definitely snapped and actually ended you right then and there. Yoongi saved your life and lost an eye as a result.

“I’m right here, Sunoo. I’m still alive.” You make sure he knows when you squeeze over his body a little tighter.

Sunoo leans in closer, nuzzling into your embrace.

“I-I know but…but the sun will set again and you’ll leave and…and what if that gentleman hadn’t been there with us? You would have…you could have…”

A sun setting.

The darkness.

The dreaded darkness.

You know just how Sunoo feels because you still fear the darkness. You still hate it when the sun sets because it means absolute darkness until the sun decides to rise again hours later. Hours that feel like days and weeks and months and years. Hours that seem to tick like the seconds are running a year too late. Hours that have you staring straight at the ticking clock, begging it to go faster and faster but it never seems to go as you ask.

That’s why all the clocks in the manor have been either destroyed or thrown away.

Living with your father still alive, you were unable to do things your way but ever since his death, you’ve reorganized lots and lots of things to accommodate your wants and needs.

The clocks are all gone.

“Do you want to come to Norway with me?”

Sunoo looks up suddenly at the suggestion, his brows furrowed with disbelief and for a second you want to take it back because you know it’s a bad idea. You’re there to kill someone after all, to exact your revenge, and having Sunoo in that environment won’t be good.

But this child needs you and he needs the light.

“Northern Norway is a country where the sun does not set during summertime, so you do not have to fear for the darkness.” Once upon a time, you spoke of a wish to visit the Land of the Midnight Sun. Norway. It’s funny the way things are piecing together, funny how no matter how much you want to run away from your past, it always seems to catch up to you. “Jungho will come as well, so you do not have to be alone and so he does not have to sleep here by himself.”

“And the others?” He always thinks of the others. Sunoo is a big brother to all the kids and he keeps strong for them so you know he must be worrying about them feeling left out but this is a foreign country you’re visiting to exact revenge. The less kids, the better.

“They will have to stay. Norway will be dangerous, Sunoo,” you tell him half the truth, not wanting to be too transparent but knowing that letting him believe this will be nothing but a vacation and letting him stay naive will not be good for him.

Kids have to know. The more aware they are, the better prepared they will be.

“But maybe in the future, I can allow for field trips in The Academy.”

“Really?” He sounds a bit brighter at the thought.

“Only if I can get stronger,” you tell him. “Though that may or may not happen and if it does, it will be in the far future.”

“Why do you say that, my lady?”

You wipe the tears from his face when he appears to be calming down. “Because there are still a lot of people who underestimate me or see me as a threat and wish to do something about it.”

“Like that lady?”

“Like that lady.” You take the tissue box from his nightstand to hand it to him and watch as he goes on to blow his nose. “So until people learn not to mess around with me, until my name alone brings fear to them, you’ll have to wait to be allowed to do whatever you want.”

“..Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.” You press a hand to his head, smoothing his hair down. “You won’t have to confine yourself in this school anymore. All of you will be allowed to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. No one will be able to mess with you and you won’t have to fear for your safety. Though that comes with learning how to properly defend yourselves. You will do that for me, won’t you?”

Sunoo is quick to nod happily. “I’ll learn to protect myself and I’ll learn to protect my brothers and sisters. And you too, my lady.”

“That’s right. So until then, be a little more patient, alright?”

“You…please tell me you’re joking. You’re bringing children to Norway?” It’s comical the way Seokjin runs his hand down his face as he tries to fathom what you’ve just told him. He looks more stressed than he’s ever been before. “Namjoon’s not going to agree to that.”

“Why does Namjoon’s opinion matter?”

“You never mentioned bringing children to the mission was going to be part of the plan!”

“They aren’t. I’ll just need an extremely safe house where it’ll be hard for anyone to locate to ensure their safety.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you want to laugh a little because despite the fact that Seokjin appears to always look calm and collected, he tends to lose his cool easily. He doesn’t get upset but he stresses a good amount. “Why’re you bringing them along in the place?” He asks and you look away.

“I’m not obligated to tell you.”

He grows more agitated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to exploit them into helping you with getting close to Alexander?”

“You think I’m that shallow?” You give him a deadpan expression. “They’re not in any part of the plan. Just think of it as them leaving for a field trip.”

He rests a hand on his temples, takes a moment to breathe as he takes a small lap around a small invisible circle before speaking again. Level headed. “Field trip. Right. As if you aren’t going out there signing your life away to Alexander Larsen!”

Not so level-headed.

He’s losing his cool and you grin at how he tries so hard to keep calm but eventually gives in. “If you’re that worried, why don’t you tag along? Come before the rest of you come when it’s time to take action.”

“I can’t,” Seokjin grunts as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hoseok and Jungkook are already assigned to go with you and I have to stay by Namjoon’s side. He’s a wreck without me.”

“Of course he is.”

He glares your way before continuing. “He’s not going to allow you to take the kids.”

“Come on, Kim Seokjin. You’re the Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon’s right hand man, the only one who can get through to him when his stubborn ass refuses to let anyone talk him down from his decisions.” You give him a small poke on his arm, teasing a bit, and Seokjin takes note of the way you feel a little comfortable touching him even in the slightest bit. “I’m sure you can cool him down once he receives news that I’m bringing Sunoo and Jungho along.”

“Cool him down?” Not even convince him to agree but to cool him down. Meaning you aren’t backing from your decision, and Seokjin close his eyes as he takes in another deep breath, praying to God to allow him to keep his patience because he knows he’s stuck dealing with two stubborn people where one does whatever she wants and the other is easy to rile up when the right buttons are pushed.

And you know just the right buttons to push.

“Good luck buddy, I’ll see you when I see you.” With that, you salute him a goodbye and walk off with a grin plastered on your face.

“Y/N?”

The man Namjoon sets you up to meet in Norway is tall in the figure, with blonde hair combed neatly back, and a black suit to match with piercing green eyes that you’re sure to have probably earned many women in his life to swoon.

He’s quite a looker; handsome and tall and carries an aura of authority.

“Asher Larsen.” You say his name in perfect English and extend a hand out to shake it just briefly.

He takes a seat across from you, brows a bit furrowed, jaws set tight. “I can get you in to meet my grandfather but whatever it is you wish to do is none of my business. That will be the farthest I will do for you.”

“Of course. That’s all I need.”

Asher Larsen, grandson of Alexander Larsen, Karl’s nephew, and an intelligent man amongst the Kingsmen. You aren’t sure what Namjoon’s told him about you or the mission in general but he seems like the type who’ll only care about something that he’s actually interested in. And clearly, whatever you’re doing here, he has no intention of getting involved. He’s probably witnessed a few similar scenes before so he can probably guess what it is you’re after, which makes your job a lot easier.

In London, Taehyung was assigned to stay with you during the majority of your plot. Norway, as Seokjin said, Hoseok and Jungkook are here by your side, but unlike London, you won’t have someone here on your side to give you much aid in the way you had Hyunjin.

Asher is only here to be a bridge. Nothing more, nothing less.

He takes you to a private party that night where you walk in by his side as his guest, and for some odd reason, things already begin to spiral as a commotion is heard not long after your arrival.

“Do you often have your security breached like this?” You turn to Asher who gives you a quizzical expression.

“You mean this wasn’t you?”

“To try and grab your grandfather’s attention?” You laugh a little. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? If it was me behind this, it’d only want him to make an enemy out of me, and that’s not what I’m after.”

No one’s by your side tonight, it’s a private party after all, and though you’re sure your Reapers, along with Hoseok and Jungkook, aren’t too far away for you to leave and make an escape before something goes wrong, somehow you don’t feel the need to run away even when the chandelier from the ceiling falls and shatters glass all over the floor.

“How interesting,” is what you utter when the bright lights of the party fall dim and all that’s left is the light of the dawn sky from above the small, circular glass ceiling.

“Do you care one bit about your safety?” Asher questions you when he sees every other guest making an escape while you remain standing where you’ve been the whole time. He doesn’t look like he’s in a state of panic, and you guess he’s probably used to these things. Who wouldn’t be when you’re born into this business?

“Of course I do, but—”

“You should leave before something goes wrong.” He takes your wrist and pushes you towards the emergency exit, but you just can’t seem to run.

“Asher.” You look around, eyes sharp and quick. “Where’s your grandfather?”

Asher looks exasperated with you. “When things like this happen, my grandfather’s the first to escape. Now—”

“Something’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The party started an hour before we arrived, right? So why was it that the second we walked in, they decided to stop it then? Why when you arrived?” You look towards the entrance door that’s now closed and blocked off, the chandelier that fell at the center of the grand room, just a few feet away from where the two of you were standing.

Luckily no one seems to be on the verge of death and there are people helping some guests leave from a side door, but besides that, there doesn’t seem to be any present physical threat in this room. One might believe they’re not here because Alexander isn’t here but still, you feel an odd sense of something.

You turn back to Asher just as he’s trying to calculate what you just said. “Tell me, Asher, are you someone your grandfather favors?”

“My grandfather doesn’t have favorites.”

“But you are intelligent and a great asset to the Kingsmen.” Just as you said that, you catch sight of a man who had been pretending to help an injured man point a gun towards Asher, who has his back turned to him, and in seconds, you’re rushing to Asher, take hold of the gun he held on the back of his belt, and pierce a bullet straight into the man’s forehead.

Asher turns around, stunned, and you take another man out on the second story of this room.

“You don’t have an extra gun or something, do you? Because we were told not to bring guns to this party.” You flash him an awkward grin but the man only shakes his head.

Well. At least you’re prepared.

Throwing him back his gun, to which he easily catches to eliminate more men, you take your two hairpins that had been holding your hair up this whole time, and use it as your weapon, stabbing along the masked men who have been bold enough to operate on this mission tonight.

Asher and you are an unstoppable force, it’s almost a bit thrilling having the chance to get back into action and overpowering the enemies as if they were simple ants pestering and getting in your way. You forgot how fun this can be after being held up in bed for almost two months, unable to move properly.

Something catches your attention when a lady dressed in a black and white suit stumbles onto her feet with something in her hand, a puppy, and just behind her a long pillar lies, on the verge of tipping over.

No longer watching Asher’s back, you rush over to the scene to pick the running puppy into your arm and grab the woman with your other hand, successfully rescuing them just as the huge cement falls and crashes onto the floor, alerting everyone’s attention.

You simply stare at the dog in your arm. “Behave, will you? Don’t run into danger, that pretty lady was only trying to help.”

It barks and you feel guns pointed straight at you.

The room falls silent, nothing is heard, and you can’t put a finger on why it is that you’re now the target and they’re ignoring Asher.

Is it the puppy? Is the puppy’s life far more valuable than Asher’s?

“Y/N!” You hear Asher’s call and keeping a firm grip on the puppy, rush to dodge the bullets that fly your way with Asher’s help in shooting down a few of them.

Your body twists and turns, flipping and jumping, doing all it can so that the bullets can only breeze past your skin and not pierce through it, all the while you use your hairpin to stab nearby opponents down with a dog in your hand.

The last of them die against the piercing of your hairpin against their neck, and while you feel eyes on you from the people who were hidden away to hide from the fight, you retrieve the two silver accessories from the enemy’s bodies, wiping their blood on the cloth of your dress, before fixing them back easily into your hair.

The dog licks your face unexpectedly, jerking you from it, and you fall completely silent and stunned at what it had just done.

“Boy, what are you doing to me? You can’t just lick someone like that, even if that is in your nature,” you say, face contoured with disgust as you bring him into your hands and extend your arms out so that he’s unable to continue licking you.

He barks with complaint, and there’s a small snicker that you hear from across the room.

When you turn to look, you’re greeted unexpectedly by the very man you came to meet tonight, standing beside Asher with a few guards next to him.

The little dog twists out of your hand and jumps back onto the floor, rushing over to Alexander who easily picks him up.

Ah. So it was his dog. Now it makes sense why the enemies were after me. The dog’s special to him.

“Are you not used to that?” The old man asks when you pat your hand down onto your dress. His English has a bit of an accent, not too distinct, but he’s not as fluent as Asher is.

“Suddenly getting licked in the face? No sir, I have not.”

“He likes you.” The men beside him move to take the enemies away at Alexander’s head signal, and you watch the way the old man pets the little puppy on the head. “Kiwi doesn’t like just anyone.” Kiwi. “They say dogs are better at judging people than humans.”

What are you supposed to say to that? “...Do they now?”

“Come.”

He turns, with the dog in hand, and you blink.

“Huh?”

But he ignores you to give an order to the lady you reduced under the pillar. “Have a room ready for the lady and send people to tend to her.”

“Pardon me sir, but I can take care of myself. I have a place nearby—”

“My place is closer,” he says, and with that, he’s walking off without letting you have another word in, leaving you to simply stand there with a dumbfounded expression.

When you look at Asher who’s still here, he sends you a shrug, along with a small, amused smile curling along his lips. He looks impressed and he probably is, because you’ve just gotten your chance at speaking to Alexander Larsen without approaching him first.

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cameronspecial · 9 months

Text

Before The Last Petal Falls (Part 10)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Sexual Innuendoes

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Five years later and life couldn't be more perfect for Y/N and Rafe Cameron.

A/N: Merry Christmas Eve to all who celebrate and happy holidays for those who do not. This is the final part of the Flower Universe and I am so excited for you guys to read it. I hope you guys really enjoyed this universe and have fallen just as in love with this version of Rafe and Y/N as I have. Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

The sudden pressure of little bodies on their bed awakens Y/N and Rafe from their slumber. Y/N opens her eyes to see her children staring intently at her. “Good morning, Mama,” Jack whispers as if he is trying not to wake up his father, which seems strange because he already woke both of his parents up by jumping on the bed. She smiles at her eldest and sits up to bring him into her lap. She can feel Rafe shifting on his side of the bed to bring Anna into his. “Good morning, my loves. How did you sleep?” she asks, kissing them both on the head and one on the lips for her pouty husband. He knows she expects the children to answer, but Rafe does before they do to be a little cheeky. “I slept great. I had a wonderful dream where you were wearing that red lit-.” “Okay, that’s enough from Daddy,” she jokes, covering his mouth with her hands because she knows where he is going with that dream. The children are oblivious as to what is happening and just cuddle themselves into their parents' chests. The call of sleep causes their eyelids to be drowsy.

The quiet that overcomes the family is interrupted by the pitter-patter of the youngest Cameron child running into the room with a little doggie stuffie in his hands. Lucas runs over to his mother’s side of the bed and makes grabby hands to be picked up. Y/N leans over and brings him to sit between Rafe and her. They both wrap an arm around the boy to make sure he doesn’t feel left out. “Mommy, isn’t that your doggie?” Anna questions upon seeing the little stuffie in her brother’s hands. Y/N nods her head against Jack’s head, “Yes, baby. But I gave it to Lucas last night because he had a nightmare. It’s going to protect him like your owl or Jack’s dolphin protects you guys.” Rafe smiles down at the toy with a fond memory. “Why don’t you tell them how you got the doggie?” he suggests, ready to finally reveal the truth to his wife.

“Sure, When I was a little bit older than you, I really wanted a doggie and when I brought one home that I found, Gramps made me return him to his owner. And that made me really sad, so Grams and Gramps got me this stuffie to make me feel better.”

“Actually, your parents didn’t get it for you. I did.”

“What? If you did, then how come you let my parents take the credit for it?”

“Because it wasn’t about the credit, my rose. It was about making you happy, which it did so I was satisfied with the result.”

“Wow, even at six years old you were absolutely whipped for me, Cameron.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been in love with you since we were five. Hear that, kiddos, your daddy played the long game and got the girl. Take that as your lesson,” Rafe describes to his children, kissing the three of them on the head. Y/N shakes her head at him and goes to get up from bed. “Let’s go make breakfast,” she orders, helping Lucas off of the bed. Rafe looks at her with a smile, “Let’s. But kids, make sure mommy sticks to toasting the bread, we don’t want the house to burn down.” This causes the three Cameron siblings to laugh their heads off.

——

Y/N is in her home office working on her new manuscripts, when she hears the giggles of her children coming from behind the closed door. “My loves, you can come inside,” she announces, putting a pause on her writing to see what the kids are doing. Anna opens the door and lets her twin walk in first then her little brother before she goes in. The three kids run toward their mother with beaded jewelry in their hands. Rafe is not far behind them. She smiles at the gifts in their hands and takes each one of them into hers to be examined. She puts them on her, “Wow, these are beautiful. So I take it you guys liked the arts and crafts class.” The children nod at her remark and go snooping through her bookshelves.

Jack finds a book that catches his eye and pulls it from the shelf slowly. “Mama, who is Percy Jackson,” he wonders, bringing the book over to his siblings for them to look through it together. They didn’t mean to teach their three-year-olds to read, but since Y/N practically read to them every second she could, they were prone to picking up reading eventually. Rafe and Y/N give each other a knowing look. She beckons for her kids to come to her and Rafe, who is standing behind her with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Well, Jack. He’s who you are named after. And Anna and Lucas are also named after people from that book,” Y/N explains, letting the kids look through the book. “Mama, why does the book have writing in it? You don’t like to write in your books,” Anna inquires, trying to read some of her father’s handwriting. This time, it is Rafe’s turn to answer. “Because Daddy wrote in the book for Mommy. He gave Mommy those books for her birthday. Each one tells her how much he loves her,” he kisses Y/N’s temple to prove the point.

“Is that why you named us after the characters in the book?” Anna asks, which is met with nods as a response. Lucas takes the book into his hands and waddles closer to his parents, “Read, please?” Y/N smiles down to her son and takes the book into her own. She places the annotated copy back onto her shelf and takes out a different edition of the books. “Of course, my loves. But we are going to read this copy because the other one is just for Daddy and me.”

——

The children’s favourite place in the world is the bookstore their mother owns. They love sitting behind the counter in the little chairs she bought them and reading to their hearts' content. Usually, Anna and Jack will take turns reading to Lucas. Normally, Y/N doesn’t censor what they read, if they want to read a middle-school chapter book, then she won’t stop them. However, after her three-year-old twins almost read Fifty Shades Of Gray to their one-and-a-half-year-old brother, she decided she needed to have some rules as to where the kids were picking out their books. The kids are currently in their chairs reading a copy of The Battle of The Labyrinth, while Y/N works on her manuscript between customers at the cashier.

“Okay, so I ordered more copies of Icebreaker and more of those little cat bookmarks that have been selling so much,” Rafe informs Y/N as he makes his way out of the backroom. After they had gotten engaged, Rafe quit his job at Cameron Development and moved in with Y/N in London. She was struggling a little bit with the business management side of owning a bookstore, so Rafe offered to help and he just never stopped. Ward was beyond angry with Rafe for making that decision, but it didn’t really bother Rafe because he was angry at his father too. However, once the twins were born and with the help of Rose and his daughters, Ward saw past his anger and asked to be a part of his grandchildren’s lives. Rafe and Y/N didn’t forgive him right away, but for the sake of their children, they eventually forgave Ward and now, they FaceTime him once a week so he can see the kids.

Y/N looks up from her computer and acknowledges that she heard him. He rounds the counter and rests his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder. He tries to peek at what she is writing, but she quickly closes her laptop before he does. “Hey, you know you aren’t supposed to read it until it’s in the editing stage,” she chastises, turning in his arms so her arms can wrap around his neck. Rafe lets out a chuckle, “I know, but I can’t wait to see what happens to Damian. The last one ended on a cliffhanger. Although, I have a few new moves in the bedroom that I think you might want to add. It might help some poor fellow out.” He whispers the last part into her ear and she feels the heat rise to her cheeks as his breath hits the back of her neck. She giggles while shaking her head and gives him a quick peck on the lips.

The bell above the door jingles and a voice pierces the quiet of the store. “Auntie Lace is here and she has brought gifts for her Cameron dumplings.” Lacey enters the store with a small bag in her hand and smiles when the children run over to her, screaming her name. She gets a hug from each kid and in return, they each get a cookie. They say their thanks and run over to their parents with hopeful eyes that they get to eat the sweet treat in their hands. The three of them cheer when Y/N gives them a thumbs up and they run to their chair to eat them. Y/N’s heart melts when she sees Anna and Jack each split their cookies in half to give Lucas a half each after he accidentally drops his on the floor. Rafe grins at the scene and goes to give the twins a smaller cookie from the cookie cart.

“My second gift is about to walk through that door, right now,” Lace declares, turning towards the door and pointing. Right on time, Mason and Mabel, his fiancée, walk through the door. The children excitedly abandon their cookies at the sight of their uncle and aunt to give them both a hug. “Hello, kiddos. I’ve missed you so much,” he says, crouching down so that they can be carried by him. Jack is being piggybacked, while Anna and Lucas are being carried in his arms.

Lacey’s restaurant opened up down the street from Y/N’s bookstore six months after Rafe and Y/N’s engagement and the Cameron family have dinner there every Sunday. She has really embraced the single-wine aunt title and she loves the children to death. The kids often spend nights over at her house when Y/N and Rafe need some time to make them more siblings. Mason met Mabel a year after Y/N and Rafe’s engagement. He had just moved to Toronto permanently and she was his next-door neighbour. The story goes that they did not like each other at all when they first met. He had the habit of playing music really loud and her fiery self didn’t stop herself from banging on his door to turn it down. However, a blackout, caused by a bad snowstorm, forced them to stay in the same room as each other because he didn’t have anything for a source of light except for his phone and this was when their love story began.

Mabel laughs as Mason plays with his niece and nephews, and they eventually move on to asking her questions about the wedding. “Auntie Mabel, I don’t want to be a flower girl. Can I please be a ring bearer like Jack?” Anna begs. Y/N knew this was coming. Being twins meant that Anna and Jack wanted to do the exact same thing as each other, and Y/N and Rafe weren’t ones to say no just because society deemed something to be only for boys or for girls. Mabel smiles sweetly at the little girl and takes her into her arms. “Of course, you can, sweetie. Maybe Lucas can be my flower boy? Would you like that Lucas?” Mabel offers. Lucas turns towards her at the mention of his name with a smile on his face, “I flower boy.” He happily claps his hands and continues to repeat the phrase. Everyone awws at how adorable he is. “How about you close up shop a little early and we go get dinner?” Lace proposes. This is met with agreement from the children, who never turn down the offer of eating Aunt Lacey’s food.

——

After a joyful dinner and a little bit of chaos getting Mason and Mabel settled in the guest bedroom, Y/N and Rafe can finally lie down for the night and get some rest. They both lie on their sides facing each other with a sleepy look on their face. Sparky is at the foot of the bed. Rafe reaches out for the book-shaped locket secured around her neck and opens it up to look at the picture inside. The picture of him and Sparky has been replaced with one with their children in it as well. He smiles at the picture and gives it a kiss. Y/N watches him with adoring eyes. “You know, I think I am going to need a new picture for the locket,” she mutters to him, taking his pendant into her hand. Confusion crosses his face and he responds, “Why would you need a new one?”

“Well, I think it’s missing someone.”

“What do you mean? It has Jack, Anna, Lucas, Sparky, and me. Who else could you need? I mean, I guess we can choose a picture with you in it too.”

“No, I’m not talking about me. This person will probably be here in around nine months.”

“Why? Where are they? Are you talking about your parents? Are they coming to stay with us? It can’t be Mason. He’s already here.”

She mentally face-palms herself and giggles at her husband’s cluelessness. She shakes her head, bringing herself close to him. She brings his hand onto her stomach, “No… they are currently right here.” It takes Rafe a moment to process what she said, but when he does his face turns to elation. He presses kisses all over her face, “Can’t believe we get to do it all over. I really am winning at life.” Five years ago, Rafe never thought he would be here. He didn’t think he’d get his dream woman back or the house or the children. And now, he has all of it. Rafe Cameron feels so lucky that all his dreams came true.

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @f4ll-for-you @winterrrnight @maggiecc @magicwithaknife @loves0phelia @jiarapamuk @blisslove @baby19sthings @thelomlisrafecameron @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

#before the last petal falls #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 3 months

Text

$Change$

It's only natural that demons are attracted to greedy individuals. After all, greedy demons were often seen as cunning or ambitious when getting their way. A demon indulged and satisfied is one most pleasurable.

You recline lazily on one of the many lounge chairs of the casino. You could hear the slot machines ringing, the sounds of cheers, and frustration. A comforting and familiar lullaby at this point.

"Hi Gran!" You crack open one eye to stare at your grandson. Razberry stares at you happily. His tail swayed behind him as he leaned over you.

You raised an eyebrow at the little troublemaker. "And what does my little imp want?" You pondered aloud. "I'm sure your grandpa will get you whatever your dark little heart desires."

The boy laughs and shakes his head. "Nah Gran, I don't want anything from Gramps right now. I had a question for you!"

You sighed and closed both eyes. "What is it, brat?" Unlike your husband, you didn't believe in spoiling the child. He received that enough.

"Why did you marry Gramps?" He asked innocently. The question makes open your eyes and fully look at him.

"Cause he gives me money." You say bluntly. "Is that all?" He asked, tilting his head. "What more is there?" You questioned as you sat up to look him in the eye.

He shrugs and throws himself on your lap. "I dunno, Gramps seemed to have a bunch of reasons for wanting to marry you. I guess I thought there would be more. Like reasons you love him or something."

You lean back against the chair once more. Love? Well, that's not exactly how your relationship came to be. It certainly hadn't started that way.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

☆I work all night, I work all day to pay the bills I have to pay. (Ain't it sad?)☆

You remembered struggling to make ends meat. Scrapping by with just a little cash here and there. Only for it all to be spent and taken by others.

☆And still, there never seems to be a single penny left for me. (That's too bad!)☆

You hated it. Nothing ever seemed to be enough. An endless cycle of work and pay. Nothing to enjoy for yourself. So... you had taken action.

☆But in my dreams, I have a plan. If I get me a wealthy man, I wouldn't have to work at all, I'd fool around and have a ball!☆

Dressed in your best. You had walked into this very casino on the hunt. You wanted a better life. That requires money. What better way to get it than to trick some poor sap?

☆Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich man's world.☆

That seemed like a lifetime ago. You could still smell the cigars and feel the stares of others as you made your way deeper into the establishment. The desperation you had felt at the time.

☆Money, money, money, always sunny. In a rich man's world.☆

Passing the slots you made your way to the tables. Scanning for the perfect target. There were plenty of sucker's to trick. But... your eyes had landed on him.

He was younger back then, of course. Razberry actually reminded you a lot of him. His carefree nature and his need to gamble.

You remember seeing him with a large pile of winnings and a greedy grin on his face. That wasn't what made you pick him, though. You were aware of his high rank. One would have to be an idiot not to know.

You had hoped to avoid him, you didn't need that kind of attention. You settled for some nameless faces that were throwing away their money recklessly. It would be an easy take.

☆ooooohhhhhoooohhhoooh☆

Unfortunately, he had also seen you. He made his way over and stopped that lower ranked demons hands from touching you. You tilted your head eyeing him.

"You can look all you like, but never try to touch one of my employees again. You might lose a hand next time!" He said so cheerfully.

You glanced at him. You were confused but decided to stay silent. After chasing the pathetic demon away he turns to you. "Darling! You're here for your paycheck today, aren't you?"

☆All the things I could do, if I had a little money. It's a rich man's world.☆

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. The wad of cash he offered was tempting to take. But you weren't an idiot. You weren't about to be in debt to this kind of demon.

You wrapped your fur coat up tighter around yourself. "It's not payday, bossman." Your voice soft and sweet as you placed the money back in his pocket and fixed his shirt.

☆It's a rich man's world.☆

He had been surprised but had a gleeful look in his eyes as he offered his arm. Humoring him, you had taken it walking side by side with him. That's how your strange relationship had begun.

You had been his arm candy. Leaning against him, blowing on dice. Sitting on his lap or splitting the deck. In exchange, he showered you in gifts.

Diamonds, rubies, pearls, anything that would make you shine out on the floor. A pretty doll to distract other patrons. You still didn't really know what this demon wanted from you, but the silent arrangement between you would do.

☆A man like that is hard to find, but I can't get him off my mind. (Ain't it sad?)☆

You honestly thought he'd get bored quickly. After all, he could have anyone on his arm. Yet you were the one he dressed up and took to parties. The one he often showed off.

☆And if he happens to be free, I bet he wouldn't fancy me. (That's too bad!)☆

Somehow, you ended up living with him. How that came to be you still weren't sure. But still, you wouldn't be fooled. You would squirrel away cash and jewelry you could pawn off just in case.

After all, it was only a matter of time before you were abandoned. You weren't capable of believing in the kindness of others. You could only rely on yourself.

☆So I must leave, I have to go.☆

Hidden in the back of your closet was a bag you always kept. Ready to leave at any moment. You often double-check or add to it. But one day...

You stormed out of your closet angrily. Why? Why did he know about it? He's never gone into your room before. So why? Why would he do something like this? Crazy bastard.

You threw the bag full of cash into his face. "Oh? Was it not enough?" Belial asked calmly. You seethe with rage."Not enough?!?! Do you know how much it is in there! You're crazy!"

"Eh? I thought it would make you happy, dear. You like money after all." He looks at you, confused and curious. "I'm not having a mountain of debt on my hands from your loans!" You snarl.

"Loan? This is a gift dearest. After all, loans come with contracts." He sets the bag down and lights a cigar.

☆From roulette to bingo, to win a fortune in a game, to gain a life that's not the same.☆

You seeth. Of course, to a demon like him, it's nothing but pocket change. You can't stop the fury fueling you at this point. "Let's play a game."

He choked on the smoke, looking at you shocked. Seeing your serious face, he lowered it down to the ashtray. "Alright... if that's what you want, sweetheart." You could see the change in his gaze. This was business.

☆Money, Money, Money, must be funny in a rich man's world.☆

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

"Gran? Gran! GRAN!!!" You quickly cover your grandsons mouth glaring at him. The boy gives you a cheeky grin. "What you spacing out for gran?"

You scoffed. "None of your business brat. Now run off and play." You pushed him away with your tail. Relaxing back into your seat alone once more.

... it didn't last long. "DARLING!!!" You groaned. Speak of the devil. You lift your head to see a bouquet of jeweled flowers in your face surrounded by hundred dollar bills.

☆Money, Money, Money, always sunny, in a rich man's world☆

"Happy anniversary, my greedy little imp!" You rolled your eyes and snatched the bouquet away. A small smile graced your face as you traced the jewels.

Belial sets down next to you, and you can't help but wonder. "What would you have asked for that day... if you had won?" You don't have to explain. He knows exactly the day you're talking about.

"Mmm, well, I would have asked you to marry me, dear!" He says cheerfully. "But I didn't mind waiting another decade. You're worth all the effort, my dear."

There he goes again. Talking nonsense. Yet... you can't help the feeling in your chest. The relief, the embarrassment, the hope...

"You fool." Is all you can say. But like always he smiles. "But I'm your fool." He holds up his left claw, flexing his wedding ring. "Forever"

☆Ooooooohhhhoooohhhhooooh, all the things i could do. If i had a little money.☆

You grab his tacky shirt and pull him close. Shutting him up with a kiss. Honestly, what a pain. You grin. But you signed up for a lifetime of it, didn't you? Everything had been your choice till the end.

☆It's a rich man's world. It's a rich man's world.☆

#welcome to demon school iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #reader #lord belial #belial berry razberry #songfic #abba

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m3-kk · 6 months

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Last notes for Part 1! (I just finished now I have to read side stories and part 2 lets gooo)

Ch. 753- Hahah actually hitting the WS in the back of his head with a rock KEHEHE

Ch. 754- Why is this one of my fav chapters? We finally got to beat the bloody (literally) WS, PHYSICALLY! With a rock, A ROCK! KEHEHEHHEHE I LOVE THIS HAHAHHA WAR WARRRRR DESTRUCTION! It’s soooo satisfying to see him cry 🥰

Ch. 757- F F F F F WE FINISHED WRATH TEST FINALLY F U SEALED GOD! IM SCARED ABOUT WHAT THE FAM IS ABOUT TO SEE CALE DO AHHHH PANICCC

Ch. 758- We’re attack in but the others!

Ch. 759- Dam, we stabbed ourselves and him…. I’m speechless, flabbergasted..

Ch. 760- Praise the Alberu thank God! WOO THAT GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS!! Sheesh 💀

Ch. 761- Collecting Ancient Powers like they are Pokémon Cards heheheh!

Ch. 762- Eruhaben & Roan ye! Cales Panicking fr fr

Ch. 764- Slacker-chan really did leave to get the milk 😭(my face feels so warm rn I might have a nosebleed like Cale lol)

Ch. 766- UwU

Ch. 767- It’s sleepy time ya’ll 😴😪🥱💤

Ch. 768- Bath time! Also seeing Ron after a bit. GOLDIE GRAMPS NOOOOO!!

Ch. 769- Eruhaben is so shameless for wanting extra life! 🫢 (jk we love him)

Ch. 772- NAH WE GOT LOOTED?! God of Death: Be the Saint. Cale: Chucks book.

Ch. 774- I’m so happy for Cale Lee Soo Hyuk reincarnated into his world?! Also we get a new cintami yay! Part 1 is almost over :(

Ch. 775- Lee Soo Hyuk is at Endable! 🥹

Ch. 776- Part 1 ‘The Birth of a Hero’ FIN. NOW I NEED TO READ Part 2 ‘The Laws of the Hunt.’ IVE BEEN CRYING FOR AN HOUR OMG

#cale henituse #tcf cale #tcf novel #lcf #lout of the count’s family #trash of the count's family #end #story #Me_Kk

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coopigeoncoo · 1 year

Text

An Itch to Scratch, Chapter 3: Through The Hourglass I Saw You

Chapter Links: One, Two, Three

Pairing: Kirishima Eijiro/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Tags: Mermay, Mer!Kirishima, Interspecies Relationships, Sexual Content, Drowning, Somnophilia, Caretaking, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Medical Conditions, Family Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Long-Distance Relationship, Wakes & Funerals, Family Member Death, Depression, Original Characters, Adopted Children, Angst with a Happy Ending.

This story is part of a collaboration from the Teahouse Server.

---

Kirishima Eijiro is everything you never thought you'd find when you packed up your car and moved to a dilapidated fishing town. He was handsome, funny, and kind; the sort of man who took your breath away.

And that might actually be a bit of a problem.

---

"Good girl ," Eijiro praised, his hands like a vice on your hips as he pulled away from your mouth with a satisfied grin. You returned his smile with one of your own; the vibrant joy that had churned in your belly unfurled throughout your body, leaving you feeling breathless and lightheaded.

"Eiji," you gasped, eyes widening in panic as your lungs seemed to seize in your chest. "I- can't breathe!"

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to Ao3!

The harbor grew grimmer by the day as ships disappeared one-by-one, loaded up onto trailers and hauled away into storage for the season. Some of the men joined their ships in wintering away from the town, setting off in the early morning light to visit far flung families until they had long worn out their welcome and the ice began to thaw.

You were helping out down at the docks that morning, accompanying Gramps who insisted on sticking to his usual routine despite the rasp in his chest that he couldn't quite kick. You'd stuck around to keep an eye on him, making yourself useful by stacking up the lobster pots and crab cages in a nearby storage building. The wire cages were hopelessly bent and buckled from years of heavy use, so your stacks were lopsided and wobbly; threatening to topple over if you so much as looked at them wrong.

"Could be worse, I suppose," the Dockmaster tutted, which was pretty much as close to a glowing recommendation as he was capable of giving. "Don't forget to grab the pots near the office too."

"The remaining boats won't need them?"

"Nah. It's starting to get too cold for shellfish. Most of the crabs and lobsters have already moved out into deeper waters where it's warmer. It's not worth the trouble for the handful of 'em that haven't had the good sense to leave yet."

"I see," you mutter distractedly, thinking about the lobster you knew for certain was still lingering near the shore and how cold his skin had grown.

"You need to leave, don't you?" You asked Kirishima the next day as you lay sprawled across his chest and belly, an old quilt wrapped around your upper bodies as you did your best to bring up his core temperature.

"I don't want to," he whispered, pulling you further up his chest so he could nuzzle into your neck as he was oft to do. "I want to stay with you."

"Eijiro-"

"Please. Just a few more days. I'm not ready yet."

"And you will be in a couple of days?"

"No," Eijiro laughs dryly, his upper legs snagging the edge of the quilt and tucking it more firmly around your body. "But I don't think I'll have much of a choice."

Clad in your wetsuit, the murky ocean water too cold for even a warm-blooded creature like yourself to brave without discomfort, you clung desperately to Eijiro in the fading evening light. You had spent the entire day wrapped in each other's tight embrace, treasuring every kiss and caress, knowing that these fleeting touches would have to sustain you over the long months you'd spend apart.

"Promise that you'll come back?" You croak, throat tight with misery. "That you won't meet some lobster lady and forget all about me?"

"That's enough of that sort of talk," Eijiro scolded, grasping your chin in his icy hand and directing your gaze up to his face; his eyes steely and serious. "Believe me, Minnow- nobody can ever compare to you."

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I'm not doubting your sincerity, but it's just so hard and I- I don't know what I'll do without you."

"Can I tell you something? About when we first met?"

"Okay."

"I…wasn't in a great place that day. I had been rejected again for mating rights- the same thing that had happened year after year after year. I thought that I would never get to know what it was like; to be held, wanted, loved," he explained, stopping to press a tender kiss to your furrowed brow. "And then, all of a sudden, there you were."

"There I was, thinking that a lobster man was drowning and making an absolute fool of myself," you snort, that memory summoning up a feeling of retrospective mortification that sometimes kept you awake at night.

"No. There you were, struggling to reach me- to save me. I might not have actually been in trouble, but no one had ever fought so hard for me before, not once in my entire life. Can you imagine how I felt then? When you reached out to me and begged for me to take your hand? When you promised you wouldn't ever let me go?"

You shook your head, the unforgiving loneliness Kirishima described too strange and foreign for you to truly understand.

"It felt like all of my dreams had come true," he grinned, his pale blue lips stretched wide into a dreamy smile.

"Oh, Eijiro," you sobbed, chest bursting with emotions you struggled to put names to; feelings that existed somewhere in the space between heartbreak and bliss.

"And you know what the most amazing thing was? You kept fighting for me. Over and over again, even when the opponent was yourself. I thought for sure when we thought you were allergic to me that you would realize I wasn't worth the trouble and give up."

"But I didn't."

"No, you didn't," Eijiro whispered, disbelief and awe steeped into his words as he cradled your face adoringly between his chilled hands. "And now it's my turn. Let me prove to you that I will always return, that I'll fight to be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Forever, then?"

"Forever," Kirishima readily agreed, sealing his oath with a kiss that lasted until you were both left shivering as the final rays of sun were swallowed by the horizon.

You had arranged for Gramps to spend the day with his friends down at the restaurant where they were celebrating the official end of the commercial fishing season. As much as all the men claimed they wouldn't so much as touch a pole until the Game Warden declared the waters open for fishing next year, you knew you would catch them out on the lake in a few weeks time; sawing through the ice and vying for the best positions to park their fishing huts.

You had begged off from the celebrations, citing a need for a break from caregiving and catch your breath. The men organizing the event had understood completely, assuring you that they would keep a close watch on your Grandpa and get him home safely at the end of the night.

There was an entire list of chores that needed to be done; scrubbing the burnt lasagna sauce from the bottom of the oven, crawling under the porch to shut off the water to the outside spigot before the first frost hit, making sure Gramps had enough meds to make it through the week- mundane things. Important things. Things that absolutely needed to get done.

Instead, you rolled over and pulled your covers over your head, crying yourself quietly back to sleep instead.

"Hey, Gramps?" You called out from your place at the stove, pushing a spatula half-heartedly through the powdered eggs congealing at the bottom of the pan. "You gonna' do anything with the box on the table? It's been sitting there a couple of days and I want to try and get the table cleaned off by dinner."

"What are you talking about?" Your Grandpa huffed, shuffling into the kitchen. "I didn't get a package."

"Check the table," you encouraged gently, turning away so you wouldn't have to witness the pinch of confusion twisting across his face.

"Oh, I- I guess I'd forgotten," he stammered, mind reeling for an explanation as he pulled out the packing slip, a shower of foam shipping peanuts spilling out across the tabletop. "Must have thought it was for you or something."

"Of course," you agreed, shutting off the burner and dumping the scrambled eggs into a shallow bowl. "Here's breakfast if you want it."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks," he muttered as he squinted down at the packing list. "Do you know why I ordered five bags of penis shaped pasta?"

You laughed, a sharp, surprised sound that was wholly inappropriate on such a quiet morning.

"Can't say that I do. But if It were me, I'd make some for dinner so the next time someone told me to go eat a bag of dicks I could say 'Oh, yeah? I already have.'"

"Ha!" Your Grandpa wheezed, slapping his thigh heartily before digging one of the bags of pasta out of the box. "That's a good one!"

"Don't act so surprised," you sniff haughtily, snagging the pasta from his hand and dropping it onto the counter. "I am your granddaughter after all."

"That you are," he chuckled, spooning some of the eggs into his mouth while you rooted through the fridge.

"Do we have any hot dogs left?" You ask as you push a margarine container full of leftovers to the side. "I want to chop some up and add them to the pasta so we can really lean into the weenie linguini angle."

The boys from the dock were over today, crammed around the ancient TV in the living room on folding chairs they hauled around from house to house to accommodate their shifting hangout locations so no one person had to bear the burden of hosting every get together.

You'd thought they would have some sort of preferred sports match to watch, a local football or hockey team perhaps; but apparently the group of them were too competitive to coexist peacefully during play-off season. After a particular explosive brawl a decade or so ago, where everyone limped away with fat lips and bloody knuckles, they had sworn off sports spectatorship entirely for the sake of community harmony. These days they spent their weekends tuned into dog shows, speculating on which pooches would place and cheering on their favorite breeds.

"I don't get how this is any different than you all watching football or something," you huff, slamming a piece of bread down on top of the tuna sandwich you were assembling. "Those dogs are still competing and you're all still picking sides."

"That's true," your Grandpa's best friend nodded, snagging a bag of pork rinds out of the pantry to carry back out to the living room along with his newly opened beer. "But the difference is that we really don't care which dogs actually win. They're all good dogs who deserve to come in first, so there are no hard feelings when your favorite doesn't place."

"Can't argue with that logic, I suppose."

"Nope. And believe me, we've tried!" He chortled, peering around the door frame to sneak a glance at Gramps; perched in his recliner and trying to follow the bouncing conversation with a distant gaze.

"He's not doing well, is he?" His friend sniffed, doing his best to keep his emotions at bay by coughing into his fist.

"No, he's not."

"Right. Okay."

"It's not," you croaked, placing a gentle hand between his quaking shoulders, rubbing soothing circles and allowing him to have a quiet moment of grief while snippets of an argument over the low placement of a group favorite, a sad-faced St. Bernard, floated by.

It was bitterly cold out tonight. You thought you had bundled up appropriately for the season, but it had quickly become evident the moment you stepped outside that you had missed the mark by a layer or five. It wasn't enough of a deterrent for you to turn around though. You needed to get out and fill your lungs with something besides the stale air of your house that was weighed down by the fragrance of your Grandfather's slow demise; thin broths and pain medicine, powdered shampoo and muscle creams.

Body on auto-pilot, you wandered down to the beach, dropping down onto the frigid sand indelicately. You stared out at the ocean for a while, lost in the memories of sunny days and Kirishima's sunnier smile.

"You better come back, Eijiro," you whispered, tears stinging sharply as they rolled down your cheeks in the frigid air. "I don't think I can handle losing both of you."

Gramps had passed quietly in the night during the deepest part of winter; when snow fell more often than not and you had to muscle the front door open from the frozen frame every morning. It had taken the funeral home a long time to get to you with the icy condition of the roads, so you did your best to keep busy and await their arrival.

You had thought that you could be strong and wait with your Grandpa when the time came, but now that the moment was here you found that you couldn't bear to stay in his room a moment longer than absolutely necessary. His face was slack and unfamiliar, body empty of the essence that made Gramps uniquely him; the wise-cracking busybody with more jokes than sense.

Ignoring the smell of cooling excrement that permeated the room, you kissed your Grandfather's forehead, tucked his blankets further up on his shoulders, and left the room. You frittered time away with any distraction you could find, sifting through piles of junk mail and TV guides, straightening the doilies your Grandma had lovingly tatted and draped across every horizontal surface, and cut out coupons from the Sunday paper. Each of those tasks stretched out by you anxiously pulling back the front window curtain every few minutes to check for the hearse's arrival.

After an eternity of chipping ice off the freezer walls, you finally spied the hearse slowly rolling down the street, followed by a beat up sedan you knew belonged to your Grandpa's best friend. He shot out of the car recklessly fast for someone with a bad hip on an icy sidewalk, but you didn't have it in you to chastise him.

Not today.

"I'm so sorry," you apologized as you ran a shaking hand down your face in frustration, watching the people from the funeral home unload a gurney and toss a folded up body bag on top. "I should have called- I didn't, I don't-"

"Hush," your Grandpa's friend interrupted gruffly, pulling you into a tight hug that you didn't know you needed. "You've had enough on your mind this morning. Have you eaten?"

"I- no. I went to ask Gramps what he wanted and I just never got around to it," you say, voice muffled by the downy coat your face was pressed into. "I think I may have left the milk out."

"It's cold enough that I'm sure the milk is fine," he said, pulling back from the hug and pushing you inside with a firm hand on your shoulder while the funeral director and his assistant rolled the gurney towards the front steps. "How about I meet with these gentlemen while you whip us up something real quick? I'm not picky, so whatever you make'll be fine."

You were thankful in this moment for the way the entire town danced around emotionally charged situations, welcoming the distraction of preparing a meal over having to deal with well-meaning sympathies and feelings you weren't sure how to start processing.

"I'll get some coffee going. Come to the kitchen whenever you're ready."

"Will do."

"This is a good turn out," you cried, dabbing at your eyes with a handful of soggy tissues.

"Your Grandfather was a well liked man."

"I don't even recognize some of the people here," you admitted, squinting to the back row that was clogged with women in spectacularly styled church hats and hand-me-down pearls.

"That's the Ladies Auxiliary for the town up the coast. They come to all the funerals around here."

"For fun?"

"No," your Grandpa's friend snorted. "To make sure there's always someone here. Not everyone is as popular as your Gramps is- was."

"Oh," you sob, overcome by their thoughtfulness. "That's so nice."

"It is. They're lovely gals."

Still crying, you peered down into the casket where Gramp's body lay; still and unsmiling for the first time in his life. The funeral director had seemed a bit confused when you had handed him the bag of garments and accessories you had put together for your Grandfather to be buried in, but you were pleased to see he had executed your vision flawlessly.

His only suit, a tasteful tweed affair you had seen him squeeze into for every family wedding since you were a kid, was accented by a novelty squirting flower pinned to his lapel and a motorized bow tie that spun wildly under his chin with a cheery whirring noise.

"You don't think the novelty vampire teeth were too much?"

"This is exactly what he would have wanted," his friend assures you, reaching into the casket and pushing down onto the rubber chicken stuffed into the crook of your Grandfather's arm; the resulting squawk easily heard over the din of the deep sniffles of a group of men who refused to outright cry and were all collectively experiencing an out of season allergy flare up.

"Just wait until the eulogies. I slipped a remote controlled fart machine into his pocket."

The town restaurant was unusually packed during breakfast the next day. The booths that usually sat empty were all full of members of the Ladies Auxiliary, each woman primly sipping coffee and pointedly ignoring each other's deeply rumpled dresses and day-old makeup.

"Do you have something you want to say?" The lady at the counter next to you bristled, apparently taking your curious glances as a sign of disapproval.

"Not at all," you rushed to explain, sliding a handful of bills across the counter to pay for your breakfast order. "I'd be doing something similar if my boyfriend were around."

"Alright then," the woman said, shoulders deflating as the fight seeped from her body. "My apologies."

"It's fine," you say, waving off her contrition as you contemplate a triangle of toast left untouched on your plate. "Besides, I'm sure my Gramps would be thrilled that his funeral was directly responsible for his friends having such a memorable evening."

"Goodness!" The woman gasped. "That was your Grandfather's funeral? I feel even worse now!"

"It's fine! Really! I shouldn't have been staring. I've just gotten used to the same grungy old men that seeing a group of lovely and well-dressed women caught me off guard."

"They are a bit rough around the edges," the woman agreed with a slight grimace, dabbing at the faded remains of her lipstick with the edge of a napkin.

"No judgment here, sister. Any port in a storm, ammirite?"

She snorts inelegantly, the corner of her mouth quirked in delight as she unclasps the top of her practical clutch and pulls out a slightly wrinkled pamphlet for the Ladies Auxiliary that she slides across the counter towards you.

"Here's the brochure for our branch of the Auxiliary. You should consider joining. I think it'll do you good to spend some time away from these old curmudgeons and spend some time in a more…feminine atmosphere."

To perfectly punctuate her sales pitch, one of the men at the back of the diner let loose an astoundingly loud belch that immediately launched all the men into an explosive round of appreciative applause.

"One question: do I get to wear a fancy hat like you do?" You ask, staring at the artfully arranged tower of tulle and feathers piled atop her head.

"Of course. What's even the point, otherwise?"

"Count me in."

The weeks ticked by slowly as you grew accustomed to living by yourself and figuring out what constituted your new normal. The activities that had defined your existence at the beginning of your stay, spending time with Eijiro and caring for Gramps, were both suddenly and dramatically stricken from your schedule and you struggled to fill your days because of it.

Perhaps sensing your ennui, the town council; which was composed entirely of the two brothers who also ran the post office, elected to put you in charge of using the snowblower to clear off the sidewalks on mainstreet and the walkways of anyone who called and asked you for assistance. It kept you busy most mornings, and you were glad for the distraction.

The rest of your time was spent getting Gramp's affairs put in order; contacting banks and sending copies of his death certificate to Governmental agencies you'd never heard of before. When you had a moment to spare you would pick a room in the house and start organizing, carefully packing away bits of family history and discarding numerous shoe boxes stuffed full of faded sales receipts and old batteries.

Gramps friends and neighbors, sadly well-versed in estate cleaning, would often swing by to assist you in lifting heavier objects and driving truck beds full of garbage out to the dump. You were currently glued to your laptop, scanning in old family photos for posterity and considering how much of a bother it would be to put a digital album together when a hand clapped down firmly onto your shoulder, wrenching a startled yelp out from the depths of your soul.

"Sorry!" Your Grandpa's friend winced, removing his hand from your shoulder and taking a step away from your person. "Didn't realize I was sneaking up on ya'."

"It's okay," you gasp, heart still hammering in your chest. "I was pretty distracted."

A picture from your Grandparents' honeymoon had just popped up on the screen. With little money and even less time to spare, they had spent a weekend driving up and down the coast, stopping and eating at every pancake restaurant they could find. They'd rated their meals at every location, their food selections identical for the sake of consistency, in a tiny notebook you'd found stashed away in Gramp's desk.

"Good gracious- look at how young he was."

"I know."

"Such a goofy looking fella'," he noted, pulling out the chair next to you. "Good thing you take after your Grandma."

"The small mercies of the universe," you agree, loading up a new picture into the scanner.

He flips through the box of loose photos, pausing every now and then to closely examine a picture of him or the boys around town.

"You don't have to stay, you know," he murmured gruffly as he lifted a delicate sepia tinted photo up by the edges. "You've been helping out a lot this year and while we're grateful for all you've done, we'll get along just fine without you. We always have."

It was kind of him, to give you an out; to not mention the handfuls of people who had left town this year, either in a body bag or shoved into the dedicated minivan from the local retirement home. The townsfolk had gotten by in the past because they were numerous and young. Now they were few and old and struggling to make it through each year. You leaving would likely be the domino that would send the town toppling into ruin with no one around to push a mower without getting winded or shuffle up onto a roof to repair a leak without vertigo setting in.

"This life…isn't what I ever imagined for myself," you admit, mind churning with thoughts of Eijiro as you swap out photos in the scanner once more. "But that doesn't mean I'm unhappy here. I'm just happy in a way I didn't expect."

"You like us old coots that much, eh?" He chuckled, tossing the photo back into the box and turning his attention to a stack of your Grandfather's ledgers.

"Please," you scoffed. "I'm only staying because I just sent a check up to the Ladies Auxiliary and I know for a fact that there's no way they'll refund me that membership fee. Their treasurer is feisty."

As soon as the barometer rose above freezing the town sprung into action, ripping tarps off of boats, changing out oil, and checking coolant levels. It was still far too cold for leaves and blossoms to emerge, but the return of the ships to harbor did more to lift your spirits than a field of flowers ever could. Those boats were a true and indelible sign that spring was on its way.

"What are you smiling about?" One of the dockworkers called down to you from where he was grinding down a rusty patch on the cabin wall with a belt sander. "If you have time to be happy you must not have enough to do!"

"No, no! I'm very busy here," you assured him, smearing a large glob of wax across the hull. "I'm just excited that it's almost lobster season again."

"Again with all the lobster talk? All winter it's been lobster this and lobster that!"

"Well, can you blame me? I think I've spent enough of my life without lobster at this point."

"Fair enough!" The worker laughed, a dry bray that sounded enough like a donkey that it always made you smile. "What are you looking forward to the most? Steamed lobster? Lobster rolls?"

"I'm looking forward to getting me some of that sweet, sweet lobster tail," you giggled to yourself, kicking on the electric buffer to drown out the sounds of chit-chat and swearing, drifting off in a sea of titillating memories you hoped you'd be able to recreate soon.

You were refreshing the paint on a red and yellow striped buoy, hands and arms splotched with an entire rainbow of colors from your work, when the Dockmaster approached the section of overturned crates you had turned into your maritime arts and crafts station.

"You're not completely incompetent."

"Thank you, Sir," you said, setting down your brush to rest across the top of a small bucket of paint.

"Clean up here and come to my office. I've got something for you."

That something turned out to be a set of keys that you had barely managed to catch by the neon orange key float as the Dockmaster chucked them at your head.

"Those'r the keys to your new boat. Congratulations. Don't fuck up," he grunted, snuffing his cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray. "Now get out of my office."

You stumbled out of the smoky room, keys clutched in your hands as you slumped down into a sagging lawn chair the Dockmaster kept outside for his smoke breaks on warmer days when the air in his office became too stifling.

"You okay?" One of the passing fishermen asked, hefting a large coil of rope further up his shoulder. "Dockmaster wasn't too mean to ya', was he?"

"No- he, uh. He gave me a boat?"

"Ha! Did he really?" The fisherman laughed. "Guess you're really one of us now!"

"But I don't even know how to drive a boat!" You screeched, panic quickly replacing the buzzing numbness that had filled you only moments before.

"It's not that hard. Me and the boys will go with you when you take your boat for a spin and show you the ropes."

"That'll be great. Thanks."

It was, in fact, not great.

While the fishermen were correct that driving a boat was technically easy, every other aspect of handling a boat fell somewhere along the spectrum between frustrating and absolute madness. Your docking skills were so abysmal that the fishermen had ended up lashing tires around the entire hull, effectively turning your ship into the maritime version of a bumper car.

But the absolute worst part of the entire experience turned out to be the name of your vessel.

"I'm changing the name," you declared boldly once you and your group of tagalong fishermen had matched the numbers on your keychain to the blocky boat ID numbers printed on the forward half of the ship.

"Oh, come on!" One of the men laughed, doubled over and wheezing for breath at your expense. "You're the perfect choice to captain 'The Nauti Girl!'"

Just saying the name outloud was enough to send the men into a cackling uproar once again. One man with a bushy Santa beard was having a hard enough time regaining his composure that he gave up entirely and laid down on the dock, rolling around on the warped planks as he fought to catch his breath.

"Nope. I refuse. This boat is going to have a nice and respectable name. Like 'Sea Breeze' or 'Wave Breaker'," you huffed. "Something I won't be embarrassed to call out over the radio."

"Boooring!" The loudest fisherman protested. "Besides, it's bad luck to change the name of a ship."

"Of course it is," you mutter disgruntledly.

"Also," the man continued. "If you changed the name then you'd have to get rid of this lovely lady!" He said while gesturing to the cute, pinup style mermaid in a sailor's hat perched next to your boat's sprawling cursive name.

You cross your arms across your chest, thoughtfully staring at the teal haired mermaid holding an anchor at just the right angle to obscure her nipples and keep things family-friendly.

"Okay, fine. But if I can't name the boat I get to name the mermaid," you grumbled, throwing your leg high to make it over the coaming and step down onto the deck; turning back to face the men in the dock when you realized they hadn't followed you onto the boat.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" The man with the Santa beard asked, his cheeks still burning red from his fit of hysterics moments ago.

"Permission granted," you grinned in return. "I need you gentlemen to show me just what this 'Nauti Girl' is capable of!"

As the greenest fisher at the dock, the men had been gradually easing you into performing more difficult tasks while you grew accustomed to piloting your boat. So far you had mostly been sent out to return forgotten items or lunches to boats that had disembarked earlier in the day, but just a few days ago the Dockmaster had started sending you out to check on the farthest flung lobster cages to see if the crustaceans were starting to make it back to the coastline.

The first few had come up empty, so you made a note of their locations and double checked that they were firmly attached to their buoys before chucking them back into the water. Pulling up on the next end line, you were surprised to feel some resistance. The other cages had come up relatively easily, so maybe this pot actually had something trapped inside?

Bracing your legs, you tightened your grip onto the rope and gave a mighty tug, drawing the rope up and over the edge of your boat. Ever so slowly, you drew the sodden rope up from the water, peering over the edge to see what could possibly be weighing down the line so much. Your questions were answered when, with one final pull and a forceful grunt, the grinning face of Eijiro dramatically rose out of the water.

"Would you look at that," you laughed, happy tears rolling down your cheeks as you reached down towards your boyfriend. "The first lobster of the season."

"And from the way you tell it, I'm quite the catch," Kirishima winked playfully as he grasped the side of your boat and pulled himself up to be face-to-face with you.

"I missed you, Eijiro. So, so much," you cried, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as tightly as you could, which you knew was a fair bit snugger than you could manage the last time you saw him thanks to countless hours of unpaid manual labor.

"I missed you too, Minnow," Eijiro said, his voice shaky as he nuzzled into your shoulder and deeply inhaled the scent of your skin. You had envisioned your reunion a thousand times over the last few months, but all of those scenarios paled in the face of the actual experience of being cradled in Eijiro's arms once more. Even the uncomfortable feeling of the side of the boat digging into your belly couldn't take away from the thrum of utter contentment unfurling in your soul.

"Nauti Girl, come in Nauti Girl. Nauti Girl, do you read me? Over." The radio on your boat screamed as it crackled to life.

"Really?" You groan. "They had to call right now?"

"Wait- why is that man calling you 'Naughty Girl'?" Kirishima asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Ugh!" You huff, pressing a quick to Eijiro's lips as you unwillingly work to free yourself from the tangle of his limbs. "He isn't calling me that, it's the name of my boat."

"You named your boat Naughty Girl?"

"I would never! It already came with a name-"

"Nauti Girl? Pick up! Over!"

"I'm coming! Hold your horses!" You yell ineffectually at the radio, knowing that they won't hear you until you hold down the button to answer. "Just- hold on one second, okay?"

You practically fly across the deck, slamming your hand down on the call button. "Nauti Girl, here. Go ahead. Over."

"There was a small accident and we're short a set of hands to get the last boat launched. Requesting you return to harbor to assist. Over."

Hissing in frustration, you send a pleading look to where Eijiro is draped across the coaming, watching you with an utterly dejected look settling across his face.

"You need to go, don't you?" He murmured sadly.

"I do. They can't do it without me."

"I understand," Eijiro sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration and sending tiny droplets of water spraying across the deck. "Sometimes you have to help others at the expense of yourself."

"Yeah," you sighed, pressing the button down once more. "Roger that. I'll finish up here and head back ASAP. Over and out."

You hook the receiver back into place and rush again to Eijiro, cradling his jaw in your hands as you press tender kisses across his face. He closed his eyes and sighed happily, basking in the glow of your loving attention.

"I need to head back in. But let's meet tonight at the cave up shore. I'll bring some blankets and snacks and we can spend all night together, okay?"

"Okay," he nods with a soft smile, eyes sparking as his hand drifts down to pat at the top of a tightly woven seagrass basket tied around his hips. "And I'll show you the surprise I brought."

"You got me something?" You gasp in delight, peering further over the edge of the boat to examine the closed lid basket more closely.

"Technically, I got us something," he laughed nervously, glancing down at the basket with a fond smile. "I hope you'll love it as much as I do."

The accident back at dock was thankfully minor; someone had gotten their hand smashed between two crates and while they hadn't broken any bones, Doc had them on lockdown in his living room to make sure they were actually keeping their hand iced and elevated. Doc's concern was well placed because it wasn't unusual for the townsfolk to nod along to his instructions and then conduct themselves as though they were the poster children for medical noncompliance.

With everyone pitching in you were able to get the last boat launched with no real issues and then spent the remainder of the afternoon anxiously watching the sun dip lower on the horizon as you replaced missing weights on casting nets. Once it became too difficult to see what your hands were doing in the fading light, the men called it for the day and you had to endure the Herculean task of trying to casually walk home. You wanted to take off at a sprint to rendezvous with Eijiro as quickly as you could, but knew that running through town would draw unwanted scrutiny from the townsfolk. Going out onto the ocean alone at night was foolhardy and dangerous, and if you were caught heading out you knew that you would be hauled back in and given a stern talking to about your reckless behavior.

So you played it cool, stopping to chat to folks heading down to the diner, dropping into the corner store to grab some granola bars and a couple bags of chips, and slowly made your way home the same as you would every night. But you were off and running as soon as the porch door slammed shut behind you, tearing across the house and throwing things into a large duffle bag as quickly as you could manage before shoving slices of deli meat and handfuls of shredded cheese into your mouth in lieu of an actual meal as you waited for the last bit of daylight to evaporate into inky darkness.

Once the bright pinpricks of stars were the only lights remaining in the sky you made your escape, sliding outside through the kitchen door that faced the ocean and creeping quietly down to the beach, stopping only to grab your inflatable raft you kept under the back deck. Slipping on a life vest, you tossed your bag into your raft and waded out into the shallows, jumping aboard and pushing yourself away from the shore with alternating pushes of your paddle against the sandy ocean floor.

"Just a little longer, Eiji," you whispered quietly into the night. "I'm on my way."

Kirishima was already at the cave when you arrived, paddling nervously around in circles while singing, the strange clicks layering into a haunting sort of lullaby; like crickets chirping late in the night. His song cut off as he caught sight of you, darting to you and grabbing a hold of your raft's tow rope and pulling you to the rocky cave shore as he'd done so many times before.

"Decided to leave the Naughty Girl at home, huh?" He teased, patting a hand onto the side of your trusty raft as you hopped out and pulled it further onto the shore to keep the shifting tide from grabbing it while you weren't paying attention.

"What are you talking about? I'm right here!" You winked back playfully as you unzipped your duffle bag and worked at spreading the large quilt down over the sand.

"Of course," he laughed, watching with fond eyes as you settled into the middle of the blanket. "My mistake."

"I can probably be persuaded to forgive you," you purred, patting the blanket as you beckoned for Kirishima to come and join you on shore. His eyes followed the curves of your legs up as he swallowed thickly, hands darting to the basket at his hip.

"Okay, so, before we go any further I have something I need to show you," he confesses, untying the complicated knots that kept the basket lashed around his hips. "You have to come here. It doesn't- the basket has to stay in the water for now."

"Alright," you agreed readily, concerned for the abrupt mood shift Eijiro was displaying. Cautiously, you made your way down to the water and stepped into the shallows, joining your boyfriend in the chest-deep water.

"Before I open this, I want to remind you about how much I love you. I understand if this is too much and I'm sorry I made such a big decision without you, but I had to do something," Eijiro said, his words rushed and squished together with worry as he carefully pried open the lid of the basket and pushed it into your awaiting arms.

You peer down into the basket, stuffed full of slimy ribbons of kelp and dotted with tiny slivers of fish bones. Confused, you were about to ask Kirishima about what exactly you were supposed to be looking at when a passing wave shifted a tangle of the kelp and revealed a downy tuft of bright red hair. Breathlessly, you reached into the basket and brushed aside another clump of seaweed, uncovering the tiny curled up half-lobster baby within.

"Eijiro," you whisper, trying to keep your voice level so you wouldn't disturb the sleeping child. "Did you steal a baby?"

"What? No!" Kirishima rushes to assure you, his smooth hands sliding to cover yours as you cradle the basket. "It was a really successful hatching season. We hadn't had so many hatchlings survive in, well, ever. And we were struggling to keep them all fed and safe, but it was just too overwhelming."

"This little one was really struggling. They wouldn't eat on their own and couldn't keep up with their siblings," Eijiro murmured sadly, letting loose a couple of comforting clicks as he ran a gentle finger through their fluttering hair. "Their mother couldn't give them the attention they needed without her other children suffering, so she culled them from her nest."

"That's awful," you whispered, hand dipping into the basket beside Eijiro's to gently stroke the little one's pale and pudgy cheek.

"It is," he agreed. "But necessary. She couldn't risk the health of her other children for just one."

It was quiet for a while as you both peered down at the sleeping child as they shifted, curling their tail around their head and rolling up into a ball about the size of an orange.

"They're so small."

"The runt of their pod. Just like me," Eijiro sniffed, a distant and miserable look in his eyes. "It could have been me. If my hatching year had been more successful, it would have been me pushed out and left to die."

"Oh, Eijiro," you sob; angry at the cruelty and unfairness of nature that had hurt the man you loved so deeply.

"I just couldn't leave them. Not if I could help."

"Of course you couldn't. You did the right thing."

"You aren't upset?" Kirishima asked, thin threads of hope threading through the misery woven into his voice.

"Oh, I am. But not at you. And not at them," you said as you ran a finger down the slick, unhardened chitin of their tiny tail.

"Oh, Spirits be praised," he sighed, shoulders deeply sagging as relief flooded his body. "I was hoping it would be okay since it was just one. You told me one baby was normal for humans."

"You could have brought me a hundred babies and it still would have been fine," you assured him, smiling gently when the child sneezed, letting loose a burst of tiny bubbles from their mouth.

"I don't think we could handle a hundred babies," Eijiro chuckled, pulling you into his embrace, the basket sheltered between your entwined bodies.

"Probably not," you agree, dropping your head down to rest on Eijiro's chest as you gazed down at your new baby in awe. "But I think we can handle one."

"Yeah," Eijiro sighed happily, tightening his grip around you and the baby; his entire world, his family, cradled safely in his arms. "We can handle one."

Your life was one of feast and famine. The time spent with Eijiro and your child filled your heart and soul with so much joy that you often wondered how your body was able to contain it all without bursting at the seams. Conversely, the long winter months served as a stark lesson in misery and longing as you anxiously awaited the arrival of spring and the migration of your small family back into your life.

To ease the anxious worries of your heart, Eijiro agreed to wear a tracking tag woven into a band on his wrist. Each night you were bathed in the glow of your laptop screen, lulled to sleep by Eijiro drawing intricate patterns across the screen with his movements; wordless proclamations of love that only you could see.

Your child, who you had discerned to be a girl once her swimmerets had developed enough to tell one way or the other, eventually appeared next to her father on the map; her bright dot carving out wobbly paths that mirrored Eijiro's smooth trails through the water.

The townsfolk had noticed the intense depression you fell into during winter and did their best to keep you in good spirits. The fishermen who taught you how to handle the Nauti Girl met you for dinner three nights a week, The Dockmaster taught you the actual rules to Backgammon and confirmed your long held suspicions that your Grandfather was a dirty rotten cheater, and the ladies at the Auxiliary pooled their money together to buy you one of those sun therapy lamps. You weren't sure of the lamp's actual efficacy, but looking at it made you feel cared for and loved, so you kept it propped up in the corner of your living room anyway.

The longer you stayed in the dilapidated town you had grown to call home the more heartbreak you were subjected to. Inevitably, the people you loved and lived with, relaxed and toiled beside, grew measurably older with each passing year until they very suddenly stopped- stopped aging, stopped breathing, stopped living.

The men assured you time and time again over coffee, returning from vacations, on their deathbeds; that they had no regrets. That their lives were difficult, but wonderful. The hands blistered and their joints were ground to dust from decades of thankless labor; but their eyes witnessed the boundless beauty that nature had to offer and they had the extreme privilege of knowing true acceptance and affection from their chosen family; their neighbors, brothers, and friends.

That's what they wished for you to find as well; a devastatingly beautiful life full of misery and ecstasy and everything in-between. And as you watched two heads of bright red hair breach the surface of the water, speeding towards your boat and a long-awaited reunion, you were fairly sure you already had.

#eijiro x y/n #kirishima x you #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x self insert #mha x female reader #pigeoncoos🕊

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soranihimawari · 2 years

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Darling, if you Dare

Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader

Word count: 2.5K

Rating: MOF [miya osamu fluff] //17+ for language

Warnings?: inarizaki shenanigans//being locked in the club room with crushes

Notes: lowercase intentional & these two have this kind of relationship below

“miya osamu! you are insufferable!” your voice echoes across the promenade. surrounding students wait a moment before the chatter begins again and you hastily walk away from the rest of your fellow third years with a notebook in hand. said galaxy gray haired twin smirks up at you, raising his hands to claim his innocence.

“i’ll send ya my part o’the project tomorrow, ok?”

“nine-thirty tonight, miya or else i’m talking to sakamoto-sensei about taking your name off the presentation.”

“what?! can’t ya ask fer an extension?”

“the project is due tomorrow, dumbass.”

he checks his phone’s calendar and in bold letters the midterm project for that class in particular is staring at him in the face. why did he have to take art history, he didn’t know, but it was an elective credit and he needed one more art to satisfy the requirements necessary for graduation. bonus of being in this class was attending it with you. you were desk mates since first year and frankly, when you accidentally left a sketchbook behind in the gym after class one day, the volleyball club thumbs through it only finding case studies of different students from the perspective of the artist. the giveaway hint was one of osamu asleep during morning traditional japanese literature—they had just come back from an overnight away game—the clock read nine-forty. it was a rough sketch, the only detail? the undercut and vbc hoodie he wore with his textbook open. he remembers that day because you covered for him when he woke up to the teacher calling his name to ask a question:

“sir, he wasn’t feeling well,” you cleared your throat. “hay fever, i heard him in the hallway…”

miya osamu mouths his thanks and goes back to sleep. his muscles on his face make him smile peacefully at you. thanks to that encounter, there were many more to be had: lunch the next day, you were feeling kind of blue because you forgot your lunch at home, but you found an extra bento with his handwriting—girls from other classes were crowding your desk jealous of the gift. you stubbornly sit down and see what they were staring at, the box with chipped lime green paint was slightly warmed and inside were onigiris with little salads and cut star fruit. the girls scatter when they hear the twins argue in the halls, but the blonde one stops and points at his brother’s classroom.

“they’re pretty cute,” it’s all miya atsumu says and osamu glances at your smile. you’re three bites into the first umeboshi onigiri and you’re clearly enjoying it. shortly thereafter, when his brother leaves to take a make up quiz, osamu joins you. he introduces himself and after you do too. you thank him with the empty bento, holding the note in your other hand. sliding your phone out of your pocket he noticed the series of numbers you’re saving in your contact list. his vibrates during study hours before final period begins. months later, you’re glued by your classmate’s side as a barrier between the crazy fans of his and the ones for his brother who actually learn to back away when you’re with them. you explain to them the reason why these girls don’t wish to quarrel with you because of your pretty gangster look; the boys laugh. until you said your grandfather ran an underground armstice in hokkaido. you’re visiting him next week for vacation.

“yer kiddin’, right?” atsumu asks worried there was some truth to that.

“nope,” you smirk. “gramps was a bit of an odd ball. always looking over his shoulder, but when you’re in the business of buying guns, you could assume he had a few policemen in his pocket too.”

osamu lets out a low whistle instead. he’s beside you, mentioning he doesn’t care about your family’s yakuza ties.

“like at all,” much to his brother’s displeasure. “c‘ mon, ‘tsumu. yn said it was her grandfather. this was what? post great war two?”

you nod. “so there’s absolutely nothing my favorite sibling terrors should worry about, yeah?”

atsumu reluctantly nods asking for a souvenir while osamu asks for a recipe book about regional fishes. you promise to bring the gifts next week.

presently, you spot a fox with a snack bag from the school store. three years you’re familiar with the volleyball team; three years sharing a room with miya osamu and you’d think he caught on to how serious you are about fine arts classes. suffice to say when you decide to ambush him about the art history project you’re asked to be his partner for (he was absent because of extra practice before nationals), he puts schoolwork on the back burner leaving you to do almost eighty-five percent of the work. that includes creating a replica expressing the themes of what the original artist and painting were trying to express. luckily for you, the project subject you suggested was photorealism and being naked as a natural state. you had two months to work on it and now the day before it’s due, you confront the infernal free-rider with a fury rightfully placed on him. osamu’s gray hazel eyes glimpse up at you and he sees his heart slow down. sure being disappointed in losing a game, being scolded by his ma, and arguing with his brother all made its way to the surface of his face to hide the bit of shame attached to these. but being scolded by you, his other close friend, for honestly not pulling his own weight for this class you convinced him you needed to take to get into the art program at TUA was far worse—it was like being scolded by an ex, although in his eighteen years of life, he’s only had two.

“hey yn-chan,” casually you walk past suna, best friend extraordinaire to the person who had received your wrathful outburst.

“not now sunarin,” you grit your teeth before placing an awkward smile on your face contrary to the irk mark on your brow. “i’ll see you later. and tell ‘im to get his shit together.”

suna walks up to where his friend was sitting, offering a precious chuppet to the would be chef.

“what did you do? yn is pissed,” suna watches you leave and his attention turns to his friend who sighs into his hands.

“forgot about a projec’ we was doin’,” osamu explains. “we had nationals to worry about, but i could have started it and now…”

“it’s due tomorrow and yn did all the work?” suna guesses, osamu groans. “skip the last half of the day.”

“huh?”

“skip the last half of the day, go to the library or museum and work on the project. i’ll cover you because your brother is gonna be a bitch today.”

suna says this and the tea he spills about atsumu being dumped by the class vice president is hitting the rumor mill tonight on the student body’s social media tonight. osamu doesn’t think twice before grabbing his stuff when you’re in the art club room before he heads out of campus grounds. he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s failed you even if it’s a school project. the club, his team, he could handle all that. but you? failing a project worth a good chunk of your overall grade could make or break your transcripts being accepted, that alone, would hurt his pride even more because it was something preventative.

isolating yourself after dinner that night to put the finishing touches on a painting to go with the written report caused your parents to worry a bit. it’s not everyday their talented child decides to forego family game night, but times were changing, as you said. around nine-twenty-seven, your phone lights up with an e-mail notification. you turn on your desktop and once it completely boots up, you open the attachments from one [email protected] you read his portion of the report about american painter chuck jones and were caught scoffing at the selfie he took in front of the exhibit banner. you text him a thumbs up saying you read and received his report.

two weeks go by and as the rest of the third year class makes preparations for the entrance exams for the schools of their choosing, you and osamu are called into the faculty lounge. this was a double whammy of both art history teacher and your shared guidance counselor asking you which schools you were considering taking the exams for and in a surprise turn of events, asking to include your finished project in the sample of sketchbooks being reviewed for admission.

“i'm considering tokyo u's art program for fine arts and art history,” is your answer. you’re the first one to speak and the last one to concur amongst the adults there of the extreme conditions of the exams, yet you have this indecipherable blaze around you it’s scary.

“culinary school for me,” osamu answers their question too with an equal attitude, shifting the focus to him. "maybe attend tokyo for an internship in the future." the teacher and guidance counselor chuckle saying the two tracks suit the two almost graduates before them.

"yn-san, bring your sketchbooks to the art club room next meeting for critique and review," sakamoto-sensei says clapping his hands. he was the art club sponsor this year and seeing the president of said club with this air of finality in their path, it is clear you are to achieve greatness in small steps.

once classes had let out for the afternoon, you receive a text from suna and atsumu to meet at the volleyball club room. there wasn’t any emergency as one would have predicted when you’re asked to stop by, but today was locker clean out day. the boys wanted both their vice captain and the supposed reason his cheeks flushes scarlet (when he misses a toss) to confront talk about their suppressed emotions. well, more like suna bet atsumu snack-buying for a week that osamu would crack first where the blonde bet that you would not crack one bit. regardless, when you greet the underclassmen from the club, they say their goodnights to you making sure to mention that you’re coming into the room in case anyone else was still in their draws. hearing osamu call out saying that it’s fine, you bump into a half-naked suna, pulling a shirt over his head and one fully clothed atsumu.

“are you guys walking home together?” you have this cheeky grin on your face. you wink at them when they deny everything saying they’d wait for you and samu. "i think that's cute, even if it's a bit elementary school-ish for me."

"oi!" atsumu says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"what? yn-san's not wrong," suna says. he then picks up his stuff signaling atsumu it's time to head out.

“you’re not going to do anything stupid, are ya?” you narrow your eyes. what you don’t see is osamu staring at his brother and best friend as they deny doing anything like, “oh, i don’t know. locking you in here with the person who has a crush on you.” (<-suna)

they leave with this determined look on their faces and you hate the fact you hear the door lock.

osamu sort of blinks then panics when you’re banging your fists against the door calling the two on the other side “dead bastards.”

you regain your composure when you feel osamu’s hands wrap themselves around your wrists, turning you around. he has this slight blush spreading across his face and down to his ear lobes. the space between you is practically non-existent because he asks if you’re ok with a pointed eyebrow since he tends to worry about you more than he does his own brother. it’s a gentle kabedon when he adjusts his grip on your wrists into a lighter touch, his bangs brush against your forehead.

“you’re too close ‘samu.”

holy hell, have your eyes always been this crisp? why, why are you looking at me like that 'samu? your thoughts are linearly curious.

“Oh, hah, sorry,” he said, allowing your hands to slip out of his hold.

you notice his duffle bag filled with clothes and old jerseys from the last three years he had joined and played with this club.

“you were one of the best wing-spikers i heard,” you compliment.

he smiles a bit, raising a hand behind his neck. of all the times for him to be nervous, this was not one of them.

“'m not like aran-senpai,” he says, but his chest puffs out with a bit of prideful air from your comment.

“did i say i was talking about aran-kun?” you arch your brow at him.

“...no.”

you move to sit down on the bench in front of his things. osamu sends this confused look to you as you pick up the second year white jacket with his name embroidered on the chest and his number on the sleeve.

“what're ya doing?”

holding it up against your chest, you’re hugging the cleaned jacket with a definite hold. it smells like the miya house on laundry saturdays–lavender and spring rain softener was used the last time it was done.

“can i have this one?”

suddenly, you’re shyly hiding behind the collar of the jacket. osamu chuckles a little before placing an open palm on the crown of your head, gently tossing your tresses to one side like you have it for picture days.

“i was going to give you my graduation pin,” osamu confides in you when he steps aside to sit down in front of you. the jacket is the only barrier between both your knees from knocking into the other. the weight of his confession knocks you forward with butterflies spilling out of your mouth.

“hah?!”

“ don't pretend ya didn't hear me the first time.”

“...mm.”

he chuckles, covering his mouth like he’d turn into a cough. you, on the other hand, choose to place your hands on his face, checking if he’s feeling alright or if he’s catching a cold. you’re too close again, but neither of you care.

“walk home with me and i'll tell you how i feel,” you say, your lips dangerously hovering over his for a moment before backing down completely. “now text those two assholes to open the door and let us out. please.”

picking up the jacket off the bench, you unzip it to wear outside when the door slides open and suna is seen with a surprised expression as you walk by, tugging the jacket closer to your body. atsumu to this day, swears he was the winner of the bet, however he was seen at the combini buying seven different bags of chuppets.

elsewhere in the neighborhood close to the miya residence, neighbors had said that the vice captain was seen locking lips with the president of the art club, just like he was going to after making yn-san listen to him spill his heart out. you regain your composure when he says something foolish like apologizing for not asking to date you until right now. you hold his hand and bring it to the small of your back. you are sneaky when threading your fingers through the belt loops of his school uniform, jutting him forward to crush your lips on his again. your kiss is hard and deep, and you show him how to tease you tongue into his mouth. it’s appalling you know how kiss him, it’s a shame he hadn’t known you like this either. who taught you how to kiss like this? it didn’t matter anymore because miya osamu obeys your every whim. he isn’t shy at all when he kisses you fervently spelling ‘mine’ skillfully with his mouth. you leave him gasping when you ask him to come over later, your side window remains unlocked.

miya osamu sneaks in around eleven that night. you chuckle saying you didn’t know he’d take up so seriously. alas, when he kisses you again as a greeting, you return his affections when you instinctively kiss him back—every ounce of ‘weak in the knees’ feelings they had harbored together boils to the surface. enough of the residual heat from this passion project causes you to sit on his lap on your bed, half dressed knowing this is as far as you’re willing to go with each other for one night. resting your forehead against his, osamu nudges his nose against yours saying he’s determined to make up for lost time, yet you agree with a hum. he presses a kiss to your hairline saying he should sneak back out before getting you in trouble. you instruct him to lay down, saying sleeping over is an option because you’re worried he’d land in more trouble at home. he faces you and you him, short lived chuckles and giggles echo in your room before kissing each other one final time, holding hands under the duvet.

it is said the pair stared at their future with a bold look of arrogant determination like they always did at school–because long distance is meant to work out for those who are daring enough to win at love.

#sora scribbles 2022 #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu x reader #hq fluff: miya osamu

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isolaradiale · 1 year

Text

This is an event rerun. For more information on how to participate, please check our EVENT RERUN GUIDE! If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask!

☆ ☆ ☆

At once, your phones light up again, showing a split-screen of two faces. On the left was Aspidiske, whose bored face was illuminated by the blue light of a monitor, and on the right sat Caelum, seemingly somewhere outside with puzzled brows. As the first typed away, the second’s hands carefully adjusted some kind of complicated-looking device on his sleeve. Their voices began immediately, as if the broadcast started in the middle of their conversation.

“Like I was saying, if I have to go to a walkthrough to bring up the puzzle solution because it’s lore based and not logic based, it’s a bad puzzle.”

“You wouldn’t have to look up the solution if you didn’t skip the story cutscenes.”

“Listen here, Gramps. I play the game to blow stuff up and wipe the ranking boards, not to watch--”

“Ah, that’s it! You’ve got it! Brilliant work.”

“Glad you see it my way!”

“No no, not your game. The connection is back.”

“Huh! I didn’t think your low tech hunk-of-whatever would connect to the… Hey, can they hear us?”

“According to what I’m picking up, yes.”

“...And see us, apparently. Again.”

“Whoops! Looks like I forgot to change the settings from the last one.”

“Ugh.”

To face your screen, the Starlet turns, grin wicked and snicker sharp.

“Alright my lovely guinea pigs, my part is done. Go back to your homes and apartments or whatever, I’m taking a nap. Thanks for the info! For those who actually went and did it, anyway.”

Her side of the split-screen closed with a cackle, leaving Caelum screen still open. His head shook in brief disapproval before changing his posture to look a bit more professional, putting both hands on his cane for support as the wind blew.

“Thanks to your efforts, we were able to confirm that there wasn’t any GPU presence on any of the islands that appeared in the mists, which is good news for all of us, I think. I realize some of you were taken to the islands against your will because of jumps and glitches in the launch program, and I apologize. You’ll be returning back to your homes on Radial Island in the next few minutes.”

As if looking elsewhere on the screen for something, he paused, and continued in a more hushed tone.

“I’m not authorized to do much, but the least we can do as a thank-you is pay you for your service. You’ll find some extra dust in your accounts when you return.”

Satisfied, he gave a tired-looking smile.

“I’m sure you all could use a rest, too. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to speak with you again, so for now, this is goodbye. I look forward to watching your adventures.”

With a wave goodbye, the screen blanked, and he gave a sigh from his point on the beach. His form disappeared pixel by pixel, until the old man vanished from Radiale’s shore. As if he were never there in the first place, the very sands began to shift, covering the gaps where his footprints once were.

(Full version viewable here!)

☆ ☆ ☆

In whatever moment you found yourselves, things had begun to fade. The islands still moved around you in slow motion; dragonflies buzzed past you, the waves rolled lazily past your feet, the roars of the beasts and monsters still sounded. But like watching an image slowly begin to disappear, these things no longer affected you. No longer could you feel the ocean breeze on your face, or the smell of salt water hanging in the air. Everything around you turned white after the broadcast, starting with your senses and ending with your consciousness. Like suddenly falling asleep, there was nothing for a short while; no thoughts, no dreams, no feelings…

...And as you come to, you wake in your apartments and lodgings and beds. As promised, you’ve returned home, having survived the hazards of your “relaxing” escapes with some extra dust in your bank account and some new memories of your adventures.

☆ ☆ ☆

Thank you for participating in the S.H.O.R.E rerun!

As a reward for participating, each character who was whisked away to one of the Event Islands will be given a cool $1000 equivalent in dust to use at their leisure (note that this is different from stars, the currency for the Marketplace!)

As they return from the Event Islands, your characters will keep the following:

Their memories of the event

Any sustained injuries (sunburns, bruises, etc)

Their Isola-issued cell phone

Any of their own items and weapons that came with them to the event islands

However, they will not keep the following:

Any salvaged items, raw materials or treasures from the event islands (seashells, crystals, fruits, etc.)

Any creatures they’ve managed to tame/befriend (sorry, guys. No dinosaurs.)

Any makeshift weapons or tools made on the event islands

Any vehicles/rafts/ships/boats they’ve repaired

(Basically, if was on the island, it can’t come with you)

We hope you had fun, and are looking forward to this year's summer events (which will both be brand new)!

#isola event rerun #isola event

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wynsnerdyrambles · 3 years

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Zenitsu Agatsuma: how to write a coward

Since it is the birthday (at least in the West), of this wonderful lightning boy, I figured I'd take a brief break from my Hashira ramblings (Though they shall return, likely when ufotable gives us details on Yukaku-Hen, so I can start hyper-fixating on Uzui as an outlet for my hype). But, today, I want to talk about Nezuko-chan's number 2 fan: Zenitsu Agatsuma.

Zenitsu is likely to have a few initial impressions on your average consumer of KNY:

1. Oh, look it's that yellow-haired kid from the OP, I was wondering when he would become relevant.

2. Oh, he's one of those characters.

3. Wait, did this kid just sleep-swordfight? What's up with that?

Initially I thought Zenitsu was a one-note gag character. His Thunder Breathing was cool, and he was less offensive to me than other anime womanizers. His cowardice was somewhat exaggerated (what? anime and manga is an exaggerated medium? what a completely novel concept). While his fear was relatable, it wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to relate to in a character.

Then, episode 17 hit. And all of a sudden, it was like a switch flipped in my head. I went from merely tolerating Zenitsu to absolutely loving him. What happened? Gotouge contextualized his cowardice.

Far too often in many media, the scaredy-cat character is just that. It's almost like they only exist to highlight the hero's bravery. Zenitsu is a little more complicated in that regard.

Upon re-reads of the series, Zenitsu's fear was contextualized as a potential form of something akin to Imposter Syndrome. Zenitsu has been abandoned his whole life, right from his parents down to every single girl he's ever dated. So, when Jii-Chan takes him in, and puts him through hellish training, Zenitsu is above all afraid that he won't measure up to Jigoro's standards. In other words, he's afraid the old man won't find him useful, and he'd be abandoned again. But, Jigoro doesn't abandon him. He really becomes the grandfather type figure that Zenitsu has always seen him as. So, Zenitsu goes to Final Selection, just trying to live up to the expectations of the only person who has never left him.

Just let that sink in for a moment. Zenitsu doesn't feel worthy of being this man's successor, there's no way he could be like Jigoro, or even Kaigaku. He's so insecure in his own self-worth it manifests as cowardice. Yes, he's actually scared, and thinks he'll fail, but I think he's more afraid he'll let Gramps down, that the man will realize that Zenitsu clearly isn't worthy of his love. After all, everyone else has left. And that nagging voice has body in the form of Kaigaku, who has constantly belittled his junior, and gives voice to Zenitsu's deepest insecuriities.

Zenitsu knows he's the one slaying those demons, I think, deep down, but he's mired so deep in feelings of being an imposter, that he tries to deflect the reality of the situation. The only reason Zenitsu cannot face demons with First Form while awake, is that he's holding himself back. Like the old saying goes, "whether you think you can, or think you can't, you're probably right." But as he grows as a character we see his cowardice fade. Fear is replaced by resolve, and that makes it all the more satisfying when Zenitsu stands up to Kaigaku, the voice of his insecurities, his own inner demons given form (pun intended), with his eyes wide open, it's made all the more satisfying with knowledge of his contextualized cowardice.

This kind of story hits hard for me, because, well, we all have inherent worth, and it just hits different when someone finally realizes that about themselves.

#zenitsu agatsuma #kaigaku #kimetsu no yaiba #kny spoilers #kny meta #y'all have inherent value and I appreciate you #happy birthday Zenitsu!#thunder breathing

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greenygreenland · 3 years

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Dream A Little Dream of Me: Norman x Reader (part four)

-part four because I couldn’t fit everything in part three-i went overboard, I’m sorry

-please enjoy I worked a month on getting this out, haha. it is a labour of tears and love.

---->PREVIOUS PART <-----

Summary: You need your memories back. But how will you get them?

Gracefield House

Not a single soul moved for what felt like centuries. The moment Ray, Gilda and Don arrived at the scene, it was clear that nothing else could be done. Mama smiled at her children viciously. She wasn’t here to play nice any longer. Today, she was the hunter and her children the prey.

“It was a clean break. She will recover smoothly,” Mama curtly announced. “And Norman?” You didn’t like the way she looked at him, or the way her grip seemed to tighten on your limp arms. Her gaze dangerously narrowed and she said, “Your shipment date has been set.”

Your heart stopped. Norman’s shipment date had been set? No, that couldn’t be. Your plan required at least another week until everything fell into place. Norman was the core of it all. Without him, what would you do?

And speaking of which, he was going to die. Die. Die. Die. He was going to die.

You squirmed in Mama’s grasp, hoping--praying that you could maneuver around this. Norman wasn’t going to die. You wouldn’t let him.

“Let me--let me go!”

It was reckless and it was stupid to think he’d be able to evade Mama’s sight just like that, but you had to try. Didn’t Emma say you’d all leave here together?

“Norman--!”

He blinked as if he’d woken up from a long dream. He forced himself to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Don’t struggle.

Don’t struggle? How did he expect you to sit around and do nothing? If anyone should be shipped out first, it should be you. Why? Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let any of your family go.

Mama glared down at you with a cold smile. “You can’t fight me more than you can stop the sun from setting,” she said, heaving you higher off the ground. Your leg hit Mama’s arm and a cry escaped your lips. Norman flinched and Emma stood frozen in place.

You were always the strong one, not Emma, not Ray, and not Norman. Because you were one of the eldest, it was your responsibility to be the shoulder to cry on and to stand when no one else could. To see you holding back tears and gritting your teeth tight enough to make your gums bleed made Norman’s little heart break.

He didn’t care about his shipment date. All he wanted was to see you safe.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of faces, voices and regrets. The sharp pain in your leg long faded, leaving only a dull throb that stayed as a reminder of your failure. Yes, that was what you were, right? You couldn’t complete the plan even with Don, Gilda and Ray distracting Mama. You were pathetic. A waste of space.

The door creaked open and you sat up a little straighter. You smiled at the trio as they entered the room. “Hey guys.”

“How are you feeling?” inquired Norman. He took a seat by your bedside and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Ray pulled up another chair. He hid his face behind his fringe to conceal his grim frown. It didn’t work though, and you merely smiled at him. He huffed irritably, as if he didn’t want you to know he worried so much.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.” Ray quietly muttered. You knitted your brows together with a absentminded shrug. “And to think I was that close to getting her watch.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I had--”

“It’s fine Emma.” you said with a warm smile. “Broken bones heal, it’s not permanent.” She wrapped you in a tight embrace and you rubbed her back comfortingly. It was hard to look her in the eye anyway. The sadness she tried so hard to force down only added to your guilt, and you weren’t sure if you could think straight with all the regret.

“I’m sorry this happened.” you began. “Now that I’m hurt, you’re worrying for me.”

Emma pulled away as Norman gave a firm shake of his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault.” he stated. "None of us saw that coming, and even if we did, I’m not sure we’d be any good outwitting Mama on the spot like that.” He offered a gentle smile that made you feel just a little bit better.

-----

(University name), DAY TWO

Class went by rather quickly today, and maybe that was because you were sure you’d seen similar material before. Each answer came easily along with each mark on your paper like a memory from long ago. You’ve answered harder questions, much more difficult tests that held more weight than a simple grade.

“I was impressed by your extensive knowledge on world history,” said Mr. Baker. He was the world history teacher. Unlike the others, he was young, perhaps in his mid twenties. In the hour you’ve gotten to know him and the class, you’ve come to realise he’s a class favourite. For good reason, too. His jokes were phenomenal, the material entertaining, and the atmosphere, friendly.

It was like having a conversation between friends rather than teacher to student.

“Do you know what school you went to before you came here?” he inquired. You shook your head. “No. I don’t think I went to any school before this actually...but I’m not sure. I wish I knew, sorry Mr. Baker.” He offered a warm smile. “Maybe my jokes will remind you of something. In the mean time, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll remember eventually.”

Eventually. You didn’t want to remember ‘eventually’. Living a life of ignorance was difficult as it was, why should you continue it? You adjusted your grip on a notebook and said, “See you tomorrow Mr. Baker.”

“Same to you, Letha.”

The cafeteria wasn’t hard to find. Students crowded in the hallways, pushing and shoving as they stuck close to hurry towards for their meals. You didn’t care much for the food. There wasn’t any way it could measure up to your, or Gramps’s, cooking anyway.

“Letha!”

You spun around as much as you could in the congested hall. Flanna raised a hand above her head and waved. She didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was looking for you. “Letha, you comin’?” There was no way out of avoiding the red-head. She had too much energy, and an eerily observant eye hidden under her smile.

“Hello to you too, Flanna.” you said, matching her step. Flanna grinned brightly. “Are you excited for lunch? My first day here, I thought it’d taste terrible. You’d be surprised how good it is, but maybe that’s because the school’s expensive.” She let out a snort that was lost to the chatter of the crowd.

The cafe wasn’t all too big. Despite the long tables stretching out across the floor, and the high ceilings and tall windows, it felt small. Crowded. The sheer amount of teens gathered in one area was daunting, scary even. It made your head spin, and your stomach lurch in disgust.

Was this what everyone dealt with every single day? How could they do it? This was madness.

Flanna patted your shoulder and led you towards the lunch line. “You get used to it after a while. Can’t say I have, but it’s not so bad.” She handed you a cup of fruit from a large cooler. You watched as she did the same and instructed the lunch lady on exactly what she wanted.

You copied her. It was all you could do to prevent embarrassing yourself.

Once you found a table, a long sigh left your lips. “That was actually...a bit stressful.” Flanna chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, I get it, you’re shy, aren’t you? I had a friend like that back in ninth grade when I still lived in the countryside. Couldn’t even go in line without help from me.”

“What happened to that friend?”

“Moved away. Lots of people do. They like the city because it’s “full of opportunity”.” Flanna rolled her eyes. “I think it depends on what you want. I’d prefer a quiet life where all I have to do is take care of a farm. You know, sheep, chicken, cows. It’s easy because the only person who’s your boss is you.”

Flanna clearly didn’t favour modern life as much as her peers. She went on about the difficulties of technology and how they were “nothin’ but trouble” for simple folk. You couldn’t say much about that, but you wish you understood.

The rest of the day went by in a flash. It turned out, your last three classes were with Flanna. She didn’t talk as much in class, but she asked you a lot of questions about why you knew so much. Of course, you couldn't remember, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t know who you truly were.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

The setting sun illuminated the sides of your face as you glared at the frosty grass below your winter boots. You stood outside, wrapped tightly in your thick, fur coat. It was Gramps’s daughter’s before yours, so it smelled like him. The forest. A cosy fireplace. Hot chocolate. It did little to comfort your aching heart, and maybe that was because a part of it was still missing.

Standing in the last rays of sun reminded you of that boy with light hair and kind eyes. It reminded you of his touch that refused to leave your mind. He was scorched there like an emblem on wood.

“So why can’t I remember you?” Your words were lost to the harsh, frosty breezes. “Who are you to me?” He wasn’t family, that much you knew, nor a friend either. He was much more. Much closer to your heart than either of those.

-----

This wasn't a massacre. It was the shambles of a bloody war.

The remnants of limbs and broken bones lay strewn across the throne room, where pools of crimson stained the tile flooring with its iron stench. Part of you wished you hadn’t opened the door, and another said it was your fault for letting everything get this far.

Would you have been able to stop Norman if you ran faster? If you had stopped him earlier?

Your stomach flopped and turned. The smirk painted on Norman’s lips wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. He was satisfied, not with the massacre, but with how perfectly his plan had been executed. It played out like a game of chess. Each pawn he sent out had been eliminated, leaving only the most powerful pieces on the checkered board.

“I’m sorry,” Norman said. “It’s too late (Y/n).”

He wasn’t sorry and he sure didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying to you. Or at least, that was what you wanted to believe. Every fibre in your body screamed at you to run at him, slap him to the moon and back, or beat him to a pulp for lying and cheating you all. Yet you couldn’t do it. Not with the way he kept his eyes to the floor.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely,” he added. “It’s a shame you were a little too late.” Your gaze lingered on his for a moment longer before you cast it to Ray and Emma. They stood strong with you, yet you had a feeling they wanted to waver just as much as you.

Emma stared at the sticky crimson under her boot, eyes wide in disbelief. “They’ve...they’ve all been...?”

“Killed.” Norman plainly finished. “They killed each other and they’re all dead now. The Queen, the nobles, the Giran clan. All of them.” Despite the pleasant way he spoke, you had a feeling he didn’t mean it. The Norman you grew up with--no--the Norman you knew wasn’t like this. He was kind. Gentle. Sweet. He cared for everyone and everything, which was why he chose to be shipped out in the first place.

And why he always chose to be the sacrifice.

You heaved in a deep breath. If this were the reality of your situation, you had to accept it. Ignoring Norman for who he was and what he did wouldn’t do a thing.

“I reforged the Promise.” You made your way across the room, eyes straight and head held high. The smug glint in Norman’s eyes vanished.

“Everybody can escape to the human world and no one needs to fight. You don’t have to kill anymore, it’s over.” That was what you wanted to believe with every fibre of your being. But was it really all over? Could you escape to the human world and leave this place after what’s happened?

Norman shook his head, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“It’s too late for that.” he plainly said. “No, it’s impossible. A monarchy that has lasted thousands of years has collapsed. Governance for the demons is impossible now. So is peace.” He glanced at the lifeless body behind him. “Iverk was the last one, and I killed him myself.”

You stiffened.

“We’ve put a lethal fissure in the demon society. A fissure that can’t be mended. All that’s left to do is,” he threw out a careless hand, “shatter it. All of the demons will die out. There’s just one more factor left. We can’t go back now. We have no choice but to wipe them out.” He straightened and it was like you were staring at a different person. There was no kindness in his eyes, or that light that you’ve relied on to keep you waking up every morning. “Don’t get in the way.”

You clenched a fist. “No.” Your voice came out strong, reassuring. “What is the point in wiping out a whole race just because we can’t see eye-to-eye? There’s hope and I’ve finally grasped it! For thousands of years, there’s been a cycle of slaughter and war that we have to break. I don’t plan on standing back, and I don’t plan on letting you become more of a murderer!”

Norman’s eyes were dark from under his cloak. “(Y/n)...”

You stood your ground. Defying him was the only way you could stay strong, the only way you could convince him. “We’ll find a way together! It’s not going to be easy, but I know we can do it!”

“(Y/n)...!”

“I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself again and I’m not letting you do this alone!”

Norman’s tight expression relaxed into an uncomfortably serene smile. “What are you talking about?” he lightly inquired. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not going anywhere.”

You heaved in a sharp breath because he stopped telling you the whole truth ages ago. He stopped relying on you because he thought he had to do everything alone. “I can’t trust you. You’re a liar! You think you can fool me? I know something’s wrong with you, you’re just trying to hide it! Don’t underestimate the family you grew up with, stupid Norman. We can see through all your lies and tricks!”

You thought back to the day you walked into his office alone.

I know you Norman, don’t forget that.

It had been too long since you’d seen him and thought him dead. Too long since you were able to hold his hands in yours.

And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself.

It was nice to see him again, yet there was something off about him. He hadn’t changed much besides growing as tall as a tree.

I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again...

The only difference was the hesitance in his stance. As if he were trying to hide something very painful in his chest.

...but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.

Then he left your words open-ended, as if he knew he couldn’t possibly lie to your face like that. He knew you saw through him from the start. It was only a matter of time before he acknowledged it.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you slowly inquired. “Because you’re so smart, you chose the reliable path. Because you’re so kind, you shoulder all the burden. I know you Norman, didn’t I tell you? You don’t want to slaughter the demons! And you don’t want to wipe them out either!”

That was the truth that shone in your heart. You wanted to believe in Norman because he always believed in you. If he didn’t then he wouldn’t have allowed you to go the Seven Walls. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t have allowed you to walk without him.

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself,” you added. “What are you hiding? What are you so afraid of?” He raised a brow challengingly. “Afraid?” Norman wanted to laugh. “I’m not...”

“The Norman in front of me looks like a scared child.” You said it like it was fact, and judging by the way Norman’s gaze unfocused, you were right. He wasn’t just scared, he was terrified. Of the consequences, of how you would look at him again, of how the blood would never, ever wash off.

But it was okay, right? He was strong. Just a little longer and it would all be over.

You took a step forward. Norman firmly held out a hand. “Don’t come any closer.” His voice was void of any emotion, cold even. “I’ve come this far. I have no intention of turning back now.”

“Well that’s too bad!” you exclaimed. “Because neither do I! I’m not letting you go this time!” You grasped his hands in yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Yes, you’re strong, yes you’re smart and you’re amazing and all those great things, but you’re stupid too! And arrogant! Can’t you see that you aren’t alone? Don’t be afraid to believe in us! We’re here to share everything. The tough, the burden, the painful things and the scary!”

Emma nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve done that since day one. It’s what we’re here for!” Ray locked gazes with Norman. He wasn’t about to be left out of this, not after Norman’s little stunt back in Grace Field. “Don’t be so reserved either,” he added. “Just spill it!”

You squeezed his hands tighter and stood a little closer. “You don’t need to protect us anymore! We want to walk with you, not behind you!” Answers were simple, but the journey was everlasting and dangerous. You understood what it took to get here even if you weren’t walking in Norman’s shoes. It was difficult. Terrifying. But with all the accomplishments under your belt?

It was time to reunite with him.

“Your family and siblings are your friends.” added Ray. “We don’t want a future where you end up suffering no matter what the result is. And you? What do you want? What do you want to do, Norman?”

He pulled away and the warmth left your hands. “No, it’s no good.” he stated. “You’re already too late. I’m...I’m in a place where I just can’t go back. You can’t walk alongside me--”

“We know.” you interjected. Emma nodded. “About the poison, Mujika and Sonju...”

“And the experiment in the basement.” added Ray. A hopeful smile inched itself onto your lips. “See? We’re not too late. It’s okay to be vulnerable. If you’re the real Norman, then let’s lose our way together. Let’s struggle too, and laugh.” You held out a hand and Emma and Ray joined you.

“Let’s live together.”

Norman didn’t struggle to keep his cool. You re-called the look in his eyes, the same one you saw that night he was told his shipment date. He cried, not just because he chose to get shipped out, but because he was scared. For you. For himself. For his family.

That stifling look of serenity washed off his face. His lips trembled, his shoulders shook, and his eyes watered. You all wrapped each other in a tight embrace. No one deserved to face all the ages of time on their own, no matter what it was, and more than anything, you’d do that for him.

“But...” Norman’s voice trembled. “It’s too late. It's pointless because of the drugs we were forced to take. We don’t have much longer left to live--we can’t live on.” He collapsed to his knees in a heap. “Help me... (Y/n), Emma, Ray... Please...”

That was when all the puzzles finally fit. After laying in wonder for so long with thoughts that kept you awake until the sun rose, you understood. The hesitance in his walk. The way he tried to hide his sluggish step. The way he acted like he was running out of time.

“You’re dying.” The words left your lips before you could even stop them. “It’s...the drugs from Lambda, right?” Norman tried to suppress a sob, but it came out in a way that sounded like he was chocking on his own lies and tears. You took a knee, gently placing a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Norman.”

He couldn’t stand the soft look in your eyes, or the tone in your voice that was like a warm summer breeze. You should have yelled at him. Should have stamped your foot against the ground and growled and slapped him. Yet you knelt in front of him, caressing his dampened cheeks with a touch that said it would all be okay.

Norman wouldn’t look at you--no--he refused to because he was just as you said: a liar. Why were you so kind to him when all he did was lie? He said he’d let you go to the Seven Walls. He said he’d wait for you. He said he wasn’t going anywhere and that he’d live, laugh and do everything to be there with you, for you.

Norman wondered what a murderer like him ever did to deserve you.

-----

The grass crunched under your feet. Towards the brick walls you walked, following the sun as it lowered deeper and deeper towards the ground. You had to keep reaching for it. You had to see it.

In times of trouble, it was your beacon of hope, the last bit of your old life you were sure you could recall. No matter where you were, it was always the first thing you followed. Towards the light. Towards that ray of hope.

You came to a stop at the edge of the school grounds, right where the gates separated you from the outside world bustling with life. The occasional car zoomed through the streets, interrupting the quiet air with its incessant honking and screeching.

The sun disappeared over the horizon, bathing the skies in navy blue and purple.

“Excuse me.”

The voice was light, warm, polite.

“You should really hurry home. It’s not safe out here at this time, especially since we’re students.”

You stuffed your cold hands in your pockets. “I really appreciate your concern,” --you turned to face him-- “but I’m fine. Thank you.”

A boy with light hair and kind eyes met your gaze. Something about him reminded you of something--no--someone. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the boy did. He’d never forget you, no matter how many lifetimes he lived.

“(Y/n)?” He was breathless, frozen in time as you awkwardly knitted your brows together. (Y/n) wasn’t your name. It was Letha, the name Gramps gave to you because you couldn’t remember your own.

Your confused frown made the boy’s eyes well with tears. You stared, watching as he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a pained sob. He was a student here just like you, sporting the traditional sweater vest, white button-up with a tie, and black slacks to match. You’ve never seen him before, yet he looked so...familiar.

Gosh, why couldn’t you remember?

“It’s been over a year and,” he chocked, “I’ve looked everywhere. How could you--how could you do all that for us? You promised we’d live together, but you reforged the Promise and--and...”

The boy's knees wobbled, and out of instinct, you threw out your arms. He fell into you, right at the crook of your neck. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his tears must have been frozen by now. It was cold out here.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was small, fearful almost. It made the boy cry harder. “I don’t know you, but why don’t we go inside? There should be a cafe down there, and they’re open late, so...”

“I’m sorry.”

You paused.

“I’m so sorry.” he echoed. “I wish I was there. I wish--I wish it were me--but instead...”

You patted his back as if you’d known him for a lifetime. Maybe you felt bad and that was why you hadn’t shoved him off, or maybe, it was because having him in your arms felt so right. Familiar in a way you couldn’t put into words.

Your gentle touch made the boy’s sobs relapse. He curled into you, wrapping his arms around your middle like you’d run away. Like you’d disappear. There was something so nostalgic about this hug and the way you both had your arms around each other.

It had happened before.

“The Promise,” the boy muttered, “you made it in exchange for--”

------

Bright, blue sky stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful, and oddly calm. Perhaps a little too calm. After running through a maze of illusions and riddles you struggled to solve, you arrived in this place. Alone. The ground was like water, and with each step you took, it rippled and fanned out.

Someone sat in the middle of this endless sky and water, hovering over it serenely.

“What is it you seek?” the demon inquired. You stepped forward. “I want to reforge the Promise.” The demon’s single eye gazed straight through you, as if you were nothing more than a sheet of paper held to the light. “Sure, (Y/n).”

You pursed your lips together. He was unnervingly calm, child-like even, and you had a feeling it had to do with his ‘reward’ after the promise.

“So what is it you seek?” questioned the demon. “You must give me a reward as well.”

Yes, that was the catch. But what could it be? This demon was a being higher than anyone in the land, a god that once split the world in two. He transcended time, yet remained relatively simple-minded and difficult to read.

“The reward,” the demon fiddled with an orb in his hands, “hmmm... It would have to be something important. Ambition. Desire. What someone longs for. What I would want is something important to the other party. Will you make a wish despite that?”

This was for more than your family and Norman. You had people relying on this one choice, this one Promise.

“Yes, I will make a wish despite that.”

It all meant more than the world to you. You had to liberate your family, the children who were raised like livestock and mass-produced like wild animals. And the mamas who fought to survive--you had to think about them too.

“I wish for all the cattle children to cross over...”

They didn’t choose that life of suffering. None of you did.

“And after that, for it to be completely impossible to pass between the two worlds.”

The demon continued to stare. You stood strong and proud with the weight of all humans in this Neverland on your shoulders. If he granted your wish, then the tide would turn and you’d be able to save everyone and everything.

“I will grant that wish,” he said. “And the reward I want are your---”

----

“Memories?” The words fell from your lips in a hasty breath. More than anything, you valued finding them. It was the only missing piece in your heart. The last portion of the unsolved mystery.

This boy--whoever he was--talked about you like he knew you. Held you like you meant something. Said that name, (Y/n), like it were his life line. He pulled away with a sniffle, settling his hands on your shoulders with a loving touch.

“You don’t remember me.” He lifted a hand and raised it to place on your cheek. But he couldn’t touch you like he used to. Not when you looked at him like he was far away and out of your reach.

“You don’t remember me.” the boy quietly repeated. He began to pull away, but you grasped his hand in yours. It was warm, soft. “No, I...I’ve seen you before.” There was a pained look on the boy’s face, as if he thought you were lying to him.

“Haven’t we been through this before (Y/n)?”

No, said your mind. Yes, said your heart.

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself.”

Your grip tightened around his hand, but not enough to hurt him. “I...I do know you. You’re...” You shouldn’t lie to yourself. You shouldn’t lie to yourself. You shouldn’t lie to yourself. But you did know this boy, and all this time, you yearned to see him.

Remember.

Who was he to you?

Who were you to him?

Remember.

Remember!

“I can’t remember your name,” your eyes welled up with cold tears, “but I know I’ve missed you all this time.” You pulled his hand to your cheek as he brought you close. The scent of parchment, aged books, and the woods. Yes, that was nostalgic, so much that it felt right. The final piece, fragmented and broken, began connecting again. It brought the dots and the gaps you tried so hard to fill together.

But something else was still missing.

The boy pulled your head to the crook of his neck and rocked you from side to side in the moonlight. Even the hazy streetlights were drowned out by the stars. You liked to think it was because this part of the city was quiet, isolated, from the rest of the world. And the rest of your worries.

“Norman.” he said.

You looked up at him.

“My name is Norman.”

“And mine is...(Y/n)?”

“Yes,” he said with a bittersweet smile. “I think the day I fell in love with you was when you got excited about something Ray told you. Ray is our family if you’re wondering, and so is Emma, and Gilda, Don...” He told you about people you once knew, and the life you once lived. Some parts he left out, and others he kept.

But you wouldn’t have known. Not when your memory laid in fragments.

“...And so we looked for you. I didn’t think you’d be here, but I’m glad you were.” He laid his chin on the top of your head. “You used to joke that I’d never be taller than you, but now I am.” A sad chuckle left his lips. “I wish things could be different and that you--”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a flash of red hair. Your head began to pound and you nuzzled closer into Norman.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts.”

He ran a hand through your locks, arms folded close around you as he hummed a sweet tune. It was sad, melancholy, and the only one you’d ever known your whole life. “I know that song.” you mumbled. Norman smiled softly. “Mama used to sing it to us all the time. When Ray had nightmares, she put him to sleep with this song.”

The pounding in your head increased and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I did too. I sang...to you.” Norman’s lips parted, but he settled on a nod and smiled instead. “You remember?”

“I think so.” The memory was hazy, as if someone were trying to make you forget for good. But you fought that urge, held on to the image of a room with white sheets and bed lined up side by side. “You were...talking to me...about a...I don’t know...”

“Go on.”

“You were crying late at night...so I...I sang to you.”

Norman kissed the top of your head. When he was in Lambda, locking in that room all alone running through test after test, he held fast to that memory. It kept him from giving up on what he fought for, and kicking the bucket for good.

“I missed you so much.” he wistfully whispered. “You can’t leave me again, or else you’ll break my heart for good.” You looked up to meet his watery eyes. “Why would I leave?” Norman shook his head. “It was in the Promise, wasn’t it? You can’t break it.”

The pounding began to fade. You tiredly smiled, but it was warm and thankful and happy. “That won’t stop me, Norman. I don’t think I could live without you.” He warmly chuckled, intertwining his hands with yours. “Me too.”

And it was then that you began to feel a little more complete, a little more you from then. You were sure you wouldn’t have to dream another little dream of your wodeerful Norman any longer, for he would be right by your side, where you both belonged.

You released his hands and cupped his cheek. It was a natural act you didn’t even have to think twice about. When you were you, you had done this more than a thousand times. Your lips connected in a sweet kiss. He tasted like coffee and tea rolled into one, and you had a feeling it was because he couldn’t choose which was better.

“I love you.” you said. He warmly smiled, but underneath, it was almost sly. “I love you too. Why don’t we do some catching up?”

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ikkaku-of-heart · 2 years

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@muselexum asked: 💋 //I present you the challenge of somehow kissing Mihawk

Everyone sending ‘💋’ in my inbox gets a kiss from my muse

A chance meeting between two Yonko should have been a tense, dangerous affair, but considering how it was Buggy and Shanks, it was hard to take it seriously, especially considering how Shanks kept laughing at Buggy’s attempts at insults and grandiose claims of superiority. Still, the Hearts wisely stayed out of it, preferring to sit off to the side and watch the petty fighting between two captains while ready to leave if it turned into an actual battle. Neither crew were their enemy at the moment, and Law would rather the Red Haired Pirates and Cross Guild take each other out than get involved directly if it wasn’t necessary.

However, Ikkaku had dared to sit at the bar next to Mihawk to get a front-row seat to the squabbling. Gramps had told her many times about the petty fights the duo had gotten into as cabin boys; over whether the north or south pole was cooler, exactly how old Barnabas the turtle was, whether or not Roger’s mustache was really his nose hair, etc. And of course the old smuggler had been an instigator in a few of those fights, to the point where certain crewmembers had dreaded seeing him cruise up beside the Oro Jackson.

Apparently, Ikkaku was starting to follow in his footsteps.

She’d lost track of what the original fight was about, as it seemed to divert into other grievances at the drop of a hat. But then Mihawk’s name came up, along with the question of who’s boyfriend he was. That had her eyebrows shooting up in intrigue, and she turned her head to find the World’s Greatest Swordsman pinching the bridge of his nose in clear irritation. She immediately had the feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with this particular spat.

“Hey,” the engineer chuckled, jerking her head over to the two Yonkos. “I don’t know what this...thing is you three have, but seems like they should really be asking you whose boyfriend you are. But since they seem a little caught up in their stupid argument, I’m happy to help you get their attention.” There was pure mischief in her eyes and her smirk made it very clear her intentions were to cause problems on purpose.

It seemed though that Mihawk wasn’t entirely opposed, as he merely raised an eyebrow and nodded mutely. She wasn’t sure she could classify them as friends, per say, but they’d run into each other enough over the past few years and seemed on friendly enough terms that she felt confident that he’d be ok with what she had planned.

So, leaning across her seat, she cupped Mihawk’s jaw and pressed a kiss to his lips, smirking when he returned the gesture. It was all for show, of course, but it did give her a powerful sense of satisfaction. Even more so when she heard Law groan, “Really, Ikkaku?” and a moment later sounds of shock and outrage from both Buggy and Shanks at seeing the dark-haired pair making out.

Mission completed, she pulled away, fluttering her eyelashes in faux coyness at her partner-in-crime. She wasn’t worried about either emperor coming after her; she was under Shanks’ protection and she knew for a fact that Buggy was terrified of her grandfather hunting him down. So, grinning like the cat that ate the canary, she leaned back in her chair, more than satisfied with herself. “See? All eyes on you now,” she giggled, wiping away a tiny smudge of lipstick that lingered on Mihawk’s mouth before going back to her drink, ready to see if the swordsman would actually put an end to the argument or stir the pot further.

Either way, she had the best seat in the house for it.

#muselexum #The Engine is the Heart of the Ship (canon)#Nocturne Blade (Mihawk)#Sanguine Emperor (Shanks)#Coulrophobia (Buggy)#(I too had been planning on involving Shanks in the kiss but after seeing yours Lexi I knew I needed to throw Buggy in there too)#(sorry Shanks but Ikkaku is very much following in Tomasu's footsteps of being a pot-stirrer)#(hope you enjoyed Lexi! sorry that I also controlled Mihawk a bit but it was worth it for the outcome)#(figured by this point Ikkaku would be less nervous about kissing Mihawk lol)

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shipskicksandgiggles · 3 years

Note

26. parkner, Harley saying that cause I can see him saying that...

oh god he so would, you're right. in fact i agreed so much that I almost left Peter out entirely BUT i fixed it

prompt: “How was I not the one that started gay drama at the family dinner? I’M THE GAY ONE.” (from this list)

Read He's my Cherry Pie here on ao3

~~~

None of them said anything until they hit the highway.

“That could have gone worse.”

“Shut up.”

“She’s right.”

“Not a word, Abigail.”

Peter popped his head over the console. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He checked the rear view mirror and let go of the wheel with one hand so he could reach back for Peter. “That was a disaster.”

“Oh yeah, you can say that again.”

“How was I not the one that started gay drama at the family dinner? I’M THE GAY ONE,” he burst out.

“I don’t know, but I would pay good money to have a picture of the look on Gramps’ face when you let him have it,” his mom finally gave into the cackles she’d been holding in since they left.

“I can’t go over there ever again. Oh my god, I’m never going to be able to look our grandparents in the eyes after today.”

“That’s going to make our next family reunion awkward,” she noted.

“Then I won’t go! Tell them I said hi or whatever, but I cannot deal with it.”

“You’re so over dramatic,” Abby flopped back into her seat with an eye roll.

“I’m an appropriate amount of dramatic considering the circumstances.”

~FOUR HOURS PRIOR~

“Mom, we’re gonna be late!” Harley checked his watch. “Mom!”

“Coming! Abs, I need you to hold onto the salad.”

“I got it!” Abbie bounded into the kitchen and grabbed the bowl in question from the fridge. “Is the car unlocked?”

“Harley has the keys since he’s driving,” their mother emphasized.

“And we could be on the road if you would hurry up,” he mocked. “I’ll leave without y’all, don’t test me.”

“No you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t survive Sunday dinner without me. Where’s Peter?” Abbie asked.

“Here, sorry! I almost forgot the pictures from New York. Harley, don’t forget to unlock the doors,” Peter reminded.

He hit the button as they disappeared out the back door. “Macy Jean!”

“Don’t you use my middle name, young man,” she chastised as she grabbed her purse. “I taught you that.”

“You sure did mama. Now if you don’t get in the car in the next 30 seconds, you’re calling Gramps to explain why you’re missing his world famous pot roast.”

“Oh, hush your mouth. Where’s my phone?”

“It’s in your hand. Come on,” he urged, half pushing her out of the house. “There’s gonna be traffic.”

~THREE HOURS PRIOR~

He’d hardly parked the car before Abbie was jumping out of the back seat.

“Is that my sweet granddaughter?”

“Nana!” she squealed, barely stopping to set down her dish as their grandmother enveloped her in a hug.

“Did you grow? Honey! Abigail grew!”

Gramps emerged from the house, apron secured around his waist. “Impossible,” he insisted. “I guess we’re going to have to measure you against the wall again,” he told Abbie, who laughed.

“I might be taller than Harley now.”

“You are not!” he yelled from where he was still unloading the trunk. “Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor!”

“Guess we’ll have to check that too,” Gramps laughed. “I told you that Christian school education would do him some good, Macy.”

They exchanged a look. “Oh yeah, he’s a real smart kid alright,” she responded as Harley stifled a laugh.

“Well come on boy, let me look at you.” Gramps grasped him by the shoulders and looked him over. “I should have you working on the farm this summer, you’ve always been too skinny.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him dear,” Nana patted him on the cheek. “You’re perfectly handsome just the way you are.”

Harley leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Nana.”

“This one on the other hand,” she placed her hands on her hips and surveyed Peter, “you definitely could use a few summers working out here, city boy.”

“Sure I do, Mrs. Keener,” Peter responded, accepting her fussing with grace.

Satisfied that Peter would be able to handle himself, Harley turned back to his grandfather. “Need any help in the kitchen?”

“I could use an extra set of hands,” Gramps said. “That way the ladies can catch up.”

“Yes sir,” he saluted.

Peter excused himself to follow Harley’s mom and sister, citing May’s cooking skills as his reason to not accompany the two of them. Harley was secretly relieved, unsure of whether or not he would get along with his grandfather or not.

~TWO HOURS PRIOR~

He set a serving platter in the center of the table with a flourish as the others oh’d and ah’d over the food.

“I will tell you right now, this boy is going to make some woman very happy someday,” Gramps clapped him on the shoulder.

Harley snuck a look at Peter who smiled softly. He’d been briefed on the whole homophobic family situation before they left, but it still hurt that he couldn’t come out and say he already makes someone happy, and he loves him very much. “Just want to do my part, sir.”

“Atta boy.” He slapped his back one last time. “Does everyone have drinks? Ladies? Peter?”

They all nodded.

“That leaves you, Harley. What do you want? We’ve got lemonade, soda, beer, whatever you want.”

“I’m not 21 yet, Gramps. Soda’s fine if you have ginger-ale.”

“Coming right up.” He returned with the drink moments later, and sat down. “Shall we say grace?”

The whole family joined hands, and Harley muttered his way through the table prayer, only really chiming in on the ‘Amen’.

Once the food was distributed, conversation turned to how Peter’s vacation from the city was going. The few weeks he’d spent in Tennessee had made a noticeable difference, and the elder Keeners were excited to hear about how different New York was from their small towns.

~ONE HOUR PRIOR~

“Abby, honey? Come help me with the pie won’t you?” Nana asked.

Macy raised an eyebrow. “Did you make it?”

“Oh no, dear. Mrs. Carson from down the street will make them if you ask. I told her she should just quit her job and do that full time since she’s so good at it. Harley, you remember Mrs. Carson, don’t you? You went out with her daughter when you both stayed here a couple summers ago.”

Turns out that ginger-ale burns when it hits your nasal passages.

Violet Carson was a nice girl, he remembered. Kicked serious ass at pinball as he learned from days spent at the only arcade within 30 miles.

Her brother Victor was responsible for memories of late nights and humid kisses in a barn halfway between the two properties, along with scratches from the hay that he couldn’t explain when his grandmother put ointment on it.

He coughed violently. “I think that’s my cue to switch to water.”

They all laughed, oblivious to the blush on his cheeks. He breathed a sigh of relief when they let it go, and the pie was passed around.

“So, Harley,” his grandpa started. “Heard anything about colleges yet?”

“Actually, I do have some news.” He let the suspense hang in the air for a moment. “I got accepted to MIT.”

His whole family burst into cheers, and he got swept up in their joyous affection, exchanging hugs and kisses from all around, and smiling when he felt Peter squeeze his hand under the table.

It disappointed him that Gramps seemed more subdued than the rest of them.

“So you’re moving to Boston, huh? No way we can convince you to stay here and take over the family business?”

Harley frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to live forever,” he shrugged.

“Gramps, I’ve had my heart set on MIT since I was in grade school. What about Abbie?”

“Me?” she asked.

“It’s a man’s work,” he insisted. “Not to mention tradition. Keener men grow up, find a nice lady, and take over the farm.”

He took a steadying breath, determined not to break his heart by glancing at Peter. “I’ll come back to fix the tractors once in a while, but this is the top school in the country for both mechanical and astronautical engineering,” he said carefully. “This is a big deal.”

Gramps let out an exasperated sigh. “You just had to choose Tony Stark as an idol didn’t you?”

“Dad!” his mom shouted indignantly.

“Thou shalt have no idols before the Lord your God,” Harley quoted, disheartened.

“Jack,” his grandmother warned, “you know you’re exaggerating. Stop. This is good news.”

“You chose the most God forsaken man and modeled yourself after him, don’t lie to me boy.” His eyes never left Harley, and he squirmed uncomfortably.

“Tony Stark wasn’t a part of the astronautics program,” Harley argued uselessly.

“Wasn’t his partner involved in aeronautics at MIT though?” Macy asked absentmindedly. “That’s connected to astronautics right? I swear I saw an article the other day about him giving a seminar for the kids in one of those programs.”

There was a palpable change in the air as they all turned to look at her.

“Who gave a seminar?” Gramps asked slowly.

Oh no. Harley’s eyes snapped to Abbie’s, who was watching Peter, clearly ready to bolt if need be.

“Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes,” she answered like it was obvious.

“Right, the Iron Man and War Machine duo,” he scoffed. “Don’t you dare go following in those footsteps,” he pointed at Harley.

They hadn’t told them about Christmas of 2013. No one was planning on telling them about how Christmas of 2013 was connected to a guaranteed internship during his summers in the Northeast either. When they accepted Peter into their lives as Harley’s friend from New York, they hadn’t understood how they had met, but thankfully they hadn’t questioned it, blissfully unaware of everything Harley was hiding from them.

“I mean, that too, but they’re married.”

Had she been drinking? Harley examined her glass and wondered if the lemonade had been spiked.

The silence was back. Nana’s face had gone blank with shock, and Gramps’ jaw was working overtime trying to find the words.

Finally, he rounded on Harley. “So not only is the person you aspire to be a hedonistic narcissist, but also fucking queer?”

Thinking back on it, Harley never really liked stereotypical families all that much. He licked the last bit of pie from his fork. It was cherry. He really would have to call one of the Carsons before he went north, if only to thank them.

“You know, maybe I’m not trying to be Tony Stark.”

Gramps nodded once, satisfied with his response.

“Because to be completely honest, I think you just described me instead.”

His face turned an alarming shade of red, but Harley never broke his gaze.

“What did you just say?”

“I said,” Harley spoke with emphasis, just to make sure he heard, “you just described me.”

“You little brat. We sent you to the best schools just to make sure you didn’t turn out to be some heathen without morals.”

“True,” Harley admitted. “And those schools gave me the education I needed to think for myself, and the intelligence to get into one of the best schools in the whole country.”

“You’re going to hell!” he spat.

“Funny, I thought I was already there.”

“It’s against the Bible!”

Harley snorted. “No it’s not. You just read the homophobic adage from the 1940s. Whatever happened to ‘Love thy neighbor’?”

“How dare you-”

“Plus wasn’t that Jesus’ whole thing? Like giving money to the poor, healing the sick, showing compassion to the outcasts of society, that sort of thing? So if anything, you’re the one that’s going against God’s will right now.” Not that Harley would ever admit it, but it felt good, it felt so good to get this all out in the open.

“Don’t be mad when the life you planned for me backfired on you. It’s your own fault that you didn’t realize these were the exact results you should have expected in the first place.”

He got up and grabbed the car keys and Peter’s hand. Dinner was over.

Before he walked out the door, he paused and looked back.

“By the way, I hope the farm dies with you.”

The door slammed, and he was free.

~NOW~

“Dude, pardon my French, but that was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen,” Abbie told him. “Seriously, you should be proud.”

“She’s right, kiddo,” his mom said. “I would have done the same thing if I was in your shoes.”

“Thanks, but did you really have to say that Tony was married to a man?” Harley asked. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” Macy laughed. “I don’t know where my brain went, but I am so sorry I started a fight.”

Harley grinned. “Don’t be. I finished it, didn’t I?”

“You sure did babe,” Peter said, kissing his knuckles. “Don’t think I’m not telling Tony about this the second we have cell service though. He’s gonna love this.”

“And you all wonder why Christmas is my least favorite holiday,” Harley lamented. “I’m being betrayed by the people I love most.”

“Oh shut up you big baby,” Abbie teased. “Does this mean we never have to go to Sunday dinner again? Because I’m so down with never going to Sunday dinner with them again.”

Macy shook her head affectionately. “Sure. Who needs parents anyways when you’ve got your own little monsters to deal with?”

#parkner #harley keener x peter parker #harley keener #peter parker #homophobia #coming out #established relationship #mild angst #fluff #happy ending #keener family shenanigans #dylan laken tag #prompts

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wille-zarr · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Ten ~ “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; angst; brief discussion of hunger/starvation; themes of parent/child separation; discussion of pregnancy; flirty rough-housing; character death

word count: 15.3k

chapter summary: when a dreaded face from your past emerges, everything in your new life, including your relationship with the mandalorian, is put under threat.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: I’m really, really nervous for this one. 🙃Please read using the Ao3 link below if the length causes your app to crash! Also, MAJOR THANKS TO @sana-katarn WHO WAS A HUGE HELP.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Ten: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

If Grandpa was alive to see this mess, he’d roll over and die again.

No.

No-

He’d find Thall.

Kill him.

Then die again.

“Stars,” you groan, leaning both palms on either side of the sink. Lifting your head, you glare at the face staring back at you from the refresher mirror.

Your face… it feels like it’s all you recognize of yourself these days…

You grit your teeth as shame weighs your eyes low, down your bare body, down to the speckled floor beneath your toes. You wiggle them to ground yourself- to reign in the disgrace squeezing at your chest.

…Dank Ferrik.

You press your eyes against the voice pushing, pushing at your consciousness.

…

I told you so…

I know, Grandpa.

I told you Thall was sketchy.

I know! Maker! Do you have to rub it in, Gramps?

Just wanted to point it out. And don’t call me Gramps. Makes me feel ancient.

Kark off. You’re dead.

…

I love you, Grandpa.

….

Kriff.

No one warned you that the worst part of growing up would be the realization your family was blasted correct about a lot of blasted things.

Hissing through your teeth, you fling your hand through the current of water flowing from the faucet, the droplets glittering across the reflected crown of your head.

Oh, fine. Fine!

You twist away- hand snapping up your shirt from the floor.

You’re used to everything going wrong. What’s new?

Another day, another “you’ll maybe possibly probably die.” Only this time, everyone’s survival rests upon you.

Big karkin’ yay.

If you survive this, you’re writing a book.

“Thall, how about you just kiss my- erf!-” the collar of your shirt catches your nose- “kiss my butt!” You yank on the edge of the hem until your head pops free.

“Just kark off-” you mash on the control panel, and the door opens with a snap- “straight to- YIPES!”

You fling backwards.

“GET OUT!”

Face exploding with warmth, you press behind the door. “What the hell! Can’t you knock?! I’m in my underwear, for Maker’s sake!”

Your shrieks are met with silence… so you peer around the corner…

Your wide eyes are greeted by the back of your Mandalorian intruder, the ends of his cape still twirling around at his heels from his own startled spin.

“Din, get OUT!” you hiss, ducking back behind the frame. You pull on the ends of your shirt, fighting to cover the bare skin of your thighs.

A strained, modulated groan slips around the doorframe.

“….d…r -s unl-ked.”

“What!?” you squeak, head ducking around to gawk at him. “Stop garbling, Djarin! I can’t-”

“Your door was unlocked!”

His words are sharp, strained.

“Anyone c-could have come in while you were showering and- and-”

“-Go away!”

You pat around the refresher counter, fingers gripping the closest thing within reach, and you hurl it-

“Out!”

“I can’t- Ka’r’ika! Is-… fresher paper?”

You bend around the door, watching as his gloved hands pick at the ribbon of white paper trailing across his shoulder.

You can’t help but grin.

“You look like shit, Mando.”

“Damn it, girl,” he grumbles, so low you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear it. “Can- can I… Dank Ferrik. Can I turn around now?”

“Blast it- no! Go away! I’m in my underwear!”

“What are you wearing underwear for-”

“Why am I wearing underwear? Did you really just-”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

“Some of us sleep in our underwear, Din! Gosh! What- do you sleep in your armor or something?”

...

“Oh my Maker. You sleep in your armor.”

...

“…No.”

...

A smirk quirks at the corner of your mouth, and you’re grateful he cannot relax at its sight. Stars, you take too much pleasure in making him squirm…

“Y-you’re not staying in here alone-” his voice strains- “not with hunters-”

“I’m safe-”

“-get in the bed.”

…

You blink.

…

His hands rise to his waist.

“Get in the bed.”

“Hmf.” You purse your lips. “Yes, karkin’ sir.”

Sticking your tongue out for good measure, you spin on your heel to sweep your pants up from the floor.

“Gosh,” you grumble, sticking a leg in as you hop one-legged towards the bed. You glance down at the print on your underwear. “I hope you didn’t get a good look- urg!” You lose your balance, slumping across the mattress.

“Wouldn’t want this to be the way you find out I’m a horse girl…”

“What?”

…

“…nothing.”

You hook the last button of your pants. “I guess you’re free to spin around now.”

He hesitates- then turns at your words.

“Look at you,” you snort. “Creeping in that dark corner.” You slide both legs beneath the comforter, pulling it up to just beneath your chin. “I’ll never get any sleep if you lurk over there. I’ll wreck my bike tomorrow, and it’ll be all your fault.”

…

Heavy sigh.

The Mandalorian emerges from the shadow-shrouded corner, and he flicks his fingers out at his side.

“Better?”

“Hmf, fine.”

You crinkle your nose.

“You can stay, but don’t stare at me all night like some dang rakghoul-” you scooch forward, pulling the comforter up over your head like a scarf, only your face visible- “trying to scare me.”

-a puff of modulated air.

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, fingers hooked on his belt.

“And that’s what concerns me.”

He pauses right beside your head, visor angled down to stare into your eyes.

“Come now, Mando. You scared the shit out of me on Taek.” You dramatically flop out flat across the bed, letting the comforter crumble around your body. “Thought for sure you’d kill me for being annoying.”

…

“You were afraid of me?”

You let your weak smile speak for itself.

“Hmf.”

He re-hooks his fingers on his belt.

“Could have fooled me-” his voice is light, teasing- “you were a mouthy little thing.”

Mouthy.

Mouthy??

Oh, you can show him mouthy-

You part your lips to snot off at Din, but his hand extends, pats the crumpled comforter, ripping your response straight from your mouth. You watch, brow quirked, as he pulls, smooths out the comforter around you. His visor lifts-

Oh.

Oh Maker just cast you in the Pit of Carkoon-

He can be so kriffing thoughtful and it’s really hot and you want to die-

Lowering your eyes, you grunt, picking at a loose thread to distract from that familiar squeeze, that ache in your chest.

Stop-

Stop.

You can’t get mixed up with this man-

You’re… you’re not able to-

…Someone’s going to get hurt.

…

“I… I- uh- talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

…

He tilts his head at that.

“Fine!” You throw a hand up, swallowing quickly. “... And- and when I’m not.”

“Hmm.”

“Still-” you jab a finger towards him, eager to just talk, distract yourself from that familiar warmth blooming in your chest- “I’d rather have been killed by you in the desert than spend another day on Taek.”

With a groan reminiscent of a wounded Kath Hound, you roll over onto your stomach- away from the Mandalorian.

“Kriff, so many sand stingers!”

A second roll, this time pulling the comforter along with you.

“And you can’t even eat them!”

A third roll.

“And I would know.”

A fourth roll- you stop, satisfied with the level of burrito-wrapping you’ve achieved.

“I tried.”

The Mandalorian has the audacity to chuckle.

“My lips were swollen for two days-” you wiggle, freeing your arms from their burrito prison- “and you laugh?”

“Ah.”

A small, strangled cough slips through the modulator.

“Sorry.”

You try your best to look angry- but you can’t resist the cheeky grin.

“Well, anyhow,” you sigh, re-crumpling the comforter around your body like a nesting mother bird. “Thank the Maker you flashed that Beskar of yours around like a baited hook, reeling me in like a fish.”

“Hmf.”

The Mandalorian leans forward, hands on his hips- his body casting a light shadow across your cheek.

“You would have found a way off without me.”

Rolling your eyes, you can only huff, “Yeah, blasted, right.”

You plunge your face, your grimace deep within your pillow.

“Blast it- I was so damn hungry; I was this close-” you lift up two fingers held closely together- “to resorting to cannibalism.” Your hand drops with a plop.

…

Truth be told… you have always wondered if Toydarian tastes like Nuna…

Heh.

…

-The bed jolts.

Your head shoots up.

You blink.

…

The Mandalorian-

-sitting beside you.

Close.

Very… close.

“Din?” Your hands fumble with the tangled comforter. “Wh-”

“I’m sorry.”

His tone is…

Angry.

He turns away from you, striking his fingers against his thigh armor in rapid succession.

Your eyelashes flutter, taken completely off-guard by his harsh admission.

“Uh…”

You sit up straight, eyes glued to the gleam of his helm.

“What exactly for?”

Oh, kark, what did he do?

Did you forget you should be mad about something?

“I should have taken you back to the Crest-” his shoulders shrug forward- “…the night we made our deal on Taek.”

The Mandalorian stops tapping- balls the comforter into his fist.

…

You blink.

…

“Maker, Din!”

Flopping back, you slap your hands across both eyes.

That’s it? Damn man is fretting over that?

With a dismissive flick of your hand, you can’t help but snicker. “Oh, come on, even if you had asked me to, I would have just written my obituary first- left it behind for the sand stingers.”

Grinning ear to ear, you, again, gather the comforter up over your head like a protective cocoon-

-just like the child does with his blanket, now that you think about it…

“I must say though, Mandalorian, you could have at least lugged off those two dead dudes you killed.” Crinkling your nose, you narrow your eyes at Din as he shifts, eases back against the wall, observing your movements with careful attention.

“Leaving me all alone with dead people-” you cluck your tongue- “very improper of you, Mr. Djarin.”

The Mandalorian tucks his head aside.

“You weren’t alone.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” The comforter slips forward, consuming your head entirely and entombing you in darkness. Pushing against the quilt, attempting to free yourself, you continue, “I- erf- had two decomposing-”

“-I stayed.”

Your hands drop.

…

“The entire night... on the roof.”

…

“Oh.”

Oh.

…

You sit in darkness.

…

The bed shifts, tilting you towards the movement-

The comforter is flung off your head, and your squint is met by your own face reflected in the Mandalorian’s visor.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

His words are tentative, but you hear their teasing edge.

Fine.

He wants to play.

You can handle “play.”

It’s easier than the truth.

…

“No, Mando.”

~Yes, Mando~

“I’m not.”

~I am~

“My terror for you was eradicated from my head the moment I was assaulted by the sight of your revolting bedroom quarters.”

~My terror is you’ll learn the truth about what I am~

“Your hair might be exceptionally soft and astoundingly fragrant, as your hair conditioner collection would imply-” you tap a finger atop his helmet- “but you’re messy, Din.”

~Seven Corellian hells, my life is messy oh my stars~

…

Silence.

…

“Hmm.”

His head jerks to the side.

“You’re welcome to clean it-” he shifts forward- “if it offends you.”

A smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.

“I’d probably find something sentient growing in a dirty sock pile.”

The Mandalorian chuckles- a rumble… deep, low.

He leans forward-

-and you scuffle to the other side of the bed.

“S-Stars! Uh, well, enough about my fears. Um, tell me-” you let your feet dangle off the side of the bed opposite from him- “what scares a Mandalorian?”

Uhg.

You tried to force a light-hearted tone; pull on one of your phony masks- but…it seems the longer time goes on-

-the more it’s impossible to pretend with Din.

This… is bad.

Especially when you have as many damn secrets to keep as you do.

You can’t help but cringe.

Kriffin’ dune worm on a stick!

Cautiously, you sneak a quick glance over your shoulder, finding Din’s position on the bed unchanged. He stares down at his hands as if lost, buried within his own thoughts.

“I’m-”

He pauses.

…

“I’m afraid of making the wrong choices...”

…

“Not being strong enough to protect... who I care about.”

…

Your lips part.

Well.

…

A light-hearted question.

A serious answer.

You take a deep breath, letting it steady, refocus your spiraling, spinning mind.

“Din,” you mumble, throwing his name over your shoulder. “If… if this is about the baby...”

Stars, the baby.

…

Hell… you- you can’t have this conversation right now.

How do you-

Do you just-?

“The- the responsibility of a child-” you reach up; rub your browline with trembling fingers- “it’s the single most…”

You pause.

“Th-the single most-”

…

terrifying-

exhilarating-

rewarding-

punishing-

fulfilling-

painful-

you- you can’t breathe-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You jolt forward at your name.

“Ka’r’ika, are you-”

“Being a parent-” put on your mask put on your mask- “you feel so… big and so… small.”

Dank Ferrik…

“You’re too small to forge the galaxy you want for them, no matter how much you fight for it.”

Your hand slips beneath your shirt, clenching the pendent you wear close to your heart. “But you’re big, so big- you’re everything to them- their whole galaxy.”

Your eyes slide shut.

Her- her voice will come back to you if you just stay quiet and- and-

…

“Mama, what this for?”

Even your excruciating exhaustion can’t suppress your grin. “Your belly button?” With a grunt, you lift Valera up from the cot, placing her down atop your legs.

“Well, you little womp rat… uh…”

Stars, how do you explain this to a kid?

“It’s… uh… how you ate food when you were growing in my tummy.”

She shoots you an incredulous little eyebrow lift.

Oh great-

She’s already picking up your sass.

Serves you kriffin’ right.

Your fingers wrap around the pendant hanging from Valera’s neck.

“Watch the attitude, kid.”

You give the necklace a few short tugs, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Mama!”

“Ka’r’ika?”

Oh!

You jerk around-

-Din.

“Is something… wrong?”

“Yeah- uh, yeah.” You cough- clear your throat. “I just, dang it-” you slap your thigh- “get emotional thinking about little kids, ya know? So darned cute, the little monsters.”

He’s… not convinced.

But he doesn’t push it.

That’s… all you need from him right now.

“Look, Din. I- I know you’ll make the decision you think is right for the kid…” You lower your voice- make it easier to hide the waver. “It’s- it’s all we can do.”

...

“But you don’t… approve of my choice.”

No.

You don’t.

“I stand by everything I said before... mostly.” Your eyes lower, glaring down at the comforter. “Just make sure you aren’t making the choice to send him to a Jedi out of fear... fear of not being good enough for him.”

…

You glance back up.

“Because you are.”

...

“Ka’r’ika…”

So soft.

He always says it so soft-

“Your opinion…”

His visor dips away, almost bashfully.

“It means a lot to me.”

You blink.

“Really? Mine?”

It certainly didn’t feel that way during your argument on the Crest…

Sliding his fingers across the leather of his belt, he makes a slight choking sound.

“I… regret the things I said to you before.”

…

“I- you were saying things I didn’t want to hear...”

He turns, stares over at you.

“You’re not selfish.... far from it.”

You hold his gaze.

That damn daze.

…

“Well...” you mumble. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you either. I- I let my personal bias cloud my head and heat my tongue...”

You break the gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

…

Silence.

…

Oh stars.

You shouldn’t do it.

…

You’re gunna do it.

“Well, Mando-” energy floods your voice- “I’m flattered you hunted me down and killed a Rancor just to apologize to me.” Crawling beneath the comforter, you don’t fight the smirk cracking across your face

“Truly, Din, it means the galaxy to me.”

You scooch over further, further until-

“W-what are you-”

“Shut up.” You shove a hand into his side. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You lean against his arm, your head drooping down…

…

“Din.”

…

“Din.”

…

“Oh my gosh, kriffin’ relax, Din!”

You pull away from him. “Stop tensing! It’s like trying to sleep next to a blasted boulder!”

“It is not.”

“Loosen up!”

“I am loose.”

Oh.

You know how to loosen him up.

You jump up to your knees, staring him down.

“Hand. Now.”

…

The Mandalorian gawks at you. Or, at least, you imagine he’d be gawking if it weren’t for the, ya know, helmet.

“Din Djarin.”

You shove your open palm at him.

“Let me hold your damn hand.”

One breath-

…

Two breaths-

…

Three breaths-

His hand, warm and- kark!- so damn large, slips into your own.

“If I die tomorrow-” you give his hand a tight squeeze- “I want you to remember me like this.”

He grunts.

“Domineering and demanding?”

“You know I can hear you.” Rolling your eyes, you sigh dramatically, “As I was saying, remember me like this.” You squeeze his hand a second time-

He returns the squeeze-

“Maybe I’d rather remember the time you fell into that mud-hole on Arvala-” his free hand reaches out- tugs on your ear lobe- “and I had to pull you out while the kids laughed at us.”

You whack away his hand. “Oh, come on, Din-”

“Or maybe I’d rather remember the time you sang to the Blurgs.”

“I was bullied into tha-”

“Or the time you fell asleep in my shirt- drooled all over it.”

“Kriff off! I did not.” You yank on his hand, drawing him forward. “How would you even know?” You lean into him, squishing your nose to his visor.

“You never-

do-

your-

karking-

laundry.”

…

Din just chuckles.

Oh oh Maker his chuckle is so sexy and damn it damn it-

…

You’ve… you’ve got it bad.

Crinkling your nose, you pull away, sinking down- down- down into the comforter. “Well, you’re being mean to me. I’m going to bed.”

A… thought occurs.

…

Oh, Banthabreath.

Life is short. Do it.

“Din?”

Your eyes twist, staring up into his visor from where you lay on the bed. He watches; does not break the gaze as you reach out- grab his hand again. With a sharp tug, his glove slips right off, revealing- stars- that hand, those fingers that have haunted your daydreams since they first brushed across your lips.

Warm.

Callused.

Scarred.

Oh Maker.

If you’re losing it over a blasted hand and voice- a kneecap reveal would have you deceased.

You sigh.

“Din, tell me- uh…”

Naked skin dusts across your jaw- “Uh… Din?” -traces your earlobe- “Do- do you really plan to, uh…” -trails down your neck- “…s-stay all night?”

-his fingers pause at your collarbone.

…

“Yes.”

He resumes stroking his fingers slowly, languidly across your collarbone.

“Humor an old man, Ka’r’ika.”

You blink at him.

Old?

Huh.

Now that he mentions it…

“How old are you?” you blurt.

He freezes.

…

Oh, you just killed the mood, didn’t you?

…

Dank Ferrik.

“I’m just curious.” You lift a brow, a slight smile upon your lips. “You do grunt and groan a lot.”

The Mandalorian makes a sharp noise- tears his hand away.

“Young enough to pull you out of mud holes.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him.

…

“…Late thirties.”

Ah.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, shoving against his shoulder. “Just trying to construct a mental image of how I think you might look.”

Din huffs- crosses his arms across his chest like a sullen child.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’ll ever see it!” You jump up to your knees. “I should at least be allowed to imagine.”

“I could never live up to your fanatical imagination, Ka’r’ika.”

“What, are ya ugly or something?”

“…No.”

“Are ya hot?”

“Hardly.”

“Oh my gosh don’t say that about yourself.”

“You’ve never seen my face,” he grumbles. “You don’t know what I’m working with here.”

“Shut up.”

“The helmet is an improvement.”

“It is pretty sexy,” you laugh.

…

Silence.

Oh kriffing hells-

Did you just say-

Oh stars-

…

You hope you die tomorrow.

Shaking your head, you snort. “Fine. Whatever.”

-just change the topic change the topic-

“Uh, so, uh, tell me-” you lean in closer to him- “what does Ka’r’ika really mean? You can’t lie to me anymore- I know it doesn’t mean brat.”

“You’re right.”

He, too, leans forward-

“It means pain in the ass.”

“DIN DJARIN!”

The comforter launches over your head, plunging you into darkness. You kick and roll and yell- the comforter and sheets tangling up around you- but you can’t get free-

-because the kriffing metal idiot is holding it down.

“Let me OUT!” you shriek, kicking upwards with your feet. “I’m going to KILL YOU!”

Weight lifts from the comforter.

You fling it off, and your flaming eyes immediately turn towards-

“So, you’re going to kill me?”

Damn that smug voice!

Your hand shoots out, a sharp smack landing against his unarmored thigh.

“Ouch!”

“Eat. Banthashi- OOF!”

You’re catapulted backwards- heaved across the bed. You roll, landing up on all fours.

“Why YOU-”

“Go to sleep.”

-smack-

“DJARIN!”

You grip your ass.

“Did- did you just spank…?”

…

Oh.

Oh, it’s on now-

You fling up, firing yourself at his chest, bursting into shrieks as he easily knocks you aside.

“HEY!”

But the Mandalorian goes for you this time.

His hands grasp your hips, shoves you back behind him. You pounce again- wrap your limbs around his back- you’re yanked forward with an oof. You retaliate, jabbing your hand towards his exposed side- he grabs, stops you- but then-

His arms have you pinned- trapping you against the bed with his weight.

“G-give u-up now, bounty hunter!” You wriggle; his grip only tightens. “I-I’ve- erf- got you, Mando!”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak…. just… stares down at you.

“Yeah.”

He dips his helmet to the side.

"You’ve got me.”

…

You both burst into giggles.

“Hell, M-Mando!” you say, gasping for air between your giggles. “I’m- stars!- crying!”

"Hm.”

A light -pat- smacks against your thigh.

“Go to sleep.”

Your grin stretches ear-to-ear. “Yes, sir.”

…

Oh Maker, you’re really done for.

You quiet your laughter, shimmying back beneath the comforter, keenly aware that you might regret every bit of this impulsive behavior in the morning…

But for now?

You roll up against the Mandalorian, curling up against his side. You tuck your face-

Safe.

His hand drops to your shoulder- moves up- stops… a tickle against the back of your neck, his fingers tracing tiny circles…

“Ka’r’ika.”

"Mhm? What? Leave me alone.”

….

“It means… ‘Dear Star’.”

…

Oh-

Oh.

...

Oh shit.

“Sweet dreams… Ka’r’ika.”

----------------------------

“See you later, Babycakes.”

“Bye, Cara!”

“The hell-” you shoot Pablo an incredulous look- “Babycakes?”

“What?”

“Please don’t answer to that in public.”

“It’s too late,” Pablo sighs, turning your racing helmet over in his hands. “I’ve answered to it twice today.”

A small smirk tickles your lips.

“Then can I call you Sweetcheeks?”

“Oh, I think the hell not-”

“Fine,” you chuckle, taking a pinch of his cheek. “Sweetcheeks it is.”

“I hate you.”

A grin cracks your face. Hey now, if he can call you Sweetheart, you can call him Sweetcheeks.

It’s only fair.

With a heavy sigh, Pablo shoves the helmet back into your hands. “Well, guess it’s back up to Thall’s skybox for me. I- uh-” his hand shoots out, pats your shoulder- “…Don’t die.”

“Pablo, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You press a hand to his chest. “I knew you cared.”

“Yeah, well,” Pablo sighs, knocking your hand off his chest. “I’ll admit, my motivations are sullied… I might have credits down on you.”

“Oh karkin’ dunes.”

“Karkin’ dunes, what?” He throws out his hands. “That’s good! It means I believe in you!”

“Kark you.”

But your smile betrays your words.

Pablo laughs- flashes you a quick wink before turning away. “Now go- win me some credits, Sweetheart,” he yells over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to a casino and let you spend them!”

“Love you, too, Sweetcheeks!”

“Love you more!”

“You answered to it!”

“… Damn it!”

…

Heh.

Pablo really is just-

-“LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars-

-“REPEAT. LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars oh stars oh stars-

Groaning like a dying Bantha, you press a gloved hand to your browline.

Hell, that cocky, confident little shit you were as a teen?

…

Yeah, you’re not so confident right now.

“I know you’ll win-”

You spin around.

“-you always did.”

“Tesen,” you say, reaching out to accept his hug. “Dank Ferrik, man! I looked over my old speederbike this morning and- wow- you really did a fantastic job on her!”

Maker- the trouble you got into on that old bike… How are you even still alive?

Tesen chuckles- a rumble beneath your cheek. “After you disappeared, others tried taking her out on runs. But only you could get her to do the things she’s capable of.”

He pulls back.

“I kept her for the memories.”

A cheeky grin bursts across your face. “You know I’d trust no one else but you with her.”

His eyes brighten, and he opens his mouth to-

-“LINE. UP. WARNING.”

Groaning, you stare up into Tesen’s eyes.

“I’d wish you luck-” he winks- “-but I know you don’t need it.”

“Maybe not....” A coy smile turns up your lips. “But I could still do with my traditional good luck kiss. As my friend, would you mind… since Gavon isn’t here anymore to do me the honor?”

Tesen laughs- deep, hearty-

“Well, I am a good friend.”

He bends down- hesitates- hovering just above your face-

“Tesen, yo-”

Warm lips press to yours.

Oh hell yeah-

You wrap your arms around his waist.

Gosh, you’re pathetic. One friendly little kiss, and those cocky, confident teenage vibes are pulsing through your bloodstream.

Pretty sure you could wrestle a dewback…

“Aww! How sweet!”

Pulling away, you grit your teeth at Thall’s voice booming over the loudspeaker. Your eyes shoot up to the sky.

Stars, you could kill that man…

“Hello, hello everyone!”

Tesen tears away from you- meeting your eyes one final time before sweeping away-

-leaving you all alone.

Just you and your bike.

To win this dang race.

Or die.

At this point, if your friends didn’t need you to actually- you know- win, you’d accept either outcome.

“As we all know, one half of our kissing duo down there-”

“We’re just friends!”

“-is none other than our long-lost Blazing Womprat-”

The nickname snaps you into gear.

Oh yeah.

Time to play the part.

-“former champion of the Boska Springs Classic!”

Climbing up on your speederbike, you stand on the seat, throwing both hands in the air. You stare up into the cameras defiantly, as if you’d already won the kriffing race.

You wave your hands again, the crowd exploding into jests and cheers and shouts.

Dank Ferrik-

You swallow back the goofy grin itching to bloom across your face.

-don’t ruin your image.

You know you must play the part they expect to see on the circuit.

Blazing Womprat-

Brash.

Arrogant.

And batshit crazy.

Maker, how you missed this- this rush. Whether it be racing, singing, or otherwise, you love playing to the crowd…

And they’re eating it up.

“E CHU TA!”

Well…. almost everyone…

You sneer down at your fellow racers, observing their rather rude gestures.

“EAT MY BIKE EXHAUST-”

Your middle fingers jab at the sky.

“-YOU ABSOLUTE ROAD WORMS.”

The racers start towards you-

“How exciting! Back to your bikes… yes, thank you, yes, please don’t kill her… thank you!”

Snickering to yourself, you fall down into the seat, hooking your boots in position on the pedals.

“The race is simple enough- first out to the Castle Rock to run up their flag and back, wins!”

You slip your helmet on-

“I don’t care what path you take-”

You tug at your gloves, ensuring they’re snug between each finger-

“Nor do I care what you do during the race!”

You flip down the visor of your helmet, your entire head and face protected-

“It’s all part of the fun!”

You lean forward- gripping the steering-

“Now, various organic beings… start your engines!”

-and your speederbike roars to life, pulsating beneath your body like a caged racehorse ready to run.

…

Wait-

…

It… just hit you…

Din- he-

-he never showed up.

…

Why would he avoid you, especially before an event this serious? Sure, he was… strange, aloof this morning just before he left you. But to be honest, so were you.

Waking up tangled in each other’s arms tends to do that.

…

Hells… if- if your behavior last night… ruined your friendship with him…

Oh stars, you’ll never forgive yourself.

He… but he promised that he’d speak to you before the race…

…

He never showed.

He never-

“Ka’r’ika-”

You scream-

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What the kark, Mando!” You lean back, twisting your helmet around to stare up at the crowd. “Get out of my helmet! You’re ruining my focus.”

You grin.

The Mandalorian kept his word… sort of.

“Sorry… just…”

You stare up at Thall’s skybox, the teasing gleam of Beskar vaguely visible through the glass.

“…stay safe.”

The static of the connection cuts.

…

You’re alone.

…

“READY…”

Your engine revs-

RED LIGHT-

Your bike pulsates-

YELLOW LIGHT-

Your grip tightens-

…

Wait a minute…

…

GREEN LIGHT-

The speederbikes burst into the distance- gone, out of sight within a blink of an eye.

…

You stay still.

Unmoving.

Staring out at the distance.

“Uhhhh…. Go?”

You stare.

You feel it…

You… feel it…

You-

The wind lashes, nearly knocking you from your bike with a yelp. You hold on for dear life as the crowd screams, ducking down into their own seats to avoid the brutal pounding.

But more importantly-

The sky darkens in the distance-

A monstrous dust cloud swoops across the sand-

-straight for the scattered bikers blasting across the dunes.

And-

you grin.

High-pitched screams and crashing metal reverberate across the dunes.

…

…time to go.

You push forward-

-and blast off.

…

Avoiding the starving, all-consuming dust cloud, you swing to the right.

It’s a risky route.

But you’ve studied it.

You know what you’re doing…

…hopefully.

Movement catches your eye-

A miniature speederbike zooms up to your right- a creature no bigger than the baby just- screeches at you.

“What the fuck!”

A second bike smashes into your left.

“What the fuck!” you shriek, swinging to avoid another swipe.

You accelerate- push forward on the controls.

Get away get away-

Ah!

There- looming in the distance.

The cliffs.

Turning knobs with a snap, you hold your speed steady- maintaining your direction-

“OOF!”

The end of your speederbike slides to the right- the attacking biker heaves back- preparing to try again-

You blast forward-

-straight for the cliff walls.

You release a bark of laughter- the sound swallowed by the wind whooshing past.

Try following me now.

The cliff wall looms closer- closer- closer-

You drop to the right, hanging off the side of your bike as far as you can without falling off-

-shooting beneath the cliff walls and straight into a small cave that’s barely tall enough for even your bike to fit.

The handles of your bike scrape the rock formation looming mere inches above your head- you yelp at the sparks showering your body.

Well, thank the Maker this jumpsuit is fireproof…

Movement-

Your head twists to the right-

That karkin’ little creature on his karkin’ little speederbike… grins at you- waves his hand as if to say “See? I fit, dumbass.”

You growl.

Oh, hell no.

…Approaching light.

You bust out of the cave, shooting straight up in your seat. You swing to the right- kick your foot out-

-the little creature flings into oblivion.

…

You’re alone again.

You push forward, gritting your teeth, and accelerate to full throttle.

You’re coming to an intersection in the path- this is where other racers might start to- ah! There!

Three bikes, crowding into one another, swerve around a column of boulders-

The lead speederbike trails straight for you.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Not again-

You scream as your speederbike lurches- rolls into tight, spinning loops. The bike that smashed into you barrels past-

You grit your teeth.

Get back here, you little-

You ram the back of his bike, grinning as he flings forward over his handlebars- run over by his own bike.

And yours.

Oopsie.

Castle Rock is approaching- it should be directly to the left- on the opposite side of the cliff wall blocking your line of sight.

You cut the corner- the roar of the remaining speederbikes still howling in your ear.

You punch the booster controls on your bike- but…

You’re painfully aware of a new shake, a new tremor of the bike that wasn’t there before.

Oh dear…

Hope this doesn’t backfire- literally.

With a groan, you blast into the canyon between the cliffs- giving your bike all it’s got.

Your mind blanks-

Instinct.

…

You’re running on instinct.

You swerve to the left- right- sharp right-

The roar of the speederbikes fade into the distance, left completely in your dust.

Heh.

The Blazing Womprat lives up to her name.

Oh, heck, here we go-

-You need to take a sharp left up ahead or you’ll completely miss Castle Rock-

You lift your left boot from the pedal- slide it across your seat- throwing every bit of your weight into the turn.

Your grip starts to slip- gloves desperately hold on for dear life. With a pathetic groan, you straighten, lift-

-There, Castle Rock!

And not another bike in sight.

You hit the brakes, sputtering to a stop. The thunder of engines storm in the distance behind you- you leap from your seat-

And you run for dear life.

The flags- the flags! Up ahead! At the top!

With a grunt, you scurry, fumble your way up the boulders-

“Get out of my way!”

Your head shoots back- other bikers have arrived, parked at the base of Castle Rock.

Oh, you don’t think so…

“Oops!” You grunt, shoving hard at a loose rock with your boot. “Sorry!” you yelp as they leap out of the tumbling rock’s path, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Giggling beneath your breath, you scamper to the top, the flagpoles just within r-

-PING-

You scream- a bullet ricochets off your helmet.

“Seven Corellian hells!” you screech, stumbling to the ground.

Tuskans!

Damn it!

You clamber to your feet, pushing forward with all your might.

Bullets shower the ground, the pings mixing with the yelps of your fellow racers. “Kark off!” you scream at a Weequay as he barrels past you-

then drops dead.

Well, he karked off, all right.

Nice shot, Tuskans.

Not slowing in the least bit, you snatch up your flag color, hooking it to the-

“OOPS… heehee!”

You gasp- a Rodian- he… he cut your flagline.

You snarl at his fleeing back.

…

Fine.

Sticking the flag between your teeth, you grip the pole with your hands and begin to climb. Dank Ferrik- what the hell even is this race?

Ignoring the pings flying around you and praying they miss, you reach the top and tie off your flag.

A bell rings.

Done.

You’re first.

You’re cleared to go.

With a pained sigh, you take advantage of your height to observe the sight down below.

Grinning at the scuffle, the fight breaking out between the racers all fumbling to avoid both bullets and one another’s sabotage…

…an idea occurs.

You reposition your weight, careful to not lose your grip and slip down the pole into the chaos below… One deep breath… and you leap the gap, clasping onto the second flagpole for dear life.

“Hey!”

You stare down at a furious Twi’lek.

“Get down!”

You grin.

“Okay!”

Biting your lip, you wrap the flagline one… two… three times around your glove, tugging to ensure a good grip.

Oh, this is the dumbest idea ever-

With a grunt, you release the pole and-

You swing forward- and back- forward- and back-

…screaming like a wild Lothcat in heat.

With each swing, you feel the pole shift beneath you, loosening from its shallow base.

“WHAT ARE YOU-”

“Yipe!”

With an audible snap, the pole breaks from its foundation- cascading to the ground…

…and taking every single flagpole to the right down with it.

With an oof, you hit the ground, hard. Peeling your head up with a groan, you turn-

…

“Get her!”

Time to go.

You jump- jump- jump- down the boulders, not bothering to check the height. You just gotta to get the kriff out of there.

You’re so close.

Flinging yourself across the seat, you blast into the horizon, straight in the direction of the starting line.

You’re so close-

Engines rev in the distance.

…

You’re so close.

Thumb hovering over your thrusters- a speederbike emerges in the distance-

…it’s time for a shortcut.

A cliff to your right, it’s a steep drop, but you think you can…

Gritting your teeth, you accelerate, pushing what power is left within your bike into- you scream, sailing straight over the edge of the cliff.

Your thumb punches the reverse boosters, keeping your bike from smashing into a thousand pieces on the ground below. Speederbike clattering and clanking from the stress, you hit level ground and-

You made it.

“Holy Hutt!” you groan, the words shaky in the air from the brutal reverberations of your engine.

You’re… you’re going to win.

You keep your path straight, flying over the sand dunes.

You’re going to win.

You’re going to-

You scream-

A force-

A burst of light-

You soar through the air-

You scream-

…

Darkness.

…

----------------------------

…

Ignoring the abrupt shock of the harsh Sularian winter air, you race from your home, running straight down the mountain path.

"Starlight?”

You don’t stop at your father’s voice. You run faster- swiping at the tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Starlight!”

A hand grabs at your shoulder.

“Let m-me go!” you yell between your sobs, shoving at his hand. “I-I’m going to l-live wi-with G-Grandpa!”

“Hey, little one-” he spins you around; pulls you into his chest- “deep breaths, hm?”

“I’m- I’m not… little!” You sniff, pushing away from him. “I’m ten and r-running away!”

"Can I come?”

…

You stare at him, the sobs easing from your body.

“Huh?” -sniff- sniff- “What?”

He plops down on the snow beside you- staring up at the stars dusting the sky.

“Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight-” he looks at you, flashes you a lop-sided smile- “you know that, right?”

You pout your lips.

“But Mama is so… so… unfair!” You stomp your foot and flop down beside him. “She’s so mean with me! She likes Kalara more!”

He doesn’t chastise your outburst.

He just… grunts- rests his rifle across his lap.

"Starlight.”

You keep your eyes turned to the ground, shame burning your cheeks.

"What happened?”

…

“I… I hit Kalara- but she said I was mean first! And Mama took her side!”

…

A heavy sigh.

He reaches down, grasps your pendant in his hand.

"Do you know why you wear this?”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Because I’m the ‘oldest’,” you mock.

He lets it drop back against your chest. “Watch the attitude, kid. You wear it because, as the oldest-” his tone, while gentle as always, eases into something more serious- “you set an example to your little brothers and sisters. They look up to you and want to be like you.”

“They do not!”

“Do too.” He pokes your stomach, and you can’t help but giggle. “This necklace is a reminder of your responsibility…” His mouth quirks into a smirk. “Of your influence.”

"I don’t want it!”

“Well, Starlight,” he chuckles. “I can’t help you being born first, but I promise, one day, you’ll appreciate your little brothers and sisters.” He hooks a finger on his belt. “And one day, you’ll give that same pendant to your first born, if you wish, just as generations of our family before you have.”

“Eww!”

“Eww!” he mocks back.

You blink down at the pendant, curiosity blooming in your chest…

"If this was yours before I was born and you gave it to me-” you look up at him- “does that mean you were the oldest?”

He stares into the distance, quiets…

…

“Yes.”

…

“Oh.”

…

"Did… did you apr-chi-ate them?”

"‘Appreciate’. And yes.” He looks down at you, that lop-sided smile slowly returning. “I did very much.”

"…Do you miss them?”

He glances away, stares up into the starry sky.

“Very much.”

You blink- a wash of fear- fear for your brothers and sisters hitting you like a blizzard breeze and- and-

“Don’t be sad, Starlight.” He taps your pendant; points to the sky. “They are with the stars… I’ll see them again.”

He stands, heaves his rifle against his shoulder, and motions you to follow.

“Come, let’s go inside. I think someone has a few apologizes to make?”

“But Mama is mad at me…” you groan.

“I promise,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his own. “No matter what you do…”

…

“…your mother and I will hold you in our hearts…”

…

“…for eternity…”

…

--------------------------

The Mandalorian’s licking your face what the HELL-

Your eyes blast open-

“W-what?”

Something wet swipes your eyes. “Yipes!” You squint, throwing your arm across your face. “What the blasted- oh.”

…

A… dog.

Massiff dog.

…

Not… Din.

…

Oh.

The dog tilts his head at you, his tongue drooping out the side of its mouth.

“In my defense, you kinda look like Din though,” you giggle, patting the dog’s hard exterior. “You goofy little thing…”

Sighing, you reach up to rub your face…

Wait.

Where- where’s your helmet’s visor…? Why’s it… busted out…?

…

“OH BLASTED STARS.”

You scramble to your feet- a mistake. You cry at the pain that shoots, throbs from head to toe. “Damn it, damn it!” you groan, hobbling forward as your memory floods you all at once.

The dog mistakes your agony for playtime, hopping up and down, up and down, dancing little wiggle-butt circles around you.

“Back, dog! Back!” Your eyes scan the sky-

…Oh no.

It’s… the sun’s setting.

It’s evening.

No, no!

“Kriffin’ hells!” you moan, fingers digging into your palms. “My bike! My bike? I got to- where?”

…

There.

In the distance.

You grit your teeth.

…

…Sandcrawler.

“Stupid JAWAS!”

You burst forward, growling through every last ache. “Get BACK here!” you shriek, launching your helmet at the still-very-much-far-away sandcrawler. “Little thieves! I ought to- OOF!”

The dog cuts in front of you, dashing alongside your right.

“Dang it!” you yelp. “If you’re coming too, then help, not hinder!”

The dog just howls- gleeful and blissfully unaware of everything but “run. fast run.”

“Oh, Maker help me,” you moan.

You’re close enough now that the Jawas have noticed you. Hanging out of their little windows and doors, they begin screeching at you.

“Kark off!” you scream back, nearly tripping over your own feet. “And give me my blasted bike, or I’ll- OUCH!”

Whatever they threw- it damn well hurt.

…You shoulda left your helmet on.

The dog picks up the object in its mouth and brings it straight to you.

“O-oh… st-stars!” you puff, increasing your speed. You throw the object at a Jawa hanging from an open window. “H-hey, dog, maybe you are useful, hmm?”

Your praise must have confused the dog. He yelps once, turns around, begins running butt-first.

“Oh hell.”

Close enough now, you reach up, grip a pipe on the side of the crawler.

“Open, now!” you demand, banging on the metal.

A slot opens- you slap at the Jawa- it screams- slams the slot shut.

A higher window opens- something’s launched- you scream- it screams- the window shuts.

You wish you could say playing whack-a-mole with Jawas was the strangest thing you’ve done today…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, eyeing the Massiff dog running circles below your feet.

You’re getting into this thing if it kills you, so help you-

“Dank FERRIK!”

The jolt of the sandcrawler sends you hurling towards the ground.

“Force…”

You slowly, gingerly lift your head…

Stopped.

The sandcrawler… stopped.

…

Why…

You look up- the Jawas have the slots and windows peaked open, glancing around towards the front of the crawler…

…

They slam them shut.

…

Uh oh…

“Dog, I… I think we might be in trouble- wait!”

But it’s too late- the Massiff dog is darting towards the front of the crawler.

…

Silence.

…

Oh, what the hell.

You’re not leaving without your dog.

Pressing against the sandcrawler, you ease, creep your way forward. Closer… closer… closer-

-until you’re just one head peek away from seeing what’s caught the Jawa’s attention…

…

Do… do you peek?

Or run?

…

Oh Huttsludge.

Maybe the Jawas-

“I’ve been watching you, little one.”

OH STARS OH STARS STARS STARS.

…

WHAT DO YOU DO?

…

You squeeze your eyes closed.

Oh, what the Corellian crap use is there in hiding?

He’s knows you’re here!

So-

You peek around-

…

A man.

…

A terrifying man.

…

You duck your head back.

…

You’re dead.

…

“Hey!” you hiss up at a Jawa. “Whatever beef we had before, we’re on the same side now. Let me in!”

The door slams shut.

“Why you-”

“Hello there, Princess-”

You shriek.

“Stay away!” you yelp, pressing your back up against the sandcrawler. “Or I’ll- I’ll stick my Massiff on you!”

Right on cue, the Massiff bolts past your legs, flying straight for the strange man-

-and drops- wiggling around on his back, begging the scary man for attention.

…

Great.

The man huffs, bends down to pat the Massiff’s exposed belly.

“I see you’ve trained it well.”

…

“Thanks…?”

Wait, was that an insult?

…

“I mean you no harm, Princess.”

Amused.

He’s… amused.

The man glances up at you, throws his hood back.

My stars, you observe his gnarled appearance. What… what terrible thing happened to him?

You almost blurt the question… almost.

“Who are you? What’s your name?” you ask instead, rather empowered by the fact he hasn’t yet- you know- killed you.

“I’m just a simple man making my way through the galaxy-” his gaze intensifies- “like my father before me.”

…

“Got an easier to remember name?”

“I’d rather learn yours.”

…

Is he… flirting?

…

Oh my gosh he’s flirting. Okay, you know what? The grizzled look is actually really hot. Like hot, hot. And, wow, he’s a big guy and you like big guys oh my gosh he’s flirting-

With a lop-sided smirk, you call out your first name. “But you can keep calling me Princess.”

The man chuckles, pats the Massiff one last time, and stands.

“I was speaking to the dog.”

…

“Oh.”

Damn it.

…

You glance at the Massiff.

“…Noodles?”

“A solid name.”

“Thanks.”

…

Okay, what the actual hell is this conversation-

You shake your head, knowing you should be afraid, terrified... but in your defense, it’s rather hard to feel that way while bonding with your potential killer over a dog.

“So… uh, what the hell do you want?”

The man lumbers forward, hands folded behind his back, as if… contemplating something.

“Your Mandalorian friend-”

He pauses, his imposing frame casting a cool shadow across your face.

“-he has something that belongs to me.” The man turns his eyes, so kriffing intense, to stare you down.

“And you can take me to it.”

“Uhhh….” You blink, words escaping your brain. “What… is it?”

“My armor.”

…

“All I request… is my armor returned.”

Gulping, you shake your head, afraid to give him your honest answer. “I-I’ve not seen any armor, but-”

“You might want to consider my words carefully, little one.”

His words slice the air.

“You and the Mandalorian have a rather large bounty on your head.” The man bends down, crouches upon the sand. “According to this chip-” he lifts his hand; a small data chip gleams in the setting sun- “that I took off the corpse of the man… that blew you in the air.”

Your mouth plummets to the ground.

“W-what?!”

He just stares up at you, waiting patiently for you to process his words.

“Damn it,” you growl, sinking down to the ground in front of him.

“If- and that’s if- I knew where this armor might be located-” you look up at him, brows furrowing- “why should I trust that you won’t still try and claim that bounty on us?”

He doesn’t speak- just holds your gaze.

…

His fist holding the datachip rises in the air-

-and crushes the chip into a thousand microscopic shards.

“You and your friends need to leave before more return.”

You gape down at the shimmering shards.

Stars, note to self, do not piss this guy off…

“News of this race, and your presence, will spread to the wrong ears.”

“Uhh…” You turn to stare at the retreating figure of the man in black. “Hey! Wait!” You leap to your feet, rushing right after him. “See that’s the problem- my friends are kind of…. uh, trapped by Thall.”

The man makes a noise.

“I will assist you if-”

“-you regain your armor,” you finish, rolling your eyes.

The first hint of a smile dusts his lips.

“What is your answer, then, Princess?”

…It’s not like you have a choice.

Your friends… Din… are still under Thall’s snare. For all you know, now that you’re out of the way, Thall- kark!- might make Din fight again!

…

You can’t let that happen.

You throw both hands on your hips- purse your lips.

“We have a deal.”

The man nods sharply, accepting your answer before turning, prowling down the length of the sandcrawler.

“I have an insider feeding me information from within Thall’s complex.” His strides are heavy, yet quick. You struggle to keep pace. “She will contact me with the necessary information, but for right now-”

-a screech splits the air.

You gasp- twist-

The Massiff stumbles around from the back of the crawler-

-dragging a behind it a writhing Jawa.

…

The man in black grunts.

“We need your bike.”

----------------------------

You need to scream.

Of all ways for this day to go, you never dreamed it would be riding back to the Razor Crest sitting in a strange man’s lap.

Well, not in his lap… but might as well be.

You wanted to drive. After all, it is your bike, which was thankfully undamaged enough to still ride at lower speeds, but he didn’t exactly give you a choice… You press back against his chest, sneaking a sharp glance to the left and right, gulping at how blasted thick and strong his arms that have you caged in are…

Boba Fett.

At least you now have his name.

It’s the very least you should know, considering your current intimate positioning.

Boba’s hand releases the bike’s handle- grips your shoulder to steady your body as you turn-

Stars-

Stars this is so awkward and you want to fling yourself to the ground you don’t care how fast you’re going-

But if you did that, Noodles would have to go too, since he’s squatted on the seat in front of you, your arms wrapped tightly around his body to keep him from jumping off at high speeds. And no matter how much you’re willing to potentially threaten your own life, you draw the karkin’ line at endangering animals.

Noodles glances back at you, tongue flapping in the wind, as if to say thank you kind ma’am for the hug.

…

The sky is pitch black, the air cool, biting, by the time you arrive at Peli’s hanger. Almighty stars, it feels like centuries since you last saw… there!

The Razor Crest!

You can’t believe you’re actually home!

You pause.

Home?...

…huh.

Stars, you can almost imagine… Din. Standing at the base of the ramp. Head angled at you as you run forward, holding the baby-

…the baby. Din. Cara. Pablo. Kark.

You… you need to hurry.

“Let me find someone before you go inside-” you yank off your gloves, toss them aside- “and your armor should be inside the ship… somewhere- I guess-”

A shrill squeak rips the rest of the words from your lips.

“Baby!” you gasp. You rush forward, crumpling to your knees. “Hey, little fella!” Your voice shoots ten octaves high as you squeeze, squish the little guy to your chest.

“Hey, hey-” you whisper, rubbing his head as his little squeaks intensify.

Crying.

He’s… crying-

“I know, I know.”

Kriffing hells.

“You’ve been alone too long.”

Damn it, damn it.

You’re going to cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

“But you’re not alone now, hmm?” You pull back, force a cheesy grin to stretch across your face. “See? I’m back. Did Peli take good care of you?”

“AHHHH!”

You press the baby close- spin-

“4PO!” Peli screeches, racing around the side of the Crest. “MASSIFF DOG! PROTECT US!”

The droid hobbles around- stops-

…

…

“Oh, kriffing hells…”

You glance over at the hanger door, locating the deadly Noodles…

…all four legs in the air as Boba pats his belly.

He gives you a bare hint of a smile.

“Excellent.”

----------------------------

“Handsome little mister,” you sing, grinning ear-to-ear. “Gotta look snazzy to go rescue Daddy, hmm?”

The baby just stares at you, clearly unimpressed with his new threads.

“Come now. I’m the fun parent,” you laugh, straightening his little suspenders. “Tell you what, if you don’t like it by tomorrow-” you sit down beside him- “I promise I won’t make you wear it again. We’ll try something else I bought you in town.”

The baby grabs a sock off the table- throws it to the ground with a scream.

“Okay.” You quirk a brow. “We hate socks today, that’s fine.” You lean forward, pressing a quick kiss against his head.

The baby’s grabby hands reach up, begging to be held. Without hesitation, you lift him up and place him down in your lap.

“That nice man should be finished dressing soon,” you absentmindedly mumble, twisting your eyes to watch Peli buzz around the back of the hanger. “And then we’re going to- oh.”

A little tug around your neck pulls your attention back down-

The baby- he’s tugging on the twine of your necklace.

“Ah,” you chuckle, pulling the pendant out from beneath your shirt.

“You want to look?”

He stares up at you, into your eyes.

…

-pressure-

…

you feel…warm pressure-

…

it dusts against…

…

It’s… it’s like…. something’s pressing against a- a membrane…

….

-pressure-

…

-a thick membrane in your mind and-

…

w-what- is-?

Body trembling, you press back-

the membrane slips and- and-

…

“Mother?”

You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

Who..? Wh-what just-?

Something dusts your hand, and you jolt in your seat- eyes shifting down…

…

“Was… was that you?” you whisper, eyes blasting wide open.

The baby only giggles.

…

Oh kriff.

…

You flop back in the chair, stare up at the sky.

“Is this a… force thing?”

You’re speaking to yourself more than anything…

“Holy kark,” you groan, slapping your hands across your eyes. “…These kinds of powers are beyond my pay grade….”

Dank Ferrik, you knew you should have paid closer attention to your mother’s lessons… She was as close to an expert on the force as any Jedi, you suppose... Was it your fault you would rather be with your dad, learning how to effectively hit your siblings with stick spears? Mama damn near bored you to death with her long lectures of “light side energy.”

…Whatever that means.

See? You should have paid attention, Dank Ferrik!

The baby tugs on your necklace again.

You blink.

-pressure-

This time, you let the membrane slip right away.

“You are Mother?”

You just… stare.

“Feel force.”

…

“I, uh…”

“Feel her.”

…

His… his question-

Are you a Mother?

…

Emotion scalds the back of your throat.

…

“Yes…”

He… he feels her.

“This… this belonged to my little girl.”

The necklace-

…He feels her.

“A-and mine. And my father’s.” Your voice softens, affection dusting each and every word. “Going back generations.”

Swallowing down the lump, the ache squeezing in your chest, you force a tight smile.

-the warmth brushes against your mind-

-you open up- let him back in-

…

“Grogu.”

…

You blink-

“Grogu?”

He bursts into little squeals.

“Is that your name, Bean Dip? Grogu?”

The little toothy grin he flashes you is the only confirmation you need. Matching his grin with one of your own, you laugh- pull him close.

“Can I still call you Bean Dip sometimes?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer- instead grabs at your necklace again, studying it intently.

You can only… smile at his interest…

You… remember Valera doing the very same thing… grabbing at it- sticking it in her mouth- drooling all over it-

…

Hell.

…

“Hey, hey, Grogu-” your voice wavers- you clear your throat- “You know… I’m- I’m always losing things.”

Deep breath.

“Would you mind… keeping this for me?”

You slip the necklace over his head, letting it fall loose. You reach out, pat it against his belly.

…yes.

For the time being…

…this is where it belongs.

Ignoring your welling ache, you force another tight smile.

“I think-” you give the necklace a few short tugs- “it completes your ‘let’s rescue daddy’ outfit perfectly.”

…He agrees.

“Holy Mudslug!” Peli’s yelp tears at your attention. “Look at ‘em!”

You glance up-

-and your stomach squeezes.

…

Oh.

Oh no.

…

Mandalorian.

…

“Fett!” you bark, setting the baby down. You leap to your feet, stomp to the bottom of the ramp.

“You mean to tell me that you’re a Mandalorian?” You stare up at Boba defiantly, feet set apart and hands thrown on your hips. “And you just… forgot to mention that?”

Dank Ferrik! When Boba said “armor,” you assumed it was, like, biking armor or something.

…

But Beskar?

…Well…now you understand why he wanted it back so badly…

Boba doesn’t react to your little outburst- just… crosses his wrists in front of him, staring down at you with that damn unreadable visor.

“Oh! Great! Another Mandalorian,” Peli grumbles, sweeping past you, a broom gripped in her hand. “You know, my hanger was the safest place on Tatooine-” she shakes her broom at Boba- “until you Mandalorians started showing up!”

“Peli! Come now-” you grasp her broom, forcing her to lower it- “how many have you even serviced? Mandalorians are practically extinct.”

“Counting yours and this green guy?”

You nod.

Peli glances up at the sky, counting on her fingers.

“Two.”

…

“But I want him out of here!” she squawks- shoving a hand in the air at him.

“You’ll have your wish soon, ma’am.”

Amusement laces Boba’s deep tone- thank the Maker.

“And I am beholding to your…kind hospitality.”

“Weeellll,” Peli blushes, eyes darting around at the ground. “I- I guess it’s fine if you stay- but not much longer!”

Peli shoots you a glare and snatches her broom back from your hands. She jabs her thumb at the ship. “Watch him; he’s a big -un.”

…

Sigh.

…

Twisting back around, you frown at Boba's darkened visor.

“I thought Mandalorians didn’t show their faces?”

-a sharp huff.

“Never said I was one.”

You blink.

“Then… the armor…?”

“Mandalorians are complicated, Princess.”

…What the hecking Hutt does that mean? Is he or isn’t he one?

…oh.

…forget it.

Crossing your arms, you shift your weight to one leg.

“Well, what now?”

“My contact has informed me that your friends are to be taken to a location out in the desert- unsure why.” Boba hulks down the ramp, patting your shoulder as he passes by.

“Stars!” you groan, pulling your hat down low.

This… can’t be good.

Din…

Just… hold on, Din.

“I have the coordinates.” Loading his belt with charges, Boba steals a quick glance at you- noting your expression. “Don’t worry, little one,” he chuckles. “We’ll have your babysitter back in one piece shortly.”

“I can assure you,” you huff, a small smile teasing at the corner of your mouth. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Undoubtably.”

You release a pained sigh, flick your hat back out of your face.

“Well then, I guess it’s time to-” movement draws your attention; you turn just in time to watch Grogu slide the remaining pile of socks to the ground- “…go.”

“Hey, if you’re leaving-” Peli stalks forward, cleaning her hands with a rag. “I guess that means I won’t see the rest of you again, huh?”

You give Peli a wry smile.

Peli sighs, slaps the side of your arm.

“Do me a favor then.”

She scurries away, muttering under her breath.

…

“Uhhh… Peli?”

She turns back around the corner, arm motioning at something hidden behind a stack of crates.

“Come on- don’t be shy.”

…

Oh, hell no-

“I’ve decided to make the ultimate sacrifice-” Peli pushes 4PO forward- “and gift 4PO here as a parting gift-”

“No.”

-“to Pablo.”

“Oh.”

…

Peli leans into you- covers her mouth with a hand.

“I think the two of them really bonded.”

…

“Peli-” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into laughter- “I would be more than happy to present to Pablo 4PO on your behalf.”

“Oh ho! Fantastic!” Peli cackles, clapping her hands together. “Droid, get on up that ramp!”

4PO shakes- falls prostrate on the ground.

…

You’re beginning to relate a little too much to this droid.

…

----------------------------

“I’ll tie you up, Princess.”

“No!” You rush after Boba, pulling your blaster from its holster. “I’m going too! You can’t-”

“You want to help?” snaps Fett’s contact, a helmeted woman named Fennec. “Then stay out of our way.”

You sneer. “How about I-”

“Princess-”

Boba turns on his heel, grips your shoulder.

“Stay with the ship.” His tone is hard, biting. “And stay in this cave.”

…

“Do I make myself clear?”

…

Your mouth opens… closes.

Please…

Please just let me come.

But Boba is not the kind of man to relent to a pair of pleading eyes- he reaches out, nudges your chin with his knuckles.

“Keep your commlink on-” his voice is… softer, but nowhere near sympathetic- “and keep it close.”

And then just like that-

They’re gone, blasting away across the sand dunes.

Leaving you all alone in eerie…

Silence.

…

Corellian hells.

You crumple to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tightly closed in a poor attempt to keep from absolutely losing it.

…

A fight to the death.

A fight to the death-

What if-

What if they don’t get there in time? What if someone’s already dead? Stars! Pablo is all bark and no bite- he’ll be the first to croak! And- and Cara- and Din, kark… damn it, damn it, damn. IT-

“ARG!” You leap to your feet, snarling up at the rising twin suns, as if they were somehow to blame for your mess.

Stay behind?

…

You blink.

Stay behind, your ass.

With one final glare, you spin around- marching back inside the mouth of the cave. You rush past Boba’s own starship- making a direct path towards the Razor Crest.

“Grogu!” you yelp, racing inside the belly of the Crest. “I’ve got to go, baby. Stay in this ship-” you fling open the Mandalorian’s storage unit packed with weapons- “and do absolutely nothing.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you let your eyes graze across Din’s pride and joys-

What the hell do some of these even do?

Which should you-

…

Oh.

You… you’ve seen that one before.

…

Your hand hesitates, then snatches the rifle from the rack.

“4PO-” you bark, loading your pockets with ammo. “Keep the ship on lockdown. You can manage that, hm?”

“That’s kind of the point of a lockdown,” you grumble, slamming the storage doors shut.

<excellent. your request is acceptable.>

You spin around on your heel, looking for-

“Grogu.”

There he is- sound asleep, little face buried against the Massiff’s belly-

-and your pendant clenched tightly in his hand.

…

Stay.

You should… stay for him.

If- if something happens to Din, he will need you.

…

He needs… he needs-

-hold on.

…

…Rumbling?

The ground outside the ramp is… rumbling- pebbles and loosened dirt sprinkling down from the cave’s ceiling.

Something’s flying overhead.

This… can’t be good-

With a miserable groan, you start forward, pausing just before the exit.

You glance back-

“We’ll all be back soon, Grogu, I promise.” You stare at the sleeping child’s form. He doesn’t so much as even stir at your words.

“And I mean all of us.”

…

“I promise.”

…

And with one final breath, you run down the ramp- the baby left behind, cocooned within the belly of his home.

Dashing forward, you emerge from the mouth of the cave just in time to catch fleeting sight… of…

…

-a hitch, a catch in your breath.

…

Damn it.

…

Th-the symbol on that ship-

You… you only caught a brief glimpse, but…

…

Shit.

…

Nok.

Kriffing Nok is here?

You- you have to leave Tatooine.

-kriffing now.

…

If- if you take your speederbike, leave immediately, y-you could take a shuttle and…

…

Leave?

…But-

But if you leave again…

Heart squeezing- shredded into a thousand fraying strands, you glance back at the mouth of the cave.

…

Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight.

…

Kark it.

…

You’re done running.

This time, you fight.

…

You’re not leaving Tatooine without your boys.

…

---------------------------

-BOOM-

You slam on your speederbike’s breaks, the bike groaning against the force. You waste no time in shutting it off, launching from the seat before it’s even fully stopped.

-BLAST-

Dank ferrik dank ferrik dank ferrik-

-BLAST-

Growling through your teeth, you push forward, rifle held in a death grip against your side.

“Gunna try and kill my Mandalorian?” you snarl. “And my friends? Oh, I think the hell not, Thall. Eat blaster dust!”

You skid to a stop- boots sliding within inches of an…. uh, extraordinarily high descent.

Dropping to your knees, you peer over the edge of the cliff, peer at the canyon floor far, far down below.

What’s going on?

Where-?

You gasp, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Holy Kowakian monkey lizard!

Your eyes widen, watching as flamethrowers and blaster bolts and bodies fly and fling and throw-

Those who aren’t sprawled out on the ground karkin’ dead are certainly about to be karkin’ dead. The crowds- the pleasure barges- Thall- are long gone, no doubt fled when extra firepower arrived in the form of a pissed-off Boba Fett and co.

In fact, to you, it looks like they’ve just about wiped the canyon clean.

Holy Huttslug! You purse your lips. They didn’t leave anyone for you, darn it.

Ah well.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you lay out flat on your stomach. You knock your hat back, positioning the scope of the rifle against your eye.

“Din!” you laugh, watching as he stabs a Weequay in the chest. “Get ‘em, baby! Oh my gosh GET HIM! Hell YEAH!”

Reaching down into your pockets, you retrieve the extra ammo- loading the rifle with-

“Ayyeeaaaaa!”

You gasp, and you peer back through the scopes, zooming in to watch as your friends… whoop and cheer.

Oh, they did it! They actually blasted did it!

A grin cracks across your face, your anxiety pushed to the back of your mind for the time being. Because for now?

THEY BLASTED DID IT!

Giggling, you pull up your knees, prepared to leap up and-

…Wait a minute- who is that? He’s not-

-you freeze.

…

Oh.

…

Oh no.

Hissing through your teeth, you drop to your belly, press the scopes against your eye. There- Nok- approaching the group. He stops- stands several yards away from your friends.

…

Nok… what the hell is he doing here? That slimy Huttscum! Shavit! Just… shavit! What does that- that spiteful man want?

…

“Crink it!” You smash your fist against the ground. “Blast!”

This is bad. Really, really bad.

…

They’re- they’re all talking together. His hands are up now- What- what are they saying?

Kark

Kark!

What- what do you- oh kriff oh kriff-

You pull your twitching eye away from the scope- glance down at your belt.

…an idea.

“Fett,” you mumble into the communicator. “No questions- turn on your comm.”

You watch Boba through the scopes- he does not scan his surroundings, does not try and look around for you. He just… reaches up, taps his helmet.

-static- “-not here ..r you.”

Nok’s voice is faint, hard to make out. You curse, turning up the comm’s volume as loudly as it will allow.

“What do you want?”

You jump at Din’s voice, cutting in loud and clear through your comm channel. Biting your lip, you are frozen with panic and fear and oh blast what should you do Nok will ruin everything what do you do-?

…

Kriff!

You press, squeeze your eyes closed-

You… you can’t go back.

Your lower lip trembles.

…You can’t go back!

…

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t particularly want to be here either, but I wasn’t exactly given a choice,” Nok answers Din. “I’m here to present to you an offer.”

No- no you trust nothing coming from Nok- nothing!

“ …What kind of offer?”

Oh stars. With a sharp inhale of air, you raise, hover your scopes just above their heads, watching, listening-

“There’s a woman you’ve been traveling with. If you hand her over into my care-” Nok sighs, leans to one side as if bored- “you will be compensated generously in return for your cooperation.”

Oh-

Oh stars- NO!

You’re not going back to Nar Shaddaa. You can’t-

Nok- he needs to shut up-

Shut up before he ruins everything!

“Request- denied.” The Mandalorian’s tone is… hell- he might kill this man himself. “How much-” he steps forward- “how much to call off the hunters you have on her?”

Nok just chuckles.

“You mean my patron? My patron is not the one who called the hunters on her … Believe me, I’d enjoy nothing more than watch her hunted down, personally. But my patron is… concerned for her. Wishes to shield her. And, alas, I am at his beck and call.”

“Your patron?” you snarl, tightening the grip on your rifle. You hover it just above Nok’s head. “Your patron can eat Banthashit, Nok, and you along with him. I’m not. going. back. Especially not with you.”

“What makes you think that I’d agree to this?” The Mandalorian’s tone is… dangerously calm.

“You can keep running, but she will be tracked down eventually,” Nok chuckles, clearly amused by all this- this mess you’re in- the kriffing creep. “This isn’t going away, Mandalorian.”

Hell-

You’re so… tempted to shoot him before he talks, blabs and ruins everything! Din- kark!- your past, it would ruin everything. He’d… he’d be disgusted and… and-

“This isn’t your problem, Mandalorian,” Nok sighs.

“…Her problems-” the Mandalorian’s hand inches towards his blaster- “are my problems.”

You blink.

…Stars.

“You really don’t have any idea what this involves, do you?” Nok laughs- brighter than you ever thought him capable of. How comforting to know your predicament brings him so much blasted joy. Maker knows the man is miserable otherwise.

Nok takes a step forward.

“You may know who she is, but it’s clear you don’t know what she is.”

Shut up shut up shut up.

Nok’s going to ruin everything. Din will- he will… damn it. You’re going to burst-

“My patron had hoped we could do this the clean, easy way. Avoid future bloodshed.”

…

The Mandalorian takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

“That’s where you were mistaken.”

He draws his blaster-

“Because not only would I die for her-” he points the weapon at Nok- “I’d kill.”

You pull away from your scope, mouth gaping open.

You- you never realized…

…

But… of course that’s how he feels.

“So, you go back to your patron-” the Mandalorian reholsters his weapon, his tone cool, even- “and you tell him that.”

Nok shakes his head, sighs. “Well, only if you promise to tell her I look forward to seeing her again very soon… in the latest fashion of prison restraints.”

The Mandalorian storms forward- drawing his weapon- Nok draws his-

They freeze- stare at each other.

“Oh great, she really has you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Nok snorts, waving his weapon to the side. “You should reconsider. She’s selfish, you know. She’ll throw you aside as soon as she no longer needs you. Never cared about anything or anyone except herself and that little brat of hers.”

He chuckles- leans forward-

“Let’s just say it was hilarious irony …

…what happened to the little girl.”

…

Hilarious irony…

…

Hilarious irony-

…

Hilarious-

Red flashes- flashes in your eyes-

…

You- you’re-

…

…Hilarious irony.

…

The dam holding back your terror and grief and fury…

Erupts-

…

See you in hell, bastard.

…

You pull the trigger.

…

And you don’t miss.

Shouting- shouting from down below-

Damn it- they… they can’t find you here! You need to go!

With a sharp inhale of breath, you aim your rifle sights at a safe, yet convincing, distance from your friends, and-

-BLAST-

“Take cover!”

And at Cara’s muffled cry, you stumble up to your feet… and run.

Oh Maker, how are you- yipes! Jetpack- you hear a jetpack! Go-

GO!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you choke back the sob, the howl threatening to tear from your lips. Flinging yourself across the speederbike, you ignore the warning tremors of the damaged bike, blasting across the dunes and away from the scene of your crime.

…

But you’re not finished yet.

You have to find Nok’s ship.

Wipe the computers.

Dump it out in the desert to rot.

…

But… but before it’s wiped… there’s something you must take from the starship’s computers…

----------------------------

-security code: 345-453

-begin download on all encrypted data filed under: valera dayne

-security code: starlight-2171

-yes

-have i not suffered enough today?

---------------------------

“WHERE have you BEEN?”

You lift your dry, burning eyes, spying Pablo- baby on his hip and Massiff at his heels- rushing down the ramp of the Crest.

“We’ve been searching hours for you!” He pulls you into a one-armed hug. The Massiff- Noodles, you suppose- not one to be left out of the fun, wiggle-butt dances around you for 3.5 seconds until he’s distracted by a moth.

“Stars,” you groan, every achy muscle and bruise throbbing at Pablo’s touch. You open your mouth to say something, but a sharp squeak steals those words from your lips.

You glance down.

“Little fella.” Flashing a tired smile, you reach out, taking the babbling child from Pablo’s hip. “See? I told you we’d be back!”

He stares up at you- giggles, and your tired smiles warms. The kid didn’t need the force to communicate with you this time. You know- can feel- what he’s feeling…

He’s… he’s really, really glad you’re back.

“Well, looks like you’re all in one piece, Bean Dip.” You quirk a brow, reaching out to stroke Grogu’s ear. “A miracle, if you’ve been in Pablo’s care all day…”

“The hell, Sweetheart?” Pablo throws his hands on his hips. “Is that the thanks I get? I’ve done nothing today but wipe up drool, chase after the kid, clean up after him- oh, and that thing?”

He glares at Noodles- busy running laps around Fett’s starship and howling at dust particles.

“It shit on the floor.”

Heh.

Good dog.

“Look Pablo, we can fuss about that later,” you sigh, legs trembling with exhaustion. You pull the baby closer, his presence a… comfort… A comfort you need right now as things are about to get…uh, complicated.

“You said… everyone’s out searching for me?”

“All day practically.” Pablo crosses his arms. “Mando was hell-bent on finding you before sundown… which is just about now, coincidentally.”

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“I… I see.”

…

“What- what happened-” you bite your lip- “after my bike… kaboomed?”

Pablo huffs, flashes you a look. “The cameras following your bike cut immediately. And Thall refused to let us go rescue you and said he’d send his own men instead… which, uh, the Mandalorian did not take well… to put it mildly.”

You grit your teeth.

Thall- you scumbag.

“Mando annihilated half his security team, and-” Pablo shrugs- “according to that Fett guy, you know the rest of the story. With their help, we demolished Thall’s men- we didn’t die- and now you’re back! Overall, a successful trip to Tatooine, I suppose…”

…

Dank Ferrik…

That… look he just gave you. He’s… holding back about Nok, about the- the things he said. Maker! You- keep it together.

Keep it together for the-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You whirl-

“Din, I-”

-you’re swept up.

His arms clutch, grab at your body like you might disappear, float away, if he dared let go.

“Ner Ka’r’ika.”

His voice is hoarse… strained.

You bury your grimace against his chest.

Stars stars stars! What- does he suspect? What does he think of you after- after Nok’s… rantings?

You-

You can’t do this-

You can’t do this!

You lift your free hand, and shove at his chest. Din jolts, tears back, and the comfort of his hold slips away, leaving your body abandoned and starving for warmth.

You’ve startled him. He’s giving you that little head-tilt, the one he uses when he can’t quite figure you the kriff out.

“Din.” You force a light-hearted tone, adjusting the baby against your hip. “Uh, hi.”

…

He pauses, then dips his helmet forward- scanning your grungy appearance up and down. Keeping his left hand stiff against his side- he reaches up with the other, presses the gloved hand against your cheek.

“Look at me.”

You swallow- staring at anything but his visor.

He tentatively, carefully turns your face- inspecting the flowering bruises.

“Are you okay?”

…

“Nothing’s broken.” You swallow again. “I’ll live.”

“Kid’s built of tough stuff.”

Your eyes widen, shoot to the right-

Boba.

Kark- he knows- he knows you were at the canyon. He… he answered your comm. Of course he knows! Did he tell?

“She launched a hundred feet into the air and was up and fighting Jawas within the hour.”

You flash him a faint smile. “I landed on my hard head.” You grip Din’s hand still pressed to your cheek, drawing it away.

“Good to see you in one piece, Blazing Womprat,” Cara chuckles, unstrapping a rifle from her side. “Which is truly astounding after some of those insane stunts you pulled.” She steps forward, stops beside Pablo. “Pablo almost passed out from cheering too hard.”

“That was nothing.” You can’t resist the self-satisfied smirk that flicks up at the corner of your mouth. “You should see me-”

“-on a swoopbike.”

You stare at Din.

“Where have you been?”

Kriff, you knew the question would come eventually. You… hope your story checks out- that Boba doesn’t ruin things.

You place the baby down, letting him toddle across the ground towards Pablo.

“I decided to go a bit outside the cave, check around, you know?” Shaky breath. “One of Thall’s transports spotted me- recognized me… So, I, uh, took the bike out, far, far away from the Crest, as fast as I could in its damaged state, hoping to keep it… hidden.” Trembling hands in pockets. “Worked great until I got turned around. Took me a while to find my way back.”

…do they believe you?

Your eyes sweep across their faces- their shoulders relaxing...

They believe you.

…

But… then there’s Boba, and possibly Fennec. You- you need to talk to them.

“Well,” Pablo sighs. “What a way to spend the day… So, what now?”

“We’ve talked it over-”

You turn to Din.

“For tonight, we stay in this cave. Lay low. Analyze the situation tomorrow.”

Heavy sigh.

You… can’t argue with that. Laying low- resting… For one night, you need it. You need it desperately.

“Sounds like bedtime,” Pablo sighs, already blazing a path for the Crest. You watch, blinking, as the rest follow suit, each leaving for their respective ships.

“Pablo,” you call out, voice traced with exhaustion. “Take Noodles inside.”

“The hell?”

“My dog.”

“…No way! That thing is not sleeping in-”

“Noodles!” Cara calls, laughing as the dog highspeed races up the ramp.

“Your dog?”

You turn at Din’s rasp-

Stars… you want to cry at the stiffness, the rigidity in his body… You know you caused it, but…

“It’s going to eat bad people for me on Keolith.”

…

He just grunts at that.

Stars…

Pulling your hat low across your brows, you sigh, “Go on to bed, Mando. I- I think I’m going to spend some time on… Fett’s ship…”

You need space.

…

You need space to think.

…

“And maybe… maybe stay the night.”

The Mandalorian’s arms drop.

…

“……Okay.”

…

And just like that, he’s scooped the child up into his arms- trudging away towards the Razor Crest, cape fluttering at his heels.

…

Damn it.

You stare at the Crest.

…

That… came out wrong.

…

----------------------------

“Princess,” Boba smirks, lifting a glass as you walk through the door.

You discovered Boba and Fennec where you expected- sitting in the cockpit of his ship… as if they knew you were coming.

“No thanks.” You throw your hands on your hips. “We need to talk.”

Something flies at your head- you catch it.

Opening the palm of your hand, you gawk down at-

“Next time,” Boba chuckles, “don’t leave your commlink at the scene of a hit job.”

…

“Oh.”

You swallow.

“Oops?”

“Nice shot.” Fennec smirks. “And here I thought you were inexperienced.”

…

You are inexperienced…

“Lucky first-time assassination, is all.” A pang knocks against your chest cavity. “Beginner’s luck?”

Oh stars, stop trying to be cute. Now’s not the time- you’re having a mental crisis for Maker’s sake-

“Thank you for not saying anything,” you mumble, eyes flicking between Boba and Fennec. “It… would have put me in an awkward position.”

…

You bite your lower lip…

Just blurt it out.

“Boba,” you sigh, “why are you helping me?”

…

Arms pressed against his thighs, Boba leans forward.

“Just fulfilling my end of the deal.”

Something… flicks in his eyes- the first time you’ve seen his mask… falter.

…oh.

…

He’s lying.

“Go, Princess-” a dust of a smile shadows his face- “you’re with the wrong Mandalorian tonight.”

…He’s right.

And with a deep grimace, you head for the door-

“I would have shot him too-”

You glance back at Boba.

“-if that helps you.”

You flash him a small smile.

…

It does…

…

----------------------------

“Where’s… uh, Mando?” you ask, head popping up into the Crest’s cockpit from the ladder below.

Pablo shrugs, focused intently on his card game with Cara.

“In his room.” Cara smashes a card on the dash- Pablo erupts into groans.

"Pay up, Babycakes…”

With a roll of your eyes, you begin descending the ladder. When your feet touch the floor, you freeze- overwhelmed, paralyzed with… anxiety?

Damn it… it’s… just Mando…

Just… do it!

Pursing your lips, you march past a prostrate 4PO with a snoring Noodles- all four feet in the air- resting beside him. And with one final march forward, you find yourself right at the Mandalorian’s door…

…

“…Mando?”

knock- knock-

“Uh, can I… come in?”

…

“It’s unlocked.”

Chewing on your lower lip, the door snaps open beneath your touch.

…

“Din?” you call out hesitantly, sticking your head inside.

“Thought you were with Fett.”

Your eyes turn in the direction of the refresher.

…

“His… ship smelled weird.”

The refresher door snaps open, and Din steps out-

“BLAST!” you yelp, stumbling backwards. “What the hell! Where’s your armor!?”

Dank Ferrik! It’s- it’s like looking at the man naked! Should you, you don’t know, spin away!?

Din just… tilts his helmet at you- rests his hands at the waist of his flight suit.

“I don’t sleep in my armor.”

…oh.

You lean back against the closed door, listening as Din shuffles around the room.

Kriff! What do you say? … Why isn’t he saying anything? Oh gosh oh gosh-

“Where’s the baby?” you blurt, beginning to turn towards him. “Is he- OH-”

ARM REVEAL.

…

OH SHIT.

SHIT.

KRIFFING GUNS-FOR-DAYS.

“I put him down in the bunk.”

“Huh?” you puff, snapping your eyes away from his… his big-ass GUNS- oh kriff.

“The child-” Din steps over a pile of junk to open a drawer- “he was... fussy.” He pauses… hooks his thumbs on his suspenders. “I thought… maybe he’d sleep better near your scent.”

Oh-

Oh stop just throw you into the pits of Carkoon will you.

Shoulders slumping forward, you groan inwardly- using every bit of your determination to not bolt right out the door.

Oh kriff, you hate this- this awkwardness. Just… ask him something! And for the love of all things good and holy- DON’T STARE AT HIS ARMS.

“What are you, uh, doing?”

“Going to bed.”

“Oh.”

…

You blink.

…

“Okay, goodnight-”

Flinging around, you reach for the door, but a hand, a grip on your wrist pulls you back.

“What are you doing?” you snap, stumbling at the motion.

“You need a real bed.”

“So do you.”

“I know.”

Oh.

…

Well then.

…

Hell yeah.

…

You let him lead you, guide you around a pile of clothing- like a shepherd leading his flock through a minefield… only instead of a minefield it’s Din’s rancid room.

…But that’s an argument for another day.

Pausing at the foot of his bed- his visor trails down your legs…

"Sit.”

Damn it if you won’t obey. Stars, you’re pathetic.

“Din, what are you-”

He drops to his knees- bare fingers fumbling with the laces of your dust-caked boots. You watch- fighting to keep your expression neutral as the ridiculous man begins to remove your shoes for you.

…You also have to fight to not stare at his exposed arms and blasted-broad shoulders, but you’re much less successful at that part…

“Best be careful, Din Djarin.” A small smirk begins to grow. “I could get really used to this kind of treatment.”

“Who was he?”

You blink.

“…Huh?”

“That-” Din’s fingers pause- “that man.”

Your mouth pops open at his… vehemency.

“Boba?” You quirk a brow down at him.

Blast- what does Din… what does Din think?

He remains… silent, removing your second boot without a word.

“That man you kissed,” he puffs.

You blink… oooooohhh….

Leaning to your side, you pick at a loose thread on the bed. “He’s a… friend.”

“Looked like more than a friend,” the grumble slips beneath his helm. He stands, flicks a hand at you.

“Get out of those clothes.”

Thank the Maker- a topic change!

With a heavy sigh, you march yourself over to his drawers. You didn’t have to ask- you’re well beyond the asking stage.

“Mando?” you toss over your shoulder. “Um…What’s your favorite color?”

…

“Red.”

…

You can do red.

Snatching a scarlet flannel from the drawer, you slam it shut- sweeping into the refresher to change. As you remove your grimy clothes, you stare in the mirror at the scars- the marks on your forearm.

“You know, Mando,” you shout through the closed door, forcing your eyes away from the baggage of your past. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if the world hadn’t imploded under your feet as a kid? I know I do.”

Talking comes easier when you can’t see him….

…

Footsteps… shuffling… drawers opening and closing-

“Working my father’s trade…” Silence. “He was… a carpenter.”

Your fingers pause mid-buttoning. “Sounds… peaceful.” Unlike bounty hunting, goes unsaid.

“I think-” you reach for a towel- “that I’d have left Sularia, for sure. As much as I loved it…”

As much as you miss it…

“…There wasn’t much to do in the mountains except get married, have kids, chase kids, heard animals, shovel snow, fucking yodel… you get the picture.”

The door snaps open, and you press the side of your face against the doorframe. “I’ve always craved excitement, much to my parent’s displeasure…”

There he is- Din- sitting on the side of the bed… watching you.

He tilts his head forward- leans against his thighs. “I’d say you found yourself that excitement,” he snorts.

Understatement of the year.

Aches mixing with your exhaustion, you release a pained groan as you ease next to him on the bed. Body sinking in on itself, you brush, lean against his side.

Safe.

“Will you leave us again?”

His voice is but a whisper.

“If I left-” you lift your chin, flashing him a small smile- “I’d have to buy my own flannels.”

Silence.

…

He reaches out, tugs on your flannel sleeve.

“Can’t have that.”

…

“Go to sleep.”

A weary smile dusts your lips.

Yes, sir.

…

Scrambling up to the head of the bed, you shove your legs beneath the blankets and flop over to face the wall. Burying deep beneath them, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Blankets lift-

Weight on the mattress-

Heavy sigh-

Blankets pull and drop.

…

Oh kriff, he’s right behind you… Guess that’s how sharing a bed works…

…

Oh kark it.

You blink at the wall.

…

Time to make things weird.

“Roll over!” you shout, flinging up out of the bed. Din jolts back- startled by your outburst.

“W-what-?” He pulls the blankets up to his neck.

“MOVE!”

You yank on his arm- forcing him to roll over.

You can’t help but giggle as he obliges.

See? You don’t have to spend all night worrying about accidently touching him if you’re already touching him.

Life hack.

Now that Din’s properly flopped over and facing you in the bed, you crawl back under the blankets. You tug on his exposed arm- snaking it across your middle. You wiggle backwards until your back is pressed, squashed against his chest.

…

“Din?”

…

“Yeah?”

…

“This okay?”

…

His hand creeps up your hip, splays across your stomach.

…

“Yeah.”

…

“Then loosen up.”

…

“I am loose.”

…

“Goodnight, Din.”

…

“Goodnight, Ka’r’ika.”

…………

………

……

…

Guns-for-days holy shit-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Oooooh boy. With a chapter this long, there’s a LOT I could say! I am reaaaaallly nervous for this one hsjdhdhd. Feel free to ask me anything in the comments so I can address specific topics! For now, I’ll just say things such as Din’s reaction to Boba taking his helmet off, Fennec still be alive, etc. will be addressed next chapter.

Chapter ten really came so easily yet so hard at the same time. I put a LOT of time and love into this fic... So, if you, too, find any sort of enjoyment from it, I’d love to hear about it! I have made so many kind friends through this story. I love hearing from you!

And heh, things be heating up in this chapter, hm??? 👀 Any thoughts/theories??

Anyway... I’m sure I’ll think of things later I’ll wish I’d said... but for now... I hope you enjoyed!!!

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #wille writes #ifow #chapter 10 #i'll tie you up princess

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