#bubble wrap insulation

[daftpatience]

the graceful snoozer

[moteldogs]

captivated by the light thru my window this morning

[pitch-and-moan]

Blubble Wrap

A documentary about a guy trying to convince the world in 2023 to use whale blubber as a package insulating material. He fails, with hilariously obvious results.

[alfatherminsulation]

[peachdues]

SEASONS IN LOVE (PART II)

Sanemi x F!Reader (modern college AU)

Sanemi meets Y/N in January and isn't a fan. As the seasons pass by, their evolving relationship becomes defined by a handful snapshots from the various holidays throughout the year.

CW: modern college AU • 6.6k words • tooth-rotting fluff • college typical drinking and debauchery • some mildly suggestive content • Sanemi is a massive simp

PART ONE HERE

December 24th – Christmas Eve.

Sanemi was hunched over, back turned against the icy wind that threatened to shred through the layers of his coat and sweater, as he waited for someone to answer the door.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve said to anyone that he hadn’t minded the snow — after all, the snow is what led to Y/N smiling — at him, no less — for the first time since he’d met her, and that memory had been more that enough to keep him warm through the fall of every snowflake coating the earth.

He took it all back. Y/N’s smile was a damn pretty sight, but absolutely nothing could insulate him against the near sub-arctic winds that cut through him like a knife as he shifted impatiently from foot to foot on the Kanroji’s front porch.

“God dammit, Mitsuri,” he growled. He unwound a stiff arm from where it’d been tightly tucked against his chest, prepared to start pounding against the oak of her parents’ front door, when the pink party host threw it open, her smile bright and cheerful and warm in a way that Sanemi was not.

“It’s about time!” She chirped, standing aside to let her scowling friend through and into the front entryway of her home.

Mitsuri held her hand out as she waited for Sanemi to pass her his coat. “Everyone else is here already — help yourself to any snacks you want.” Mitsuri snatched the gift-wrapped package lodged under his arm before he could say anything. “I’ll take this,” she waved it, nose crinkling with amusement at Sanemi’s indignant glare. “And I’ll put it with the others!”

Before he could respond, his pink-haired friend traipsed away back to the open floor plan of her living room and kitchen, leaving Sanemi to brush the snowflakes that had gathered on his trousers and remove his boots and leave them with the others’ scattered by the closet of Mitsuri’s parents’ home.

Every year, the bubbly and exuberant pinkette hosted a Christmas Eve for her friends at her parents’ complete with an absurd array of holiday-themed snacks, games, and Secret Santa.

In years past, Sanemi only ever deigned to show up as a courtesy to his friend, eagerly awaiting the day when he could blame needing to take care of his siblings on Christmas Eve as an excuse not to go. After his family had been killed, however, Sanemi had begun spending the Christmas holidays with Kyojuro’s family, along with Tengen, and so, he’d been forced to continue the tradition, given the enthusiasm his flame-haired best friend had for the over-the-top celebration.

This year, however, was Y/N’s first time attending Mitsuri’s annual fete; and curiously, Sanemi found himself growing more and more excited as the time for the celebration drew nearer.

That excitement only bubbled in his gut as he padded towards the Kanroji’s packed living room, eyes scanning for the sight of the one he was most eager — and anxious — to see.

Y/N spotted him from her position on one of the overstuffed leather armrests by the fireplace and shot out of her seat, nearly toppling Shinobu in the process.

“You made it!” Her smile was blazing, a now permanent fixture on her face that Sanemi found himself sneaking furtive glances at throughout the day, afraid that he would miss it.

“Wait,” Y/N stopped an arm’s length from him as she ran her eyes over his form. “Are we matching?”

Sanemi looked down at the outfit he had thrown on (carefully selected) prior to leaving his apartment and back to the amused woman before him. She was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, tucked into a pair of belted, vintage, loose jeans that she had cuffed to show her festive Christmas socks.

“Just the turtleneck. I don’t do jeans.” Sanemi snorted, flicking her nose affectionately.

Y/N, however, looked better than he. Her hair was loosely secured with a clip at her neck, and she wore no accessories save for a pair of oversized gold framed glasses that she claimed were to help with blue light strains, but Sanemi was convinced she just liked wearing them for fun.

He tried very hard not to stare too long at her full lips — painted a bright, festive red that Sanemi found he really liked.

“I should’ve brought my lipstick along, then we could’ve really twinned,” Y/N’s eyes were alight with her mirth as she teased him.

Had Sanemi been a tad bolder, he would’ve cheekily suggested another way he could get her lipstick on his mouth, but he wasn’t, so all he could do was grumble, a faint red staining his cheeks.

Mitsuri clapped loudly over the chattering group. “Friends! Dearly beloveds! Snacks are over there,” she pointed to a long table packed heavy with various holiday goodies. “And the hot chocolate bar is open! Get a snack and get settled before secret Santa!”

“When you say ‘bar,’ ‘Suri,” Tengen prodded.

The pinkette nodded solemnly. “Yes, you can make spiked hot chocolate, Tengen.”

The flashy, silver-haired man let out a whoop for joy as he made a beeline for the hot chocolate bar carefully organized by their pink-haired host. Before long, Tengen had blessed each of their drinks with a healthy splash of Irish cream, though Sanemi suspected the loudmouth’s own mug was nothing but the festive liquor.

“Nope,” Sanemi fought to keep the grimace off his face as he took a swig of his hot chocolate, the bitter burn of alcohol making him pucker. “Giyuu, drink this — it’s plain.”

The quiet, raven-haired man gratefully accepted the steaming mug from his friend and took a hearty gulp of it, frowning slightly when he realized Sanemi had indeed given him his own spiked drink.

Sanemi pretended to look affronted at Giyuu’s accusatory stare. “What? I thought you’d need it — aren’t you going home to Kocho’s after this?”

Giyuu considered Sanemi’s words for a moment before tipping his head back and swallowing the remainder of the mug’s contents.

Y/N came prancing over from the kitchen, her own mug of hot chocolate cupped between her hands, to where Sanemi now sat on the large sofa, but before she could sit down, Gyomei plopped down, nearly crushing her in the process.

“Apologies, Y/N,” the gentle giant said upon hearing Y/N’s squeak. “I didn’t realize you wanted to sit beside Sanemi.”

If Sanemi hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn that was a blush spreading across her cheeks. “No worries!” She chirped, twisting around awkwardly to find a new spot.

Sanemi grimaced. He was about to tell her to sit on the arm rest of the sofa next to him, but Shinobu called her over first, the two girls squeezing into a single-person armchair, as Shinobu threw her legs over Y/N’s lap to make room.

Secret Santa proceeded without much fuss. Sanemi was happy to receive a box of high-quality matcha from his anonymous gift-giver, though Shinobu’s lack of a poker face gave away who’d gifted it. Sanemi winked at his tiny friend, clutching the tea box tightly to his chest.

Y/N was practically buzzing with excitement. Mitsuri had hardly discerned the name scrawled on the tag of her giftbox before she’d lunged forward, nearly toppling Shinobu out of her lap.

“My turn!” The expression on Y/N’s face was that of a greedy child’s as she wriggled her fingers demandingly at Mitsuri in anticipation of her present.

The pinkette dropped the heavy box into her friend’s eager hands, Y/N giving a small oomph! against the weight of the gift.

Sanemi watched his best friend tear into her present with vigor, similar to the way a hyena tore into its prey, tufts of wrapping paper floating down beside her as she beheld the grocery store box within.

“What the—?” Y/N’s eyebrows were drawn together as she turned the container over in her hands, eyes squinting as she read the label printed on the cardboard.

“No fucking way,” Her eyes blew wide as she held the box closer to her face in disbelief. “No fucking way!”

Y/N’s laugh bordered on maniacal as she clapped her hands, ripping into the cardboard as she produced one, fat candy bar, wrapped in unfamiliar purple foil.

“My chocolate!” She crowed, dumping the contents of the box out onto her lap. A dozen large, heavy candy bars thudded to the floor, the packaging on each bearing some foreign language and description. “I can’t believe my Secret Santa found them!”

Sanemi smirked quietly to himself. Sure, he’d rigged the Secret Santa pool to ensure that he magically drew Y/N’s name from the hat full of paper Mitsuri had passed around at their weekly dinner a few weeks prior, but he’d only done it because he’d already ordered Y/N’s Christmas gift from overseas.

For ages, she’d not shut up about a particular kind of chocolate that she’d had while abroad with her family one summer. Y/N had moaned to everyone that chocolate at home just didn’t taste the same, and she longed to have just one more taste of the candy she’d come to love while on holiday, though she hadn’t been able to track it down online.

But Sanemi had; he’d found a website that put him in contact with a local, who then used his bank information to clear out an entire grocery store’s supply of the confectionary. It was risky, but he was a man in love, so what else could he do but chance it?

“Over my dead fucking body —“ Y/N threatened, as Mitsuri tried to snatch a bar from her hand.

As Sanemi sat there, smugly sipping his non-spiked hot chocolate, he mused that the look of pure glee on Y/N’s face was well worth his account getting hacked not even a week after his order arrived.

—————————————————————————

The Christmas Eve party continued until the late afternoon, at which point the group of friends began to help their host clean up the discarded snacks and empty mugs of hot chocolate before each of them set off for their respective homes for the night.

Y/N was the only one in their group who had to take a train back to her parents’, her hometown being over three hours away from campus, and so, she was the first who had to leave the merry fete.

Sanemi had offered to drive Y/N the forty-minute trip to the train station so she wouldn’t be stuck paying for an Uber, and truthfully, he was glad to have nearly an hour of uninterrupted time with her before she went home for the week.

“Ready?” He asked her as he looped his wool scarf over his head, bracing himself to be smacked in the face by the icy wind that howled outside the warmth of the Kanroji house.

Y/N finished tugging on a pair of gloves before sliding into her emerald green wool coat. “One sec!”

Y/N darted back to the living room where their other friends exchanged goodbyes and flung her arms around her pink-haired best friend’s neck.

From where he stood near the Kanroji doorway, Sanemi could see the pinkette whisper a few words of encouragement into Y/N’s ear, her face uncharacteristically serious as she squeezed her best friend one more time. Sanemi knew that Mitsuri had been comforting Y/N leading up to her first holiday season at home since her brother died, and he felt a rush of gratitude for the girl as he saw Y/N’s shoulders visibly relax under the warmth of her words.

Y/N returned, her eyes sparkling with unshed emotion that she quickly tried to wipe with her gloved hands. “I’m ready!” She said thickly, plastering a smile on her face.

Sanemi sighed, but slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly into his side before releasing her. Y/N nodded in gratitude, sniffing once, before wrenching the front door of the Kanroji house open, allowing the icy winds beyond to whip across their faces.

The drive to the train station was uneventful, though Y/N had been sure to provide him with “entertainment” by singing loudly, off-key, to every Christmas song that crackled over the ancient speakers in Sanemi’s beat-up station wagon.

He wouldn’t have traded the smile emblazoned in her face, nor the sound of her raucous laughter, for the world however, not even for the sake of his ringing eardrums.

The duo parked and Sanemi heaved her suitcase out of his trunk. As they made their way towards the train platform, Sanemi fought the urge to take her hand in his, as the snowflakes swirled around them.

“So, how did you find it?” Y/N asked after a moment, her train turning the corner into the station right on time, slowing in the distance as it prepared to stop.

Her snowy-haired friend played dumb. “Find what, exactly?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Sanemi. You’re the only one who would’ve paid attention to me when I complained about some foreign chocolate that you can’t get anywhere but that country. Of course, it was you.”

Sanemi gave her a wry grin. “My credit card may’ve been hacked, but it was worth it. Got ya the whole store shelf, didn’t I?” He nudged her elbow playfully with his own and she giggled.

He would never tire of hearing that sound.

Y/N’s train slowed into the station terminal, and she sighed, parking her small suitcase next to her as she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, Sanemi.” She whispered, squeezing him gently.

It would’ve been nice to say it back — to say anything at all, but Sanemi found himself unable to make a sound, a hand only able to come up and awkwardly pat her back just as she pulled away. Whether or not his awkwardness affected her, Y/N didn’t show, for she only gave him one more radiant smile before boarding her train home.

“See you at the cabin!” She said brightly, stepping through the double doors, suitcase in hand.

Sanemi was still standing on the platform in bemusement at his inability to say or do other than stare at her, as though his brain had become nothing but a smooth rock rattling around inside his skull.

Y/N turned to wave at him, the doors to the train still open for the last few stragglers to board, but her smile slid from her face as she beheld him, staring at her with a fiery intensity.

What’s wrong-“ she started.

“I’m in love with you.” He said breathlessly, and to his horror, she froze, her mouth parting and her eyes going wide.

“What?”

But Sanemi could not answer her; he could not even make his traitorous mouth work as the doors slid shut and the train began its slow pull out of the terminal.

Y/N stood there, just past the doors, staring at him with that same, stunned expression until the train car rounded a corner and pulled her from sight.

————————————————————————-

More than an hour later, Sanemi arrived at the Rengoku family home where he was to spend Christmas Eve and the following morning. He kicked his boots off inside the festively decorated entryway, greeted Kyojuro’s parents, and stomped downstairs to the furnished basement where he knew his two friends would be gathered.

Tengen and Kyojuro were sprawled across the plush L-shaped sofa, both silent as they huddled over former’s phone as they listened to whomever was on the other end.

Kyojuro saw Sanemi first and smacked Tengen on the shoulder, the latter looking up as both his friends went wide-eyed.

“Obanai — hold on, he just got here.” Tengen muttered.

“What?” Sanemi demanded, a heat creeping up the side of his neck as his friends stared at him, mouths open.

Tengen pointed at his phone. “Obanai’s on. Apparently Y/N has been talking the girls for the last hour and a half because someone —“ he narrowed his eyes at Sanemi. “Decided to tell her they were in love with her right as her train was leaving?”

Sanemi wondered, briefly, whether it was possible for one’s stomach to fall out of their ass.

“Are you stupid?” Tengen asked, and Sanemi resented the fact he’d almost sounded serious.

“Put Obanai on speaker,” Sanemi muttered, flinging himself down on the sofa next to Kyojuro.

Tengen rolled his eyes but did as Sanemi asked. In the background, Sanemi could hear a faint, shrill voice ranting, and he felt his gut clench. Mitsuri.

“-and now, it’s Christmas Eve and instead of spending it with our girlfriends, Giyuu and I are playing chess for the third fucking time, because that’s how long the girls have been on the phone with Y/N.” Obanai drawled. “Not that it hasn’t been entertaining — ‘Suri is convinced Y/N should’ve pushed you onto the tracks, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi grit his teeth. “What did Y/N say, Obanai?”

His friend muttered something under his breath that sounded like an insult, but Sanemi said nothing, waiting as he heard Obanai’s voice grow smaller as he left the phone in favor of approaching the girls.

Sanemi’s stomach dipped at the renewed sound of indignant screeching that crackled through the phone, Tengen and Kyojuro snickering.

“Fine, alright, okay, stop yelling,” Obanai’s reedy and exasperated voice grew louder as he neared the phone again, though Sanemi could still hear the muffled sounds of Mitsuri squawking in the background.

“Mitsuri said you’re gonna have to man up and talk to Y/N yourself,” Obanai relayed, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “And Shinobu said she doesn’t care enough about you to break girl code.”

Sanemi groaned, throwing an arm over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions, wishing he’d saved Y/N the trouble, and jumped in front of her oncoming train himself.

“How do I unfuck this?” He intoned to no one in particular, lifting the arm over his eyes to squint at his two friends as they continued to suppress their shit-eating smirks.

“You could try texting her,” Kyojuro offered, though Tengen shook his head in disagreement.

“You can’t just send a text right after confessing your undying love for her as her train was leaving,” the flamboyant man chided, clicking his phone off and kicking his feet up on the coffee table before him. “That’s like begging her to curse your ass out.”

Sanemi grumbled but he knew Tengen was right; whatever conversation he would have with Y/N would have to be in-person. She deserved that much, at least.

Tengen leaned back against the sofa, twiddling the toothpick wedged between his teeth, eyes narrowed at Sanemi in contemplation. “I thought you two hooked up back over the summer?”

Sanemi snorted, shaking his head, as Kyojuro quipped, “You’re thinking of Obanai and Kanroji.”

Their silver-haired friend looked back to Sanemi, eyebrow raising in incredulity. “You’re telling me, all this time, you two’ve been making eyes at one another and you haven’t been fucking?”

“Watch it,” Sanemi bristled, and Tengen held his hands up in surrender.

“Jesus you move slow,” he mumbled, and Sanemi chucked one of the decorative pillows lying next to him at his head, Tengen effortlessly batting the projectile away. “Is she coming to the cabin next week?”

He was referring to the spacious cabin their group had rented up in the snowy mountains to celebrate New Year’s Eve together, wanting a place large enough to accommodate them all, yet secluded enough that they wouldn’t cause too much harm when one of them inevitably set a tree on fire while drunkenly trying to set off fireworks.

Sanemi nodded, and Tengen’s smile turned smug. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til then to find out what she thinks.”

—————————————————————————

December 31st – New Year’s Eve

Sanemi Shinazugawa had never experienced torture, but the seven-day stretch between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve was about as close as he’d thought he’d ever get.

By the time he, Tengen, and Kyojuro had loaded up his station wagon with their duffel bags and enough booze to open their own traveling liquor store, Sanemi thought the anxious buzz in his blood would make him jump out of his skin.

He’d not spoken to Y/N since saying goodbye to her at the train station — not really. He’d responded to her Merry Christmas! text in their larger group chat with his own holiday well-wishes, and she’d simply reacted to the message. Otherwise, his phone had remained remarkably silent, without so much as a meme from the woman who held his heart.

He knew that he couldn’t assume her silence meant the worst, even as his brain tried to convince him it was all it meant. After all, Y/N was experiencing her first holiday season without her brother, and Sanemi knew the emotions of such a milestone were far more likely to hold her attention than his pitiful love confession.

He felt nearly sick by the time he pulled into the circular driveway of the enormous log cabin, seated up the hill and a way back from the main road, surrounded only by an endless stretch of snow-covered trees and forest. As he helped Kyojuro unload the cases of beer and bottles of champagne from his trunk, Sanemi spied Mitsuri’s pink Volkswagen parked at the other end of the driveway, next to Gyomei’s Hummer.

Sanemi’s stomach flipped as Tengen unlocked the back door of the cabin, loudly calling out to their friends in greeting in that booming voice of his. Giyuu and Mitsuri leaned over the bannister of the staircase leading to the second floor, waving as the remainder of the friend group straggled through the door, stomping shoes against the welcome mat to clear themselves of any lingering snow.

Sanemi’s eyes met Mitsuri’s and the pinkette’s narrowed, as she promptly turned away from him with a pointed harrumph.

Kyojuro snorted as Sanemi sighed, and they heaved the case of beer they’d brought into the kitchen and on the counter.

It was going to be a long day.

—————————————————————————

Y/N emerged from the room she was sharing with Shinobu and Mitsuri not long after he’d arrived, decked out in some sparkly get-up of Mitsuri’s that was more suited to wearing out at the club than it was for staying in, though Sanemi wasn’t about to complain.

She’d cheerfully greeted every one of their friends with hugs and her smiles until she came to him. Thankfully, Y/N was far less awkward than he, and she’d only hesitated for a moment before giving him a hug that Sanemi found did not last nearly long enough.

As the group settled in with their drinks and grazed at the smorgasbord of food and snacks laid out in the kitchen, Sanemi caught sight of Y/N watching him, eyes expectant. He tried to muster the courage to approach her, to ask her if they could talk in private, but Sanemi balked at the weight of both Tengen and Mitsuri’s knowing stares as they flicked back and forth between himself and Y/N.

He couldn’t do this with an audience; he could only hope that Y/N would understand.

Yet, Y/N looked slightly hurt at the way Sanemi turned and struck up a conversation with Obanai and Gyomei, and Sanemi could feel at least one pair of eyes hurling daggers into his back as he remained turned away, no doubt from Y/N’s pink, livid best friend.

This was going to be damn near impossible, and yet, it was entirely his fault to begin with, as he’d been the one to stupidly blurt out that he loved Y/N to her without properly preparing himself for the moment; and now, it was his situation to un-fuck.

Somehow.

And so, Sanemi merely opened another beer and took a hearty swig of its contents, hoping to gain the liquid courage he’d need to finally confront her head-on.

—————————————————————————

Sanemi had downed two flutes of champagne since the sun had set and he still found himself jittery and uneasy as he continued to dodge Y/N’s pleading looks.

He felt like an asshole, especially right then, as the year wound down to its last half hour. Sanemi was standing in the kitchen alone, turning over a bottle of champagne in his hands as he debated taking it along with him when he went to find Y/N, and work things out between them. Perhaps they could open it in celebration if it turned out that she returned his feelings; if not, he could always drown his sorrows in the bubbly.

“If you don’t grow a pair and talk to Y/N, I’m making out with her at midnight,” Shinobu threatened, brushing by Sanemi to grab another bottle of cheap champagne to uncork. “Right in front of you.”

Sanemi shot her a shit-eating smirk. “Don’t think your boyfriend would be a fan of that idea,” he challenged, grabbing the opened bottle from Shinobu’s hand and pouring himself another glass of sparkling wine.

“I support it,” Giyuu called out from the living room, much to his girlfriend’s satisfaction and Sanemi’s irritation.

Shinobu tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned sharply away from him on her heel. “I rest my case.”

At that, Shinobu departed with a shrill reminder for him to man up! and Sanemi was left alone in the kitchen once more. With a deep inhale, Sanemi lifted his champagne flute to his lips and tipped back its contents, swallowing his champagne in a single wet gulp, before setting the glass back in the counter, and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

He set out to find Y/N.

—————————————————————————

He found her outside, leaning up against the side of the cabin as she nursed her own flute of champagne, as she stared past the line of trees where their friends had begun assembling the various rockets and fireworks they’d gathered to mark the start of the new year.

Sanemi felt his tongue go thick at the sight of her, so pretty in the snow, though he didn’t know how she wasn’t shivering; she didn’t even have on a coat, and the only thing on her legs was a thin pair of nylons and her platform boots she insisted made her “nearly” as tall as him.

He joined her in leaning against the cabin on the opposite wall of her, though she did not acknowledge his presence past a small inclination of her head, her gaze instead falling to the glass clutched between her hands.

The silence stretched endlessly between them, making him shift his weight from leg to leg as he squirmed.

“Where’s that pretty smile o’ yours?” Sanemi finally broke, and Y/N looked up at him, a frown pulling her painted lips into an adorable pout.

He may have been a tad buzzed from the champagne, but his head felt clear, and his heart felt full as he looked towards his beautiful best friend, so very underdressed for the single-digit weather and snow in that sparkly two-piece Mitsuri had insisted she wear, even though it was just them at the cabin, celebrating.

“Back at the train station,” she mumbled after a moment, returning to her own champagne flute, swirling the liquid around.

Sanemi felt his gut sour, and he found his tongue incapable of forming any words, much to his embarrassment.

Neither said anything for a moment, the distant echoes of their friends cheering as they set up the fireworks magnified against the snowy backdrop of their mountain retreat.

“Why’re you avoiding me?” Y/N’s voice was so small, so unsure that Sanemi felt his heart ache because he hated that he’d been the cause of her doubt.

“I mean, how can you tell me that — what you said, a week ago, and now you can barely meet my eyes?”

“Y/N-“ Sanemi sighed, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“I understand if you didn’t mean it; I get it’s easy to get caught up in the moment, but just tell me that.” She pled.

Sanemi exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I was worried about your reaction,” he confessed after a moment, and Y/N’s frown deepened.

“I was also pissed at myself for doin’ it that way — I had a whole plan, I was gonna take you out somewhere nice, like you deserve, but, well,” Sanemi trailed off, awkwardly. “You just looked so happy at the Christmas party, and then you hugged me, and I guess I went a bit stupid.”

Y/N was silent, only staring at him with wide eyes, her champagne flute dangling precariously from her loose hand as she gaped at him.

“Y-you meant it? You really meant it?” She breathed.

Sanemi looked to her and rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve been waiting…a long time, to hear you say that.” Y/N admitted, a tentative grin spreading across her face.

Sanemi met her smile with his own, and he began to advance slowly towards where she leaned against the cabin wall. “Sorry to make you wait, princess.”

Y/N responded with an airy laugh. “I expected I would have to break the ice,” her heart thundered against her sternum as Sanemi boxed her in against the logs with his arms. “I’ve been openly flirting with you since the snowball fight.”

Sanemi snorted. “And I’ve been putty in your hands since Halloween. Probably longer.” His hand rose to rest on the small, exposed sliver of her waist and Y/N shuddered at how warm his touch was.

“You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, then.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed in on the proximity of Sanemi’s lips to hers. Though felt the warmth of his breath caress her face, he maintained just enough distance between their lips to tease her.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Sanemi murmured, his thumb stroking the small patch of exposed skin above her hip.

Y/N smirked. “Then warm me up.”

Somewhere beyond the trees that dotted the property, Sanemi and Y/N’s friends began the countdown to midnight; but the two of them did not react to the impending new year, instead only holding one another’s gaze, steadily in the snow.

Their faces were titled towards one another, both still teasingly withholding the satisfaction of being the first to close the marginal distance between their lips from another. But in the distance, Sanemi vaguely heard his friends cry “ONE,” and so, right as the New Year arrived, he finally gave in, and he slanted his mouth over Y/N’s.

Later, Sanemi would muse over the fact that that had been the second time he’d missed a fireworks show with his friends, but he would not be able to care.

Because no display of colored sparks in the sky could compare to the feeling of Y/N’s lips moving fervently against his; could not compare to the way her fingers buried in his hair, or how she felt beneath his palms as he pressed her against the cabin wall and kissed her for all she was worth.

When they finally broke apart, the winter night had fallen silent once more, but it did not remain so; in an instant, their friends erupted into applause, with Tengen letting out a very loud Finally!

Y/N laughed and wrapped her hand around the collar of Sanemi’s jacket, hauling his mouth back to hers. As their friends made suggestive oohs, both Sanemi and Y/N stretched their hands out and simultaneously flipped the group off.

“It’s about damn time, you two,” Tengen drawled as the group made their way inside the warmth of the cabin.

“If you find a rocket in your bed tonight, Tengen, I want you to know it was me.” Sanemi replied smoothly, not taking his eyes off Y/N as she blushed under the hand he kept on her cheek.

—-———————————————————————

It was after two in the morning, and most of the revelers had finally drifted off to bed, drunk and happy and partied out. Only two couples remained awake, not quite yet ready to let the sparkling night fade to black.

One couple was seated on the ornate leather couch before the cabin’s lit Christmas tree, talking and giggling softly to themselves. Mitsuri stifled a sleepy yawn behind her hand, settling in against Obanai’s side as her eyelids drooped.

The ebony-haired man smiled to himself as Mitsuri’s breathing slowed, the beautiful girl finally nodding off against him as the excitement of the weekend lured her to sleep. Slowly, so as not to disturb his girlfriend’s peaceful rest, Obanai turned his head to watch the other couple still awake, though they were in the adjacent reading room.

There, standing before the large bay window of the cabin, Sanemi slow-danced with Y/N as the sound of some old holiday song crackled through the old record player of the cabin’s study. Y/N’s back was to Obanai, but her head was resting against his friend’s chest as Sanemi rocked them from side to side, his lips pressed against the girl’s hair. After a moment, Sanemi bent to murmur something in her ear, and Y/N drew back from his chest and nodded, causing his grin to spread wide across his face.

Obanai turned away from the sight of his friends, a small smile creeping onto his face, as Sanemi led his new girlfriend to his room.

—————————————————————————

Everyone was slow to rise later on New Year's Day, in no short part due to the previous night’s indulgences.

The last to rise, however, was the friend group’s newest couple, and it was with no small amount of delight that the friends saw Y/N emerge from Sanemi’s room, dressed in his sweater from the night before and a pair of men’s briefs. She padded into the kitchen, happy to accept the steaming mug of coffee that Shinobu handed her with a knowing smirk, while flipping off Tengen as he’d loudly asked her if she’d enjoyed her night.

When Sanemi finally entered the kitchen, a dark purple bruise seared into the side of his neck, the whole gang erupted into applause, much to the couple’s laughter and slight embarrassment.

Mitsuri sidled up to her best friend, nudging her with her shoulder. “Shinobu and I had a bet as to who would show up this morning with hickies. She owes me $5.”

Y/N’s returning smirk was naughty as she brought the steaming mug of coffee to her lips. “You just can’t see mine.”

Mitsuri giggled and Y/N couldn’t help but join her, feeling too warm and happy as her eyes met her now-boyfriend’s while he watched her from across the counter. As she’d swiped a donut from one of the several boxes scattered around the table, Y/N felt Sanemi’s fingers shyly brush against her own, and the pair exchanged small, sweet smiles before resuming conversation with their respective roommates.

Later, as the group loaded up cars with their luggage in a haphazard game of suitcase Tetris, Sanemi caught Y/N’s eye again and winked, prompting the latter to blush.

As they piled into their cars and drove away from the cabin, Sanemi realized he was the luckiest man in the world.

—————————————————————————

Epilogue — New Year’s Day, 2 years later

“He just texted me — they’re walking up,” Kyojuro whispered, and the group dissolved into renewed giggles and excitement as the snow drifted lazily outside.

“Shush!” Shinobu urged over the tittering group, as they all crouched in the dark, excitement buzzing among the friend group as they waited anxiously in Sanemi and Y/N’s apartment.

Mitsuri rocked on her heels beside Shinobu, squatting behind the couple’s sofa, her hands fluttering in glee. “They need to hurry up! I can hardly wait!”

“They’re almost — shut it!” Shinobu hissed at the unmistakable sound of a key entering a lock on the front door.

There was a wash of light from the apartment hallway as the door swung open, and Shinobu and the others burrowed deeper into their hiding spots. Only as the door clicked shut, and Sanemi flipped the light switch to their living room, did the group erupt.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” Every one of them — Mitsuri, Obanai, Shinobu, Tengen, Gyomei, Kyojuro and even Giyuu sprung from their various crouching spaces behind furniture and closets as they greeted the newly engaged couple.

Y/N’s hands flew to her face in surprise and joy, her cheeks bright red as she laughed. On her left hand, a beautiful, emerald ring sparkled.

The blushing bride-to-be turned to her fiancé and smacked him lightly on the chest. “You ass! Is this why you’ve been so weird and secretive over the last few weeks?”

Sanemi caught his fiancé’s hand and brought it to his lips, prompting the young woman to flush even further. Before she could return the gesture, Y/N was nearly knocked over by the flurry of pink and green that hurtled toward her, locking her arms around her neck and sobbing with joy.

“He was afraid he was gonna blow it,” Tengen offered, though he flinched at the sharp glare the scarred man shot his way. “Okay fine — he thought we would blow it.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d be concerned,” Y/N shook her head in mock-solemnity over Mitsuri’s shoulder. “After all, Giyuu did spoil Gyomei’s 22nd birthday.”

Giyuu made some sound of indignation as the tips of his ears reddened. Kyojuro thumped Sanemi on the back in congratulations. “I still think it would have been much nicer to have us all there when you finally popped the question, Shinazugawa!”

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “Like hell was I gonna let you shitheads ruin a romantic moment.”

Mitsuri, who’d not yet unwound her arms from Y/N’s neck, leaned in close to her best friend’s ear. “Did he cry?” She whispered conspiratorially.

Y/N’s grin widened. “Like a baby. He got down on one knee and started blubbering.”

It might have been a slight exaggeration — though her snowy-haired lover had gone misty-eyed as he’d knelt before her in front of the large Christmas tree in the city square and poured his heart out. As he pulled her in tight against him after sliding the delicate ring on her finger, Y/N had felt the wet droplets of his joyous tears as he’d buried his face into the side of her neck.

But Y/N couldn’t resist the chance to make it known amongst their friends that Sanemi Shinazugawa had the softest heart out of any of them.

The pair of best friends dissolved into giggles, before Mitsuri pulled away and the two hummed and hah’ed over Y/N’s engagement ring, Shinobu joining in as they marveled over the way the emerald shone.

Beside them, both Obanai and Giyuu looked accusingly at their smug friend. “Neither of them are gonna shut up about the ring now. Thanks, Shinazugawa.” Obanai grumbled.

Sanemi locked an arm around his friend’s neck and ground his knuckles into the top of his head. “Please. Like you don’t have a Pinterest board titled ‘future wedding’ for when you decide to have the balls to ask ‘Suri to marry you.” He grinned. “I’ve seen your phone, dude.”

“Jackass,” Obanai mumbled, though any ire he felt towards the snowy-haired man was quick to dissipate, because he couldn’t remember the last time Sanemi had smiled as broadly as he did right then.

He was happy — really, and truly happy.

Because Sanemi Shinazugawa loved many things.

He loved Saturday mornings, when there was no alarm or no obligations, and he could just exist peacefully in his bed with his woman wrapped snug in his arms. He loved when his phone had zero notifications, because that meant he was being left the fuck alone, and in peace.

He loved his friends, that wonderful group of people whom he’d known for most of his life, who’d always supported him or provided a good kick in his ass whenever he needed it.

But most of all, Sanemi loved New Year’s Day, and the snow, because it had brought him Y/N — his fiancé, and the great love of his life, and all her smiles that he had to look forward to every day, for all the days to come.

[fanficimagery]

The Mikaelson Upgrade

When Elijah sends his sister to check on you during a harsh Winter, the Mikaelsons move you in with them.

Words: 7.4K  Author’s Note: So, I thought this was so good, but when I started editing it, I realized it was terrible lmao. But I need something to post, and this is the only completed thing I had. Sorry. 

With a basket half full of non-perishables and a case of water, you're standing on the opposite side of the grocery store and staring at their small selection of home hardware in hopes of finding something to weatherize your small apartment even further than it already was.

The central heat was out so you're going to be forced to use space heaters and you'd already glued some thin strips of foam all around your doorways to keep the drafts of winds out. This was only going to be your second winter in the apartment so you knew it could get cold, but this winter was predicted to be an extremely cold one and you wanted to be prepared.

The windows weren't the best insulated, so when you heard the trick about bubble wrap being plastered to the windows to help keep the heat in, you figured it was worth a shot. But as you stare at the prices of the different sized rolls, you sigh and realize you might just have to pile all your blankets atop you instead.

"Miss YLN?"

Your name being uttered startles you from your mental musings and you turn to the source. You stand a little taller at the striking figure looking so out of place in the hardware aisle. "Elijah! Hi," you sheepishly grin at him. "How are you?"

His lips twitch. "I'm doing well. And yourself?" He wonders. "I couldn't help but realize you looked quite lost in thought."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but you chuckle nonetheless. "I was trying to determine whether or not it was worth it to buy the bubble wrap."

Elijah looks at the overly large rolls of wrap. "And pray tell what you would need so much bubble wrap for?"

"Winter is coming, Mr. Mikaelson, and I am merely a fragile human." He still doesn't get what you mean, so you elaborate. "I heard bubble wrap on the windows can help keep the cold out. I'm desperate."

"Ah. I see."

It doesn't look like he quite gets it, but you don't call him out on it. Instead, you say, "But I think it's probably cheaper to just hibernate under my blankets."

As you start to push your basket away, Elijah follows. "What about your parents? Surely you could stay with them during this harsh winter."

"Nah." You shake your head. "We're on shaky terms at the moment. My dad barely wanted to give me extra money for groceries, so I rather stay in my shitty apartment than live in a tense atmosphere."

From the corner of your eye you see Elijah looking at you, but you keep your own gaze forward. Then when you come to the checkout lane, he leaves you with, "If you need anything, my siblings and I are only a call away."

"Thanks, Elijah." You glance at him with a small smile. "Say hello to Rebekah and Niklaus for me, will you?"

"I will. Good evening, Miss YLN."

The first night of the winter storm is brutal. Within hours the temperature dropped drastically and the wind howled. Several feet of snow was predicted and your college professors all emailed that classes had been temporarily canceled due to the storm.

You tacked up tarps over your front door and back door, and even the front windows to your living room. You had unplugged every kitchen appliance you knew you weren't going to use and stowed them away, plugging in a small space heater that you left running on the empty kitchen counter. You had one heater in your bedroom that you only used when you slept, another heater in the bathroom that you only turned on before you showered, and another heater running in the living room where you spent most of your time.

All in all, what was once your favorite season is now something you desperately want to hurry up and be over with.

On the third day, you're trembling under three blankets debating whether or not it was worth it to get up and make yourself something to eat.

And just when you've decided that a nap sounds really good, there's a knock on your front door.

You quietly groan but refuse to get up.

Another knock sounds.

"If you're of the immortal population and friendly, then just walk in. It's too cold to get up," you mutter.

You hear the door creak open and the tarp crinkle as it's moved. "What the bloody hell is this?" You huff a laugh at Rebekah's disdain. "Honestly, YN, don't you ever listen?"

"Hmm?"

"Elijah told us about your situation. Klaus has had his minions watching your place-"

"Aw. He's had his hybrids out in this cold? What a dick."

"-and they called to inform us there wasn't much movement in here anymore. We're really worried."

"M'fine, Rebekah."

"You're not fine. You're bloody freezing!"

"Well, it is Winter, and I am only human."

Rebekah grumbles and you can only imagine the face she's making as you hear her footsteps walking around your apartment. "'Lijah said you didn't enjoy your apartment and now I see why." She sighs. "I don't see why he just doesn't make you part of the family already and move you in."

You tense and slowly pull the blankets down from covering your head. "What?"

She glances at you, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You just said-"

"No, I didn't."

"I could've sworn you said-"

"I said no such thing."

You narrow your eyes at your friend and she smiles a little too big. Then softly rolling your eyes, you cover your head once more to preserve your body heat under the blankets. "Well you've seen with your own eyes that I'm fine. I'm just preserving my body heat under the blankets."

The blankets are suddenly ripped from you and you whine. "Get up. Packs your bags. You're coming with me."

"Rebekah, no." You weakly grab for your blankets, only to be denied. "Just let me go to sleep."

She scoffs. "I'm afraid that if you go to sleep, you won't wake up again. Now go pack or I'll have the hybrids do it for you."

Your eyes sting with tears and a lump forms in your throat as you stare at your friend's no-nonsense expression, but you manage to keep your emotions in check as you pull yourself into a seated position. Then very slowly, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and go do as you're told.

But you're so cold that Rebekah ends up doing everything for you as you sit on the edge of your bed. Your thoughts end up drifting off as Rebekah moves around you, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier. Eventually you feel yourself slump over, but you're so tired that you can't open your eyes.

You do, however, hear your friend swear before she's talking to someone else. Most likely on the phone, your mind supplies. Then you're being lifted and moved so suddenly, only to be placed down in a seat. You're cold all over again, but then you hear a car heater get turned on full blast.

"Hold on, YN. I'll get you home and you'll feel better soon."

. . . .

When you're thrust back into consciousness, the first thing you hear is a crackling fire. Your eyelids flutter open and you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. Your confusion momentarily overrides your sheer terror at not knowing where you're at, but then the soothing baritones of a familiar voice instantly calms you.

"I thought I made it clear that you were to call should you need anything." You turn your head to find Elijah sitting by your bedside. "Rebekah doesn't think you'd have made it another night had you stayed in your apartment. She said your heart rate slowed down while she was packing your clothes and you passed out. You should have called."

You know Elijah is not scolding you, he's just stating facts, but hearing it so plainly scares you. Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears and you quickly cover your eyes with your hands before the tears can fall. "I'm sorry." You sniffle. "I just- I didn't-" You shakily exhale and try to swallow down the lump in your throat.

A hand gently wraps around your right wrist, tugging your hand from your face. "It's fine. You're here now."

Your heart starts to pick up speed at his proximity, he having leaned forward. "I didn't think it'd be this hard," you murmur.

"Didn't think what would be so hard?"

"Being an adult." You sniffle some more. "I took a lot of stuff for granted while I was under my parent's roof and now? Struggling to make ends meet while being a college student absolutely blows."

Elijah's lips twitch at the sight of your pout. His eyes twinkle in the firelight and your breath hitches when he raises your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Well now you're under my roof. Sleep. And when you wake up, this room has its own private bath with all the hot water you can use up and all the food you could want down in the kitchen."

"That sounds nice." Your blinks get longer and longer until you eventually can't keep your eyes open anymore. "'Lijah?" You sleepily slur.

"Yes?"

"You're my favorite Mikaelson. Don't tell the others."

Right before the void takes you, you hear muffled laughter. "I won't. You have my word."

The next time you wake up, you remember where you are and hurry to the windows to look outside. What you see is beautiful, pure white everywhere, but it's also a bit scary because the longer you look at the snow, the quicker Elijah's words come back to haunt you.

Rebekah doesn't think you'd have made it another night had you stayed in your apartment.

This is the most snow you've ever seen in your life and you're suddenly really grateful for nosy friends. As you turn around to face away from the too white picture, you see an opened door leading to a bathroom. Elijah's other words float to the forefront of your mind and you immediately look around for your bags. But finding none anywhere leads you to scope out the dresser drawers and sure enough your clothes have all been folded and put away.

Shaking your head and what was no doubt Rebekah's doing, you gather a change of clothes and head into the bathroom. It's one of the most luxurious bathrooms you've ever seen, but then again these are vampires who are over a thousand years old. Of course they'd splurge to have only the best.

Once you locate the towels and realize the shower stall has everything you'd need, you turn on the hot water and strip the second you see steam rising.

The hot shower is absolute bliss and you almost don't want to get out once you're done. But other needs must be met when your stomach starts to grumble, so you get out and dress in a set of comfortable clothes that's both warm and presentable enough to be in the company of others.

When you eventually find your way to the kitchen, all three Mikaelson siblings are hanging around. Elijah is reading the newspaper, enjoying either a cup of coffee or tea, Rebekah is staring into the refrigerator, but Klaus is smirking directly at you.

"So Sleeping Beauty finally awakens."

"Very funny, Niklaus." You wrinkle your nose as you pass him, offering a small grin as you make your way towards Rebekah. You wrap your arms around her waist from behind, leaning the side of your face against her back. "Please tell me you guys have ramen? I want all the ramen in the world right now."

"We do. Do you want me to make you some?"

"I've got it. Just point me in the direction of the pots and ramen."

As you put a small pot of water to boil, you go through the cabinets to find some spices to season the ramen better. You pull out two slices of cheese from the refrigerator and then drop the noodles into water. You wait patiently for the noodles to become tender and then drain most of the water out. You add in all the seasoning before tossing the cheese atop the noodles, mixing it until it's all melted.

"That doesn't look like the ramen on the packaging," Rebekah says as she looks over your shoulder.

"Because when you're on a budget and your daily meals consist of ramen, you find ways to spruce it up," you muse. "Wanna try?"

"No, thank you."

"Elijah? Niklaus?" You then offer them some.

Elijah politely refuses whereas Klaus' nose wrinkles. "Smells foul, love."

"Really? It smells foul to the person who prefers munching on the hearts of those who betray him?" Klaus chuckles before quickly deciding to take his leave, claiming to have people to torment. Rebekah sighs and grumbles about going with him to make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble, and Elijah just grins from his place at the table. "Would you like some company?" You sheepishly ask.

"Please, be my guest."

Putting some noodles into a bowl, you grab a fork and then a bottled water from the refrigerator before setting it all down atop the table. Then pulling out your own seat, you sit cross legged before digging in.

At the first bite, you smile with your cheeks puffed out and happily wiggle in your seat.

Elijah chuckles. "Good?"

"Mhm." You twirl some more noodles on your fork before blowing on them and then shoving them into your mouth. With another groan, you grab a napkin to dab at your mouth before sipping your water. "I'm a pasta girl, in case you haven't noticed. I will try any pasta dish at least once and then repeatedly if I like it."

"Noted." Elijah smiles at you before his eyes fall back to the paper in his hands. After a moment, he asks, "So was the bedroom to your liking?"

"Yes! Thank you." You perk up a little, grinning. "I hadn't seen that room before, so I was a little confused when I woke up."

"I know. Your heart started to beat frantically before I spoke up."

"Ahh, the perks of being a vampire," you muse. Elijah chuckles and then the two of you fall into silence as he reads and you eat.

You finish your meal without any more interruptions and then walk over to the sink to wash your dishes.

"You know we have a dishwasher, correct?"

"Yes, but I like to do things by hand. Keeps me moving since I have no idea what to do here now that I'm not secluded to the couch for warmth."

"What about your classes?"

"Canceled." Turning off the water, you grab a towel to dry your hands. "Well, at least in-person classes had been canceled. Maybe I should check my email to make sure there are no online assignments that need to be completed."

"Yes, you wouldn't want to fall behind."

You blow a raspberry in his direction before leaving the kitchen and heading for your temporary room to collect your laptop to see if there's anything that needs to be completed.

On your third day with the Mikaelsons, you've taken over their library as you attempted to complete an essay one of your professors had assigned since the campus was still closed. Elijah consistently made appearances, grabbing a book and reading quietly as you researched and typed, and Klaus showed up occasionally to paint while you worked. Rebekah was the only one to drop in for minutes at a time, just long enough to make sure you took a break and gave your brain a rest.

You're reading through one of the many journals Elijah had hoarded from centuries ago when your cell phone dings with a text message. You ignore it, but then it dings again.

And again.

And again.

"Are you going to get that?" Elijah asks.

You startle at his voice, momentarily forgetting you weren't alone. "Yeah. I guess so." The text messages just keep popping up, one right after another, and you try to read them as quickly as you can. "What the-" You frown.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure. Caroline, Bonnie, and Matt.. they seem worried, I think," you tell him. "Each of them asking where I'm at and if I'm okay and-" Your cell ringing cuts you off. "My dad's calling." You quickly accept it. "Hello?"

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

You flinch at the volume of his voice and even Elijah looks up from his book. "Dad? I'm- I'm at a friend's place. The apartment got too cold. Why? What's-"

"Your apartment is on fire!" Your head turns to quickly look at Elijah and he seems just as surprised as you. "We all thought you were inside. No one knew-" His voice cuts off with a sob.

"Dad, I'm okay. I'm fine." He continues to cry, and you do your best to console him. "How did a fire even start? I unplugged everything." You try to listen to your dad, but his blubbering is making no sense. But as you're on the phone with him, Klaus saunters into the room. As he passes you, you can't help but inhale deeply and then narrow your eyes. You know that smell. "Dad, let me call you back. I'll get to the apartment as soon as I can." You hang up and set your phone aside, leaning back into your seat with a sigh. "Niklaus, what did you do?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, love."

You look at Elijah, exasperated. "I believe Miss YLN is talking about the fact that you smell like smoke after she just got a very frantic phone call from her father who didn't know if she was dead or alive because her apartment is currently up in flames."

Rebekah saunters in next, expression a little too smug.

"Rebekah, please tell me you didn't have a hand in this either?"

"Well, it's not like you'd move in here otherwise." Her smug expression falls. "We did you a favor."

"You made me homeless," you deadpan. Then glancing at Elijah, you ask, "Can you take me over there? I need to see the damage."

"Of course."

"YN, we didn't-"

"I assure you we meant no harm," Klaus says. "We just thought-"

"I know what you thought, but you could have literally talked to me about leaving my shitty apartment rather than burn it down." Rebekah looks put out that you're not thanking her, and Klaus doesn't look apologetic at all, but it still makes you assure both of them that you're not angry. "I'm not mad, I'm just-" You trail off, sighing. "Please tell me you at least took out all my valuables before you set everything ablaze?"

Rebekah scoffs. "We're not amateurs. I took anything that might have sentimental value, all your clothes and all your electronics out the first night I brought you here."

You shake your head, unable to help the twitch of your lips. "You guys have been alive way too long if you thought burning down my apartment was the best way to approach me with the idea of moving in here." The two troublesome Mikaelsons start to grin when they realize you're not truly upset with them. "Now when we get back, I want all the chicken nuggets and fries from McDonalds."

"But the closest McDonalds is about twenty minutes away," Rebekah says.

"Then drive fast." Finally standing, you look to Elijah. "Ready?"

He nods. "After you."

. . . .

The street you live on- er, used to live on- is packed with police cars, an ambulance, and two different fire trucks. The street has been taped off, but after Elijah parks and the two of you approach the officers keeping nosy individuals away, you tell them that it's your apartment up in flames and they let the two of you pass.

Across the street from your burning apartment, your dad stands there with more police officers. You make a beeline for him, accepting his hug and giving the police your statement. Elijah stands by your side as you answer everything you're asked, giving his own statement to back up your claim that you had left the apartment days earlier.

When the questions are done and over with, you're left to helplessly watch as the fire devours the place you've known as home for the last two years. When part of the roof collapses and you flinch, Elijah tucks you under an arm and turns you so your face is pressed against his chest.

"Miss?" Elijah releases his hold on you and nudges you so you turn around. There's a firefighter addressing you. "Are you the owner?"

"I rent," you tell him. "The landlord is elderly. They wouldn't be out here."

"Oh. Okay. Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think the house is gonna be a total loss. I'm sorry."

"Figures." You sigh and then paste on a smile. "Thank you."

Just as you turn back towards Elijah, you hear your father sigh next. "Well, I guess this means you'll be moving back in until you find another decent apartment."

"Wow, dad, don't sound too enthused now," you deadpan.

He glowers at you before looking back at the dwindling fire, shaking his head. "Your mother won't be too happy that she'll have to put all her sewing supplies into storage, but I guess we'll just have to make do."

"You know what-"

"Mr. YLN," Elijah smoothly steps in, offering your dad a hand to shake. "I'm Elijah Mikaelson. It's nice to finally meet you, sir." Your dad seems to stand a little taller, puffing out his chest as he takes Elijah in before shaking his hand. "I just want to assure you that you and your wife have nothing to worry about. My family and I will happily take in YN. My sister thinks of her fondly and we have more than enough space for her to stay with us."

"Mikaelson, huh? Your family built that fancy mansion a few years back, right?"

Your eyes roll as you groan, "Dad."

But Elijah only smirks. "Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Your dad huffs. But seeing this as the perfect outcome, he then says, "Well if there's anything my daughter needs to attribute to, I'm sure I can offer some-"

"There's no need. All expenses for your daughter will be covered by my family and I."

You can see the relief obviously wash over your dad and it pains you just a little that he so easily let someone else take care of you. You're pretty sure if one of your older siblings needed help, your parents would move Heaven and Earth for them. But for you? Apparently, your old room was just too much to ask for. "And on that note, Elijah and I will be going." You glance at your apartment, swallowing down the sadness threatening to overwhelm you. "There's nothing left for me here anyway."

Suddenly reaching for Elijah's hand, you start to tug him in the direction of his car. You wave at your dad over your shoulder, barely uttering a goodbye to him.

And then once you're in the quiet of Elijah's car, he asks, "Are you okay?"

"Not really, but what can I do?" You shrug. "Can you just drive? I don't want to be here anymore."

"Of course."

He turns the heater up in the car when he hears your teeth chatter, and you wrap your jacket around you more tightly. You let the warmth wash over you and allow your eyes to close, only opening them when he quietly tells you that you're back home.

Home.

Your eyes snap open as you stare up at the Mikaelson mansion.

Home.

You giggle in disbelief as your mind tries to comprehend how once you were enemies with the Mikaelson family, and now here you sit in the company of one as he calls his home your home as well.

Home.

"I guess this is home now, huh?"

"Yes."

Your lips twitch in amusement. "Then let's get inside. Rebekah and Niklaus better have my chicken nuggets ready for me to devour."

Elijah chuckles before using his vampire speed to exit his side of the car, only to end up on your side to open the door for you. He offers you a hand so you can easily climb on out as he grins at you. "And fries. You can't forget those."

"It'd be blasphemous to forget the salty, potato-y goodness which means I can almost guarantee Niklaus forgot them because he likes to see me suffer." You sigh sadly with a shake of your head. "Do you think the waterworks will get me dessert?"

"It's worth a shot. Shall we?"

As Elijah then offers you the crook of his arm, you hook your arm with his. "We shall."

As it turns out, Niklaus or Rebekah didn't forget the french fries. The table was laden with multiple boxes of nuggets and cartons of fries, and when Rebekah produced the small fried apple pies, you nearly cried.

Nearly.

The snow eventually tapers off as the temperatures settle back into what they usually are around this time of year, and classes resume in person. You have no issue driving yourself to and from school, but when your car starts to rattle and the vampires in your life urge you to take it into the shop, Elijah has no issue driving you to and from the college campus.

And though you were skeptical about living with the Mikaelsons in the beginning and had to deal with conversation after conversation from Bonnie and Caroline, you find yourself enjoying the freedom that comes with not having to worry about bills or what your next meal is going to be.

In fact, you get so comfortable that more often than not, Klaus or Rebekah find you cuddled up next to Elijah as you read a book or with your legs draped over his lap as he reads and you work on something on your laptop. They always shoot you knowing grins, but you wave them off and throw all your focus into your assignments.

One morning, as you're making yourself some breakfast, Rebekah saunters into the kitchen.

"Oatmeal and berries?" She asks.

"Mhm. Want some?"

"No, thanks." You take your bowl to the island bar where your laptop sits open on a document you're meant to be reading and take a seat on a stool. Before you can even get the first spoonful of warm gooeyness into your mouth, you hear Rebekah ask, "So where's my brother?"

You freeze with the spoon halfway to your mouth. "First of all, you have two brothers. And second, how should I know? I'm not either of their keepers."

"Elijah, darling. Do keep up."

"Oh." You shove the spoon of oatmeal into your mouth and shrug. "I dunno. He said something about meeting with someone and that he'd see me later."

"Mhmmm." You can feel the heat of her stare boring into the side of your head and busy yourself momentarily with your oatmeal and berries. "Can I ask you something?"

"You're gonna ask it either way, so yeah. Go ahead."

"Why Elijah and not Niklaus?" You inhale in surprise, choke on a berry, and immediately reach for your coffee. Only that seems to be a mistake as the drink is still too hot and you end up spluttering the coffee and oatmeal down the front of your shirt. Rebekah laughs.

"Goddammit, Rebekah!"

"It's a simple question."

"Yeah, I know, but-" You take the napkins she's offering you and sigh when you see your shirt is stained after dabbing away the mess.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why Elijah and not Niklaus?" She asks again.

When you glance up at her, you see her amused grin and know she won't let this go. You're pretty sure the crush you have on Elijah is obvious to everyone under the Mikaelson roof, but Elijah's polite enough to not bring attention to it, so you settle for telling her the truth. "Don't get me wrong, both your brothers are smoking hot."

"But…?"

"But Niklaus is too chaotic for me. It's fun to hear about the drama he stirs up, but not so much when you're dragged into it. And Elijah… Elijah has this calm aura to him and can hold a serious conversation that doesn't devolve into murderous schemes unless it's to protect someone he holds near and dear. I just- I don't know. I'm more at ease around Elijah."

"Well, that's harsh, love." You freeze, Rebekah smirks, and you slowly turn to find both brothers standing there under the archway. Klaus' expression matches Rebekah's whereas Elijah is smiling a little guiltily. Knowing you were set up to admit that aloud, you sigh and go back to your oatmeal, but not before glaring at Rebekah. "I hate you."

"Pure lies," she muses. "And you're welcome."

"That's enough, Rebekah," Elijah calls out. "Let us leave Miss YLN be while she finishes her breakfast and her work. I'm sure you have locals to terrorize."

Rebekah rolls her eyes with a sigh and your lips twitch as she reluctantly leaves you be. You glance over your shoulder at Klaus, only for him to wiggle his eyebrows at you before following Rebekah.

And then when you look at Elijah, he grins. "Shall we talk when you're ready?"

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You will be."

"No need to sound so smug."

"How can I not be when I can hear your heartbeat race?" Your face starts to flame. "Or easily detect when the blood rushes through your veins?"

"Okay, I get it." You shift nervously in your seat. "We'll talk soon, just not right now." Elijah nods. "Now get out of here before I demote you to Mikaelson #2."

"Now we all know that's a bold-faced lie." You narrow your eyes at his smirk. "But I will leave you be. Until then…"

As Elijah takes his leave, you heave a great sigh. With your heart racing and face feeling more than a little warm, you try your best to focus on finishing your food and the passage you're meant to be reading.

For a week, every time Elijah walks into a room that you're in, you can't help the way your heart speeds up. Every vampire in the house does their best to hide their amused smiles, but you see them nonetheless and stew in your embarrassment until you finally realize you have nothing to be embarrassed about.

Elijah knows of your attraction towards him and wants to speak of it rather than immediately turning you down. So, in your book, that's a positive sign that he feels the same.

Hopefully.

Then by the second week, you're back to sharing the library with Elijah as you work, and he reads. And it's during this week that you end up with your head resting on his thigh as you attempt to read a non-school related book, only to end up sighing as you let the book fall closed over your chest.

"So, vampirism…" You say, waiting until you know you have his attention. When he hums, your lips twitch. "What's your take on it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've met some vampires who are all about vampirism and only have good things to say about becoming one, but I've also met vampires who completely hate what they are and the thought of creating more." You look up at him, shrugging. "I know you're completely fine with your existence and other vampires, but what's your take on me possibly becoming one?"

He tenses and immediately looks down to meet your gaze. "Is that- is that something you want?"

"What's the point in pursuing a relationship with a vampire if I'm human? I'll age, you won't."

"Would becoming a vampire solely be based on the fact whether or not we pursue a relationship?"

You snort. "No."

"No?"

"No." You sit up, but don't move too far. You turn so your body is angled towards the smartly dressed vampire you'd just been using as a pillow. "Elijah, I've been thinking about vampirism for a long time now. I've just been too chicken to ask for it."

"Why?"

"Healthcare is expensive." Elijah's expression slackens in surprise and you grin. "I'd like to live a life without worrying about throwing myself into debt just because I get an infection or need surgery."

"So, you'd want to become a vampire, not for the everlasting youth or powers or to date another vampire, but because you don't want to pay for healthcare?"

"Yep."

Elijah laughs. "Oh sweetheart, you are something else."

"Mhm. But no turning until after I've graduated. I don't want to attend classes and accidentally kill another student for annoying me."

"If that's what you wish, then we'll revisit this discussion later on down the line."

"Okay. But first I just need to see what I'm missing out on." Elijah must have been anticipating your next move because he merely smiles as you lean forward, one knee digging into the couch cushion as you then lean over him. Your hands gently grasp either side of his face so you can kiss him, and you quietly groan when he immediately grants your tongue entrance. His hands reach for your waist, guiding you towards him until you're perched on his lap. "Fuck."

You barely pull back just enough to catch your breath, your hands settling on his shoulders while his hand reaches up to trace the left side of your face. "Is your curiosity sated?"

"For now." You lean in to peck his lips once more and then pull back, reluctantly climbing off his lap. "Now I'm gonna go take a cold shower less I say something stupid and beg you to take me to bed."

He grins at you. "I see no issue with you begging."

"I'm sure you don't." You return his teasing grin. "But when our first time together happens, I want all of you. I don't want you holding back."

"Graduation is still a ways away," he muses. "Are you capable of that much restraint?"

You allow your gaze to look him up and down, and swipe your tongue across your bottom lip. Elijah smirks as you sigh wistfully and then you shake your head clear and head for the exit. "I'm gonna have to invest in a goddamn vibrator."

Elijah's laugh follows you all the way up the stairs.

As the months pass, you do your best to keep things calm between you and Elijah, but the tension between the two of you only continues to thicken. In fact, it isn't long before his siblings figure out something has happened. Klaus is the first to realize, but Elijah is a pro at redirecting the conversation and you only manage a whimper when his attention turns to you. And then when Rebekah picks up on what's going on around her, it isn't long until you cave and blurt out your entire conversation with Elijah, as well as the kiss.

Rebekah thinks it's cute that you're putting yourself through so much torture just so her brother can properly rail you into the mattress, and Klaus takes great pleasure in teasing the two of you.

But you hold strong, only slipping up here and there when Elijah looks just too good for you to resist, but never actually sleep with him. He takes what you give, chuckling when you whimper and groan when you have to walk yourself back to your room.

Graduation is then upon you and your family surprises you by showing up since you hadn't really spoken to any of them since your apartment burned to the ground. You're subjected to dinner with them, which means the Mikaelsons are subjected to dinner as well since you strongly urge them to tag along, and it's an all-around awkward night.

Your mother then manages to turn the dinner into a tense one by asking what kind of career you're going into with your chosen degree, and Elijah is quick to shut that conversation down by telling your mother you have a year to think on it since he has an all-expenses paid vacation planned for you after you've studied your ass off these last few years. That, in turn, leads to your mother scoffing and quietly berating you for riding your boyfriend's coattails, and Klaus stuns everyone by basically calling your mother a jealous cunt.

Graduation night ends with Elijah and Rebekah having to compel your family to forget the tense moments.

Days later you're surprised to learn that the vacation Elijah told your mother is actually real, and Rebekah helps you pack even though she won't be going on this trip with you- it's just you and Elijah.

Flying first class is an experience you'll never forget, nor the trip Elijah took care to plan so you could see the world and experience different cultures.

One Year Later

It's been a while since you've stepped foot in Mystic Falls and you're unsurprised that it's unchanged. Small towns are filled with people with small minds, and no one liked change when your town was as pretty as Mystic Falls.

Elijah opens your door when he parks in front of your home, and you take his hand as you climb out. Then leaning up, you press a kiss of thanks to his lips before moving past him.

"Happy to be home?" He asks.

"Yes. As much as I loved traveling the world with you, there's just something about my own bed that I was missing."

"Well, you're going to continue to miss it because you'll be moving into my room."

Your eyes roll fondly. "And you call me the impatient one."

"Yes, well…" Elijah steps right in front of you, tilting your head upward so his thumb drags your bottom lip from between your teeth. "Can you blame me?"

"Nope. I know I'm adorable."

Chuckling, he places another quick kiss to your lips. "That you are. Now let's get inside. I'll get some of Niklaus' associates to bring in our bags."

"I'm only agreeing with you right now because I want to see your siblings. Otherwise, I'd be grabbing my own bags."

"If you say so, sweetheart."

Stepping back, you practically skip to the front door and throw it open. "Honey, we're home!" You call out.

Your moment of happiness is interrupted when a hand is immediately wrapped around your throat, and you're slammed into a wall. It all happens within a split second and your eyes widen as you see Damon Salvatore hiss in your face, only to then find three very pissed off Mikaelson's at his back. "You won't heal Elena? Maybe you need a little motivation then." Damon growls, shaking you a little.

Your hands grasp at Damon's wrist, nails raking against the exposed skin there. "W-What?"

"Your new little family is refusing to help Elena," he sneers. "Maybe if their pet human is threatened, then maybe we'll get somewhere."

You make a show of being in discomfort with his hand around your neck before you cave and laugh. Klaus and Rebekah freeze, and Elijah loosens his stance as he slowly grins at you. "So, Elena decided to be a dumbass and now you want the Originals to clean up her mess? What'd she do now?"

"Got herself bitten by a little wolf," Rebekah hesitantly muses. "How are you-"

But Damon frowns as he quickly looks you up and down. "Why are you laughing?" He squeezes your throat a little tighter, but it merely causes your smile to grow.

"Because you underestimate me, Mr. Salvatore." Your smile vanishes just as quickly as you grab his wrist in your own grasp, snapping it backwards and sending the vampire to his knees. Then with a swift kick to his chest, you send him sailing across the room. "You underestimated me as a human and now you underestimate me as a vampire. Never put your hands on me again."

Damon is quick to speed to his feet, cradling his already healing limb as he stares at you in disgust. Rebekah and Klaus, however, look prouder than ever as Elijah walks up to your side, letting his fingers trace one side of your face before he kisses your forehead.

"So, you're a vampire now?" Damon huffs. "All that means is that when your guard dogs aren't around, I can torture you now without your pathetic little heart giving out."

"And that's where you're wrong." Using your newfound speed, you manage to make a dent in the wall where you shove Damon against before tossing him into the glass coffee table and shattering it. Then standing over him, you place your foot on his chest to prevent him from getting up. "You see, Elijah has always known I'd be a target for fools like you. So, when I turned, some of his friends who were looking for a favor from the noble Original made it so I also have the strength of an Original." You slowly smirk as reality sinks in for Damon. "So, you can come at me all you want, but I'll just end up putting you on your ass again and again and again."

He struggles to get out from under you, but you put more pressure on his chest to keep him in place. "Elena's your friend. You should want to help her!"

"Wrong. She stopped being my friend the moment her dumbass ended up sired to your sorry ass. Her messes are her own." You press down on his chest again until he groans and then speed back to Elijah's side where you end up tucked beneath his arm. Then glancing at Klaus, you smile sheepishly, "Sorry about the wall and table. I'll do my best to replace it."

Klaus' dimples are on full display before he lets his laugh echo around the room. Rebekah's tinkling laugh isn't too far behind. "Welcome to the family, love. And don't worry about the mess. Watching you throw around Damon was spectacular." You grin as you hear Damon huff and then Klaus turns to him. "Just this once, Salvatore. I'll help you just this once because YN has put me in a better mood. Any future bites and your doppelganger is dead."

"Fine. We'll take it."

As Klaus disappears with Damon, you turn to Rebekah who has her arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked to the side. "So how long did you last?"

"Three months."

Her eyebrow arches. "Only three?"

"I could have gone longer, but I might have goaded your brother."

"With what?"

"Rebekah, I don't think-"

You slowly smirk at her. "I told him I had this fantasy of him bending me over the railing at the top of the Eiffel Tower and he cracked. He made preparations for my turning almost as soon as we got back to our hotel."

"Okay that's enough." Elijah scoops you up just as his sister cackles and you find yourself being tossed on his bed a moment later as he crawls over you. As you grin up at him, he asks, "Did you have to share that with her?"

"Girls talk, handsome. Get used to it." You lean up, kissing him. "And besides, you're lucky Niklaus wasn't here."

"Rebekah will tell him."

"And he'll tease us until you and I decide to christen every surface in this room." You kiss again. "And the library." Another kiss. "And maybe even the kitchen."

"YOU WILL NOT BRING YOUR NAKED SELVES INTO THIS KITCHEN!" Rebekah's shout interrupts your final kiss, and you laugh as you fall back against the bed.

"Let him tease. He's the one who'll have to listen to us."

"AND ME!"

You giggle as Elijah sighs, lowering his body over you so he can rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe I should build another house for us."

"Absolutely not. I love you and I love your family. If we have to deal with them teasing us about our sex life, then so be it. It's not like they're so innocent themselves."

"You love me?"

"Always." You kiss him. "Now get up. I say the first place we christen is that fancy bathroom of yours."

Elijah is up within a split second, tugging you along.

Downstairs, Rebekah is fixing herself a mug of tea and blood when your giggles reach her ears. The giggles soon turn into a moan, and she grimaces. "Bloody hell. If I knew they were going to be this randy, I'd have invested in noise canceling headphones."

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 16

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, Mandalorian culture lore dump, religious issues, Din speaks Mando'a, brief sexual fantasies (this one is mostly clean, y'all)

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

“Is it just me, or has that port doubled in size since we were here last?”

The question came from your favorite copilot’s chair, breaking the pensive silence that had descended over the cockpit as Din maneuvered the Razor Crest through the Nevarran atmosphere. He glanced over his shoulder in acknowledgement only to see you staring out the viewport with a little frown gathering between your brows. Nestled snug and safe in your lap, Grogu offered him a toothy smile, which Din returned, unseen behind his helmet.

“Think you’re right. Karga’s been busy,” he replied, taking in the sprawling landing zones, the increased foot traffic, the dozen or so other ships docked below. “Is there anything you want to pick up while we’re here?”

After the disastrous hunt for the Weequay smuggler Kevok Teklolq, only one bounty from the selection Karga had assigned to him had remained. The three of you had taken an extra day on the shores of Maramere to recover – you and Din from your wounds obtained in the fight, Grogu from his overextension of the Force to heal your ruined shoulder. In that time, the bounty hunter had taken the liberty of recovering evidence of Teklolq’s death from the dense forest where he had been slain, namely by separating his scaly head from his body and wrapping it in a scrap of tarp you found for him in the ship’s storage. You had nearly retched when he returned with it slung over his shoulder only to tuck it safely into the chiller for preservation.

“Please tell me the next one is someone you can bring in alive,” you had begged, looking ashen, to which Din had offered you a gentle press of his forehead against yours and agreed.

Thankfully, the final bounty had been simple – a Corellian merchant accused of tax evasion who had surrendered almost immediately upon discovering who exactly was pursuing him. The hunt was nearly over before it began, leaving Din feeling a bit underwhelmed and questioning whether the effort had been worth it.

He had fucked you against the doors to his weapons cabinet after, needing an outlet for all of the pent-up energy of the hunt that now had nowhere to go. He didn’t think you minded. You had walked unsteadily for the rest of that afternoon, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, a secret smile on your lips whenever he looked your way.

Now, with all five tracking fobs dormant in his pocket, four carbonite slabs hanging on the cargo hold rack, and one severed head on ice, every excuse the Mandalorian could conjure that might have kept the three of you safe and insulated in the little bubble you had created in the depths of hyperspace had run dry.

It was time to hand over the quarries. And it was finally time to take Grogu to Tython.

From your perch in the copilot’s chair, you seemed to mull over his question, humming quietly to yourself. “No, I don’t think so,” you said, considering. “You know what I would like, though? A hot meal. Like, something cooked with fresh ingredients and then served immediately, not heated up in a ration pack.”

Din chuckled, the sound staticky and rasping through his vocal modulator. He couldn’t blame you. The Razor Crest’s supply of fresh food had run out almost two weeks ago, and all the best self-heating rations had been well picked over by all three of her passengers, leaving only the least appealing options and the ones that were intended to be eaten cold, only barely a step up from the dreaded nutrition bars you could hardly stomach.

“I think we can make that happen,” he agreed.

You offered him a relieved smile in thanks. “How long do you think we’ll stay?”

The bounty hunter cocked his helmet in a gesture reminiscent of a shrug. “It will be at least a week’s journey from here to Tython, and we’ll be traveling into the Deep Core, which means we won’t be able to stop to do a supply run. The further we go into the interior, the more attention the Razor Crest attracts.”

“Maybe we could stay a couple of days then? Get a room at an inn, stock up on food and medical supplies? I wouldn’t say no to a real bed for once, and it’s been ages since Grogu got to spend any time outside. Might be good for him, if we’re going to be in hyperspace for more than a week.”

Din smirked, glancing back at you. “A real bed, hmm?”

You grinned wryly, a flush burning high on your cheeks, eyes flashing teasingly. “Yeah, you know. For sleep.” You drew your plush lower lip between your teeth. “Really, really good sleep.”

A low noise, unbidden, rose in his chest, and he gritted his jaw against reply that wanted to spill forth, one that definitely was not suited to the innocent, bat-wing ears of the boy cradled in your lap. Settling for a…heavily censored version, he growled, “Trouble.”

Your grin widened, blooming into a delighted smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes, and the sight made the bounty hunter’s chest tighten with affection. “Oh, you live for trouble, Din Djarin,” you teased good-naturedly.

He thought you might be right.

---

As you entered the polished, echoing lobby of the Nevarro Municipal Center, your worn, brown satchel strung across your body and Grogu cheerfully strapped to your back, it felt impossible to keep yourself from comparing the experience to the last time you had entered these halls. Had it really only been a handful of weeks ago that Din had led you here, binder cuffs chafing your wrists, your jumpsuit ragged and stained, a pit in your stomach the size of a sarlacc’s den as you contemplated a future back on Chardaan? It felt as though a lifetime had passed since then.

You were an entirely different person now, both outside and in. Clean and well-fed, with a job that had given you more engaging and unique experiences than you had ever had confined to the sterile spheres of the shipyards, a life filled with purpose, satisfaction, and love.

Maker. Love.

It had completely consumed you. You were overflowing with it, your heart pressing, fighting against the barrier of your ribcage, threatening to spill out and overtake you in its joy. The boy peaking up over your shoulder from his perch in his carrier, cooing and babbling in your ear, pressing his warm little body to yours. The hulking man in beskar, bandolier straining across his broad chest, blaster at his hip, wide palm at the base of your spine, guiding you through the entryway with a touch far gentler than his intimidating appearance would imply. You loved them both, in a way that was both liberating and terrifying. But still, their soft, solid presence as you made your way across the marble floor toward the oversized reception desk eased your nerves at being back in this place. They made you calm and confident, and that, in turn, made the memories of arriving here a slave feel more distant, less heavy.

“Here to see Greef Karga,” Din snapped, interjecting before the familiar bronze protocol droid currently manning the reception desk could greet you.

The TC unit drew back in something like surprise at the bounty hunter’s gruff, informal tone. “My apologies, sir, but the High Magistrate’s calendar is fully booked for the balance of the afternoon.” Glancing down at the datapad mounted to the desk, it continued, “I would be happy to make you an appointment for the end of the week if you would like – ”

The droid cut itself off abruptly, looking back up at Din as though having a sudden realization. Its mechanical neck and shoulders whirred as it quickly scanned the bounty hunter from head to toe then did the same to you.

“Oh. It’s you.” If it were possible for a droid to sound contemptuous, this one did. You bit back a smile, pressing your lips together to hold back a snicker. Apparently the two of you had made an impression during your last visit.

“It’s me.”

You lost the battle with your laughter at Din’s utterly deadpan response. A choked giggle escaped your throat, echoing through the cavernous, marble-paved entryway, and with embarrassment flaring in your cheeks, you forced yourself to turn away for fear that more would follow.

Cool and posh as ever, the protocol droid continued, “I don’t imagine you are interested in making an appointment?”

“That’s right.”

The TC once more glanced from Din to you and then back again. “…One moment, sir.” Tapping through several layers of command menus on the desk’s datapad, you watched as it brought the built-in comm link crackling to life. “Pardon me, High Magistrate, if I may interrupt.”

A moment of silence passed, tense between the droid’s displeasure and Din’s complete impassiveness, and then Karga’s voice, deep and commanding and clearly aggravated, floated through the open channel. “What is it?”

“You have visitors here to see you, sir. That…rather insistent Mandalorian fellow and two companions.”

On the other end of the comm link, the older man’s attitude seemed to soften almost immediately. A booming chuckle made its way across the connection, and Karga readily replied, “Send them up, 48.”

You were certain that if it had been capable, the protocol droid would have sighed. “Yes, High Magistrate.” As the comm link fell silent, the TC unit redirected its attention back to the three of you. “Would you like an escort, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. I remember the way.”

And without another word, Din steered you away from the reception desk and down the hall.

“Thank you!” you called over your shoulder, more laughter leaking its way into your voice as your bounty hunter swiftly and confidently swept you around the corner. Glancing up at his expressionless visor, you added, “Are you always that rude to droids?”

Din shrugged, one pauldron gleaming in the golden afternoon light that streamed through the tall windows lining the empty hallway. “Not all of them. Just the ones that get in my way. Which is most of them,” he confessed. “That one in particular is…pompous.”

You snorted and shook your head. “You’re not wrong.”

“What’s so funny?” You could feel his fingers slip from their rather neutral position against your lower back, wrapping around your waist and squeezing teasingly. You swore you could feel your heart stutter in your chest at the unexpected contact. Was Din being…playful? The long-suffering, stoic, beskar-clad warrior…flirting? Dank farrik, as if you could love him more.

“Nothing!” you insisted, the poorly concealed grin tugging at the corners of your lips belying your words. “You’re just cute when you’re grumpy.”

Din very pointedly did not dignify that assertion with a response.

A handful of turns and a brief flight of stairs later, and Karga’s glass-walled office appeared before you. You tried not to feel too disappointed when the bounty hunter’s hand dropped from its hold on the dip of your waist, though you thought you might have failed at that when you felt Grogu offer you a gentle, consolatory pat on the shoulder from his carrier. The gesture had your mouth curling up again almost immediately, and you reached behind you leave a fond scritch behind one of the little guy’s massive ears.

As you had come to expect, Greef Karga’s welcome was warm and enthusiastic when Din shouldered open the double doors. “Ah! Mando!” he exclaimed, rising from his seat in his oversized desk chair, thick arms wide as though to embrace you from afar. “Welcome back!”

The bounty hunter inclined his helmet at the magistrate and crossed the stretch of the office floor in a handful of long strides. “It’s good to be back,” he replied, more earnest than you had expected. Glancing down at one of the chairs settled across from Karga’s desk, you watched as he realized that his guild agent was not alone in the room. With a note of pleasant surprise, he added, “Marshal Dune.”

The chair spun around, allowing you to see its occupant for the first time, and you felt yourself hesitate in the doorway as a striking woman with jet-black hair, blue-painted pauldrons, and a tiny Rebellion tattoo on her cheek rose to her feet. Offering Din a half-smile, she clasped his forearm in greeting – like a fellow warrior. “It’s been too long. Always nice to see you in one piece,” she said, her voice low and warm. Her dark eyes met yours then, and she cocked her head in your direction. “New friend?” she asked with interest.

The Mandalorian seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying, “Relatively new.”

You took that as your cue to step forward. Closing the distance between you, you extended your hand for the woman to shake, offering her your name.

“Cara Dune,” she replied, the grip of her gloved hand firm and unwavering around yours. You noticed she had a strip of grooved armor molded to the backs of her knuckles, and a jolt of intimidation shot through you at the sight. This woman had brass knuckles built into her uniform – painted blue to match her pauldrons.

“We were in a bit of a hurry the last time we were in the area,” Din continued, oblivious to your unease. “Didn’t exactly have the chance to stop by and say hello.”

The woman – Marshal Dune – grinned wryly at that. “Of course. When aren’t you jetting off on some new quest?”

Karga chuckled low in his chest. “I assume you’re here on business, Mando?” he prompted.

At that, the bounty hunter reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and drew out an overflowing handful of dormant tracking fobs, laying them out in a jumbled pile on the magistrate’s desk. “The five remaining bounties – present and accounted for. Your crew is unloading them now.”

The older man quirked a pointed eyebrow at the sight. “All in carbonite this time, hm?” The marshal glanced, bemused, between Karga to the Mandalorian, clearly not understanding the implication, and you pressed your lips together to smother an embarrassed grin.

For his part, Din appeared nonplussed. “All but one,” he agreed readily.

“Mando…” Karga groaned, drawing the name out with something like exasperation.

“The fifth one is dead. I have proof of the kill. It’s on ice.”

Cara Dune snorted, crossing her bare, muscular arms over her chest. “Charming.”

Karga rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. “Very well.” Extending a hand toward Din, he beckoned him forward, encouraging him around to the other side of the desk. “Come, let’s get your compensation squared away, and you can tell me all about your plans now that you’ve run my supply of bounties dry.”

You thought the guild agent might have glanced at you with interest as he spoke, but you couldn’t swear to it.

“So,” Cara said pointedly, a single eyebrow raised.

Now, she definitely was looking at you.

“How did you meet our favorite tin can?” she asked with a smirk.

You opened your mouth to reply but then hesitated, uncertain of her reaction if you were to tell her the truth. Would it make her suspicious of you? Would it make her angry with Din? She was the marshal, after all. But the two seemed to be friends, and you recalled weeks ago, when you had been attempting to determine where you would go after he had freed you, that he had offered to put you in contact with the marshal on Nevarro – that she was a friend and that she would help you find a safe place to live. He wouldn’t have offered that if he didn’t trust her.

“I…was a quarry,” you admitted haltingly.

You realized then that you desperately wanted this woman, who Din clearly respected and saw as an equal, to like you, and you cursed the weakness in your voice, your hesitance.

Cara, however, seemed completely unbothered. “Damn,” she laughed. “He really is getting soft in his old age. Once with the kid, that was an anomaly. But twice? You must have really left an impression.”

You felt your cheeks warm at her ribbing tone, heavy with implication. Attempting to brush it off, you simply replied, “Mando is…kinder than he looks.”

At that, the other woman’s smile softened, becoming more genuine and less needling. “Oh, I know it. Chivalrous to a fault. He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’s a good man.” With a fond brusqueness, she reached out and chuffed Grogu on top of his downy head, eliciting a giggle from the boy. “He takes care of his people.”

Something in your chest warmed and softened, and you offered her a small, genuine smile in return. “Yeah, he does.”

“You two planning to stick around for a while?”

You nodded. “A couple days, I think. Mando’s promised me a hot meal before we start another stretch in hyperspace.” Grogu cooed in agreement, making the characteristic smacking noises with his mouth that you had come to understand indicated hunger.

“I hear that,” Cara scoffed with laughter. “Space food gets old pretty quick. You know, I’m about to clock out for the night. Why don’t I take you to Ninda’s? It’s a newer place, just opened a month or two ago, but they make the best smapp pot pies I’ve ever had in the Outer Rim, and it’s not overcrowded, so maybe the big guy will actually let his guard down for once and enjoy himself.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose – ”

She shook her head, waving away your protest. “Not at all. I’d appreciate the company. And you two can fill me in on what’s been going on outside Nevarro space.”

There was something almost longing about the way she said it, as though a part of her was mourning her tether to the planet, to her position. “Have you been here long?” you asked, intrigued.

“Almost two years now.” Leaning back on the desk behind her, she braced her palms against the edge of it, crossing one leg over the other casually. “It’s stable. Relatively safe. Karga’s a fair leader, and the work is good. But staying in one place this long… Guess I’m still getting used to it.”

You nodded your understanding, revealing, “I’m the opposite. I was only ever in one place my entire life. Until…very recently.”

“Which do you prefer? Now that you’ve done both,” she asked.

“Hm.” You propped your own hip against the desk, mulling it over. You had never really considered it before. You appreciated the worldliness that being a part of Din’s crew had gifted you. You enjoyed getting to experience other planets, other species, other cultures. Your day spent in the bazaar on Trevi IV forever would be one of your most treasured memories – the wonder and the joy of getting to immerse yourself in a new place was something that you would carry with you for the rest of your life.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that perhaps it wasn’t the new planets or the new cultures that you found most rewarding. Perhaps it was the fact that you had gotten to have those experiences side-by-side with Din.

“Truthfully,” you admitted, “I think I could be happy anywhere. As long as – ”

“As long as you’re with him?” Cara interjected, a smile on her face. “That’s what I thought.”

You looked away, suddenly deeply interested in the pattern of scuffs on the toe of your boot, the other woman’s immediate perception more than you could bear. “Is it that obvious?”

She shrugged. “Maybe not to everyone. But I know what it looks like when he’s found someone he wants to protect.”

Your eyes met hers again, and you felt an understanding settle between the two of you. Whatever it was she could discern of your relationship with Din from the outside, it was clear she approved of it, and your relief at that was almost tangible.

Before you could respond, however, the bounty hunter in question approached, tucking several weighty bags of credits into his belt as he did.

“Karga has offered to put us up for the night,” he said, brushing his leather-clad knuckles against your elbow as though to get your attention. You flushed at the casual touch, feeling Cara’s sharp gaze following his every move. “I’d like to go pick up the keys to the room, but then we can get dinner. What are you in the mood for, cyare?”

You felt yourself melt just that little bit more at the consideration, knowing that all of your softness for him was written all over your face as you replied, “Actually, Marshal Dune has offered to take us to…Nina’s?” You glanced over to her for confirmation.

“Ninda’s,” she corrected. Her grin was smug, her arms folded across her chest once again as she assessed the two of you.

“Ninda’s.”

The Mandalorian seemed to consider the offer for a moment before nodding once. “That’s very generous, Marshal. All right, if that’s what you want to do, we’ll go there.”

Grogu released a squeal of happiness directly into your ear at that moment, and you winced even as you joined the others in laughing in response. With any luck, this evening wouldn’t prove to be too awkward.

---

“Your girl’s a sweetheart.”

Din Djarin pulled his gaze from where it had naturally settled – watching you as you ambled along behind Grogu several yards from where he and Cara Dune still sat. Dinner at the cantina the marshal had recommended had been a pleasant affair (he was looking forward to enjoying his pot pie in the anonymity of their room at the inn later), but the kid had started to get restless as the adults at the table seemed perfectly content to continue catching up well into the evening. You had taken pity on him, in tune with his needs as you were, and had offered to take him out onto the open-air patio to explore. Din, of course, hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from following your every move from the moment you stood up from the table, and Dune had, of course, noticed.

Refocusing his attention, the bounty hunter took in the amused look flashing in her dark eyes. She leaned heavily against the back of her chair, her second mug of ale cupped casually in her hand as she assessed him.

“She is,” he agreed easily. It was completely unsurprising to him that Dune had taken a liking to you. You were easy to like – sweet, kind, shockingly intelligent. He had known that the two of you would get along. Running into Dune at Karga’s office had simply saved him a trip to the law enforcement office to introduce you.

“So how long has this been going on?”

Din weighed his words for a beat before responding. “It’s…new. Very new.”

It had only been a handful of days since Maramere, though already being with you felt as natural as breathing. He wasn’t certain whether that was because he had been carrying a torch for you for so many months, or if it was simply a testament to your compatibility, but either way, in just a few short days, you had managed to bind yourself irreversibly to his heart, like you had always been there.

As though she had been reading his mind, the marshal replied, “Hm. Could have fooled me. The way you two are together, it’s…easy. Doesn’t feel new.”

The bounty hunter grinned behind his helmet, certain the expression could be heard in his voice. “I know.”

“So is she it for you?” Dune nudged his shoulder with hers, knocking against his pauldron as she downed the rest of her ale. “Finally gonna settle down, take your kid and your girl, find a piece of land someplace and just…live?”

At that, the Mandalorian felt himself hesitate, and in that silent moment, he could see the possibilities stretched out before him as clearly as if he were standing there now. A little house at sunset, cast in warm, golden light, modest in size but more than enough for his clan of three. You on the front porch, reclined in a wicker chair, your hair loose and long around your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the sun. Grogu giggling on your lap.

His Mudhorn signet on a pendant around your neck. Your belly soft and round with his ad.

Din banished the vision as soon as it had appeared, shoving the acute sense of longing that squeezed his ribcage deep inside himself. “…I want to,” he rasped, his voice tight. “But I can’t. Not yet.”

The marshal arched a brow at that. “What’s stopping you?”

“I need to get Grogu to a Jedi.”

“Okay, sure.” She waved her empty mug dismissively, clearly unimpressed with the response. “So you find a Jedi, you take the kid to them, then what?”

Then what?

The bounty hunter had been asking himself that question endlessly over the last few days. It had been a question before, of course, but after what had transpired on the shores of Maramere, the consequences of that question had grown even heavier, even more complex. There was a time when he had assumed that once Grogu was no longer in the picture, you would leave the Razor Crest – that you would ask him to drop you off at some shipbuilding hub like Corellia or Eriadu, somewhere that you could put your considerable skillset to good use now that there wasn’t a tiny green toddler in need of a babysitter. Then, he had determined that he would simply go back to bounty hunting. Perhaps Karga would be kind enough to put him in touch with one of his colleagues at the Guild, someone in need of hunters of his caliber who might actually have a sufficient stream of work for him.

It would be a lonely existence, going from caring for two other beings to being on his own once more, and Din didn’t relish the thought, but he would survive. He had done so for years before Grogu came into his life; he could do it again.

Now, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that when Grogu was gone, you would remain. He knew you well enough to know that you would not willingly choose to be separated from him now, not after the things that you had confessed to him, bare and impossibly close in the cramped quarters of his bunk. And he certainly did not want you to leave.

But the warm bubble of newfound intimacy had burst the moment the Crest had landed on Nevarro, and as much as he cursed himself for it, he could not seem to quiet the doubts hovering ever-present at the back of his mind.

Eventually, he replied, “Then…I don’t know.”

Unfortunately, such an ambiguous answer was unacceptable to Cara Dune. Decisive, quick-to-action, fiery Cara Dune. Rolling her eyes at him, she sat up straighter in her chair, slamming her mug onto the table in a gesture that had several other cantina patrons glancing her way in concern. “Do you love her?” she demanded.

Din sighed, steeling himself for the unpleasant conversation now looming on the horizon. “Yes.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I’m not getting into this now,” he said stiffly, his jaw tight.

Dune groaned dramatically and leaned toward him. “Din. Look at me.”

The bounty hunter startled at the use of his name, and he obeyed on instinct, meeting her flinty eyes through his visor. Although she had learned his name during their run-in with Moff Gideon over a year ago, she had never used it before now, choosing to continue calling him “Mando.”

“Do you remember Sorgan?” she asked.

Din frowned, cocking his head in confusion. “Of course, I do.” The swamp planet where they had met. How could he forget? And what was she getting at?

“Do you remember Omera?”

Dank farrik. Omera.

The Mandalorian felt an uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach at the mention of her name, and he fought the urge to stand up out of his seat right then and walk out the door. But before he could think of anything cutting to say in response, Dune plowed on.

“Omera cared for you, and you cared for her,” she said severely, maintaining unforgiving eye contact as she spoke. “And when you had to leave, when you had to take Grogu away to protect her village, it hurt you. I gave you a hard time about it then, but I saw how it affected you. You wanted that life. You wanted that safe, quiet, stable life with your little boy and someone who loved you. And you couldn’t have it then, but you could have it now.”

Maker, Din hated how right she was. It had been so long since they had spent any real time together; he had almost forgotten that charming quality of hers. Cara had always had a talent for cutting right to the heart of a situation, for breaking down barriers and seeing things as they were even when others attempted to brush them under the proverbial rug. This time, it had a wave of defensiveness rolling through him, setting his teeth on edge and sending a flash of heat up the back of his neck.

“What’s your point?” he spat, seething.

“My point is, that girl?” The ex-Shock Trooper jammed her thumb in your direction with a sharp gesture. Thankfully, you didn’t notice, as you were still fully occupied with Grogu, watching as he plucked weeds from between the flagstones on the patio and held them up for you to see. “That girl would follow you anywhere. To the end of the galaxy and back. So if you have any doubts, if you think that this isn’t going to work out, you need to tell her now. She doesn’t deserve to be strung along while you figure out what you want.”

The Mandalorian was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. Hackles now officially raised, he said, “I’m not stringing her along. It’s not that, not…exactly.”

Dune inclined her head at him, spreading her hands wide in front of her as if to silently say, “Go on.”

Kriffing hells. She was going to make him say it. Thankful for the impassivity of his helmet, Din felt a flush rising in his cheeks as he admitted, “In my Tribe…there is no precedent for marrying outside of the culture.”

It sounded absurd now that he said it out loud, for so many reasons, not the least of which being that it was certifiably insane behavior to be thinking so seriously about marriage this early into…whatever your relationship was. You had only been together for a handful of days, all of them in the relative insulation of hyperspace. If you knew what he was thinking, if you knew the permanence of the way he saw your future together, you would be well within your rights to run as far away as you could manage.

Dune, however, seemed completely unperturbed by this revelation. Instead, she focused on another portion of his confession entirely. “Wait, seriously? No Mandalorian has ever married someone who isn’t Mandalorian before? That can’t be right.”

“In other Tribes, I’m sure they have. But my covert, my people, they follow the old Ways. If she were willing to convert, to take the Creed and become Mandalorian herself, no one would protest it.”

The marshal quirked an eyebrow. “And if she didn’t?”

“I don’t know.” Din looked down at the table in front of him, studying the grain of the wood, the glistening, wet rings left behind by the abandoned mugs of ale. “Like I said, there’s no precedent for it. I would need to seek the guidance of the naur’alor.”

“The armorer? The one we ran into down in the sewers after your covert was sacked?”

He nodded once. “Yes. I have no idea where she is now.”

“Well, you’ve got to be the most skilled bounty hunter in the Outer Rim at this point,” Dune said wryly. “Sounds like if anyone could track her down, it would be you.” The Mandalorian shrugged at that, not agreeing exactly but not protesting the assertion, either. “Well. I’ll leave it alone for now. But can I offer you a piece of advice, from one warrior to another?”

Letting out a long sigh, he finally met her gaze once again. “If I say no, will you do it anyway?”

“Probably.”

“Then go ahead.”

Din watched as her hard face softened somewhat, warmed in the long shadows of the setting Nevarran sun streaming through the open archway onto the patio. “People like you and me, we don’t often get to experience the…soft parts of life. The good parts. All we ever get to see is the pain. The blood and the cruelty. The never-ending fight to survive.” Pensive, she ran the tips of her fingers over the blue armored brass knuckles molded across the backs of her gloves. “If this girl can give you peace, I think you need to do whatever you have to do to hang onto that. I hope your armorer gives you her blessing, I really do. But if she doesn’t…” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to think about what life would look like if you decided you didn’t give a shit about what anyone else says. You said it yourself. There’s more than one way to be Mandalorian.”

He swallowed thickly, the rush of fondness he felt for her friendship diluted somewhat by the sheer panic such an idea induced. Go against the naur’alor? Defy the Creed? His voice was gruff with emotion as he admitted, “I…don’t know any other way.”

“Maybe not. But you could learn.”

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, Din looked away, casting about desperately for a new topic of conversation, anything to direct that discerning gaze away from him and all of the uncharacteristic vulnerability she had managed to pull from the depths of him this evening. Eventually, after a moment or two of charged silence, he settled on spinning the tables back on her.

“What about you?” he asked. “Have you found those…soft parts, here on Nevarro? That peace?”

The marshal scoffed good-naturedly, seemingly willing to allow the redirection. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest with a grin. “Still searching, I’m afraid. Now that you mention it, though, I do have one more question for you.”

“Hm?”

“That girl of yours, she have a sister?”

A startled laugh burst from Din’s chest, crackling and warping through his vocoder. Out on the patio, you glanced over your shoulder at the sound, sending both him and Cara a blinding smile. Fuck. Honestly, he could understand the sentiment. You really were stunning.

---

Grogu only lasted another half an hour wandering around outside Ninda’s Cantina before he began whining to be picked up and held. Wide, dark eyes bleary in the setting sun, Din watched as you expertly nestled the boy against your breast, murmuring softly to him as you ran your fingertips over his downy white hair. Pillowing his little head against you, he looked ready to pass out at any moment.

The bounty hunter took that as his cue to take his leave of Marshal Dune for the evening in favor of escorting you back to the inn for the night. Karga had used his political privileges to get the three of you a room at the most popular establishment in town. Din had, of course, offered to pay for the room himself, but Karga refused to have any of it. He could still feel the flush that had crept up under his cowl at the waggling eyebrows the older man had given him when he revealed that the room boasted a massive, single bed.

He hoped the revelation wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, but given that you had been sleeping spooned against him in the too-small quarters of his bunk for the last several days anyway, he assumed you would be in favor of the arrangement.

As he held the door open for you and bid you to enter first, his assumption proved correct almost immediately.

“Din!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm hushed so as not to disturb the snoozing child in your arms. You took in the room with round, almost starstruck eyes – the polished, dark wood floor, the lush area rugs, the eclectic, tasteful art on the walls, and the truly giant bed that surely would have taken up half of the cargo hold on the Razor Crest piled high with thick down comforters and more fluffy pillows than he could count. Soft, incandescent orbs hovered near the ceiling in the center of the room, casting the entire space in warm light, and in the middle of a plush seating area, a basket of fruit and a glass pitcher of some kind of beverage, dripping with condensation, had been left on a low coffee table.

“This is so nice! Have you been here before?”

Din shook his head. “No, never.”

“I hope we didn’t put Karga out too much staying here for a couple days.”

Removing his satchel, he dropped it into one of the overstuffed armchairs then reached for yours to do the same. “Don’t worry about him. Karga might be the richest man in the parsec these days. He can afford a two-day room fee.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “I suppose you’re right.” Wandering into the attached refresher, you flicked on the light only to gasp delightedly, “Din! They have a bathtub!” You peaked your head around the doorframe then, a wicked smile on your face. “It’s big enough for two.”

The image of you luxuriating in an oversized tub, your long hair piled on top of your head, only your shoulders and kneecaps visible above the bubbles flashed through his mind then. Settling in behind you, cradling you back against his chest, the soft globes of your ass cupping the length of his cock as he played with your soapy tits. Running fervid kisses down the length of your neck, gripping your waist, pulling open your thighs, seeking the heat between your legs with his fingers as you moaned into his ear –

Kriffing hells. He needed to get ahold of himself. The two of you were not alone. Grogu was still very much in the room, and although he was dozing now, Din could not count on that lasting long enough to do everything he knew he would want to do to you in that tub. Or in that massive, glorious bed. For a brief moment, the Mandalorian cursed the lack of privacy.

But then, dropping his gaze from your teasing grin, he took in the image of the child he had cared for for so long, his wrinkly little face serene in your arms, so tiny and helpless and yet also not. Grogu possessed powers Din could never comprehend, could never hope to foster. And Maker forbid that those powers grow into something that Grogu couldn’t control. The bounty hunter would be severely ill-equipped to intervene in that eventuality. Finding a Jedi to help him, to train him and protect him, was the best he could offer given the circumstances; he knew it to be true, to the core of his being.

So why did it feel like preparing to sever a part of himself, to contemplate letting him go?

Realizing you were waiting on a response, Din offered you a wan smile behind his helmet, hoping you could sense it in his voice. “Tempting, cyar’ika. Very tempting.”  

You, however, were too perceptive for your own good. Eyebrows drawing together in concern, you observed, “You’re thinking about Tython.”

The Mandalorian sighed, hesitating for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes.”

“We don’t have to take him, you know. We could just…keep him.”

He wished you wouldn’t say that. He knew you meant well, that you were simply trying to cheer him up, but you knew as well as he did why this was the only way forward. To imply that he had another choice was less than helpful. “You know I can’t do that,” he retorted, impatience and annoyance filtering into his voice.

You blinked back at him, eyes wide as it dawned on you that perhaps now wasn’t the time to make light of the situation. Offering him an apologetic smile, you exited the ‘fresher and came to stand next to him at the foot of the bed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The three of you stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant hum of the Nevarran nightlife on the street outside waking with the oncoming dusk. Stomach sour, Din took one of your hands in his in the quiet, running the leathery pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles. He shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You brought his hand to your mouth and dropped a kiss to the back of his glove. All is forgiven, it seemed to say.

“Well, if we’ve only got two more nights,” you began, “let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

The bounty hunter felt his eyebrows raise, and he met your gaze with his. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

A secret smile quirked the corners of your lips, and then you were passing Grogu off to him, slipping his empty carrier off your body, and toeing off your boots.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” you said. “Why don’t you get comfy while I get everything set up?”

“Get…comfy?”

Waving toward the bed, which took up the majority of the room, you chuckled to yourself. “Yes! Take off your armor and get in the bed. Take Grogu with you. Now, where is the holoprojector in here?”

As Din kicked off his boots and began removing his beskar piece by piece, he watched as you scanned the room, looking along the floor, the ceiling, and even in the dark wooden wardrobe along the far wall. Eventually, you uncovered a control panel tucked discretely into a piece of decor designed to look like a bookend and made a triumphant noise.

“Ah, there it is!” A few experimental button presses later, and a small holoprojector dropped down from the ceiling, just a few feet from the end of the bed. “Now, let’s see what they’ve got in their database…” You thumbed through the welcome screen, pulling up an interface with seemingly countless holovid options organized by planet of origin, genre, and original broadcast language. You scanned through a few but didn’t seem to see anything that caught your eye immediately. Clearly overwhelmed by the available choices, eventually you asked, “Do you have any favorite holovids from when you were a kid?”

By this time, the bounty hunter, clad in only his flight suit and his helmet, had settled himself in the bed, propped up against the thickly upholstered headboard with a mound of pillows behind his back. In his lap, Grogu had begun to stir, and he watched you work with interest, his ears quirked up, eyes wide.

“I don’t think so…” Din trailed off, considering. In the Fighting Corps on Concordia, holovids were rare commodities, traded between the older children on encrypted datapads in exchange for better duty shifts or coveted snacks from the cafeteria. The commanders had believed that such forms of entertainment were frivolous and unnecessary, and in what little leisure time their foundlings were granted, they had been encouraged to spend time reading cultural and military histories, or at the very least Mandalorian folklore. And before Concordia… Well. His memories of his birth parents were few and far between. When he thought of them, all he could see was the day the Separatists attacked.

Except…

“Wait.”

You looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Knights of the Old Republic.” The name left his lips before it had even fully formed in his memory. “I remember watching Knights of the Old Republic. With my parents on Aq Vetina.”

And he did remember it. Soft linen pajamas, a woolen blanket, his body warm with the soft presence of his mother on his right, his father on his left. The faint blue tinge of the holoprojector in their living room, blaster fire and lightsabers flashing across the viewer. He had been so small then, no more than 7 or 8 years old.

He hadn’t thought about that in…decades.

Your expression softened at his response, a fond smile on your lips. “I’ve heard of that. It’s an old, animated serial, right?”

Din flushed and brought up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Not old. But maybe…before your time.”

“Of course,” you soothed, smirking. Refocusing on the control panel before you, you continued, “Well, it looks like we’re in luck. They have all eight seasons in their database. Do you have a preference where we start?”

“Start at the beginning.”

You nodded once and selected the pilot episode, tagged with an original air date of nearly 40 years ago, and the holoprojector flared to life in the space a few feet from the bottom of the bed. Dimming the lights, you quickly stripped off your deep blue boilersuit and crawled in bed next to him, settling yourself against the extravagant pillows in nothing but your breast band and a pair of matching black undershorts. Grogu cooed at you happily, reaching out a tiny, three-clawed hand to fondle a lock of hair that had fallen from your braid.

And so, the three of you spent the evening huddled up in bed together as episode after episode of Knights of the Old Republic streamed in the background, and if Din blinked back a few tears as he watched you slowly nod off next to him, Grogu nestled between his body and yours, he supposed he could be forgiven for that. This was his family, his aliit, his clan of three, and no matter what happened on Tython, no one could take that from him.

---

If you're following along, you know where this is headed. Brace yourselves for a collision with canon events. Also, the KOTOR reference was a little treat for my husband, who proofreads every chapter for me before I post. I hope it brought my fellow gamers some joy. :)

Translations:

ad - child (son or daughter) naur’alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer. aliit - clan, identity, family

[namujoon9401]

Alpha F!OC x Omega!Hoseok

A/b/o au

He just barely manages to get his keys and open the door to his apartment with how Yunha’s positively devouring him.

The alpha is kissing him so aggressively that it’s honestly a little ridiculous. The scent of bergamot is thick in the room, almost like she’s putting out more of her scent on purpose.

“Yunha,” he huffs between kisses, a giggle bubbling up in his throat. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You're mine,” she murmurs against the omega’s throat.

Oh.

“Of course I am. What’s gotten into you-” he gasps against her lips, suddenly flustered.

“Didn't like the way that guy was looking at you.”

“What- ah, what guy?”

His head is spinning, she’s kissing him with such vigor that it’s hard to concentrate on the words coming out of her mouth.

“On the train. That guy was definitely checking you out.” She growls, nipping at the hollow of his throat, the spot blooming red.

There had, in fact, been a guy on the train, an older alpha with a receding hairline that was standing behind them on the crowded train. But he hadn’t been leering at Hoseok. Had he?

Ah. So that’s why Yunha had stood behind him.

He's pulled out of his thoughts as she kisses him again, grabbing his shoulders and walking him backwards until she's pushing him against the wall of the entryway.

She kisses him deep, her tongue licking into his mouth. The heat between them is intoxicating.

“Didn't take you to be- the possessive kind.” He pants.

She pulls back, pupils blown wide, her eyes suddenly worried.

“Too much, baby?”

God.

“No, no- its. Good. I like it.”

He tucks his face into her neck, blushing in embarrassment.

“Wanna show everyone I belong to you.” He whispers.

She growls, rough, kissing him deeply. She grips his hips hard, nails digging into soft skin and thumbs rubbing underneath his shirt as he gasps into the kiss.

“Yunha- ah-”

She kisses roughly, with bruising force, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue licking incessantly into his mouth.

Hoseok feels like he’s melting, the sensations overwhelming. It feels a little like he’s a live wire and all of his insulation has been stripped away, one raw nerve.

Kissing her feels so fucking good. He’s desperate for it, licking into her mouth like she’s the only water in the desert for miles and he’s dying of thirst.

And, god, she smells like- like desire and arousal and… dominance. Hoseok has the urge to just submit to the alpha, his instincts making him pliant and submissive in response to her pheromones.

If he wasn’t drunk on her scent before, well. He certainly is now.

She shoves a knee between his legs, savoring his responding gasp and whimper. He grinds down onto her thigh, mouth agape at the sparking pleasure that shoots up his spine, pooling low in his belly.

“Fuck! Yunha…”

She manhandles him to the couch and immediately pins him down, kissing him deep, all the while her chest rumbles in a pleased growl. His arms come up to wrap around her neck as they kiss hungrily.

“My pretty baby,” she rumbles. “Want me to mark you up? So you can show everyone how you belong to me, hm?”

“Yes- ah- want that…” Hoseok squirms, back arching and mouth open in a silent moan as she presses her knee up into him, hands skimming under his shirt, long nails scratching lightly at the soft skin.

She resumes her attack on his neck, biting and sucking marks in the delicate skin.

Hoseok feels dazed. He tilts his jaw up with a soft sigh as the alpha sucks red marks into his neck.

He’s still grinding on her, he realizes with a start. The hot trickle of pleasure licking its way up his spine hadn’t stopped after they moved to the couch, and now his hips are making pathetic little circles on her thigh.

Yunha hikes his shirt up, suddenly, bunching the fabric up to his armpits.

She lowers her mouth to his chest and he squeaks as she laves her tongue over smooth skin.

He knows he’s probably flushed pink down to his chest, but that doesn’t make the involuntary sound any less embarrassing.

He covers his face with his hands, flushing an even deeper crimson. If that’s even possible.

She pauses to move his hands away. Her eyes are dark, but soften as she sees the embarrassment written all over his face.

“Dont hide, baby. Wanna see you.” She smiles softly at him.

He just whines, looking away.

He gets so shy sometimes, feels self-conscious about his body, his lack of experience. It makes him feel inadequate, like he’s lesser somehow.

Hoseok does his best to dismiss those thoughts, and Yunha’s endless praises do help some, but.

It's hard.

she senses the shift in his mood and stops her ministrations, smoothing out his hair. He leans into her touch.

“Hey. You with me?”

“M’ sorry. I just-”

Horrifyingly, he realizes there’s tears welling up in his eyes and-

“Shit.”

He hides his face in his hands again and turns away as he sniffles.

“I’m sorry, I dunno- why I’m crying, this is s-so stupid-”

“Baby…”

She pulls him into a hug, burying her nose in his shoulder.

She doesn’t pressure him into talking about it, just lets him cry while silently supporting him.

“It’s just… I feel so insecure next to- to you, ‘cause you’re so pretty and-and I'm just-” he gestures at himself, his skinny body and average face.

He sniffles wetly. “A-and we were doing so good and- now I’ve ruined the mood.”

“Hoseokie… I know you don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful but trust me. You are.”

She strokes his hair soothingly.

“And you didn’t ruin anything.”

The tears have stopped by now, but he's left red-faced, swollen and congested and gross.

“And I love you no matter what.”

“I love you too.” He wipes his tears, wraps his arms around her neck.

Her tone turns teasing.

“Does the baby need some emotional support cuddles?”

“Yes please.” He has no shame in asking, still soft and vulnerable.

Yunha laughs softly.

The omega snuffles into her neck as she carries him to her bed.

He takes a whiff of her pillow while she steps out to the bathroom to get ready for bed. The scent of bergamot and fresh linens fills his nose. He sighs.

He moves the pillows, some strangely innate urge prompting him to ruffle the sheets a little bit. Then he does it some more. He pulls the duvet so that its bunched up at the head of the bed-

He’s nesting, he realizes with a start.

He blinks.

When was the last time he felt comfortable enough to do this in someone else’s bed?

“Getting comfy?” she says from the doorway, leaning against the wall.

Hoseok blushes, looking away.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No it's not. It’s perfectly natural.” She smiles softly.

“Look at you. Making a nest of my bed.” She coos, climbing in, giving the omega a soft kiss on the cheek.

Hoseok just buries his face in his hands.

She cups his face.

“You're so precious, babe.” She chuckles softly.

He just whines.

They snuggle for a bit, exchanging soft kisses. She wraps her arms around his waist and he slowly dozes off, feeling truly loved for the first time in a long time.

••••••••••

The next morning is. Eventful.

Hoseok wakes to the alpha snuffling in his neck. Her cold nose jolts him more awake and he huffs. She yawns, sleepily blinking up at him.

“Mornin’.” Her voice is raspy and Hoseok can't deny that it's kinda hot and their legs are tangled together, and her arms are wrapped around his waist and her soft chest is pressed against his back and he has to actively resist the urge to reach down and-

Wait. What?

The realization that his dick is hard comes down on him like a bucket of ice water.

He squirms, trying to get away, to do literally anything to put physical space between them.

Of course all this does is make things more awkward.

She pulls him in closer, sniffing at his hair. He panics slightly, eyes wide, forgetting that of course she can smell you freaking out, idiot, you’re so stupid-

“You okay?” Her voice is still raspy, deeper than usual, and-

God.

She can smell you getting turned on, too. Dumbass. “I'm sorry!”

“No no, this is good we can work with this.”

What.

She flips him over, pinning him down, grinning wide and he is suddenly overwhelmed with the surge of feeling in his chest.

He kisses her softly, suddenly feeling tender and loving for some reason.

Clearly she has other plans.

The alpha quickly deepens the kiss, licking into his mouth incessantly, like its the last thing she’ll ever do.

He hums into the kiss. He feels a bit lightheaded but he doesn’t care, he just savors the kiss, the taste of her lips, the memory of her tongue.

He kisses back, suddenly hungry for it, every press of her mouth and stroke of her tongue. He’s desperate, grabs at her shoulders and jaw and kisses her like he’s dying.

She breaks the kiss to climb on top of his lap, the heat from her skin suddenly burning through the thin layer of her pajamas and sending sparks of pleasure down his spine at every grind of delicious friction.

He pants into her mouth, moaning low every time her hips drag against his. He pants, licking into her mouth, desperate and needy.

Her eyes are dark with desire, lidded and glittering and looking like she wants to devour him.

“Can feel how much you want me, hm? You're so needy, baby. It's adorable.” She chuckles dangerously, not stopping her slow grind.

He gasps as she wedges a knee between his legs, pulling him into a more intense grind. The pleasure is white-hot, sparking the liquid fire pooling low in his belly.

She strokes at his hair.

“Please…” he whines, mouthing at her lips, the underside of her jaw, nuzzling into the decadent scent at her neck, all juicy bergamot and fresh laundry.

His mouth waters, opening his mouth to lap needily at the scent gland at the side of Yunha’s neck, whining softly.

“Shit, Hoseok-” she curses, growling low in her chest.

Her hand comes up to his neck, forcing his head to the side so she can sink her teeth into the tender flesh right below his scent gland, mere inches away from what would have been a mating bite.

“Fuck-” the bite feels way too good, it’s so much all once and it makes the omega dizzy, drunk on the scent of her desire.

[jawz]

i wish detrans narratives weren’t centered around looks, appearance. i want them to address the way it feels to live in pain in a surgically altered body- no, i need that to be addressed.

it’s not about aesthetics at the end of the day for me. or, the part that cares about aesthetics, that’s like 10% maybe, it’s an add-on. sure, it’s difficult to have a beard. and i have empathy for a young woman who finds herself suddenly half bald. like, that’s really fucking tough. but it is reversible or “fixable”. you know what is not reversible? what cannot be lasered away or covered with a wig? a mastectomy. I cannot just take estrogen and re-grow my breasts. and i am not left with a flat chest (i.e. a male chest, or a pre-pubertal female chest): there is too much tissue missing. it is an incomplete chest. the skin stretches tight over bone (bones which were slightly warped from years of binding, incidentally). My heart beats far too strongly against it. It’s as though you packed up boxes and forgot to insulate the breakable items with newspaper, bubble wrap, or cloth. there’s no buffer there. and the nerves are haywire, i often feel a deep below-skin itch on the bone itself but in order to scratch it i have to touch a piece of skin five inches to the left.

honestly, some of this verges on body horror territory, in my opinion. and i think that’s what ‘detrans allies’ et al, not to mention those who dismiss or ignore us, need to understand… opposition to surgical transition doesn’t, in my case, come from some political, anti-gender motive… it’s literally about physical comfort. it’s about the ability to live life in a body that works. and i care about this not just for detrans women, but for trans men too, or anyone who seeks a “gender affirming” mastectomy: i want people who have suffered dysphoria like me to live our lives in bodies that don’t hurt. sometimes the hurt isn’t clear until 5, 10 years later. sometimes you didn’t know how much it hurt because you took so many pills or had so many drinks you just couldn’t feel it anymore.

if there was a surgery like this that didn’t cause this kind of hurt, i’d support it wholeheartedly. I’m not sure how much clearer i can be.

[lesbianoms]

(Mrs. Doubtfire voice) Comfort is on the way, dear!

You seem like somebody who would love a dignified older lady pred. Someone with the air of Jessica Rabbit but the aged-like-blood wine grace of Lady Dimitrescu. Perhaps a “sugar mama” situation something-or-other.

Regardless, imagine if you were to come under the loving care of such a noble and elegant creature. Rubies on each finger and pearls dangling from the neck as she bends over you, turning over your pitiable, worried state. Yet, despite her care, there’s always the trace of a knowing smirk on her painted lips and the sense that she knows best.

“Why, my little dear. Whatever could be the matter with you, hm?” She takes your face in her hands and tilts your head from side to side, examining you.

You explain that things are stressful. The WORLD is stressful! And so very upsetting.

“Oh, but, my little love, you are confused.”

What could she mean by that?

“Why, there’s nothing wrong with the world at all. Do you know why?”

You shake your head. Things are pretty awful.

“My dear, I am your world. And, the last time I checked, there was nothing wrong with me at all.”

Before you can protest, she chuckles deeply and brushes a salt-and-pepper strand of hair from her face.

“Oh, I don’t mean to belittle your problems, darling. You just have more important things to worry about, you see?”

You don’t see.

“No? Let me give you a reminder, then, my dear…”

She smirks as she presses both of her palms to the back of your head, pushing you into a plushy ball belly wrapped in the fine, red satin of her dress. A belly you knew that you padded several times over…

“I think, when we are stressed with the troubles of life, it’s never a bad idea to return to our roots… to go home.”

A coaxing gurgle sounded below your ear, the fat quivering against you.

“And, would you listen to that, darling? Your home misses you.”

She bent down and gave you a teasing lick across the cheek, a sign of love to you more familiar than a kiss. Another deep chuckle bubbled up her long throat as you shivered.

“I think that you only need a different perspective on things… don’t you?”

You could always say “no,” of course, and she would respect it—but why would you? The welcome mat was already unrolling just for you, pink and beckoning…

———————————————

The madame of the house yawned luxuriously as she waddled off to bed. Her step was modified to a lopsided sway, what with the weight of one silly snack misaligning her center of gravity. Her bloated, engorged belly jutted out of a gap in her minky robe, wobbling freely. She smirked to herself as each step sent its contents sloshing thickly from side to side, its bubbler—you—in a state of dreamlike nirvana, fuzzy ecstasy, your mind as malleable as your body as your being rocked back and forth in a gooey wave. You moaned with each contact with the walls, each splash earning an involuntary moan.

“Thank you for being so cooperative in the bath, little love. I trust your stay is treating you kindly?”

She received a response—more of a bubbling than a word.

Bllluuurbbllblubb…

She smirked and gave her well-fed belly a firm rub.

“I thought so. And perhaps it would do you well to take a bit of a vacation, hm? Perhaps a few days? Your beloved home needs a bit more insulation, you know. I’m much too delicate for the cold, at my age…”

The chyme within churned, and her gut purred. More than happy to, of course.

“You will? What a generous little dear you are.” She grabbed her hanging underbelly and shook it playfully. “Unnnngh, and how generous I’ll be when I’m through with you!”

The satisfied lady ambled leisurely to her favorite chaise, falling backwards into it and sending her immense ball belly bouncing and sloshing. If you were whole before she flopped to the cushions, that jostling made short work of you. She yawned again and absently patted her incessantly jiggling gut. It would be a long weekend of digesting, and once you’d reconstituted, she was sure you would be singing a much cheerier tune…

All the better. Happier food was yummier food.

Hhhh I need this to happen to me right now

Thank you for the story! That does sound like a relaxing break… just being able to turn my brain off and focus on making my pred’s gut all noisy and full~

Also the line about the bath is pretty tantalizing and actually gives me an idea for something… hehe, I would love to just relax in that grumbly spa as I slowly become fat on her tummy 🥵

“Your new home” is a vore trope that drives me bananas. Uuuggh god I love it it’s so hot, and the line about the pink carpet rolling out <3

It’s so fitting that I can’t talk to her as I’m melting and I can only really communicate in sounds… plus, I’m probably too, uh, “distracted”, if you know what I mean

[telleroftime]

I think we're all missing the potential of traveling with Bowser for royal duties of some kind and having to go somewhere really cold.

Turtles don't like the cold right? So, just going with Bowser and at first he's fine because the airship is warm and he has a lot of natural heat thanks to being able to breathe fire. However the more he's there he gets all sluggish and complains and refuses to move because he's freezing. He's standing in one spot like >:( trying his best to not slip into some weird koopa form of hibernation.

Even better if you're nice and warm so he cuddles up with you like you're a heater or something.

I know theoretically there's spells and magic that can keep him toasty but the potential is right there-

I love this so much.

So reptiles, since they can't maintain their own body temperature, seek out warmth. Be that sunlight or a very warm human cough cough. Cold temperatures slow them down. They become sluggish. Dormant almost.

So just imagine a very slow moving Bowser who takes a while to reply to comments and doesn't engage much in conversation because he just can't. And if someone asks him what's wrong he just mumbles a "nothin'" and returns to zoning out. The King of the Koopas will never admit to being bested by the cold. Never. Nope. He'd do his best to act his normal boisterous self.

I feel like he also wouldn't admit the effect freezing temperatures have on him to you. He'd simply try and warm up by himself. He'd try and keep fire in his throat and let the heat bubble. His fists would be tightly closed and he'd slouch a little bit more. Anything to trap any remaining heat.

Well, he'd try to be discrete about it but there's only so much someone his size can hide, especially if it's from his partner.

And this would have to be in a foreign place since the Dark Lands aren't know to have any cold areas. It's all volcanoes and fire and charred land. To get Bowser is such a state - he'd have to be in a foreign kingdom.

When whatever meeting or negotiation is complete, or as much done with as his completely out of it state allows (you'd probably have to finish any remaining phrases in his stead), he'd walk straight back to the guest room with you in tow. If there's stairs in the way you'd have to help push him up them because he'd definitely struggle.

And when you get to the room you'd have to get straight to work.

Bowser would collapse on the bed, that's a given, so it'd be up to you to wrap him in blankets. And there's have to be many blankets. Pillows, furs, anything and everything to trap heat it. Insulation if you will. And, you've he'd use you as a heater - well that's exactly what happens.

Imagine snuggled with him, his arms fully wrapped around you and you pressed against his scales. At that point Bowser is acting on impulse and instinct. He's cold to the touch with the only remaining heat being what's left of the fire in his chest, and realistically you'd end up shivering too. Heat spreads and it'd spread out of you. However, eventually, that heat will bounce right back with the layers of blankets around you.

You, quite literally, will be a heater for him.

It won't be enough heat to fully energise him, but he'd be able to focus a bit more. It'd be enough heat for the two of you to make it back to the airships in the morning or however long you'd choose to doze for.

And when you do get back, just imagine being wrapped with a giant, Bowser-sized blanket as he cuddles up with you. Both of you would be able to get comfortably warm in the comfortable heat of the captain's quarters.

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter thirty-two (ot8)

chapter thirty-two: the quiet in the snow

chapter summary: after spending christmas with yunho's family, you're feeling emotionally raw, memories brought to the surface that you haven't thought of in years. but yunho stays, and he helps.

note: thank you all so much for your response to the last chapter. i was so nervous to share it, but i've gotten an overwhelming number of kind and thoughtful messages. for those of you that have told me the holidays are hard for you because of loss and that this chapter gave you comfort, i'm so grateful for your words, i can't even begin to articulate it correctly but just know i spent a good chunk of time crying my eyes out at your messages. x

warnings: discussions of grief, loss, and past trauma/character death

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 3.8K

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In the morning, the city is blanketed with a thick layer of snow. You know it almost instantly when you open your eyes, the way the light in the room has shifted blue and the sound of the world around you is muffled, insulated and nearly silent. 

Yunho is still asleep when you venture out of your room, but then again so is the rest of the city. It’s early, only six, morning light only just now starting to stretch through the sky. He’s peaceful when he’s sleeping, head back against the pillows and his lips parted, features fully relaxed and smooth. You settle on the couch by his feet, cozying inside the excess blanket and rest a hand on his leg. He’s a heavy sleeper normally, almost impossible to wake, but this morning he starts to move immediately. 

You’re looking out the window when he first stirs. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice thick with sleep and bleary. 

He’s a bit of a mess, his hair bent funny in the back from sleep and his cheeks pink. You smile softly and shake your head, “Nothing, I just woke up a little too early.”

He looks you over, and you know he’s thinking about the night before. The way he rocked you tightly against his chest, his lips against your hair and his hand a steady calming rhythm up and down your back. He whispered promises to you as you slipped into sleep, some you’re sure he thinks you didn’t hear, but you did.  The way he looks at you now makes your chest ache. 

Yunho pushes himself into a sitting position, immediately tossing the blanket back over your legs when his movements pull it off you, “Are you sure?” 

“Mhm,” you sigh, letting him pull you into his side and wrap the blanket back around you both. You do feel a bit better after sleep, or at least the sharp sting of grief isn’t so fresh. 

He’s quiet for a few moments, holding you, but then he says, “It snowed?” 

“A lot,” you nod, “It looks pretty,” 

“I love snow,” he grins wide, just the idea of it starting to wake him up. 

“Me too,” 

He drops a kiss on your temple and shifts back, “Let’s go for a walk,” 

“Now?” 

He nods, enthusiastic and smiling, and you’ve never seen him quite so awake first thing in the morning but you like it. His energy is bubbling, infectious, and exactly what you need after a night like last night. 

“Okay,” you smile, “it’s early there’s probably no one out,” 

“Exactly,” he jumps up and locates his suitcase, sliding it out from behind the arm of the couch and flipping it open. He digs through it and locates what he needs, a long sleeve top and a heavy sweatshirt, and quickly changes. He glances over at you, “Do you have something warm enough?” 

“This is fine, I think,” you gesture to yourself. You were still dressed in your thick black leggings from last night and heavy socks, and the thick cream cable knit sweater you tossed on this morning should be enough with your coat.

He narrows his eyes and then roots around in his bag again, producing a thick green scarf. “Here,” he wraps it around your neck and fluffs it up so that it sits warmly around your neck, brushing the bottom of your chin, “I don’t want you getting sick.” 

In another life, he’s the kind of man you could love for a long time. The thought flits through your brain as he smiles at you, and your chest tightens - an ache deep inside you that you’ve been trying to ignore. 

Your thoughts snap back when he drops your coat over your shoulders, and quietly, you both slip out of the apartment together and make your way down to the quiet road. The snow is higher than you expected, at least sixteen centimeters, and in the distance you can hear the sound of a plow scraping against the asphalt. 

“This is so perfect,” Yunho says, and from the way his eyes are crinkled up you know he’s smiling beneath his face mask. He adjusts his cap, bringing it a little lower on his forehead and over his eyes and then with a jerk of his head he says, “This way,” 

You wind through the streets around his family home, both quietly easing into the day ahead and enjoying the absolute silence of the city. 

“It’s pretty here,” You murmur as you pass through a large intersection and up a walkway that leads into a thicket of trees and lamp posts. 

“Mm,” he sighs, “I always liked it growing up,” 

You nod and tuck your hands in your pockets, “Would you come back, someday? Later, I mean,” 

He considers your question and then shakes his head, “I don’t know,” he says honestly, “maybe. I don’t want to be far from my family forever,” 

“You seem close,” you murmur. 

He nods, “We are. My job makes it hard, but we are. I don’t like missing so much,” 

“How often do you get to see them, really?” In all the time you’ve lived with the boys, this is the first time he’s visited home. For the other members too, with the exception of Wooyoung who makes it a point to spend time with his younger brother, it’s been a long time. 

“A couple of times a year,” he says, shrugging, “Seonghwa, San, and I live the farthest from Seoul. It’s harder to come home unless we have a long break,” 

“And that doesn’t happen often?” You surmise. 

“No,” he shakes his head, eyes downcast. 

“Did you know it would be like this?” You ask him, trudging through an unplowed part of the road. 

“What do you mean?” He glances at you. 

“Your life as an idol,” you murmur, “did you know your time would be like this?” 

He nods immediately, “Yes,” but he sighs, “but knowing it and experiencing it are different things. It can be hard, and being busy doesn’t always mean you miss people less.” 

His words resonate, and your steps slow. You’ve stayed busy the past four years, and found ways of finding normalcy, but it’s always there, the unresolved longing. 

Yunho makes it several feet ahead of you before he realizes you’re no longer by his side, and you watch him turn on his heel to find you. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and you’re starting to hate those words on his lips. Not his kindness, but the fact that you’ve made him worry enough to keep asking. 

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head and move towards him, “I just know what you mean.” 

“I wish you didn’t,” he confesses. 

“Mm,” you hum, looking to your left into the snow covered park, needing a moment away from his soft gaze. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says finally with a heavy exhale, “I hope being home with me hasn’t made things harder.” 

You shake your head, smiling under your mask a little, but keep your eyes watching the snow that catches on the wind and swirls through the trees at the edge of your eye line. “It’s always hard,” you tell him, letting yourself be honest. 

He smooths his hand over your shoulder, “I don’t like seeing you cry, sweetheart,” 

Your stomach clenches, the prickling sensation of warmth at the back of your vision, but you blink it away and shake your head, “Let’s keep walking,” 

He follows you forward, leaving a bit of space between you, moving with you like a magnet, always perfectly shifting with you to try and keep you comfortable. 

After a little while longer walking, winding through the yawning city he jogs forwards suddenly, trudging through snow, “Look at this,” 

You follow him forward turning the corner but he stops and you nearly run into his back, catching yourself on his coat. He laughs, looking down and tucks you under his arm before he points down the street towards a particular shop front in the row of others, “See that one? With the red doors?” 

“Mhm,” You glance up at him, his eyes shining. 

“That’s my old dance academy,” He looks down at you, grinning, “I guess I just led us here on muscle memory,” 

You peer around the corner with him, “So, this is where you grew up?” 

He nods, “I spent all my time here,” 

“Making you who you are today,” You tease him a little, and he tuts. 

He pulls you back around the corner and juts his head in the other direction, “We should probably not be in the center of Star Street though, I know my picture is up around here somewhere,” 

You laugh, letting him pull you in the opposite direction and you glance around to ensure there’s nobody really in sight let alone in earshot, “I was just starting to forget my boyfriend is very famous,” 

“Please,” His ears run red and he shakes his head. 

“Well, you are,” You shrug, “and teasing you is making me feel better, so you’ll just have to learn to live with it,” 

His laugh is sharp and sudden and he salutes you, “Then tease away,”  

“Yunho, I’m kidding,” You push him playfully, though of course you couldn’t move him an inch even if you tried. 

He smiles, sighing heavy in the cold air and looks up at the sky, “I think it might snow again,” 

“Let me check,” You fish your phone out of your pocket and open it up, scanning through the upcoming weather. You nod, “A bit more, yeah, but only a little,” 

“Then I have one more thing to show you,” He says, “and then I’ll get you home and back in the warmth,” 

“I’m doing good,” You assure him, fluffing the scarf back up around your neck. 

He brushes your cheek with his fingertips, “You’re so pink,” he says, “I know you’re freezing.”

“You can warm me up later,” You brush him off, “now where are we going?” 

He checks his watch, “Well,” he says, “it might be a little early for these places to be open, especially with the snow, but maybe we’ll get lucky.” 

“Okay…” You narrow your eyes, and by the check of your own watch it’s already almost eight, and you and Yunho have spent at least ninety minutes meandering around the cold city. 

You follow him as he heads back in the direction you originally came, aiming towards his family’s neighborhood. He tells you stories as you walk, places where he and his brother used to play, his route to school, the shops his mother used to love when he was little. He changes route then suddenly, tugging you along by your coat sleeve and passing you again through a thicket of trees up a walking path, just a different one. 

The shop fronts on one side of you are closed, but all are variations of a coffee shop, with some specializing in boba, tea, or even just espresso. 

“This is Dongmyeong-dong,” He says, “our little cafe street and neighborhood,” 

“I love it,” You smile, your attention captured by every little niche storefront even though they’re not open. You could spend days trying out just the shops on this section of street alone. 

“At night it’s a lot prettier, there’s music and lanterns and things like that,” He says, “but it’s still a nice walk, and I’m sure one of these places opens earlier than the others.” 

“I could use a coffee,” You admit. 

“Mm, me too,” He sighs and stretches a bit, tucking his hands back in his pockets. 

“Where does this go?” You nod your head forwards up the path. 

“Just back out into the neighborhood,” He says, “but it’s nice, there’s lots of these paths around.” 

Passing through the storefronts, the path converges and becomes wooded on either side, thickets of snowy branches interlocking above you and dripping melting ice down along the path. There’s no one out walking just yet, at least not on this undisturbed path, but you carve out your footprints alongside each other anyways. 

The path makes way to a lit underpass, art installations on the walls, before you finally make it back out to the main street. Cafes dot your field of vision in every direction, all sorts of colors and aesthetics, some still lit with warm white lighting and others glowing neon against the stark white snow. 

“Look at them all,” You breathe, grinning while you walk with him through the buildings, “this is beautiful,” 

“Mm,” He murmurs, but when you look up you can see his eyes searching for an open storefront. 

“It’s okay if they’re all still closed,” You assure him, “we have coffee back at the house I’m sure,” 

“Mhm,” He’s barely listening, intently focused, but finally he points and exclaims, “knew it!” 

You follow his direction and across the street, partially hidden by a large inflatable Christmas tree, is a corner cafe that is just starting to open up for the day. Their lights are on and glowing warm, and the section of path around their entrance is already dug out and clear of snow. A part time worker is setting out a sandwich board advertising today’s specials and Yunho looks positively giddy. 

“Let’s go,” He starts across the street, and you resist the urge to take his arm, opting instead just to keep up with his long steps as best you can. 

The cafe is lovely - clean and white with rich greenery brightening up the otherwise industrial space. Contemporary furniture lines the windows, and a cold case by the point of sale machine is full of colorful desserts. Yunho draws himself back a little, tucking his mask more comfortably around his face, and then orders you both your usual coffees. With minimal convincing from the worker behind the counter he also orders a large tart, multicolored slices all combined together in a tasting box - matcha, chocolate, sweet pumpkin, and earl gray, and you can’t help but peek inside the box at the beautifully smooth and rich looking slices. 

As you wait for your coffees, and Yunho holds onto the box by the well tied string around it and gives you a quick smile, “I’d say let’s stay for a bit, but we really shouldn’t,” 

“No, we should get home,” It’s not worth the risk, just for a quiet morning in a coffee shop. He’s from here, and the likelihood that someone could recognize him might just be a little higher. It would be better to get home before the rest of the city was up and moving around, just as a precaution. 

“Then how about I entrust you with this,” He passes the box off to you as the barista calls out for him by his brother’s name, “and I’ll take these,” 

He collects the coffees, both of yours and drinks for his parents and brother, and then nods for you to follow him out the side door. 

“Don’t drop it,” He warns you playfully, “I’m very serious about my tarts.” 

“You’re very serious about any food,” You point out and he laughs. 

A cold wind rushes over you, and you shiver. 

“We’re not far now,” He assures you, “I promise,” 

“I’m okay, Yunho,” You shake your head, “really,”

“I know,” He smiles, “I just don’t want you sick,” 

“If I get sick I’ll just make you fuss over me,” You tell him. 

“I’m sure I’d be doing it anyways,”

There’s only a few blocks left now, you can tell from the familiar cut of the buildings around you, and you sigh, “Before we’re back to your house and pretending we’re just friends again, can I tell you something?” 

“Anything,” He nods. 

“I really, really like you Jeong Yunho,” The thump in your chest returns, the word like on your tongue feeling a little like a lie, but you blink that thought away and instead smile up at him, “and this was a nice date.” 

“I guess it was a date,” He grins, “and I hope you know it already, but I like you too, very much.” 

The moment is a spot of warmth in the cold, snowy wind. You walk with Yunho back to his home in relative but comfortable silence. The pain of the previous day is falling away even if only for a few more hours. 

At home, Yunho surprises his family with bright smiles and animated descriptions of the neighborhood caked in snow. His mother wants to know where he took you and what you thought of her city, his father curious to know which shops were open for the day. Yunho is careful not to be too affectionate with you, but the darting glances of his family between you and their eldest son is plain as day to you. 

The day is spent inside, centered around the kitchen. His mother teaches you the proper way to make milk bread. His father disappears with Yunho into the study to talk. Gunho, like most teenagers, is reclusive for most of the morning but appears at the strong smell of a late lunch. 

In the evening, in the dark of Yunho’s bedroom you lay back and wonder what tomorrow will bring. You so desperately don’t want the boys to be upset with you, but the knowledge that you lied can’t be denied. Yunho insists they will understand, but it doesn’t make the nervous knots any looser inside you. 

A quiet knock brings you out of your thoughts and you sit up in bed, the door cracking open as slowly as possible. 

Yunho pokes his head into the room, a grimace on his face when the door creaks, and then he sees you sitting up. “Oh,” he whispers, “you are awake,” 

“Hey,” You wave him in, “what’s up?” 

“I wanted to,” he trails off, shutting the door behind him and moving into the room, “I don’t know, I have something I want to talk to you about,” 

“Come here,” you sit up in the bed, leaving him a space, “is something wrong?” 

“No,” he assures you, “it’s not that, I’m just not sure how to bring this up.” 

“After everything you’ve done for me,” You shake your head, “and you can’t tell me something?” 

“Well,” He exhales hard, easing into the open spot on the bed and facing you, “it’s about that.” 

“About what?” 

“I’m fucking this up,” He waves a hand in front of himself, “let me start over.” 

“Okay,” You smooth a hand over his thigh. 

“I got you a gift,” He says quickly, “or I guess, I got you something and I hope you’ll accept it as a gift. I’m not sure how you’re going to feel.” 

“Well if it’s a gift, I can guess,” You smile, nudging him. 

“Don’t,” He shakes his head, and the moment sobers. He’s rarely the serious one, and you nod. He takes a minute, before pulling an envelope out of his pocket and passing it to you. “If this is crossing a line, throw it out. We’ll never talk about it again.” 

“Yunho, what the hell are you talking about?” You look up to him, the envelope light in your hands. 

“Just,” he nods towards the envelope, “open it.” 

His elbows rest on his knees, and he leans over, lips pressed against his clasped hands, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. You turn the envelope over in your hand. It’s unaddressed, and not sealed. There’s no card inside like you expect from the greeting card weight to the paper, and you open the envelope to peer in. A ticket is neatly tucked into the bottom of the envelope. 

“A train ticket?” Your brow furrows. 

“Yeah,” He gestures for you to look closer. 

Your eyes scan it, and you see now that it’s not a ticket properly but a voucher. Seoul to Busan. Your throat tightens, “Yunho, what is this?” 

“It’s a non-expiry voucher, you can use it for any ticket to Busan. I think you can get the metro pretty easily to Yangsan from there,” He explains. 

“Why am I holding this?” You ask quietly. 

“If you ever need to go home,” He finally meets your eyes instead of looking at the ticket, “If you ever do want to see your father, or just to go home I wanted you to have a way to get there, without worrying or second guessing it.” 

“Yunho,” 

“Like I said,” He jumps in, “if this is me crossing a huge line, rip it up. I won’t feel bad, it won’t be weird. I just wanted to try and help and I know what coming home means for me,” 

You barrel forwards, wrapping your arms around him tight and hanging off him. His arms close around you instantly, and his hand smooths up and down your back. You sigh against him, “It’s good, you didn’t do anything wrong,” 

“You sure?” He presses a fast kiss to your hair. 

“I’m sure,” 

“I’m so glad,” He sighs. 

“Yunho,” You can’t look at him when you say it, but you need him to know, “my home is in Seoul now, but this… going back to Yangsan, it means so much.” 

“If you ever need to go,” He whispers, “don’t wait, just take it and get on the train.” 

“I will,” You promise him. 

Behind his back you stare at the ticket clutched in your hand. Seoul to Busan. Busan to Yangsan. The exact metro train you need and its schedule flicks into your mind, then the route you used to take from Yangsan Station to your family home. You let yourself wonder for a moment if he still lives there, if he ever started tending your mother’s flowers again, if he got another job, if he’s eating, sleeping, living at all. 

You pull back, kissing Yunho hard and sighing against his lips, “Thank you for this,” 

“It’s really just a train ticket,” he says, “it’s not much, but,” 

“It’s a lot more than that,” You kiss him again, holding him close. He tucks the ticket back in the envelope and takes it back, slipping it into your open suitcase and returning to you on the bed. You pull him in again, “Please stay tonight,” 

“y/n,” He hesitates. 

“Please,” You hold his hand in yours, “we’ll set alarms, we’ll get up early, just don’t go tonight.” You know it’s selfish. 

He regards you for a moment and then nods, setting a series of alarms on his watch and his phone, “We’ll get up early,” 

You fold into each other despite the tight squeeze of Yunho’s childhood bed, but eventually you settle into each other, legs tangled and your head against his chest. You fall asleep to memories of Yangsan covered in snow. 

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐂𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 On a cold evening in the cemetery, Sodo joins you and you tell him what's been on your mind for the past month.

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 Cemetary.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Sodo x GN!Reader. I don't think I've used any pronouns or gendered terms for reader but please let me know if I've missed any!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 Nothing spicy here tonight lads. Discussion of reader being a Christian in the past. Also discussions of questioning faith and not feeling worthy of who you believe in. A tiny bit fluffy.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 902 words.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 Currently suffering with pain because when does my IBS not be an asshole to me? Irritable Bowel Syndrome more like Inconvenient Bitch Shit (pun not intended, or is it?). So this one is another short one because even though I'm unwell I wanted to write something for this Ghosttober prompt.

During the colder months at the ministry, everyone knew to wear layers under their habits and uniforms. While the heating worked just fine, the cold was unbearable in the early mornings and the dead of night, particularly outdoors where there was no heating or insulated walls to keep you warm. The rest of the siblings of sin tended to stick to the inside of the ministry during this time, but not you. To Sodo, you were the outlier and that was what made you so interesting to him.

Every evening for a month now, the fire ghoul had watched you from the ministry windows as you visited the cemetery not far from Primo’s gardens. You always wore a thick coat over your clothes, sometimes even a scarf and gloves, and never stayed any longer than twenty minutes each time he saw you. It intrigued him, unable to come up with a reason why you were there so often and for such a specific amount of time. You couldn’t have family buried there – you’d told him yourself that no family members had been laid to rest at the ministry. But if you weren’t there to pay your respects to your family, who were you there to see?

Sodo decided the next night that he would follow you down to the cemetery and find out for himself why visiting was such an integral part of your daily routine. Yes, he could ask you about it but he didn’t want you to think he was pressuring you to tell him if it was something you’d rather not talk about where others could listen in. The thought of someone spying on you brought on a sudden urge to protect you, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach at the concept of your boundaries being crossed in such a way. And if it hurt or upset you?

The ghoul forced himself to calm down as he slowly approached the gates, spotting you at the far end in front of a monument that made him realise why you were there. It made him pause for a moment before he eventually forced himself to make his way over to you.

“I think I’ve told you before,” you told him once he reached you, not bothering to turn around as you continued to gaze up at the statue of Satan. Or at least a depiction of him. “I was a Christian before I joined the ministry. Born and raised, I guess you could say. I didn’t really know otherwise, and yet I still questioned it.”

Sodo kept his hands in the winter coat he’d wrapped himself up in, not daring to say a word.

“I wonder sometimes if I’m truly worthy of Satan. How could I, someone whose soul was made impure by a false god at birth, be worthy of His love? So, I come here every night to try and find the answer to that question. I thought that if I meditate upon this statue that maybe He would tell me or give me a sign.”

Furnace hot fingers intertwined with yours and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s normal to question these things. It’s healthy to have questions and doubts because that’s what makes you human. I’m not sure anyone truly has an unwavering faith in their god or deity or whatever they believe in. Part of human nature is to be curious and seek answers to the questions that others may not necessarily be able to answer.”

You glanced at him and found that he was staring down at your hands. “Do you have doubts sometimes, Sodo?”

“Sometimes.” He lifted his gaze, blazing red eyes meeting yours. “We ghouls are more like humans than some of you like to believe. We also question. We are curious. We crave answers and knowledge just as you do. Our Dark Lord undoubtedly understands this and is there to guide us, even when our faith begins to shake. It’s part of the lived experience of being on this plane of existence.”

The two of you returned to looking at the statue, a comfortably silent pause filling the air for a moment before you decided to speak up once more.

“Do you think Copia – sorry, Papa – has ever questioned his faith?”

Sodo’s laugh was abrupt but warm. “He’s human too, right? I’d be surprised if he’s never at least wondered about whether he’s worthy or if what he believes in is true.”

You chuckled along with him. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And for the record,” the ghoul said, his clawed thumb running over the back of your hand, “your soul isn’t impure or tainted just because of what you used to believe in. You get a fresh start when you join the Clergy. What is it that Papa says in that song? I know your soul is not tainted even though you’ve been told so.”

“That is indeed what the song says.”

“Well, there you go then. Even Papa says that you’re not tainted or impure. If you don’t trust what I say, trust him. Got it?”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Sodo. I’ll take what you’ve said tonight to heart.”

He hummed and pulled you against him, releasing your hand so that he could wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Good. Now let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

[stiffyck]

hello hello! if you couldn’t already tell I cannot deal with hurt no comfort so how about comfort no hurt (because scar has enough hurt to deal with the poor poor guy /hj)

scar is a very tactile person, but also unsure of other people’s boundaries on touch and overcompensates by just avoiding touching anyone unless they make it clear they don’t mind/like it. grian thought scar was touch averse because he often went out of his way to avoid touching people (entirely unaware that scar just didn’t wanna upset anyone) until 3rd life, when both of them entirely underestimated just how cold the nights would be on monopoly mountain

scar regrets taking his shirt off. in his defence, it was boiling in the day—so warm he’s still surprised grian didn’t pass out from heat exhaustion, what with his jumper and jeans. now however, they may as well be situated on an actual mountain, snow and all.

their house is sturdy and blocks the wind efficiently enough—something scar is eternally grateful for—but does little to insulate them from the freezing temperatures. the only protection they have right now is their blankets, which are sparse and thin, because of course they had expected it to be much warmer.

scar is currently trying not to shiver too obviously, because he just knows the look grian would give him if he found out he was right. though, scar can’t help smiling at the thought.

“alright, scar,” grian’s voice cuts through the silence, teeth chattering. “we’re gonna die of frostbite if we don’t do something.”

“yeah.” scar sits up and find grian already sat on his bed, facing him from across the room. “what did you have in mind?”

“well first of all, i’m gonna need you to put a shirt on.” grian says, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“never.” it’d be more convincing if scar wasn’t clutching the duvet around his shoulders.

“failing that,” grian continues, apparently expecting the response. “I think we’re gonna need to pool our resources.”

scar blinks at him. “what do you mean?”

“I think we need to share a bed.” grian says it slowly, almost cautiously. “only if you don’t mind, of course, I just-“

“of course!” scar beams. it’s probably far too eager but he is too tired and cold to care.

it’s grian’s turn to look confused. “you- you don’t mind?”

“why would I?”

“I- well I just thought you didn’t like touch.” grian says. “you’re always avoiding it.”

ah. so maybe his plan has backfired somewhat.

“ohh.” scar blushes slightly. “no, I was trying to make sure people weren’t uncomfortable. I love touch.”

grian stares at him. “you mean this whole time I-“ he cuts himself off, apparently embarrassed. “never mind, just- get over here.”

scar does not need to be asked twice. he pushes his bed over to grian’s side of the room and climbs into bed. their bed, he supposes. the idea makes his stomach flutter.

grian immediately moves to meet him, wrapping wings around the two of them, pressing his face into scar’s neck. warmth bubbles up inside scar, and it’s all he can do not to start squealing. he’s wanted this for far longer than he can remember and it’s better than he ever imagined.

so he wraps his arms around grian’s waist and murmurs, “come here often?” and delights in the mumbled “shut up.” and light smack on the arm.

they fall asleep almost immediately after.

I also think that after 3rd life scar wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he was cuddling grian, a notion shared by the latter (leading to nightly boatem sleepovers)

YEEEEESSSSS OMG THIS IS ADORABLE

[testingthewatersss]

2 weeks Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 2 3730 words angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI  After the downfall of HYDRA it takes 2 weeks for you to find him. Somehow, it seems like far too long.

“Good” she murmurs in agreement, “and I’ll try and dig out some blankets from somewhere.”

He nods, even though he doesn’t want her to move an inch.

“There” She hears him, croak as she starts to stand, “There’s a loft- You can get to it from the bedroom, it’s the only place I didn’t check”

Bucky watches her smile again, and can’t help but feel strangely proud-

If he’s making her smile, he’s doing something right-

“I’ll check it out” Y/N promises, giving him one last approving glance before slipping out of the bathroom, “I’ll call, if I need ya’”

The former soldier nods sharply, before burying his blood stained hands in his front pocket and heading out towards the street.

It’s cold in the loft. The whole apartment is draughty at best, but there is no insulation, bar some mould-ridden foam that looks suspiciously like fibre-glass, and even Y/N has to lock her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering as she starts to dig through the sodden cardboard boxes that are gathered together in the furthest corner of the room.

She can hear the dull thud of movement coming from below, it settles her, some, knowing that he’s alright- that he’s got a task to occupy his mind for awhile.

One box has nothing but bubble wrapped plates, and another has nothing inside it at all.

Annoyance tugs tugs at her brow, at the corners of her lips, making her frown in the dark.

Brown eyes flit around the space, searching the shadows for anything, until she finds a shadow off to her right.

It’s a wooden chest. It’s big, and icy, and clasped with a small iron clip, but she wastes no time in prising it open, ignoring the smell of must as she buries her hands into the fabric inside.

There are wool jumpers, one is for a child, but the other is huge. Y/N sets it aside, knowing that it won’t only fit the super solider downstairs, but that it’ll also do a good job at disguising his metal arm for when they head out into the world tomorrow.

Next, she finds blankets, thick, patchwork covers that have clearly been hand sewn by someone with careful hands.

It makes her sad to think about why it’s been left here, she hopes the family that had owned it have just moved on- that they’ve headed out towards better circumstances, and that no kind of tragedy has befallen them.

She locks the box back up, and carries her spoils downstairs.

Her approach is quiet, she leaves the ladder to the loft down, and pads gently back towards the main room of the apartment.

Barnes is leaning over a large metal trashcan that he’s clearly hauled in from outside. He’s fiddling with something that Y/N can’t make out- She’s about to ask, but then, she sees smoke starting to rise.

A small smile tugs at her lips as she rests her body against the doorway she’s perched by, watching silently as the figure moves back a step to watch the small flames he’s cultivated start to crackle and build.

“I found blankets” she says, voice soft, “and- somethin’ extra, for you”

Bucky turns to face her, eyes wide and nervous. His hair is still hanging lamely in front of his face, blood matting one side into a clump.

“I…” he murmurs, unsure again, “for me?”

Y/N beams, and starts to walk towards him, nodding to the half collapsed couch.

He stares at the furniture, not understanding what he gesture had meant.

“Sit” she urges, doing so herself and waiting patiently for him to obey, and settle himself beside her, “Here”

The man blinks at her, and then at the floor, not feeling at all comfortable sitting on the cushions along side her- like they’re equals, like he’s not a monster-

“I think it’ll fit perfect” Y/N announces, presenting him with the grey, knitted sweater she’d found moments before, “and it’s warm”

His gaze shifts to the offering, he looks at it, blue eyes curious, if a little suspicious, before his flesh fingers nervously creep out of his pockets to feel the material.

“It…It’s warm” he parrots, voice shaking, “You…You should keep it”

She shakes her head, holding it up against his chest as he stays frozen in place-

“Definitely yours” Bucky hears her murmur, affection thick in her tone, “Try it on?”

He doesn’t have things.

This definitely doesn’t feel right- but, he doesn’t want to disobey, to risk displeasing the only friend he has, so, he takes it, careful and embarrassed as he puts it on, over his hoodie.

“Perfect” Y/N praises, stroking a line down the sleeve as he tugs it over his arm, “Might look a little better without all those layers underneath- but, that doesn’t matter, how does it feel?”

“Warm” the man admits, already getting ready to remove it, to have it stripped away- “It- it’s w-”

“It’s yours, Bucky” the woman cuts in, smiling in an attempt to calm his nerves, “I’m giving it to you”

“You’re… You’re giving it to me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart-” she confirms, “It’s a gift”

“A gift” he echos, head pounding as he tries to absorb what she’s telling him, “for me?”

“Mhmm” Y/N agrees, a little softer now she can see the tightness of his brow, “a reward, for a job well done”

Bucky feels his chest fill with pride at her words, at the mere thought of having pleased her enough to merit something so nice.

“That’s right” her kind voice continues, “It’s for you, it’s alright-”

His fingers have tightened on the hem of the jumper, he’s gripping it like he’s not sure if it’s real, but his face has relaxed a little, and there isn’t just terror and suspicion sitting behind his gaze anymore, Y/N thinks she can see happiness there too, flattery or gratitude, shining in the blue.

“Thank you” Bucky says after a beat of silence, “Thank you, Y/N”

Her head shakes in easy dismissal, she throws the cover she’s been holding up onto the couch’s backrest between them, and returns her attention to the fire that’s now starting to smoke properly in the centre of the room.

“You did all the hard work” she reminds him, “You deserve it- Do we have any food?”

He looks at her thoughtfully, wishing more than anything that he had more to offer her.

“I… I don’t think so” Y/N hears him confess, voice awfully tight, “I’m sorry”

“It’s not your fault” she’s quick to assure him, “I could’ve brought somethin’ with me, but I didn’t really think this far”

He looks away, bashful as he offers her a remorseful smile.

She goes to stand, deciding to look through the cupboards on the off chance that the former solider had been to preoccupied with necessities to search them upon his arrival.

Her suspicions are quickly confirmed when she finds a dust covered tin of soup sitting inside the otherwise baron kitchen.

The camping stove she’d spotted is broken, but they have a fire now. So, she grabs a rusty spoon from a drawer with no handle and heads back to where he’s waiting, exactly where she’d left him, awkwardly on the couch.

“If I throw this in are you gonna’ be alright to grab it when it’s done?”

She glances at his metal arm, even though it’s hidden.

Bucky knows what she means, he nods in agreement and watches as she drops the tin into the glowing drum.

“We’ll have to share” she warns him, smiling as she perches herself back next to him.

His head shakes, eyes firm and set.

“I don’t need it” he tells her, “I don’t need much- you, you should-”

“I-” Y/N murmurs, reaching out to hold his flesh hand as it slips free of the sleeve it’s been balled up inside, “-Ate this morning, and again, at lunch”

He huffs out a breath that turns white in the air between them.

“How about you?” she presses, “when did you last eat anythin’ hot?”

Hot? Bucky tries to think back, brow furrowing in concentration.

He hasn’t bothered with a fire, not since his mission, not since he’d started running- and even before that, he hadn’t been allowed the luxury, not unless he’d been poised at the feet of his owners-

It’s been 2 days since he’s eaten- he remembers grabbing a can of something grey from the last dive he’d ransacked- and he’d only done that because the pain in his gut had been impacting his performance.

That had been cold- he tries hard to remember the last hot meal he’s had, he thinks, he might have been given a meal once- not that long ago. A reward for a job well done. but he can’t be sure that wasn’t a dream- and he can’t come close to remembering what decade that was in, let alone how many days had past between then and now.

Y/N feels guilt sting in her core. He’s panting, now, eyes glazed over, jaw locked hard as he tries his best to offer her an answer.

His hand is placid in her palm, she curls her fingers over his, and tries to hush him with a breathe.

“It’s alright” she promises, “It-”

“I can’t remember” Bucky bursts, gut tightening unhappily, “I-I’m sorry- I- I had something cold two days ago, I- I never- I-I don’t- I don’t think I’ve had something cooked in… in a long time- I- I don’t”

She squeezes his palm, lacing their hands together as he falls back into an anxious form of silence.

“Then you’re definitely having half of this tonight” he hears her say, calm and firm, “It’s cold, and you’re hungry.”

It is cold, and he is hungry.

Bucky realises quickly that he can’t deny her statements, so he doesn’t. He just blinks at her, wide eyed and vulnerable as he lets his thumb curl round to hold onto the hand she’s entwined with his.

The gesture tugs at Y/N’s heart strings, especially when she sees him watching her, with a strange look of softness sitting behind his eyes.

“Looks done” she notes, somewhat reluctant to move, “Are you sure you can-”

“I’m sure” Bucky swears, letting go of her hand before he can think too much into losing the contact, “I’ve got it”

He brings the smouldering can over, holding it in his metal fist, as he shoots a longing look to the spot he’d taken at her side.

Y/N opens her mouth to usher him over, but before she can speak, he drops to his knees between her legs, his back just grazing the bottom of the couch.

“Sweetheart” she coos, saddened by the way that this is his default, “You can sit back up here”

His head shakes a fraction as he opens the container he’s holding.

“I can’t” he murmurs, embarrassed, “I-I can’t it... it's too- it's too visible”

Her heart aches. She hates that he’s still afraid someone less harmless is hunting him down, and she hates that there doesn’t seem to be much she can do to calm him, right now.

She settles for doing whatever she can, no matter how small it might be.

“Alright, Buck” he hears her allow, “You can sit where you want.”

That doesn’t sound right.

Bucky’s head sags, shoulders tensing a little, as he turns to pass her the can.

She refuses it instantly, handing him the spoon.

“You first, eat half, and then I’ll have what’s left.”

There’s an easy air of authority in her tone. The former solider bows to it instantly, years of conditioning ushering him into submission.

He does as she says, and almost cries when the hot liquid hits his tongue for the first time.

It’s warm, it tastes like something he’s had before- a life time ago, and the fact that he’s being allowed to have it again, makes him feel almost human.

Y/N feels her head tilting when she sees the reflection of his face in the dark window pane.

He looks like he’s about to burst into tears again- he looks lost, and scared and grateful.

“Good?” she asks, voice quiet

With a gulp, Bucky turns to face her- he nods a little and sniffles despite his attempt at restraint.

“So good” he whispers, before trying to pass her the remainder of their meal.

Y/N shakes her head, hand slipping down to block his attempt-

“Finish it” she purrs, affectionate, “I don’t really like minestrone anyway”

Bucky feels tears stinging behind his eyes.

He knows the woman he’s with. He’s known her, he’s loved her secretly for years, by now- so he shouldn’t be so shocked by her kindness, by the way she’s showing him nothing but mercy and compassion, but he is.

Her fingers reach out slowly, curling up to cup his cheek.

She hushes him as he flinches, and watches proudly as he lets himself exhale, and start to lean back into her touch.

“Finish it, and then, you can come back up here with me, alright?”

Bucky’s heart is racing. Her thumb is brushing his the cut on his cheek, her palm flush on his face and it’s there for comfort as opposed to punishment.

All he wants is to curl up, anywhere remotely close to her. To the woman who’s always taken care of him, even before he’d been himself at all.

“I…I should stay down here” he whispers, weak and breathy, “I shouldn’t-”

“Why?” Y/N counters, fingers fluttering over to his temples, “Why shouldn’t you come up here?”

“Because if someone comes in” he tells her, not really knowing why he's so sure, “It'll be easier to run from here”

“You don't have to worry about that” she soothes, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear as he shivers, ""Nobodies gonna hurt you, I promise”

It takes a second for him to process that, for him to dare to believe that she means what she’s saying.

But he trusts her. He knows she wouldn’t lie, that she wouldn’t try and trick him into a false sense of security to worsen some coming punishment, but, still, his time with HYDRA had been so far beyond cruel, that the idea of going against the most basic rules he’s been taught to follow makes him want to curl up on the floor and hide

“Eat” Y/N insists, knowing he’s getting caught up in thought, “and then we’ll decide where to sit, okay?”

His nod is tentative, it’s shy but, brave.

She’s beaming as she withdraws her hand, and watches him finish the food he’s holding.

Bucky rushes through the soup, savouring every drop whilst trying to consume it before anyone can rip it away from him.

Eventually, he’s scraping the metal spoon agains the empty sides of the can-

He lowers it to the ground, and realises he’s shaking. He tries to stop, to lock his muscles tight, but then Y/N exhales, slow and warm behind him, and he finds himself leaning back towards her,

“I… I finished it.” she hears him report, voice still strangely unsure

“I know” Y/N replies with a nod, “I know you did, Buck- well done.”

Again, it’s the praise in her tone that helps him catch his breath, that helps draw him in, even further towards her body, even though he’s still facing straight ahead.

“Thank you” he murmurs, an automatic response to being told he’d done something right-

“Have you done any thinkin’ about where you wanna sit?”

Panic flares behind his eyes. He hasn’t. He hasn’t thought about anything other than how lucky he is to be allowed to eat a meal that’s not being forced down a tube in his throat-

“No.” he admits, terrified, “No, I- I’m sorry”

“That’s alright” Y/N is quick to soothe him, “It’s alright, why don’t you think about it now”

He nods, and chews his lower lip. His metal fist tightens around the can until it bends under his fingers.

“I want to sit with you” she hears him mumble, frantic and afraid, “But I-I’m scared, Y/N-I I don’t think I can”

She nods, understanding, before she silently slips down beside him, pulling the covers off the couch along with her.

Bucky feels the shift, he feels the heat of her beside him and freezes, eyes wide and disbelieving as she kicks her legs out in front of herself.

“Here” she coos, passing him half of the sheet, “…What?”

The look of shock on his face is so comical that she can barely contain her smile.

He doesn’t reply to her question, he just shyly averts his gaze, and hides his hands back into the oversized sleeves on his new, second hand jumper.

“Here” He listens to her repeat, as she tucks the covers she’s passed him in around his folded legs, “You’re frozen, Buck-”

“I… I’m fine… you, you should take it, doll”

It takes every ounce of strength he’s got not to call her ma’am, to swallow down the formal term of address that used to be his only option, and call her by not only her name, but a nick-name, instead.

The smile she offers him as her head shakes makes the burn in his head worth it.

“Give me your hand?” Y/N requests, tone deliberately quirked, so that he won’t mistake it for a command, “Please?” she adds, when he blinks at her a little nervously in response.

Slowly, he unveils his flesh palm, and offers it to her, eyes shining with trust.

“Thank you-” she purrs, wrapping her fingers around his-

His skin is hard, it’s calloused and dry and still split from the wound he’d taken in the bathroom, less than an hour before.

Her thumb runs across the scar that’s trying to form across the surface of the flesh, dried blood flakes off under her touch, and he feels his chest relaxing a little as he adjusts to the contact, to the way that it’s friendly, and well intentioned instead of anything more cruel.

“‘m surprised they’re not turnin’ blue” Y/N teases lightly, attention turning to his finger tips, to the ice cold skin of his knuckles, “C’mere”

Bucky finds himself shivering as she brings his hand to her lips, and starts to exhale, soft, hot air against his fingers.

The action is so pure, so ladened with care, and affection that he physically squirms, unable to adjust to the sensation, unable to make himself believe that he could be worthy of such a thing.

“You like this?” she asks, voice melting against his thumb.

He nods hopelessly. Ashamed by how much he’s enjoying the gesture.

“Oh, sweetheart, alright, it’s okay”

Sweetheart.

That still doesn’t sound right, but he loves it, he decides, he doesn’t want to be called solider anymore, he doesn’t want to be shouted at, or called an asset- he wants to be her darling, or her sweetheart, or her…anything, really, even Bucky doesn’t seem so foreign, when it’s her who’s saying it.

Suddenly, something settles across his face, swimming behind his eyes that makes Y/N more determined than ever to keep him safe, to give him more skin on skin, to make sure he learns how to remember that not everything is harsh, or painful, or terrible, anymore.

“Whenever your hands are cold, you can give them to me” she whispers, pressing a kiss against his thumb, the nail is split, down the centre all the way to the bed, it’s grimy and caked in filth.

She doesn’t mind one bit.

“I… I can?”

He feels another kiss land against his skin, and has to swallow a whimper as it tugs at his chest.

For a second, he forgets that his other hand isn’t flesh and blood, he forgets that it’s always cold, unless it’s burning, and he brings it up to her lap, offering it to her with a hopeful expression.

He remembers when she scoops it up, lifting it alongside the one she’s already holding.

Embarrassment burns in his core, he looks away with red cheeks and tries to pull it back, but Y/N stops him from withdrawing with a soft shake of her head,

“I said hands” she assures him calmly, blowing gently across his vibranium palm, “I’m sorry you’re so cold, sweetheart… it should get better soon, as soon as we get to the safe house we’ll get you a hot shower, alright? and I’ll crank the heatin’ all the way up”

Bucky tilts his head, confused, but too afraid to question her.

He doesn’t want to loose a second of what she’s doing for him, and speaking out of turn seems like a sure fire way of loosing the affection he’s being treated too.

“It’s because you’ve been out of Cryo so long” Y/N offers, even though he hasn’t asked, “Your bodies gotta’ adjust, it’s just that the temperature’s not helpin’, and you’ve been outside a long time”

“I’m sorry” he murmurs, feeling awfully guilty all of a sudden, “I- I should’ve kept myself… kept myself in better condition”

Her head shakes softly, her mouth grazes both sets of his fingers, as she exhales again, long and slow against his skin, against metal and dirt and broken knuckles.

“Oh, Sweetheart” she coos, “It’s not about condition, you’re a person, not a car… It’s not your fault you’re hurting”

It’s then that Bucky realises why he wants to cry so desperately.

This is the first time in the better part of 100 years that anyone has told him that he’s allowed to be a person, again.

Y/N sees the tears starting to swell in his eyes, and slowly lowers their tangled hands to the blanket that’s gathered in between her thighs.

“…I… I want to be…” he whispers, voice shaking, “will… will you call me…. will you call me sweetheart, again?”

Her heart shatters.

That plea seems to have come from nowhere, but he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t do anything other than stare at her, with wet, blue eyes, that have a strange sense of longing behind them.

“Of course I will, sweetheart” she promises softly, taking a risk by leaving his hands on her lap, and reaching out to cup his cheek, “because that’s exactly what you are”

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[myriad--starlings]

i saw the book on the library shelf  spine lettering: water i won’t touch.  i thought about metaphors  i thought about water  i thought about my bathroom tap i thought about all the handles i can’t touch all the rooms i can’t enter. 

there’s something comforting about isolation  once you grow used to it.  it wraps around you like cotton gauze or bubble wrap: insulation from the world.  inside these four walls I’m safe; inside these four walls I control all;  inside these four walls I remain. 

sometimes i have nightmares about my hands reaching out and turning the handles of chrome brushed faucets, water pouring out in a rush, the noise of it against the porcelain of the sink, tiny droplets of landing on my skin, and last to reach me the faintest smell of—when i wake from those dreams i walk into the bathroom to be sure the colander still covers my bathroom tap.

—water i can't touch, nos woods