#it was easier than figuring out how i was supposed to draw him as the person but ykyk

[the-daily-flowey]

Clover flowey????

Day 32 of Flowey

[anantaru]

— rejecting his cuddles

rejecting his cuddles feat. al-haitham, cyno, diluc, scaramouche x gn! reader

a/n: i spontaneously wrote this after coming home from a night out while craving fluff and cute things

genre: fluff, we're a lil bad for messing with them but who cares, right

— al-haitham

"no thanks!"

you couldn't possibly reject his attempt to cuddle you right now, or could you?

at first, al-haitham‘s smile will slowly drop, not at the reason you might think because he actually is sure this has a deeper meaning, right?

jokes aside, actually he had you figured out from the start but wanted to see how far you would go, putting on the best fake facade one could pull off, it's almost as if he was a natural at deceiving people.

"no.. thanks?" al-haitham was quite impressed on how you managed to reject him this smoothly, it even hurt a little if he was being honest.

He wasn't stupid though, he was aware you were clearly messing with him, his little angel could be a little brat sometimes, that's what he cherished and loved about you as well.

maybe.. he should just try again, right?

with that in mind, al-haitham opened his arms again to advance towards your body to close the distance only for you to wiggle yourself away before he could catch up to you.

"no thanks, i‘m good!"

okay, maybe you were quite cruel today, you honestly didn‘t think much of it and wanted to tease your boyfriend, it was mostly him who would triumph over you so it was natural for some payback here and there.

curiosity got the best of you and that‘s why you were pushing your little scheme a bit further than you actually anticipated to do in the first place, seeking a reaction from your boyfriend.

the second rejection was a literal whiplash right into his face, but then it went clear as day to him, the solution to all of this warmly greeting him.

"okay."

if you could play such game, he surely could do so as well, he deducted that if he was to ignore you now, your fake facade would fall within seconds.

how else were you supposed to keep playing this with him not giving you any attention anymore?

al-haitham was about to get up from his seat as you quickly grabbed his wrist, holding him down.

"okay i was joking don‘t go!"

the slight worry on your face was hilarious to him, how he knew you like the back of his hand was almost scary. In his eyes there wasn‘t anything easier than figuring you out.

"you should stop messing with me before i‘m thinking of a way to get back at you."

— cyno

the general mahamatra had a busy life, cyno was on duty every day and once he got home after a long night, the least you could do is hug him!

today you felt like you should play a little trick on him, just for a quick giggle in your relationship. Contrary to popular belief, cyno was actually an overly humorous person, even though his jokes mostly didn‘t land as he intended them to.

with that you heard the front door open with cyno following suit. You decided to greet him as always and walked towards your boyfriend as he tiredly smiled into your direction, already opening his arms.

"how was your day?"

normally you would‘ve hugged him first and then ask him a question, but today you stood right in front of him without drawing yourself into his embrace.

"it was good, come here." once cyno noticed you weren‘t moving an inch, he thought he should be the one to just hug you instead, yet after attempting to do just that …

"no thanks."

there was an awkward silence followed by cyno looking at you in slight disbelief and irritation. His eyes were low lidded and his expression tired, he really just wanted a hug!

"okay, i understand and respect it, but i don't agree with it."

typical cyno, now that you think back at it you don't really know how you expected him to respond to you. He was a gentleman at heart and immensely respected you.

yet though he didn‘t let it on, this was truly the worst thing that happened to him, yet he obviously doesn‘t want to force you either.

with a flash of guilt throwing itself at you like a fierce force, you quickly stopped him with a big hug from behind, resting your head on his back with your arms tightly shut around him.

"i‘m just messing with you, i‘m sorry."

ending your little sentence with a tiny giggle to soothe the mood, cyno turned around to face you at last, looping his arms around your body in return.

"hah, funny."

— diluc

in any other case diluc wouldn't think too much of it, but the way you were denying his physical affection did throw him off in an unnatural amount.

"no thank you, i'm satiated."

"satiated?" the word blurted out of his mouth in an irritated way, he became confused and unable to recall what the most alarming aspect of this situation was right now.

the fact you didn't want his cuddles, which you once stated were the absolute best, or the fact that you stated you were quote on quote, satiated.

satiated by who?

the urge to throw himself into your embrace was always there, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Diluc was patient with you and so were you with him.

yet he would lie if he didn't feel worried about this, the poor guy having not a single chance of noticing that you were clearly messing with him out of sheer boredom.

as a matter of fact, you didn't intend to go this far, nor did you think diluc would grow this anxious now, making up your mind you decided to end your little play after all as he spoke again.

"is something wrong? if i did something you must speak to me."

noticing how he shifted his eyes around the room, the guilt consumed you from within with your hands quickly grabbing his waist to draw him towards your warm body.

"I'm so sorry, i was trying to mess with you don't worry please."

with a momentary silence and his body frozen, he sighed in relief upon snuggling close to you, feeling the fastened beat of his heart, or was it yours?

"hmpf, maybe i shouldn't hug you for a while."

your eyes widened at his overly cheeky, teasing wording, your lips carved into a pout as you searched for his face, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"it was kaeya's idea, not mine!"

— scaramouche

it wasn't often for scaramouche to search for a hug, not that he didn't want to hug you but he still wasn't completely accustomed to it, to trust a person again and simply relax under their touch.

one might say you were cruel for even thinking of pranking him, because who knows how he would react?

you, will now, know, this sliding second, when he suddenly came back from a long boring day, wiggling himself out of his shoes before he came walking towards you.

it became a slight habit of yours to hug whenever one of you would meet the other so scaramouche didn't think too much of it, he was actually looking quite forward to cuddle with you, so when he finally reached his desired destination, you backed away.

"lets not."

his brow raised almost immediately with his eyes lightly scrunched together in irritation, "lets not .. what?"

his voice had an annoying edge, the one you knew far too well. Sometimes scaramouche involuntarily spoke like that, he didn't even mean to come off as rude but it was a natural thing laced in his tone.

"i don't want a hug, thank you for the kind offer though."

the dazed look of bewilderment on his face was adorable, you felt bad for even finding it cute in the first place as scaramouche continued to tilt his head to the side, rambling in a low murmur.

"i don't buy it, you're the one who can't get enough of my hugs so what are you planning this time?"

his arms crossed around his body, a smirk of his brought out a sense of mischief he was way too good at, a fleeting thought of innocent fun.

in that moment he closed the distance to you almost completely, his eyes piercing daggers into your soul when he spoke once again.

"can you hug me now or what, i don't have all day for this."

the click of his tongue was all it took you to understand that he had figured you out yet again. in all honesty, you didn't know what you expected in the first place.

with a giggle announcing itself out of your throat, you quickly gathered him in your arms, nuzzling him into your warm chest.

scaramouche returned your call and embraced you back with his arms tightly clamped around your body, the pressure applied behind it made it difficult for you to breathe, he was practically clamping onto you.

in that moment you noticed how his breathing was erratic and uneven as well, as if for one tiny second, he really did think he had done something to pain you, something to lose you.

©2022 anantaru do not share, copy, translate

[cherryredcheol]

matchy-matchy

tldr: match with me? a/n: i am embarrassed to admit how long it took me to come up with each of these

ot13 x reader

seungcheol: bracelets

except its one of those welded-on bracelets that you can only get off with some kind of tool that can cut through chain. he wanted you both to be reminded every day that your love was strong, unbreakable, permanent. the chain was dainty on both your wrists, barely noticeable, but still ever-present. ever the possessive guy, he liked having his mark on you. and he supposed a bracelet would do for now; until he gave you his last name. 

jeonghan: lego figurines

they’re minifigs and he had them custom-made to look like you, favorite outfits and everything. they’re on a little shelf that’s mounted to the wall. below the shelf are two little hooks, one for your keys and one for his. your keys go underneath your figure and his under his own. these minifigs were a gift for you very early on in the relationship. they’ve moved all over with you and now they’re part of your shared home. 

joshua: luggage

he brings you everywhere with him so it makes sense that your bags all match so you don’t draw suspicion. so what if he was pictured with a suitcase that has a my melody plush keychain on it? he’s man enough to admit he likes my melody, but really he likes you more and it’s easier that everything look the same. he doesn’t even have to think about it when grabbing a bag from the closet for each of you before heading on your next adventure together. 

junhui: ramen bowls

yes, you could hypothetically use this bowl for something other than ramen, but that would make it not special anymore and that just won’t do. it tickles both of you to no end to pull those bowls down from the cabinet and rifle through the silverware drawer for the matching chopsticks, all items printed with a delicate cherry blossom pattern. when the bowls were purchased the intention wasn’t even for them to become the bowls you use but its too late to look back now. 

soonyoung: water bottles

he dances and works out a lot, therefore he drinks a lot of water. he was going through plastic bottles of water like nobody’s business so you convinced him to get a reusable one. so he did, and he got you one to match! yours is black, inconspicuous. his is bright orange. the reasoning? they’re tiger colors, but subtle. why do you kind of agree with him?

wonwoo: phone wallpapers

they’re lowkey and you wouldn’t know they’re matching unless you saw them both side by side and noticed that the street light in both photos looks a little similar…the pictures are always from the walks you two go on in the middle of the night when it can be just you and him without the pressures of his career. some of your best moments together have come from those nights and the pictures are reminders of that. 

jihoon: slippers

the universe factory is cold, always. and yes, you keep an extra cozy blanket and hoodie in there but sometimes your feet get cold and your socks just aren’t enough. he must’ve noticed because there were suddenly two pairs of slippers by the door one day. when you asked about them, he just gestured vaguely and mumbled something about your feet. you’ll take it! they’re also not matching so much as they’re exactly the same. he claims this is for efficiency so he can wear either pair. cool, dude!

seokmin: sneakers

he has a lot of shoes. but his favorite pair are the ones that you bought together. they’re your favorite color and you each have a pair. you wear them together often, so smitten with each other it’s sickening. he always brings these sneakers on tour with him, whether you come too or not. its a win-win for him either way. he gets to match you from a close distance or from across the world. at least he knows he’s yours. 

mingyu: sunglasses

multiple pairs. every pair he buys himself, he also buys one for you. they're his favorite accessory and he looks oh so handsome in them so you never complain. your collection is slowly getting smaller though because he tends to break or lose things (sometimes both) and if it's a pair he really loved, he’ll ask with big puppy eyes if he can have the pair he bought for you. sometimes you tell him no just to see him pout.

minghao: manicures

oh, you’re going to get your nails done? he’s coming with, and paying. they don’t even have to be the same design or anything, they just have to go together. you don’t want a super complicated design like him? okay, cool. just get the same color. you went without him? fine, but what color is on your nails? it has to be the exact same as yours or else it doesn’t count. the colors may look similar but they’re not exactly the same polish? you might as well break up. 

seungkwan: phone cases

the design you chose has a little inside joke meaning to the two of you. no one even bothers asking the meaning behind the joke because they ‘wouldn’t get it’. your phone also has a different pc of him in it weekly (he changes it based on his mood) so your coworkers think you’re a super fan with your matching phone case and pc, obsessed with the idol on your phone. little do they know…

hansol: keychains

you have a miffy one, it's fuzzy.  he has a darth vader one, it’s lego. it kind of just appeared on your keychain one day and when you mentioned it to him he casually explained he put it there the other week. he fished through his pocket to show you his matching (?) keychain. the only explanation he gives? ‘it’s totally us,’ and how could you argue with that?

chan: stuffed animals

they’re dinosaurs, not dragons, thank you very much. and yes, they are therapeutically weighted to ease anxiety when placed on the chest. have a problem with that? i didn’t think so. these things go everywhere with you. if a car ride is longer than an hour, your green dinosaur is guaranteed to be there. he’s flying to tokyo? not without his passport and his little pink friend. show some respect! these are your kids!

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hi so this is my first ever request idk if I’m supposed to ask from somewhere else but I was wondering if you could do a Bau find out reader has a criminal past that got expunged or something please?

Hiya, I feel like this absolutely ages to do, I'm so sorry but hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Description: Reader has a slightly colourful history

Warnings: discussions of previous criminal activity when reader was a minor (theft/burglary, drugs hinted at if you squint, beating up individuals), guns mentioned, death of someone reader knows, child abuse mentioned (nothing 'on screen')

You look at the photos in front of you. A John Doe, about ten years older than you. Swallowing slightly, you try to build up the courage to tell the team you know him. That you know exactly who this man was.

"You okay, kid?" Morgan asks, you look up, giving a quick nod.

"Oh, er, yeah. Yeah, I just, I know him." You know they're going to ask questions, but that's the last thing you want right now. You don't want to explain. You don't want to tell them. They'd look at you differently. Part of you worried they'd no longer even want you on the team.

Hotch frowns, studying your expression. "You know him?"

"Yeah." You clear your throat slightly. "Er, his name's Ryan Williams."

"How did you know him?"

You look away from Hotch, back to the photo. "We... worked together,"

You watch the team raise an eyebrow. "Worked together?" Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep."

"And what was this job?" Rossi chimed in.

"Um..." You pause, trying to figure out how to word it. "It, er..."

You try to ignore the team furrowing their eyebrows and frowning at you. "It...?" Morgan said, looking at you expectantly.

"It might have something to do with a man named Chris Miller," You said, trying to change the topic as much as you could.

"And this Chris Miller, what's he like?"

"Oh, an absolute dickhead." You paused, clearing your throat when you remembered you were supposed to be professional. "I mean, we had our differences."

The team exchanged a concerned glance. "(Y/N), you're going to need to be transparent with us."

"What- about what?"

"How you know Williams."

"I told you, I know him from work."

"And the truth?"

You look at the team, debating whether or not this was a good idea. It probably wasn't, but you knew Hotch wasn't exactly going to drop the topic. "We did work together. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"It's a little complicated." You said, giving a small shrug. "We worked for a man, Chris Miller. We'd also work closely with his son, Danny."

"What sort of work?"

"Odd jobs. Whatever needed doing." You said, swallowing slightly. "Delivering packages, picking things up."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"There was clearly more." Hotch stated. "And don't think we don't know what what sort of 'packages' you're talking about."

"Look, we did some shitty stuff." You gave a small shrug. You try to act nonchalant about it. You weren't proud of your past. You focus your attention on the table in front, finding it easier to look at that, rather than the disappointed gazes of your team. You didn't want to see them look at you differently.

"Like what?"

"We stole stuff, bikes, cars, broke into a house once or twice." You admitted, a light blush tinting your cheeks in shame. "You got a cut of whatever the total of what you took."

"You burgled."

"Technically, yes." You answered, voice hesitant. Hotch frowned, eyebrows drawing in.

"Anything else?"

"We were told to rough some guys up a few times." You admitted. You hear Garcia draw in a sharp breath.

"And this Chris, how did you know him?"

"He was the ring leader." You answered, "You did what he told you, no questions asked."

"And Ryan?"

"He also worked for Chris."

Two days later, it was revealed that the unsub was in fact Danny Miller. Once it was established that he was the one doing the killing, finding him was fairly easy. And the next afternoon you had him surrounded in a warehouse, trying to talk him down.

"Danny." You say, walking into the room. Danny's attention is immediately on you, as is his gun. "Danny, you need to put the gun down."

"Don't act like you're any better than me, (Y/N)." Danny snapped.

"Danny, just- come on, man. Just put the gun down." You give a sigh, watching the older man's slightly shaking hand.

"You're not better than me." Danny growls.

Knowing Hotch and Morgan weren't exactly going to put their weapons down, you lowered yours. "Come on, Danny. Don't be an idiot. Just put it down."

"You don't know what he was like." Danny glared, hand still trembling. "He was a son of a bitch."

"I know, Danny. I know."

"No you don't!" Danny exclaimed, gun now pointing at you. Morgan's finger itched near the trigger, just in case.

"Then tell me."

"You know how your dad was?" You feel Hotch and Morgan's eyes flick to you for a split second. You swallow.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well he was worse."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You got out." Danny jabbed the gun towards you as he snarled.

"If you do this, you let him win." You state, "If you pull that trigger and my team mates shoot you, he's won. He's won and you won't get to look him in the eye and tell him how much of a bastard he is."

It takes a few more minutes, but it's the thought of spiting his father that gets Danny to lower the gun and Morgan immediately pounces, cuffing him.

Hotch wait until you're all flying back on the jet before he approaches you about the topic, with the team all trying their best to look like they're not listening. But for profilers, they can't act for shit.

"We need to talk about your previous record." Hotch stated, placing a file in front you you. "I had Garcia unseal the records."

"That's not fair."

"During the interviewing process you were specifically asked if you had a criminal record."

"It was all expunged-"

"(Y/N), that's irrelevant, I still should have been told,"

"Except it doesn't exist anymore, Hotch." You rub a hand over your face, wishing that you had just stayed home.

"It still matters,"

"No, it doesn't, I was a kid." You say, "I was fifteen, I made some stupid decisions to try and survive,"

"(Y/N)-"

"No, Hotch, it doesn't matter. It doesn't exist anymore."

"It was still important for me to know."

"Why? Why was it so important? I was- I was fifteen,"

"It's important because it still happened."

"I was just trying to survive." You looked at him. "I was just trying to survive. I went about it the wrong way, yes. And I'm not proud of it by any means, but I was fifteen and I didn't know what else to do."

"You still should have declared it."

"Do I still have this job?"

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, frowning in confusion.

"Am I fired?"

"No."

"Then, respectfully sir, it was expunged. It doesn't exist anymore, my slate is clean. And you getting Garcia to unseal the records was unfair, unnecessary, and hurtful." You state, pausing for a short breath. "To me, that means that everything I've worked hard for - proving myself in this job - immediately went out the window the second you learnt something negative about my past."

And with that, you turn your head, deciding to look out of the window instead, signaling to your boss that the conversation was over.

[stormsthatrage]

Short snippet from the Bleach I Knew You AU.

But before I begin. *Insert deep sigh here.*

Secretlypansexualmango, if you see this, it was supposed to be a response to your ask. Unfortunately, it took a hard left-turn and ended up in. Uraichi shipping territory? Look, IDK, I'm asexual, I don't get it either. Anyway, since I don't know your shipping preferences and don't want to accidentally respond to your ask with something that squiks you, I will be officially responding to your ask in another post that is less likely to be unexpectedly unpalatable. Thank you for your patience, and, uh, I hope this doesn't turn you off the au! (*laughs nervously*)

Without further ado, the snippet:

Breaking into the Shiba family grounds is easy. By sheer comparison, breaking into Shiba Ichigo’s room specifically is almost a challenge, but it’s not anything that Kisuke hasn’t planned for.

The strange, modified kido, and the odd wards Ichigo has placed, are simple to bypass with a bit of fancy footwork and precisely-timed counter-kido. It’s practically child’s play to get past them, now that he's roughly figured out how they work and where they all are.

His job is made even easier by the fact that, for some reason, Kisuke’s spiritual pressure doesn’t wake Ichigo up. Quite the opposite, in fact. He seems to sleep deeper when Kisuke is nearby and has let Benihime out a little.

He has theories about that.

He’s tired of them being theories.

He’s here to get evidence.

Kisuke bypasses the final seal and slides Ichigo’s window open, slipping into his room. He lets his spiritual pressure permeate the air a little thicker than he would in normal company, and as expected, Ichigo’s spiritual pressure slows down as he falls further into slumber.

… And Kisuke is supposed to believe that the first time they met was two months ago? When this is Ichigo’s reaction to his presence? When Ichigo is one of the most paranoid people Kisuke, an ex-onmi agent, has ever encountered?

Kisuke is a genius. He doesn’t need to be in order to see the flaw in that logic.

Kisuke steps further into the room, gliding softly over the old wood floorboards. He pauses in the middle, taking a moment to debate where to start.

Well. Why not with the simplest?

He’s caught it a few times, the barest trace of his own power lingering around Ichigo. A fascinating phenomenon, when he can’t recall a single time he’s drawn shikai around him, let alone used enough power to leave a long-lasting trace.

He draws closer to Ichigo’s bed, until he could reach out and touch him if he wished.

Ichigo breathes deeply, evenly, no sign of waking up. At some point, his covers ended up half kicked-off. Possibly from the heat, probably from nightmares. Regardless of the reason, Kisuke can’t help but think that he looks strangely fragile this way, surrounded by the evidence of his restlessness.

He puts a hand on the the hilt of his soul-partner. “Awaken, Benihime,” he murmurs.

She stirs within him, gently, in a way that is oh so rare. Like the softest, most gradual of ocean tides, she rises, her fragrance of wet iron washing through the air around them.

And together, channeling her power through his eyes, they see.

Glowing crimson threads that they have no recollection of weaving wrap protectively, lovingly, around Ichigo. A thin but strong filament, sewn through the skin from just below Ichigo’s ear all the way to his opposite shoulder, sutures closed what must have once been a deadly throat wound. Another one, obviously originally meant to keep shut a gash down the length of Ichigo’s forearm, keeps it companion.

And beyond the battlefield sutures there are more threads. Hundreds of intangible and deceptively thin and absolutely unbreakable strands of Benihime’s power wrap around Ichigo, crisscrossing over themselves — around his throat and across his face and down his torso and up his arms, visible wherever his bare flesh is exposed — seemingly serving no purpose.

Benihime’s power surges at the sight, a hot delight running through her as she sees Ichigo so thoroughly caught in her webs. Kisuke’s fingers suddenly, urgently ache with the urge to touch, to tighten, to add more.

Soul King.

No purpose other than, it seems, to satiate their own possessiveness.

Kisuke exhales a shaking breath. Closes his eyes for a brief moment. Gets the heat in his blood under control.

No purpose other than to alert themselves, perhaps? Did they know that one day they wouldn't recognize Ichigo anymore, and left this as a clue?

(And oh, what a clue. What a clue it is.)

He lets Benihime’s power fade, taking his hand away from her hilt. He’s self-aware enough to know when he needs to stop tempting himself, and he’s gotten the evidence he came for — far better proof than he could have ever anticipated.

He takes a step back, and the motion is the most unnatural thing he’s done in a long, long time.

He has questions. He has a few theories, too. Amnesia, caused by a very specific type of parasitic hollow. Dimension travel. Time travel. He doesn’t have enough information yet to figure out which is most likely, but he has finally confirmed beyond doubt that Ichigo is his, has been his, and something tried to steal that from him.

Fury flares within him, burning through his veins, and he can’t do this right here.

He takes another step back, this one just as unnatural as the last.

He can’t ask, yet. He can’t get closer, can’t wake Ichigo up with a soft hand on his cheek, can’t tell him that he’s there now, can’t promise him to take care of it all if he would just let him in again.

No.

Shiba Ichigo is in the middle of a chess game — a dangerous one, a complicated one — and Kisuke can’t see the whole board yet. Tipping his own hand might trigger a whole plethora of traps, including another round of amnesia, and he refuses to risk the knowledge he’s regained.

He will have to be careful. He will have to move cautiously.

He casts one last look at Ichigo, lets his eyes trace over that delicate throat that he now knows almost bled out. That delicate throat that had to be held together with Benihime’s webs. That delicate throat that he doesn’t remember stitching back together, despite the fact that he used his bankai to do it.

He was made to unknow a person he loves. He was made to unknow a war. He was made to unknow the fact that danger lurks still in the shadows of Soul Society.

He will know the end of this game. And Ichigo will learn that there is no universe in which Kisuke does not protect what’s his.

Kisuke turns. Takes another unnatural step away from his favorite, infuriating puzzle. And then he wrenches himself out of the room, out into the night, closing the window behind him and leaving as unnoticed as he had come.

[heliads]

first of all i just wanted to say that i’m actually in love with your writing and i can’t wait to read more from you!! anyway i was thinking of some good ol’ peter hayes x fem!reader where they were both in candor together and hated each others GUTS, but then when they transferred to dauntless, peter starts developing feelings for reader so he follows her around like some puppy but she’s still on the peter-hate-train. maybe also like he starts talking to some other female dauntless initiate and stops giving reader as much attention and she finally realizes that she likes him

(this is such a long request i’m so sorry)

thank you so much!!

'Bad Liars' - peter hayes

masterlist

Starting out life on your own terms. A fresh page, a blank slate. This is why you decided to switch factions in your Choosing Ceremony, why you agreed to never see your family again except by something as meager as coincidence. Friends, neighbors, blood relations, all left behind with one swipe of a knife against your palm. It’s worth it, though. Running through the streets of your city like your world is on fire, you’re free for the first time in your memory. It’s just you in this new, grand place they call Dauntless.

Well, you and Peter Hayes.

Of all the people to come here with you, of course your fellow transfer from Candor would be Peter. Bold, callous Peter. Peter, who’s had it out for you since you were kids. No child should know that much bitter hatred, but the two of you have been arch rivals since you were small. You’d be lying if you said that leaving him behind didn’t factor into your decision to transfer from Candor to Dauntless even a little bit, but yet here he is anyway. Turns out you couldn’t run that far from him after all.

To you, it makes perfect sense that if Peter Hayes had to go anywhere, he would go to Dauntless. All throughout his time at Candor, for as long as you can remember Peter, he had been crafting his words to inflict as much misery as possible. In the eyes of the faction leaders, anything he said was fair game so long as he was telling the truth, and Peter did just that. He told his truth, which was precisely like reality except warped to cause as much hurt as he dared. 

Peter’s words were honed to a knife’s sharpness, easier for drawing blood than the syringes of your faction’s truth serum. Of course he would go here, where bullets are no longer how he shapes his syllables to spike into your throat but a real thing. Why bother with figurative pain if you can produce the genuine article?

The two of you had ended up here for precisely opposite reasons. Peter wanted to hurt, you wanted to fight back. Candor is full of self-righteous bullies who believe they’re doing the right thing by being uncommonly cruel to anyone they pass. In Dauntless, everyone is finally on a level playing field. If someone insults you, you fight them, and no amount of callous words can save you then. Talk is nothing if you can’t back it up with prowess. For someone who had to swallow plenty of poison back in Candor, Dauntless is like a holiday.

However, the one thing that makes your paradise fall short is the fact that Peter decided to come here with you. He had made his decision independently of you, of course, but you’re still infuriated about the whole affair. This was supposed to be your fresh start, your one chance to escape your past and become something no one expected of you. That’s the whole point of the Choosing Ceremony, isn’t it? To kill off the old you and transform into the best version of yourself?

That had been your plan, at least, and then Peter had made his choice. You wouldn’t go anywhere but Dauntless even if your entire faction transferred over here, but it did complicate things. You had hoped that you and Peter would always end up on opposite sides of the room, then opposite ends of the faction, and never come in contact again, but as per usual, it looks like Peter isn’t much inclined to follow your whims.

From the first day alone, you knew he was going to be trouble. You were one of the first to jump, fresh off the exhilaration of the free fall plunge from the top of the roof, and reeling in the lingering aftereffects of your largest adrenaline rush to date while waiting for the jumpers to take their turns off the edge. The room was crowded, more so with each new jumper to make their move, yet somehow in all that chaos, Peter managed to find you. It didn’t bode well for the remainder of initiation, to say the least.

You had been hoping that the two of you could exchange silent, wary eye contact and then move on, your past shattered and gone for good, but instead Peter wove his way through the throngs of people and came to a stop by your side.

“Look who we have here,” he says, drawing the words out, “Y/N L/N. I never thought you’d have the guts to come here.”

“And I always thought you’d be too much of a coward to leave Candor,” you reply. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

Peter’s eyes widen and he chuckles, evidently not expecting your retort. “Careful, L/N. Didn’t know you had such a sharp tongue.”

“You’ve known me for years,” you say, eyeing him coldly. “If you didn’t know that, you’re about to be very surprised indeed. I hope you didn’t set your hopes on making first place in initiation, Hayes, or you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Up ahead, one of the initiation leaders is calling for the trainees to fall in after him. You take this opportunity to breeze past Peter, who’s standing there and staring openly, mouth agape. You’ve put up with his bullshit for many years now, always taking it silently in fear of jeopardizing your position in your faction, but no longer. You’re on even footing again for the first time in a very long time, and you have absolutely no intention of ever caving to Peter Hayes again.

For Peter, it seems, your decision is a very rude awakening. You immediately fling yourself into the intricacies of fighting and running and shooting, which causes you to rise quickly through the ranks of initiates, much to Peter’s chagrin. Although he’ll tell anyone in earshot that he’s only letting you do so well because he thinks it’s funny to watch you struggle, you can see the panic in Peter’s eyes when you crush one fight after another. You meant what you said, after all. It’s first place or nothing, and you don’t intend on settling for anything where Peter’s concerned.

Your rivalry becomes just as well known among your new friends in Dauntless as it was back in Candor. Hardly a day goes by without you and Peter getting in each other’s way, whether it be slamming each other into the ground during a fighting match in the ring or running yourselves ragged in an attempt to be faster, stronger, better. It’s like you can’t get away from him. 

Everywhere you go, Peter is there too. Staying late after initiation to get some more practice with throwing knives, he just so happens to choose the target right beside you. Walking over to the training gym in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep and might as well use the empty hours to improve, Peter seems to have the same bright idea to practice with the punching bags even despite the midnight hour. You don’t like the fact that Peter seems to have such a good knack for telling when you’re awake or asleep, you have half a mind that he might get frustrated of the close competition and take you out while you were sleeping, but he’s never gone that far.

Your friends seem to have a different view of the whole affair. Every time you complain to them about Peter never letting you have a moment’s peace, Tris and Christina, your closest friends in initiation, just exchange knowing looks and begin to tease you. They seem convinced that Peter doesn’t hate you but actually harbors a crush, which is beyond you. There’s no earthly way that Peter likes you. The two of you have despised each other since before you could talk. The whole idea is absurd.

Still, if you were nothing more than an unknowing bystander, you supposed you could see how the situation might be misconstrued. A lifetime of truth-telling in you has to admit that maybe it is a little suspicious that you and Peter can’t seem to go an hour or two without running into each other, that Peter is both your greatest threat and the object of your every waking thought. It’s just because you want to beat him so badly, of course. Of course. If it weren’t, though. If you were thinking of him not because of hatred but for something more–

You wouldn’t. You would never be so foolish. This is how Peter wins, by twisting his way inside your mind until you’re second-guessing every single thing he does, and you’d die before you let him win. If he’s willing to play the game, though, you’ll do anything to beat him at his own technique, so you up the ante and repeat it right back to him. 

Sarcastic comments slip from your tongue whenever you see him. When Four takes the initiates out on guided runs, you make sure you’re jogging right by Peter the whole time, your pace steadily increasing until both of you end each race at a sprint. The rest of the trainees have learned to leave two targets side by side for you two whenever it’s time for sharpshooting practice, and heaven help the hapless initiate who asks one of you to spar as if the other wasn’t standing right there, guarding their territory.

It doesn’t mean anything, though. You still hate Peter to the ends of the earth, and everyone around you had better know it, too. You despise him as much as it’s physically possible for a human being to hate anyone, but then he starts spending a lot of time with someone else, and suddenly the hatred is far harder to come by than it ever was, and you’re not sure what to do with yourself at all.

He’s spending time with another girl. Which isn’t bad, of course. He’s got friends. You do too. But. One time at dinner, you heard Tris saying that he’s looking at the girl the same way he used to look at you, and she wasn’t talking about hate, and you cannot tell whether you were supposed to deny that he’d ever done anything but hate you or be furious at this new girl for stealing his attention away from you, so you didn’t answer at all. You didn’t sleep a wink that night, and gave up a few hours in to try and train some more. He didn’t follow. He always follows. Not this time, though, and when you came back, he was quietly whispering with the other girl. Hatching sinister plans, no doubt, or planning to stab someone in the back. He didn’t even look at you when he came in. It was like he didn’t even care.

You feel sick to your stomach. You intentionally ask other trainees to spar in the ring– look, Peter isn’t the only one capable of moving on– but it’s like he doesn’t even notice. You want to slam your hands against his chest and shout in his face, do anything to make him look at you, but instead you stay sullen and quiet and pretend like nothing has changed even though everything, everything, has.

It hits you, about two weeks later, what the problem is. Like a lightning strike in the dark of night, all of a sudden you know, a knowledge that had been blank and absent before but totally unavoidable now. You like Peter. Hell, you might even love him, if you gave him that chance in your heart. Peter might have liked you, but you brushed him off for so long that he moved on.

It hurts like a jagged hole in your heart. Someone has reached inside and broken your ribs to claw this feeling out from where you’ve so cleverly hidden it, and there’s no disguising the horror of the wound now. You couldn’t escape it if you tried.

You found out this truth about yourself in the middle of a Dauntless party, and it kills your mood completely. You can’t stand the loud music or flashing lights anymore, so you put down your half-empty cup on one of the debris-strewn surfaces and make your way out. No one notices you leave. You’re a ghost on the outskirts of a celebration of life, and there is nothing here for you anymore.

You wander until you end up on the bridge overlooking the pit near the center of the Dauntless complex. You stand as close to the edge as you can, hands gripping the flimsy railing until you’re not sure your fingers could peel away from the rusting metal if you tried. If you’d felt any buzz from the party at all, you’ve sobered up by now. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing here, skin chilled by the drafts of the pit, and then a voice sounds from behind you, and you’re abruptly dragged back to reality once more.

“I thought you’d be back in there with the rest,” Peter says, coming to a stop beside you.

You don’t dare to look at him, opting instead to keep your eyes firmly trained on the drop over the edge of the pit. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Peter sounded genuinely curious when he asked, but your tone is harsher, colder. You still haven’t forgiven him for moving on just when you realized that you liked him, and it’s leaching into your voice. Peter chuckles even still. “No, not me. The best part just left.”

You risk a glance his way, and to your surprise, he’s looking at you. “Are you being honest with me, Peter?” You ask.

His face twists into chagrin. “Looks like we can’t beat the Candor out of ourselves after all, even despite all the training sessions we’ve pulled. I’ve tried, though.”

“You’ve done a good job,” you muse. “It’s me who needs to be fixed the most.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

You shake your head. Maybe you weren’t as sober as you thought. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Says who?” Peter asks plainly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You regard him suspiciously. “You haven’t always.”

Peter has the grace to look embarrassed. “I’ve done things I regret.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, and laugh to hide your heartbreak. “I know you, Peter Hayes. I know what you do. I’m not falling for it. Not again.”

“It worked before?” Peter asks, genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

This time you do laugh for real. “Why would I? And give you another weakness to exploit?”

Peter flinches as if you’ve slapped him. “I deserve that, probably, but I’ve been trying to be better.”

“Why?” You ask. “You’ve never cared what I thought, and you certainly don’t care about being better. Nothing about you makes sense, Peter. You’ve got a girl back there in the party who’s probably looking for you now, but instead you’re trying to apologize to me. You’ve never cared about that before.”

“But I do now,” Peter says, voice unexpectedly strong. When he turns the force of his gaze back on you again, you feel totally rooted in place, unable to move even if you wanted to. And, when he starts to move closer to you, one hand coming to rest on top of your fingers, you’re not sure that you do. “I do care. I’ve been trying to tell you that for weeks.”

“I thought you were excellent at telling the truth,” you whisper.

“So did I,” Peter replies. Hesitates, then says, “Only other people’s truth, it turns out. You were always my best secret. I wanted to keep you the most.”

Your breath sticks to your lungs, refusing to grant you release. None of this makes sense. Peter would never– But he is now, standing in front of you, telling you as much as he can. Peter still wants you. It’s up to you if you want him, too.

After everything he’s done to you over the years, you owe him nothing at all. He’s hurt you more times than you could count. When you’re cold, bitterly cold, freezing down to the bone with no way of rescue save your own rough and ragged principles, you burn everything around you. Clothes, shoes, furniture. Even people. Peter burned you, and so severe was the flame of your mutual hatred that it made it impossible for anything to grow between the two of you but a jealous wrath. 

Peter has left the cold of Candor and traded in his shivering bones for Dauntless’ natural warmth, and now he finally has the room to put out the fire again. He’s stamped out the inferno, or tried to, at least; but upon inspecting the last flattened spark, Peter can’t tell if he went too far. It is immensely difficult for him to discern if he has left anything of you but char and ash. 

What could have been a beautiful thing went up in smoke the moment he first raised a harsh word against you. Peter loves the truth, loves most of all to twist it, but in the end, the truth cannot help him here. Peter knows what he wants the truth to be, but the truth is no substitute for reality. It is up to you if you can ever forgive him, and no amount of pretty words on Peter’s end can change that.

It’s up to you, and for the first time since you came to Dauntless, you know precisely what you want. “I know what you mean,” you tell him carefully.

Peter’s face cracks in a tentative smile. “You know? So you–”

“I do,” you interrupt. “I like you, Peter.”

You have seen Peter furious, filled with righteous vengeance. You’ve seen him bloody and bruised on the other end of a sparring ring. You thought that the brightest emotion you’d ever see on him was the pure flame of hatred, but it turns out there’s one thing better than wrath, and that’s sheer, incandescent joy. He wears it now like the finest of luxuries, and you decide that you’d like to see it many times again. As it turns out, you’ll have plenty of chances.

divergent tag list: @blondsauduun, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @crazyhearttragedy, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @alex-1967s-blog, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 35

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: ah, we arrive at the Odinson stronghold.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Remember the rules, pet," Mr. Laufeyson reminds you as you pass beneath an iron archway covered in ivy and roses. 

"Yes..." your voice trails off as your mouth falls open in awe.

It's a fairytale. Even more beautiful than his own garden. There's a fountain at the center of the long drive, round hedges framing it and mosaic stone all around. Petals flutter on bushes and grass sprawls all around, marble statues and stone benches speckled over the expanse. The house is built of white brick with figures of sprites and elk along the facade.

"...Mr. Laufeyson," you finish breathily.

"Yes, it is rather marvelous," he says without genuine reverence. "I assume mother will be using it as her venue for Walpurgisnacht, however, she may just as easily book the banquet hall in the next city."

"Oh," you utter.

"Not to worry, she will likely have much sorted out already. It's why I wonder at her insistence that you accompany me. She is ever decisive and much prefers doing things by her own hand," he steers around the curve of the drive and stops just before the steps. "Suppose we must take it in stride."

He flips the engine and it quiets. Birds cheep and insects hum just outside. He unclicks his seatbelt and you mirror him, climbing out just a hair after he does. You turn to gape up at the facade once more as you shut the door gently.

Mr. Laufeyson comes around and heaves, "well, then--"

"Should I get the bags?"

"Don't bother, the help will deal with it," he assures and points you ahead.

He walks beside you, stretching his neck as he pushes his head side to side. He extends his fingers and rolls his shoulders. Still the tension nestles once more in his posture. You take the steps one at a time and fall a pace behind him. He marches ahead to the doors and waits for you to catch up before he pulls it open.

You step inside and quickly slip off your shoes as you eye the shining floor. It's just as immaculate, if not more, than his estate. You try to imagine how long it would take you to clean it on your own. Maybe that's why you're here.

"Darlings," Frigga trills as she appears in an archway to your left, "oh, you have arrived."

She goes to you first and kisses both your cheeks, barely glancing off your chin. Then she turns to Laufeyson and cradles his cheeks as she admires him, "I'm so happy you came."

"Mmm, and father knows we were invited?"

"Of course," she tuts as she draws away from him, "tell me, have you eaten? You were on the road such a long time. I have cucumber sandwiches and some iced berry tea."

"I'm not hungry," Laufeyson mutters as he peers around, almost expectantly.

"What about you, hon?" She takes your hand.

"Um, I..." you look to Laufeyson for your answer but your stomach growls before you can answer. 

"Feed her," he says as he flutters his fingers, "get her settled. I think I can keep myself entertained."

You frown guiltily. You didn't mean to disobey him. His eyes dull with that unimpressed haze as he turns on his heel and strides away. 

"I believe your brother is outside," she calls after him.

"Thank you for warning me," Laufeyson as he scoffs and disappears through another doorway.

"Ugh, boys," she chides, "pray you only ever have one son, though a brood is never a bad thing."

She turns, her hand still around yours as she drags you through the gilded archway. You let her as you drink in the beauty around every corner and crevice. This is like a dream. You've never seen anything like it. Not outside movies. You remember that one you watched on cable with Anne Hathaway. You only saw half before your father shut it off.

"Please sit," she takes you to the long white island and gestures to a tall velvet stool, "Loki didn't say if you were coming or not. I'm so happy you did."

She releases you and goes to the other counter, takes a scalloped plate and fills it with all sorts of food from platters. She brings it to you and watches you across the narrow island. "So, tomorrow, I must look at flowers. We have a healthy supply in the greenhouse but I think a few exotic breeds would do well. Then we will go to the bakery to arrange desserts and the like. Oh, the winery may need to wait until Sunday..."

She tallies off her to-dos as you nod along. Her own long list jumbles with your own in your head. You blink at her as she prattles on.

"Darling, please eat," she interrupts herself, "anyhow, as I was saying, perhaps we could make a special day of it. A day at the winery then the spa."

You nibble on the corner of the cucumber sandwich, grateful for the excuse not to respond. You doubt she'd hear you if you did. Your stomach roars in delight as you feed it, only then realising how hungry you truly are. You weren't very concerned with your appetite as the motion of the car roiled your stomach but now, you're ravenous.

Your mind wanders back to the long drive. You turn your gaze away, afraid Frigga might see your thoughts. The same sets in as the memory sinks in your brain. You can't believe you did that to him. While he was driving, too.

"Oh, goodness me, you must be so tired and hear I am blabbing your ear off," she clucks, "I forgot the tea... unless you prefer wine."

"Tea," you answer abruptly, recalling the last time you drank. You won't give Mr. Laufeyson any reason for distaste. "Thank you."

"Aw, so polite, dear," she preens, "are you excited for Walpurgisnacht?"

You twist your lips and swallow a mouthful, "um, sure... what is it?"

"My, I didn't even think," she pours a glass of deep red iced tea into a tall glass. She nears you again and places it by your plate. "May Eve. It's a celebration of Springtime, to embrace love and fertility."

"Mm, oh," you furrow your brow. That's odd.

"Yes, we will have many visitors to help us celebrate. And some games too. Mostly drinking and food, as is our way," she explains, "I can't believe this will be your first Walpurgisnacht! How delightful."

You nod and take another bite. It's almost nice how she assumes most things aren't a first for you. How she treats you like somehow you belong here.

"I didn't even think," she taps her manicured finger on the marble, "I should've invited your father. I know he's sick but it is always good to have family close."

You almost choke. You gulp and lower your eyes. You reach for the tea to wash away the sudden bitter taste on your tongue.

"Oh, I hope... I hope he is okay," she says.

"He's... he's fine," you sniff, "he's... mad at me. We aren't... we aren't speaking."

"How tragic," she touches her chest, "Loki didn't say a word. Well, then... dear, are you alright? Where are you staying?"

Your chest sinks. Of course, he wouldn't talk to her about you and explain everything that's gone rotten. You are still just the house manager to her.

"Mr. Laufeyson kindly offered--"

"Oh, I know, I know he would," she sounds ready to cry, "my son can be so caring. It's a pity he holds it in."

"Yeah, uh, it's very nice of him," you pick away a stip of crust.

"I didn't mean to bring up sour grapes," she says, "I'm sure everything will be alright. These things happen. Families fight but they always come back together. Gosh, if only you knew the state Loki left in last time. He and his father had such a row. Not to mention he wouldn't even speak with his own brother for well over a year. Stubborn."

You look at her in surprise. It's not that Laufeyson isn't cold and distant, it's just that you didn't expect all that information dumped on you. You want to ask why but know better than that.

"I only hope things go better this time," she says.

You nod and pick up a grape from the plate. You really hope so too. As long as you follow the rules, it should.

✨

After you eat, Frigga takes you on a tour of the immense house. You don’t remember where most things are as you remain astonished by the grandeur. You can barely imagine spending the night. The thought that she lives here every day is astounding. She is the luckiest woman in the world.

She takes you up the wide staircase with its curved banisters and shows you the upper floor. You yawn behind your hand, caught as she peeks back at you. You drop your hand and smile, flicking your eyes as you try to seem more awake.

“Oh dear, are you tired?” She preens, “let us show you your room.”

“It’s okay–”

“Rest is important, and a part of Walpurgisnacht. It’s about renewal so you must take care,” she reproaches, “I made up a room just for you.”

“You did?” You murmur as she waves you ahead.

“Oh, yes, of course, like I said, I’ve been looking forward to this very much,” she chimes, “just here,” she opens the left side of a double door. You admire the patterns carved beneath the layer of champagne-tinted paint. “I believe the staff will have brought your bags already.”

“Um, thank you,” you smile nervously, “it’s all very wonderful…” You gaze around the room, “it’s too much.”

“Not at all,” she touches your arm gently, “I know my son can be a stickler, whoever knows where he got that from. You are here to enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks,” you rub your palms together, “for everything. It’s so nice.”

“Certainly dear,” she touches your cheek gently, “should you need anything, you can tap this button.” She points to a tiny silver button by the light switch, “Hilde will be around.”

“Hilde,” you nod, “okay. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, you are so sweet,” she preens, “please don’t hesitate to ask for anything.” She squeezes your shoulder, “please make yourself at home.”

She leaves you with a gentle click of the door. You hesitate at the threshold, terrified of tainting the perfection of the room. There’s a four-postered bed, the sort you dreamed about as a girl, with a white frame and bedding in the same hue, trimmed in silver. The night tables have curled feet and a matching wardrobe stands against the wall. 

There’s a vase of flowers arranged on the vanity and a rug with dainty roses patterned on it beneath the foot of the bed. Each piece matches the next, gilded in silver, with a touch of colour here and there. The windows are tall and open, letting in the last of the morning hues. You are overwhelmed with the sheer beauty of this place.

Your luggage stands beside the bed. Just yours. Does that mean you’ll be sleeping alone? Perhaps that is for the better. It wouldn’t be seemly for Mr. Laufeyson to be commingling so closely with his house manager.

You should find him and let him know which room is yours. You go to the door and stop yourself. It feels wrong to go off roving through the house. No, you should stay and listen. You’re certain he wouldn’t be far from you. That only makes sense, doesn’t it?

You linger by the door, ear to the crack between the doors as you listen to the house. Nothing more than a distance scuff here or there. Not until you hear hinges catch for just a moment. You hold your breath and try to see between the doors but can’t.

Footsteps, long and deliberate. That has to be Laufeyson, right? You hope that it is. You wait for them to pass before you open the door and peek out. Oh no! It’s not Mr. Laufeyson.

Before you can retreat and hide, the gray-haired man stops. He has broad shoulders and his arms are bent behind him, one hand balled in another. You gulp and slowly pull back but it’s too late as the man pivots on his heel.

“I suppose my son told you it was best to avoid me,” the man says, his tone rigid but not unkind.

“Um,” you let go of the door and step up, slumping your shoulders as you stare at his suede slippers. “No, sir, I only… thought you were Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” he scoffs, “you must be the one my wife spoke so highly of.”

“Sir,” you dip your head lower.

“Odin,” he offers as he comes closer, little by little, as if approaching a skittish deer, “father of Mr. Laufeyson,” he snorts and offers his hand, “and your name?”

You accept his hand meekly and mutter your name. He grips you firmly, warmly and gives a short shake. He keeps a hold of your hand and turns it, placing his other hand over your knuckles.

“Let me have a look at you,” he urges you into the hall, “my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

You let him lead you further out. You bite your lip and exhale. You unpinch your teeth and lift your head. You look at him, squirming as he considers you. His steely hair is brushed back from his face and small coils gather behind his ears and neck. His eyes are blue and vibrant, like Thor’s, and his face is creased with and determination.

“Now,” he smiles, “how did my son capture a lovely creature like you?”

“Sir?”

“Please, Odin will do nicely,” he pats your hand, “may I use your name?”

“Yes, s– Yes, Odin,” you correct yourself.

“Wonderful, it’s a beautiful name,” he brings your hand up and kisses it, “it fits you well.”

He finally lets you go and you feel your cheek burn. You don’t know how to react. With everything you heard, you expected a horrible, grumpy old man. Someone like your own father. Yet, he’s just as pleasant as Frigga. 

“Thank you,” your lips curve just a little.

“Polite little thing,” he muses, “do you like chocolate?”

“Pardon?” You’re taken aback by his question.

“Chocolate,” he repeats, “Loki hasn’t much of a sweet tooth and the other one would devour them all. I’ve got some truffles, would you like one?”

“Well, I… er,” you rub your neck, “I wouldn’t want to bother,” you stammer.

“Bother? Why ever would I ask if it was?” He dismisses, “you are my guest, I do prefer to know those who are staying under my roof. I would be a shit guest otherwise.”

You scrunch your lips up at his profanity. He notices the wince and he chuckles, bring his fingertips to his chin, “excuse my language.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, “um, sure, I will have some chocolate… Odin.”

“Ah, wonderful, just this way,” he points you towards the other end of the hall, “this is part of the trap you see,” he says as he ushers you along, “I keep them in my office.”

He laughs and you join in thinly. You’re not sure he’s entirely kidding. He shows you into his office. The decor is wrought in gold and oak. It reminds you a little of Laufeyson’s study in the style, but not the colours.

“You will have your chocolate,” he assures as he closes the door, “but first, you will tell me how you ended up with that son of mine.” He strides around the desk as you hover across from him. He pulls out a drawer as you clasp your hands tight. You can’t tell him everything.

“How…” you utter.

“Yes,” he pulls out a square red box, “he hardly seems your type.”

“Oh, well, I am only his house manager,” you shrug.

“Sure, if that’s what he tells you to say, say it,” he tuts, “but it doesn’t mean I must believe it.”

You drop your head and frown. You’re a poor liar but you don’t dare tell the truth. He sighs and you peek up from under your lashes.

“Not to worry, I keep a promise,” he comes around and offers the open box of truffles, “this one is dark with raspberry, you might like it? Or this one, strawberry and cream,” he points to a dark bulb, then a white one sprinkled with pink sugar, “perhaps you will surprise me.”

You shyly reach for the box and pick out the plainest of the bunch. You thank him quietly and stare at the treat. He knows you’re lying and he’s still being kind. You wish you could tell him the truth, maybe he could help you understand it. Yet, the thought of saying it all out loud suffocates you in flames.

“Crushed toffee,” he says, “my favourite.”

“Oh, uh,” you hold it out.

“No, no, you have it,” he insists as he strolls back around his desk, “I am hardly interested in talking about my son, so let us not dwell on him. Tell me about you.”

“Me?” You blink.

“Yes. Do you read? Do you enjoy music? What are your favourites?”

You stand there, holding the truffle, speechless. You don’t know what to say. You are boring. No one ever cared about any of those things, so much so, that you never much thought of them yourself.

“Please, sit,” he takes his own advice and lowers himself into the leather chair, “enjoy your chocolate, then you may answer my questions.”

[beatcroc]

a year!!! as of today i have now been drawing these funny little pizza freaks, to the exclusion of almost everything else, for!!! an entire year!!! i wanted to do a nice group shot/lineup of everybody to compare to when i first started trying to draw them because oh boy were they bad. i never even posted most of them anywhere because they were so bad. but im posting them here, now, to see how everything's changed/evolved.

this is probably the hardest time i've ever had trying to figure out how to work with a style, but we got there eventually; i'm pretty happy with the handle i've got on everybody now...dont let ur memes be dreams. lots of unimportant journaling and idle thoughts abt it below.

older pics

the first one is the VERY first time i drew them, before i thought i was going to actually have any interest in drawing them [lmao]; it was just the one isolated image, for my friendserver, to illustrate the funney message, so there was no attempt to make it Good or actually understand anything going on w/ the designs or style.

second is the original run of practices sketches to start trying to figure them out for real; done after i started having ideas for the comics and such and realized oh god maybe i am actually gonna draw fanart for this. [again, lol, and lmao.]

third one is the first pt art thing i posted on here. there were a couple weeks of sprite studies between this one and the previous image. the one on the top right wasn't part of that post i just threw it on as space filler; i'd intended to shift to doing Sprite Redraws But Stylized to explore tings more, but that was the only one i did. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

individual characters

peppino: by far the hardest dear god. bro what ARE your shapes how DOES your face work. jesus christ. everything i have trouble with this style for, peppino has it in excess. i draw in polygons! i need consistency! and that is the last thing this kind of style is concerned with. they are made of squarshy clay and i do not understand how to mold them. i was really hoping trying to learn this game's style would GIVE me that kind of flexibility for fun exaggerated facial expression but i don't think much came of it in the end 😔. anyway on the bright side all this means once i got peppino figured out a little bit everybody else clicked way easier.

fake peppino: honestly i never did anything with him on purpose except for how his eyes work + the perma-smile thing. i figured ok hes supposed to look weird and off model so whatever happens with him happens. and it did. and it kept happening. it is still, in fact, happening.

noise/ette: somehow, for every bit that peppino was the least natural thing i've ever tried, these two worked pretty much right off the bat. i still don't understand it, seeing as pretty much all the things at play for peppino are also at work for them. i think the new sketches are actually a little worse than older ones but not enough that i care.

gustavo: really funny bc i drew him on model twice and just went 'okay, cool nice, easy, um. he doesn't have any fucking legs?' fortunately he was the only one i had a strong idea for how to stylize him [square] and it worked exactly as i was hoping so wahoo.

brick: is an animal and therefore 5000x easier and more natural for me to draw/stylize than anything else in the cast. that is Just a rat bro. i can draw a rat.

gerome: i think the funniest one here. the most drastic and least necessary change imo. i was gonna have him be really small at first, like smaller than the noises, but then i just... didn't. he's just peppino-sized now. also i gave him like. actual human facial structure, which is funny bc in most cases i'd do anything to avoid, but it works well for his being A Rock to give him some angles and definition like that+ to differentiate his vibe from the rest of the cast who are all very squishy. also since he is essentially Just A Head it's good to emphasize that too ig.

john: i only drew john a couple times but he gets to be here because i like him. and because most of the stuff i applied to gerome was readily applicable to john, though i did try to keep him a little more uncanny because he is a Huge And Lanky Freak. i hate that he is barefoot btw but idk how to make his color balance look right with shoes.

pizzahead: i did not want to put him on here honestly but i Have drawn him a handful of times and more importantly i didn't know what i was gonna do with john's pose if i didn't have him there to be glared at. the only thing that's different with him is giving him wider-bottomed pants, which i got from when i tried to draw these guys in clone high style [i never posted that one either][i will eventually]

snick: he gets to be here because 1. he's like 6 lines 2. i like him and 3. ive scribbled him a few times offhand and it went pretty well

misc

there are some guys missing because those are guys i didn't draw enough [or at all] to have gotten comfortable with them. sorry

i would have Liked to shade these but for the time being i have accepted that my grasp of light/shadow has decayed to the point im not going to be happy with anything i try there, so For Now i am working on my presentation with flats i guess. gerome has a shadow only because he's shaded like that ingame and looks naked without it

anyway if you are still reading [hi?] i get to shamelessly plug now. i'm over the hill of my pizza run now, and while i still have plenty of things i want to make here, most of the bigger more in-depth ones have passed. pizza tower was the first thing in THREE YEARS to get me out of my oc groove to doing fanart, and once i am done with my ideas here i will be going right back to it. if you like my art or how i write characters/interactions you should check out my oc/webcomic blog @jamverse . i can't promise people who like pizza stuff will be terribly into my designs, but i can guarantee i treat my guys with the exact same sort of tone i handle the pt guys with. and hell, i've mentioned it a few times before, but like 70% of my characterization for fake pep is just copied off one of my characters, so if u are going to miss him... he will still be there in spirit >;p

and if you dont care about any of that and are still reading thank you anyway. actually making these comics + seeing how shockingly well-received they've been has done a lot for my confidence, and for seeing that my kind of stuff IS something people enjoy :')

[factual-fantasy]

24 asks!! :0000🌟🎭🌟

I HAVE!!! :DDDD

Kinger and Caine are my favorite characters! I've seen a lot of theories and fanart and I've already started making my own AU and angst and everything but I cant DRAW any of that yet because I'm REALLY BUSY with an OVERDUE PROJECT AAAAA

(In recent development, Asgore is unable to heal Spamton because he is a darkener :((( )

I think it might have been addressed at one point yeah :0 Maybe something was wrong with Seam and Asgore reached out to help. In which Seam was terrified and Jevil jumped in to protect him. Asgore could see the trauma and tension in the both of them so he carefully backed off.

Later he could hear from Seam about their pasts and why they were afraid of him. Asgore would then try to take steps to.. not..? Be scary to them?? <:D

Spade king could have talked in a very gravely and booming voice. So Asgore is sure to always talk softly and clearly. He is careful to not make any sudden movements around Seam and Jevil. If he's reaching for something near Seam/Jevil he will gently announce what he's doing and make sure they understand before he does it.

Asgore with his hands in his lap: "Seam, I want to grab that bag.."

Seam: *turns "huh?"

Asgore, hands still in his lap: "That bag beside you, I'd like to grab it."

Seam: "oh, okay,"

Asgore then gently reaches for the bag, making sure that Seam can see his hand coming.

Little things like that would really ease Seam and Jevils nerves. And its what made Asgore so trustworthy to them. The fact that he cared so much about their comfort and went above and beyond to make sure they felt safe around him.

Not really a parental figure. He sees Seam as his equal in every way. So like.. he sees him as his brother of the same age.?

@beryl-shade

Oh he didn't lock Seam up in a cell. He just put shackles around his wrists and neck :00

The thing about Jevil is that the bigger the group got, the worse his habits became. And the harder it became to break those habits.. Jevil was the one who collected these people, so they are his responsibility. Giving up his food not just for Seam, but for everyone. Staying awake to keep the fire large and roaring to keep the group warm.

The others try to help him.. but they would have a hard time getting Jevil to listen to them. Telling him he needs to eat, sleep or just relax. He probably wouldn't listen because he's a bit stubborn and is probably riddled with anxiety 24/7.

Although when Asgore came around things got a lot easier.

Asgore is very powerful and has proved his trustworthiness multiple times to Seam and Jevil. So although the royal vibe is off putting.. Jevil trusts him to watch the fire at night and protect the group. Seam has been able to reason with Jevil about the food part a little too.

Jevil: "You need this food more than me. You gotta keep your strength up until we can find someone to break these chains!"

Seam: "Jevil, you consume energy to make those mirrors to other worlds. How are you supposed to keep looking for someone to break my chains, if you're collapsed on the ground, too weak to make another mirror?"

Jevil: "......."

Jevil: *takes ONE bite out of sandwich

I was thinking around 10 years or so..? Maybe more? Haven't really decided :0 And he was able to escape by making a mirror and stepping through it. That mirror basically poked a hole in the walls of the AU and he was able to step out of the AU. Effectively stepping out of his cell and breaking free :}

Also thank you!! :DD

@gracebeth3604

I've completely ignored comments like this recently because I don't wanna deal with all the drama that will surly follow. But you were really polite and very thorough with your evidence.. sooo I guess I might as well answer it now,

I am aware that people use they/them for Seam. But -> my version <- of Seam goes by he/him.

I don't reeallly have a Splatoon AU..? And I haven't played Splatoon in a while- although I do still like it and have made some Splatoon ocs!

These drawings are pretty old. I've been meaning to come back and re-draw them haha <XD

Yeah its okay to tag like that. Like "seam and jevil" or "mario and luigi". That's just tagging them as being in the same post, no big deal 👍

Also no, no art of any kind. If you truly wanna show that you appreciate my work then leave comments. Maybe reblog once in a while or send me an ask. The comments don't have to be anything complex. You could leave a "Looks great!" comment on 50 posts of mine in a row and I will see what you're doing and appreciate it endlessly.

@genericcereal-wastaken

(I most likely will lol XD) Also thank you! I'm glad you love it! :DD

@elegysonnet

Honestly I can see Seam wanting nothing wrapped around/touching his wrists for a while.. even though they need it. But he could accept cold rags being dabbed on the wounds to ease the stinging.

As for what he'd eat? Dude- anything XDD Probably a burger to start. He'd just take a big fat bite and cry about how good it tastes 😭

And yeah! Now that he has his full range of movement he has his cat like flexibility back :}}

When it comes to Seam using his magic? Its hard for a while...

He hasn't used it consistently in so long.. he would be rusty, and probably anxious to use it again. It would take a lot of sparing and gentle guidance from Jevil and probably Asgore to get his grove back.

It would also take time for him to physically heal. Having his body's energy constantly drained has really effected his ability to control his magic. He would need a few weeks of good sleep and hearty meals before he could get his groove back. But he'll get there. With the group/Jevils support, he would eventually be back to the way he was. Equally matched with Jevil. :}

@clevermakercupcake

Thank you!! :}}} 🌻🌻

I don't remember that, did he do that?? Kwazii whyyy that's nasty XDDD

@cupcake-kingdom

Seam is frightened and confused but appreciates the message! XD

Joy. There's just joy and relief everywhere.

There has been a constant anxiety over this group- not just Jevil, that Seam would suddenly collapse and die. Finally succumbing to the chains draining properties.

Now that the chains are off? Seam will heal. He will eat and stay full. He will absorb those calories and turn it into energy. And he will keep that energy. When he sleeps he will wake up feeling rested. He will heal, he will live.

For Seam, it was almost too good to be true. It just, it blew his mind. He was free. He was really free. No more pain, no more aches. No more hunger. His freedom truly starts here. The relief he felt can't be described. He cried, hard. But he also laughed, and for the first time in years, he smiled.

And Jevil? He couldn't speak. He just cried and cried and cried.. He couldn't let go of Seam. He couldn't stop looking at his wrists. Exanimating them over and over again. As if he couldn't truly believe it. All the anxiety, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. They were all over. Seam was gonna live, he didn't have to worry anymore. He couldn't let go of Seam, he couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.

They will likely leave some kind of permanent scar on Seam yes.. but his floofy orange fur hides the scars around his neck. And the scars on his wrists will be somewhat covered up by his fur. So thankfully they wont really be noticeable. <:)

@nunyabusiness459

Heck yeah. After they cry their souls out together they go and crash for like 6 hours or something XDD

(Also funny username, made me laugh! XD)

WAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And heck yeah!! Feel free to send me your AU stuff when you're done/ready! I'd love to see it! :}}

@ocinstituterep I imagine he's just reeeeally quiet about sneaking out. My Kwazii doesn't sneak out though he knows better XD

Thank you so much! Also Spongebob has angst??? :00000

Things are mostly better!

Little Red got her knees fixed, Escorts broken down a few times but he's currently in working order! Suburban is stiillll a work in progress... undrivable at the moment- :x

Greenie now takes all 4 limbs to start, Brown is out of the garage and U.M is out of the trailer! Pretty good stuff :}}

(If any of that made sense to you I applaud you for your dedication to my Transformer ocs <XDD)

@skywillow28022

She does exist, although I didn't have any real plans for her.. maybe she was just a gal that the bros knew in passing back on Earth.?

@beryl-shade

I feel like none of them would willing visit that old stage.. expect for maybe Foxy. I feel like Foxy would be a very emotional and tender hearted character. I can see him not wanting to "leave them behind" in a way. He would come back now and then and talk to the stage as if they were standing on it and could hear him. The staff think that Foxy's programming just hasn't properly registered that Chica and Freddy are gone. And in a way.. they're right..

Foxy cant let go of their memory. And despite how much it would ache seeing that empty stage, I can see him coming back to it anyway..

This also means that part of the reason why Bonnie and Foxy clash so much now is that Bonnie is trying to snuff out any memories and feelings of the past. Meanwhile Foxy is wallowing in those memories and refuses to let go.

If any of the four of them had to preform on that stage once again? Oh man. That would hurt. It would kill Foxy to stand in the place of his late friends. He would feel guilty, ashamed.. Monty and Roxy also couldn't handle it. They would be crushed. Monty would likely get emotional and angry. Roxy would want to run and hide her face. Maybe the three of them would find a way to fake a malfunction so they could just get off the stage..

But Bonnie? Man. Maybe he's so overwhelmed that he just goes on autopilot and finishes the performance. Only to have a complete mental breakdown in his room later.. being so close to the memory of Chica and Freddy.. its crippling to him.

@skatermusic

Daww, thank you :}}}

[futureflipflop]

Since i may end up doing the interactive au thing for Aphmau's MID, here's the cast in my doodle style [I think i made the dudes too twinky but i will work on that 💪]

This didn't take very long so it's me getting more comofrtable with trying to merge the minecraft skins, Aphmau's style of them, and the fandom's

-

First up, Ava!

I think I'm placing her height at around 5'3? comfortably shorter than average

-

Here's Rhys

Not too confident in this one, I feel like his body is off but the gist of it is there. I didn't think of drawing him to be softer until i already drew him, but yeah, I feel like he'd have a softer body compared to the others. For his height i'd place him at aroundd 5'8?, same height as Asch, but taller than Noi and slightly taller than Leif -

The boy Noi

I have NO idea what's going on with his collar, Aphmau's official art of him had it doing gymnastics. Apparently when i drew him i was at an angle so he's also doing a boogie. I'd place his height at a solid 5'5, he looks young but only because he doesnt want to actively stop living. He's stressless, or at least copes very well

-

Angry man Asch,

You can tell he's the first one i drew because i had NO idea what i was doing with his face. Angry 1990s big cartoony dude eyes. I do think the jaw shape i hgave him is fitting, sorta. if the face was more porportionate His height? around 5'8, same ish as Rhys. -

Leif, the wonderful assassin

i tried to get his smug personality and flawless eyeliner . I would like to apologize for the nips in the shriot because I cant tell if it's supposed to be sheer or not I'd say he's 5'7, maybe 5'6 if we want him to be aerodynamic.

-

Last but not least, Pierce

i couldnt for the life of me figure out how to draw a military-general-who-has-5-kids-at-home vibe on the frist try, so here's his face either sculptedf by the heavens or dragged through the dirt He's definitely "the dream" 6'4 or something. -- So like, I'll probably make Reader slash Y/N be the colour yellow, since that would complete the rainbow we've got goin on here. I have yet to come up wtih a design for them, but they'd probably be around 5'5, face to face with Noi. If Daemos are taller than Humans by nature, then I'd say bump up their heights by around 3-5 inches Anyways, here's the Lineup

-- If like yknow people like it ill set up an interactive au, I'll set it u[p so that it's parallel to the fanfic, making it easier for people to ask about it! have no idea what im doing but ill try to feed this small fandom anything 🤚✋

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part III

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

Part I | Part II

____________

You clenched your fancy Kohinoor pencil between your fingers like it's a gun, staring at Aemond already posing in front of all of you. No procrastination, you reminded yourself firmly as you drew a long vertical line across the paper to balance the future drawing. Your teacher hadn't berated you for your mistakes even once. It'd be fine if you got this one wrong, too. Anything was better than an empty sheet.

God, but Aemond was so pretty. His high cheekbones, his strong nose and jaw, and those thin but expressive lips, the long scar across the left side of his face...

You quickly hid behind your easel.

Breathe. Just get out of your head, you repeated to yourself Aemond's very words. You needed to get started, and whatever happened next didn't matter as long as you allowed yourself to draw whatever came to your mind. Explanations and logic be damned. You were an artist! At these rare moments, you were supposed to feel, not think.

Slowly inhaling and exhaling to keep your anxiety at bay, you uncleched the pencil in your fingers and slowly started shaping the figure on a sheet. It's fine. Aemond wouldn't get mad anyway as long as you did what he said.

The more you put your pencil to the sheet, the easier it was getting, something unfurling in your chest, putting a stop to your anxious thoughts and fears of failure as you continued to build Aemond's body, starting to get into details once you finished with the primary form. Regardless of his talent and uniqueness as an artist, he was still only a fellow human being like you. There was no need to magnify his power.

By the time Aemond walked over to you, you were almost finished with the painting, landing the last strokes to color the palms of the man on the sheet. It was that very red paint you had been mooning over for many months, complimenting its unusual vibrant color and a pleasant consistency. It was hard to believe you were now using it for your own artwork, but time was running out, and you didn't have a spare moment to be drooling over the paint.

"What do we have here?" The artist hummed, making you jump in your seat. How on Earth did he manage to walk so quietly in a room full of tables, chairs, and people?

Trying to focus on his question, you suddenly realized you had no clue how to present your idea to the teacher. Did you even draw what he had asked you to? What was that, not changing the silhouette and using mainly paint to express yourself or something?

You felt the beads of sweat promptly forming on your forehead as you clenched your jaw.

"You've been improving," Aemond told you, eye on the drawing as he tilted his head to the side. "Body proportions seem right, and I like the way you shaped the arms and legs. You had difficulties with them before."

Oh, really? You surely had problems drawing arms, but you didn't notice you were becoming better. A pleasant surprise. Not that one wouldn't expect to improve after taking lessons from the most esteemed artist in the city.

"Why did you paint the head and hands in red?"

Oh, crap. Why did you? You frantically searched for an answer other than "no idea, Sir, I think my subconsciousness just took over my body." Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you looked up to Aemond bent over, intently studying your artwork.

Cautiously, you muttered, "I-I think every change starts from the head, Sir."

Would that qualify for an answer? But Aemond quickly directed his gaze at you and demanded, "And hands?"

Biting your poor lip that no amont of lip balm was going to save after today's lesson, you mumbled, "Hands are the tool that make the change happen, Sir."

"Very logical, yes. Now, forget about trying to give me a logical answer and tell me what you felt when you were drawing this. Tell me about the paint."

He bent over even closer to you, practically breathing into your face, and you almost lost the ability to produce any adequate sounds. Your teacher clearly saw through your bullshit, and the thought that he was upset or even mad at you made you feel miserable.

"It's a metamorph, Sir," you whispered, one step closer to having a panic attack and hoping no student in the room was listening to your rambling, "and red is a color of life. Of change."

Aemond cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you. "Why do you think red is the color of change? Is it because the change scares you?"

"It's not the change itself that scares me. It's what the metamorph is becoming, Sir," you uttered in a small voice and then added even quieter, praying only Aemond could hear you, "I think- I think he's turning into something violent, Sir. Something terrifying."

It took you a second to recognize what you've just said and what reaction it has provoked.

All of a sudden, you were staring in the face of Aemond Targaryen with his thin lips stretched so wide in a smile that it was even a little creepy. Was he... content? Did he want to laugh at your silly attempt to explain your feelings when you'd been drawing? You wouldn't even be offended, to be fair. It sounded like nonsense to you, too.

But no, he didn't seem to find it funny. Instead, you felt his palm squeezing your shoulder firmly, his smile unwavering as he spoke to you in a hushed voice the way you'd been answering to him, "Very good. My favorite artwork today so far."

As he got up, moving to the next student on your left, you were ready to jump and run away from the studio because, clearly, you were going to burst from the excess of feelings and anxiety in the next five seconds. Your teacher said it was his favorite painting today. This banal, lacking in originality in its every aspect thing was his favorite. When blood rushed to your head, making you sweat and feel disoriented, you clutched the brush between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut.

Aemond Targaryen liked your painting. Despite being the very inspiration for the beautiful but horrifying metamorph, he actually had some sort of fondness for it because later, before you left, he actually asked you to allow him to keep the artwork for his own collection. Why did he like it so much? You had no idea.

_________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

[galeorderbride]

Hiii!!

I discovered your account recently, and I'm a fan! This strengthens my love for Gale even more! I have a request, is it possible to use the following prompts :

3)Touching foreheads

7) Kissing scars

11)Sharing secrets

41)Washing each other hairs

52)Crying into their shoulder

60) sitting in their lap

i will probably ask for others prompt later ahah!

thanks you so much 🖤

Thank you for the request!! I’m stoked to know I’ve helped strengthen your love for everyone’s favourite rizzard lol. And send as many prompts as you like!

Your prompt awaits:

Rated: M (Gale and Tav sharing a bath, non descriptive nudity).

Gale x F!tav

Words: 1652

...

Wash my Troubles Away

Baths were always the way Tav chose to unwind after a stressful day. Before the nautiloid, and after, although she’d been seriously lacking in access. In all honesty, she was surprised it took this long for her to break down. Months on the road, toiling through endless swaths of blood, shit and tears with the onus on them to solve everyone’s problems. At first, Tav enjoyed helping, seeing new friends suffer a little bit less in such a difficult society. Once they reached Rivington, however, her patience ran drier than a dead fountain. 

Thankfully, they found the Elfsong, where a private bathroom awaited. As soon as the fee was paid, Tav thought about taking a bath—craved it. A space to calm her muscles and cry out her troubles without drawing attention. 

Hot water flowed against her naked back, bubbling with lavender oil and sudsy soap, emanating the scent of vanilla and oat. Tav tucked her legs to her chest, curling into a ball of frustration and embarrassment as she couldn’t stop crying. Tav needed more resilience than this. Facing the end of the world required stalwart bravery, and she was having a meltdown over finding gold for a bank manager. How in the hells was she supposed to take down a giant brain? 

Meanwhile, everyone else had no problem being selfish. A toy maker set explosives in his own products, totally willing to kill children to save his own skin. Idiots tying up Volo just because he was talking about the things they wanted to ignore. Ironhand gnomes masking abusive bigotry with a shining cause. Tav was tired of everyone’s bullshit, making excuses for themselves, taking zero responsibility when she had no other option but to face problems head on. 

Her self pity was interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door. The sound of a lilted, erudite voice coming through the wood: 

“Mind if I come in, love?” 

Gale appeared in the doorway after Tav agreed he could enter. Holding fresh towels and a wicker basket of different bath products, looking brand new as if he’d just returned from an apothecary. Tav splashed water in her face to mask the puffiness of her eyes, as if her detail oriented wizard would ever let a thing like that get past him. 

“You seem like you could use some company. And so far, I’ve been very skilled and…calming you down, so to speak. I fetched some products from Bonecloak’s, all your favourite scents. Jasmine, pomegranate, aloe vera. If you’d prefer to be alone, know you won’t offend me. I just wanted to give you these so you know someone is thinking about you,” he said. 

Tav turned her head, grinning as best she could, easier because of his presence. Since their romance had begun, he was the only one virtually incapable of annoying her. He always knew what to say, always understood the right words or actions to keep her grounded. No one had been such a positive force in her life, and every morning, no matter how terrible, she thanked the stars for finding that unstable portal. 

“I’m not enviable company at the moment, but yours, would surely heal my weary heart,” Tav replied. 

Gale smiled, “No matter how you’re feeling, there is no one in the realms I’d rather spend my time with.” 

Times like this were when Tav didn’t believe she deserved his sweetness. Doting on her out of an adoration she couldn’t figure out. He placed the bottles on a tiny stool beside the tub, undressing so he could join her in a warm, sudsy water, snapping his fingers with a little magic to heat it back to ideal temperature. He made use of the large, circular space as he sunk in behind her, enveloping her in a comforting embrace as she rested her back onto his chest. Little hairs tickled her skin, causing her to chuckle for the first time all day. 

Careful movements of his fingertips massaging her scalp sent shivers down Tav’s spine. Scents of pomegranate and jasmine soothed her sinuses, letting the hot water pour down her head, through strands of clean hair. Tension from her muscles seemed to dissolve with each considerate touch, Gale’s hands created to caress her skin. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as they both watched the window ahead. A clear night gifted them glimmering stars, a cool breeze whistling out of a crack in the insulation. Tav leaned back, resting her head in the crux of Gale’s shoulder as she closed her eyes. A few, stray tears fell from her eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden comfort of her magical lover lifting her through the ache of evening. 

Gale didn’t press her for reasons, didn’t rush to solve the problem when he noticed her tears. He just held her, waited in solidarity until she was ready, happy to let her sink into his life force to refresh her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said with a tearful chuckle, “You must think I’m ridiculous. Crying for no reason like this.” 

“Well, my love, your mind may be telling you that there is no reason, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. With all our travels, all the weight on your shoulders, you have every reason to cry. You’re more resilient than you think, I’d have crumbled long ago,” he said. 

Tav looked up at him, in utter admiration for his thoughtfulness, his beauty, everything. If she could, she’d sing his praises for a thousand years, to make up for all the times Mystra never did. Or anyone else who didn’t care to see the magnificence of him. 

Her fingers traced up his collarbone, around the mark the orb left that paved a path to his wonderful neck. A forced tattoo sunk into the surface of his skin, binding him to his well intentioned folly. Their foreheads touched as Gale lowered his head, wishing desperately that he could hold every

 part of her at the same time. Mage hands and mirror images weren’t enough, it had to be him. 

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” He asked, words hanging on between their breaths, lips hovering over each other but never quite meeting. 

“Hmm, you’ve already told me about Mystra. And that you haven't spoken to anyone in over a year until me. Oh, and that you get excited when you see me bloody after a fight. What else could there possibly be?” She asked, flirtatiously smiling at him with her eyelids batting just the way he liked. The smirk he made when he saw it was irresistible. 

Gale chuckled, “This one is far less serious, but might be what you need to hear in this moment.” 

They adjusted slightly, Gale sitting up as he pulled his arm out of the water. Just above his elbow was a superficial scar, raised tissue blending in with the rest of his skin. An uneven line travelling up his arm, about three inches long. Wherever he got it from, it had to be years ago. 

“People don’t notice this scar much anymore, not with the giant black circle on my chest. But people used to. I’d tell them it was from a kitchen knife,” he said, “But…really I accidentally set fire to my neighbour’s rose bushes when I was a child. I was trying to conjure, and the fire got away from me. Singed my arm in the process.” 

Tav turned, scooching further onto his lap as she examined his arm. She couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s your secret? Ruining a bush?” 

“Not just any bush. A rose bush. One of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I’d pass by those roses every day, stare at them for a minute or two. Just to see something be so effortlessly perfect in its imperfection. They simply grew that way, and then I destroyed them. All I could do was cry, sob over how I tarnished something so innocent and pretty for my own sake. I don’t talk about it because…well, it’s silly, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt. It’s stayed with me my entire life, and the burn scar only serves as a beacon for it,” he explained. 

“Even worse than what happened with Mystra?” She asked, grazing her fingertips across the uneven line of the scar. Eyes stuck to the mark as if it was the last thing she’d ever see. 

Gale hesitated, taking a heart wrenching pause. Tav noticed his eyes staring ahead, fixated on the window. A heavy, unsaid energy hung over him.  

“It was the catalyst. For everything. Had I not set fire to that bush, Elminster never would’ve found me. And then I’d never have attracted Mystra’s attention. A boring existence…but maybe a better one,” he said, voice trailing along the waves of his melancholic thoughts. 

Instead of responding, giving him a treatise on how he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore and burning a flower bush wasn’t a definer of his total character, she pressed her lips against the burn scar. Counting her kisses for every year of remorse he felt since setting that fire ball. Ever since their first night together, he slowly began to shed that overconfident veneer, more comfortable to show her the parts of him that hurt, the deep cuts that both of them wished they could bury. 

“Seems we both have a guilt problem,” Tav said. “Come here.” 

Tav moved to straddle his lap, taking the ceramic bowl and filling it with the warm, soapy water. Gale rested on her shoulder, as if on impulse, while she poured the liquid down the long strands of chestnut hair. Running her shampooed hands across his scalp, satisfied every time she heard his happy moans against the scratch of her nails. After rinsing, she kissed the top of his head. 

“Thank you for telling me a secret,” she said, “I’ll tell you one of mine tomorrow.”

[snobgoblin]

erm I've actually been nervous to post my Arcana theories here but I really like this one if you'll fuck with me on this

I think that like, the way the characters use magic? is actually based on the Minor Arcana. let me explain

the suit cards, to my understanding, have an elemental association and an overarching thing they relate to in a reading. I'll list out the elemental association of each suit and the traits associated with it, to the best of my ability, drawing from multiple sources including the official Arcana tarot guide, and then when I'm done with that I'll explain how this correlates to the magic systems present in the game

Cups ☕️💧

this one is associated with water, and it relates to matters of the heart, emotions. as well as connections to other people, spirituality and adaptability

Swords 🗡🌬

is associated with air, and deals with internal dialogues, logic, and intuition. it also has associations with decision making and intelligence

Wands 🪄🔥

this one is associated with fire and emphasizes willpower, self reliance, and the ability to take direct action. there's a lot of strong emotions associated with this one, it's a passionate suit

Pentacles ⭐️🍃

is associated with earth and deals with the tangible things in one's life, physical things. it also represents hard work, stability, and practicality

NOW THAT IVE EXPLAINED THAT let me explain how this fits into the way characters will use magic

Asra 💧

i dont think *matters of the heart* represents anyone better than Asra, how about you 😉? not to mention his magic is described as feeling like rain, he communicates through water, he can MAKE water in the desert, in the gladiator battle they can control it too iirc, AND his personal gate is full of pools of water. their teachings also seem extremely emotion based in a way that's hard for me to explain, a very "believe it will happen and it will happen" kind of way to using magic (God I wish I could articulate this better but luckily the others will be easier to explain) all of this would mean they would be operating under the Cups magic system

Nadia 🌬

Intuition is her whole thing! of course she'd be the swords (also notable that Nadia is great with a sword) intelligence also screams Nadia, she knows 12 languages and when she first met the High Priestess all she wanted to do was figure out how the realm worked because it wasn't scientifically accurate to her. decision making is also fitting considering she is the Countess

Lucio 🔥

Lucio is actually a little bit bad at magic according to Asra, so I won't be relying on him entirely for this (you'll see) however, it should be noted that when Lucio summons Vlastomil, he does so by setting a fire and then cutting open the bottoms of his feet. this mirrors how Morga uses magic, like once she cuts open her palm to catch her own spear on fire, and there is no hesitation in the way Morga uses magic, like rushing into portals (not for recklessness, but because she's so sure of herself) and another time she breaks the Devil's chains via extremely precise spear throw, something Asra is impressed by. so! I think the wands suit fits just perfectly when we consider direct action and self reliance in reference to Morga, and I suppose by extension Lucio, if he practiced a bit more

Muriel 🍃

his magic is actually described as feeling earthy at at least three different points, and the way he casts magic is very interesting as well. runecasting, which is described in the game as Muriel throwing a rock and interpreting the meaning. which is a very physical, grounded way to use magic. not to mention the myrrh and protection charms he uses- those are also extremely tangible things, naturey things so I think it aligns perfectly with the Pentacles. I would even argue that Mazelinka falls under this magic system, since she uses plants to make her potions- which is also a tangible way to do magic- pulling from your environment and such

so yeah I just thought that was interesting 🤔

[bitchlessdino]

I have a request. You have to really imagine it. But like imagine DILF!seungcheol, with a daddy kink, being like your boss because you babysit his kid. And he finds out you’re attracted to him so he teases you about it. Long story short you end up on his thigh, him helping you chase your high. Then after that he makes you ride him, i don’t know why but I have this image of him throwing his head back and like that would be so hot. I don’t know this though came to me in class.-🎧

Pairing: F!reader x Seungcheol

Genre: suggestive unless yall count thigh riding as smut

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: dilf!seungcheol, loving father cheol, assertive cheol, mention of kids, thigh riding

author note: daddy. that is all. but also, A TATTOO CHEOL??? (mingyu voice: show me!)

Seungcheol was the eye candy of every PTA meeting, especially given that he is a single dad. That was one of the many things you’ve noticed since volunteering to take his place in volunteering in place of him at school events. Everyone practically gave you stink eyes seeing you instead of him, wondering why he bothered hiring a nobody when he could easily wife up one of the other single parents (yes those reasonings had no correlation, yet it somehow makes sense.)

You couldn’t blame them. Your boss is that devastatingly handsome. He turned heads every corner, smiling that gorgeous gummy smile he’s known for, even making you weak at the knees. You had to see him every day, it was natural you developed a little crush on him too, considering he checked all the boxes in your “Daddy issues must haves,” but that’s another story for another day:

He’s just so good with his daughter. He made every opportunity to prove that. He would do anything and everything for his daughter. You noticed that right away when he hired you to be her babysitter and that impression stayed with you even when you upgraded to au pair, basically breathing the same as him 24/7. That didn't make your feelings any easier to manage.

It was his fault now that you think about it. He had to grow super comfortable with you enough to walk around shirtless or come up from the pool for a late dip after the sweetie went asleep, going as far as inviting you to join him. You’d decline every time, thanking the night air for cooling your flushed cheeks, and quickly retreat to the guest room you currently reside in.

If it wasn’t to that extreme, it’s the subtle way you’re making dinner together, living out your delusional domestic dreams. His chest would briefly meet your back, grabbing something in front of you, which you could’ve easily retrieved for him. His gaze lingers on you a little longer than you should’ve when either one of you asks a question.

The tension was deafening.

“It’s really screwed up of him for being that attractive,” You spoke to the other line.

Nami, your friend, was used to your rambling at this point and rolled her eyes at your humble bragging about exactly how hot Seungcheol was, having personally only met him a handful of times. “Oh no, your super sexy boss is not only hot but a perfect father figure for his daughter, making him the most perfect living man on Earth. How awful.”

“It is fucking awful, Nami!” you cross your leg over the other sneaking glance in the gaps of your bedroom door, “He is driving me off a cliff. I don’t know how much I can handle being around him so often. It was fine every two days a week, and now it’s every day. What am I supposed to do with all these feelings?”

“Seduce him.”

“Nami, I’m being serious.”

“So am I, get sexy daddy boss to be your daddy.”

You couldn't see her but you can just visualize the wiggle of her brows.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that. And if I was going to, you know how bad that would go?”

You stand up from the bed to act out the scene in your head, exaggerating your strut toward an imaginary masculine figure, and drawing out the most nasal voice you could muster, “Seungcheol. I am so deeply and irrevocably attracted to you. Please give me one night to prove to myself how I can be devotedly yours.”

You lose yourself in your own laugh as it sounds off in the room, but it was not loud enough for you to ignore the deeper voice in the background. “Just one night?”

You freeze when you realize who it is. Nami could only get an “ooo” in edge-wise until you hung up the phone and hide the phone behind your back. “S-Seungcheol.”

A corner of his lips lifts to his ear before slowly approaching you with his hands in his pockets. He had his sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of proof of how he spent his mornings at 5 am. He softly snickers, “I’d love to hear about what you can do to prove it to me.”

“Sir, I-I was simply–um, talking about your admirers I’ve noticed. I’m sure you’re not blind to these kinds of people, how forward they are, or how brass…” You chuckle nervously to yourself.

“Do you happen to be one of these admirers?”

He gets closer to you, backing onto the cushion of your bed, towering over you curiously. You could feel your heart racing a million miles a minute, eyes rapidly blinking and you tried grasping any grip of reality. “I-I’m sorry,I—”

“How cute. I figured you were acting peculiar around me but the reason for it is much more interesting than I realized.” 

Either of his arms creates a barrier around you, leaving you in his direct line of vision with barely enough air to breathe. His wide-eyed gaze is tense, piercing back at you as you stare back in fear and admittedly lust.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Miss Y/n.” 

His deep gaze lowers to the shape of your lips, watching them quiver at the sight of him, which fueled the yearning that settled in the pit of his stomach. He sees your eyes dilated, yet shaken, seeing your body dip behind you into the sheets he paid for, you softly panting in the room he owned, staring back into his eyes like a deer caught in headlights. His breath tickles your skin and you could feel him draw him closer.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you confirm my suspicions.”

The tension severs when he hears the voice of his little girl calling for him at the end of the hall, dropping his head in disappointment with a soft whine when the moment passes.

He turns his head and responds to her. “I’ll be right there, sweetie. You wait right there.”

He averts back to you, the sly smile reappearing on his face. “When you join us for dinner today, you’ll sit opposite of me so I can keep an eye on you. When we tuck my little dove into bed, why don’t we have a movie night? Just you and me? Is that okay with you, Miss Y/n?”

You feel as if you held your breath for a long period of time, slowly nodding back at him.

“I prefer verbal consent, Miss Y/n. Would you please accompany me on a company movie night, just the two of us?”

A hasty gulp ran down your throat, “I would like that, Sir.”

“Good.”

The man lets you be, retreating to his daughter who kept calling out to him. His slow steps taunt, echoing in your ears as you fall back against the mattress. You take a silk-lined pillow to the face, muffling your screams, hoping to suffocate under the cushion like that moment suffocating you just then. A loud exhale escapes you as you pulled it away, and you find anxiously wait for dinner time.

Before that incident, Seungcheol insisted on making dinner and having kept that promise you enter the kitchen reluctantly with his back towards you. You keep yourself at a distance, watching the frame of his body constantly shifting as he diced green onions, and you lean against the wall next to him, taking quiet breaths and struggling to do so.

It wasn’t a long show when the most darling girl calls you by name and joins your side. Your eyes grow twice their size and picked her up in your arms, side-eyeing Seungcheol who perked up at the sight of you two together. He washes his hand thoroughly before following after, cooing at his daughter and stealing her away.

Her giggles were astonishingly infectious as he bounced her in his arms, similarly to her father’s laugh in just a higher pitched tone. She was just as sweet as candy, bringing light to every room she enters. You love taking care of her and dare you to say you love her. What wasn’t there to love about someone as precious as she is?

“Alright, now, my little dove.” he sets him on the tile floor and bends his knees to her level. “Y/n and I will finish up here and bring food right out. It’s your favorite, little darling. Spaghetti.”

She bounces in her step, gleefully shouting ‘pasget, pasget’ before running into the dining area, leaving you and Seungcheol alone once again. His eyes shoot right in your direction as he places one foot over the other towards you. Your feet trace back, stumbling until hitting the smooth metal surface behind you, unintentionally cornering yourself. It’s much like the position you were in only some time ago, feeling the weight of his presence, drinking in his full attention. 

When you shut your eyes, anticipating the impact, instead you hear the suction of the fridge release. Your eyelids slowly parts when you realized he just went to grab something in the fridge which you decided to fall flat against. Seungcheol chuckles at your embarrassed reaction, shutting the door to draw his lips dear to your ear. “Can’t seem to wait for me, hmm? Be a little patient, dinner shouldn’t be too long.”

You could hardly focus on dinner after the events that have occurred, glancing up at your employer occasionally as he eats his meal, who cooing every few bites at his daughter beside you. You were lucky to not have had her across from you, fearing your anxiety was obvious on the surface, unable to meet his eyes the entire night. His gaze would occasionally drift off to you, taking note of the unsteadiness of your grasp, 

When the darling did finish her meal, she was all ready to wash up, tugging at your shirt to have you follow. You quickly exchange looks with Seungcheol, who nodded and let you know that he’d be cleaning up after dinner. You get to her night routine fairly quickly: bathing her, brushing her teeth, and reading her the story she wanted luckily without a hitch. 

You softly sigh as her eyes drift off to sleep, seeing that perhaps dinner was a bit indulging enough to give her the sleep bug. She murmurs words of ‘good day’ and ‘good pasqet.’ You pat her head, tucking her in when you hear from the door to her bedroom creak, her father being the culprit.

He presses a single finger to his lips before delicately approaching and having a hand resting on your shoulder, having you hyper-aware of that fact. He doesn't notice as his eyes are tending to his daughter, before pressing a kiss on her forehead. “Night, dove.”

The hand from your shoulder soon falls to the surface of your palm, lacing his fingers through. His head turns to you expectedly, watching that inconsistent breath leave you before whispering with a smile, “Shall we?”

You steadily follow him to the common area where a movie is already playing, seeing the familiar lion’s head roar at the screen above the fireplace. When you ask him what movie he picked out, he responds by saying it didn’t matter, “It’d only be background noise anyway.”

He ushers you on the couch, letting go of your hand. His whole body faces you, locked in your dazed expression, your head thinking, ‘what the hell are you about to do with your boss right now alone?’

“Mind explaining to me what that conversation was about this afternoon?”

You caught the words in your throat, an explanation you planned in your mind all day, replaying the script over and over until you were here with nothing. You blank out in his eyes, wonder what he expected, no, what he wanted you to say. He does nothing in front of you, simply balancing his chin on his hands, and propping at the elbows on his knees. His presence mere inches away from you was enough to sputter incoherent nonsense. Nothing comprehensive to the older man’s ears.

“What was that?”

“I’m…sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” he grins.

His body shifts, his expression relaxed and confident, and he fixates on your breathing. “You can tell me anything, you know. I know when to relax.”

“I…was careless and fully aware of what you witnessed, but I won’t take action, sir. I wouldn’t do anything that breaches our contract and trust.”

He snickers, glancing at the iced whiskey on the coffee table before retrieving it and taking a sip. 

“Well, you’re a diligent employee, I’m sure, and even a better caretaker for my little girl. But I’ll have you know, there’s nothing in our contract about having feelings other than what other professionals do for each other.”

“For each other,” You repeat.

“For each other.” His index finger traces the line of your jaw, eyes dropping to your hips.

The silence persists. Nothing but the sound of practically white noise from the television sounds and you’re lost in each other’s presence. Seungcheol’s hand drops the glass back on the coffee table until ultimately rests on your thigh, meanwhile, your hand fingers the fabric of his cotton dress shirt was still pristine despite the stereotypically messy dinner.

“...May I make the first move then?” You ask.

“I would want nothing more.”

Scooting closer, your lips line up with his, hesitating momentarily before feeling the thick pair brush up against yours languidly. There was an immediate sense of guilt that you held hostage in your gut, pulling away almost instantly. His eyes stare back at you confused, watching you draw out excuses. “Maybe we shouldn’t…This seems like a bad idea.”

“Why…” He pesters, pushes you back on the couch, pressing you on, “because I pay you? Because I employed you? Or…because you think you won’t be able to stop?”

“...all of it.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He takes hold of your hips and seats you in his lap in an instant, you now towering over him with your eyes blown out in shock. You groan making contact with his body, repeatedly bumping into your clothed cunt, dying to be set free of its restraints. His arms embrace your body with all the strength within him until he feels your lips finally relax against his. Your lips press against his daringly, a harsh pressure releasing with his tongue inviting you inside in mere seconds.

You press up against him, rhythmically grinding down on him. His groans leave him naturally, his grips tight on your hips. “Should I help you chase that high of yours?”

His hips guide you over his lap, seeing how one of your legs traps itself between his legs, he feels your body loosen underneath him, gradually picking up your own pace. His head slightly throws back at how bold you let yourself be. Your hand creeps through his hair, rolling your dampened arousal on the stiff steel thighs, “Mmh.”

“That feel good, beautiful?”

You nod achingly, “Yes, daddy.”

“Daddy,” his expression lits up, “Well that’s quite the declaration.”

“I’m sorry,” you manage to breathe out, “Can’t help myself.”

A devilish grin spreads far across his cheeks, pushing away the loose strands of hair away from your face. Your weight presses into him, and he feels his already hard cock twitch in his pants. “By all means, baby, call me whatever you want. If daddy is what you want, daddy is what you’ll get.”

You smile at him softly, gratefully, “Thank you…daddy.”

He soft moans, your body finding home in his embrace. Your tongue entangled with his, just pure heat between your body. His shirt is lost between the cushions of the couch, all thanks to you, and his hands reach underneath your shirt to hold you by the small of your back as the other kneads a breast in his hand. “Fuck, you feel heavenly.”

He moans against your swollen lips, running your body up and down on his thigh, hearing those sweet melodic moans he’s starting to get used to. Your skin was flushed against his, you whine loud and desperately for him to hear. “Please daddy. I want you to ruin me.”

And like that, a switch flips in his body and he’s pulling you up from his lap to loop around his waist. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

[draculasfavoritewife]

Hunted

Summary: Tatooine is a planet filled with old ghosts, and when one of yours rears its ugly head again, your Mandalorian takes matters into his own capable hands.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and minor OC death at the end. Allusions to hunter/prey roleplay and bondage, my voice kink makes a couple of cameo appearances. I the writer was particularly thirsty for Din Djarin the day I wrote this and thus take full responsibility for the results.

This is really one of the most blatantly self-indulgent things I've written, born of many long daydreaming sessions and my love for any episode where my man rubs elbows with the delightful and despicable denizens of the OG desert planet. I truly can't explain it, Tatooine Din™️ just hits me different, so please enjoy this very long fic about it.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You step into the crowded main street of the city, taking a moment to let all of your senses adjust to the stark difference. The last week or so has been spent on the ship in a cold vacuum, the gleaming blur of hyperspace and the steady thrum of engines a constant gentle halo in the background. It was nice, if a little quiet for your personal taste. Your partner certainly doesn’t talk much, and you tend to spend much of your time alone with him less conversationally inclined as a result.

He’s rubbed off on you that way. 

Now the twin suns of Tatooine scorch down on you from above, making eyes that have become accustomed to soft darkness sting. A throng of street vendors, lowlifes, and ne’er-do-wells streams through the ragtag market on all sides, moving bodies chattering nonstop in floods of Basic, Huttese, Aqualish, Droid, and snatches of more exotic tongues. 

A moment, and you feel yourself suddenly at ease again, as your brain resets back to your old lifestyle in the Core Worlds. It feels like putting on a well-loved shaak-leather coat that remembers all your contours just right. 

“You look happy,” the Mandalorian observes from beside you. 

You always wonder about him, how he's actually faring under that helmet, so shiny in this harsh light that you come away with spots in your vision after glancing at him too long. Din walks with the easy confidence of a man that’s walked these alleys many times before, but you know him more personally than most. He’s a quiet man under that shell, one who vastly prefers his solitude and finds the company of most beings in the galaxy a soul-stealing chore after two minutes. 

And unlike you, he never relaxes. 

“I am.” You side-eye him, briefly admiring his prowling stride as he diligently scans the moving figures surrounding the pair of you. “Sometimes I really like big crowds.” 

“You’re crazy,” he remarks. “This many people add too many variables.” 

“Your comment stands.” You draw closer to him in order to reach into the satchel slung across his body and ruffle the Kid’s long ears. “But to me, it’s almost easier. I can usually read people’s intentions pretty well. Bodies speak louder in crowds.” 

“I suppose.” He hasn’t stopped his surveillance yet. You can guess at how his eyes are darting here and there beneath the visor. He probably has at least two escape routes planned out already, if not more. 

You want nothing more than to tell him to relax and enjoy himself — you’re not even here on hunter business, simply to refuel and stock up on supplies before your next run — but you know that’s a useless endeavor. 

“I found that strangely hot, by the way,” you say instead, since it HAS been taking up space in your mind for some time. 

“What?” 

“Finding out you speak Tusken. That’s VERY attractive.” 

It was. When he had to negotiate with the scouts on your way into town, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at hearing his low, smoky voice bark out the harsh sounds as he supplemented his meaning with crisp sign language. 

And besides the sound of it, you certainly find it very hot for a man of his stature to be so willing and ready to communicate and settle fraught situations peacefully. 

“I — what — I don’t — ?” 

It still makes you grin, how easily flustered he is when you catch him off-guard with flirting. 

“Don’t you think so, Grogu?” You poke the Kid’s tiny nose. “Isn’t it attractive when your buir talks like that?” 

The little one squeals enthusiastically in response, probably more to your teasing than the actual question. 

“Stop that, don’t encourage her.” Din casts a disapproving look first at the Kid and then at you; it strikes you as funny how well you can translate such a simple tilt of the helmet. “And don’t you ask him that, he’s just a kid.” 

“I think you’re blushing under that bucket,” you smirk, sidling away. 

“I’m not.” 

You subside with the teasing for the time being, and the Mandalorian releases a sigh of relief as you start wandering, letting handmade jewelry and stoneware snatch your attention away from him. He’s getting better at keeping up with your rapid changes of interest, but somehow your more romantic moods still manage to get the better of him when you’re out in public. 

He blames the environment. When it’s just the two of you alone, he can see what’s coming in the slant of your lips or the way you suddenly decide to plant yourself right in front of whatever he’s working on. And he’s almost as likely to initiate now, so long as the Kid’s not in the same room. But out here, as his field of vision constantly shifts in the sea of bodies, and his right hand drifts between Grogu in his satchel and the pistol at his hip, he just doesn’t possess the bandwidth to also process what the kriff could possibly turn you on so much about his language skills. 

He tucks that particular piece of information away in a metaphorical corner, to dissect and possibly use at a later time. 

You return to him after your little side trip, flirtation seemingly forgotten for now. “I saw a ring at that one booth —” you gesture over your shoulder “— that I’m almost positive is dolovite. So pretty. I’m not even sure the vendor knows what he’s got. It’s tempting.” 

“I bet.” He notes the tone of your voice, the way you glance back one more time as the pair of you move on. 

“But we are here for the essentials, first and foremost. Maybe if it’s still there by the end of the day.” 

He nods thoughtfully, and listens as you ramble through the list of what the three of you need, both in terms of provisions and to keep the ship flying. 

The sooner you’re all able to leave this crowd and noise behind, the better. 

He doesn’t care for the feeling that his little clan’s safety isn’t completely under his control. 

Hours later, stewardship of the satchel carrying the Kid has passed over to you. Din carries the day’s purchases, slung from either end of the pole balanced across his wide shoulders. He watches affectionately from behind his immobile visage of beskar at the sight of you spiritedly haggling with a Twi’lek vendor over the price of fruit. The arm not being used to illustrate your point cradles Grogu, half-asleep, close to your torso, and it touches something deep inside him, to see you care for his foundling so naturally. 

The image almost — almost — lulls him into something resembling a dangerous sense of peace.

Almost, but not quite. 

Which is why, when the blaster bolt narrowly misses your shoulder and instead blows a crate of produce into a violently sticky explosion, he’s only a half-second slower than he normally would be as he pivots sharply and yanks out his own weapon. His shot drops the sniper leaning out of a second-story window across the street, a Rodian crumpling to the ground in a tangle of ragged cloak. 

His armor-clad body is positioned in front of you in another second, keeping you and the Kid sandwiched between the booth and his beskar as he rapidly searches for any more guns to rear their ugly muzzles. 

The market has dissolved into chaos around you, but no more fire is heard. 

You slip your DL-44 out of your back holster with one hand and push the satchel carrying Grogu further out of the way with the other. The road had cleared in seconds, the trembling fruit vendor ducking down behind his wares. The atmosphere is suddenly quiet, too many people holding their breaths all at once. 

“See anything?” you whisper to Din. 

“Negative,” he mutters back. “He was acting alone, or else the others have retreated. Looking for heat signatures is useless, they’re everywhere here.” 

A grim suspicion starts to rise in your chest, but you keep your voice removed as you step from behind him and give him a sharp nod. “Cover me? I need to take a look at our shooter.” 

He stalks behind you as you cross, your trigger finger settling into its well-worn spot in readiness. Grogu is silent; only the tips of his giant ears poke up from the top of the bag. 

For a kid, he’s been in enough firefights to know the drill by now. 

Arriving beside the smoking form of the Rodian, you flip him over and push aside the cloak, your hand drawing back when you see exactly what you were afraid you would find. 

The sigil of a sand ape emblazoned on his jacket in red. 

“Talk to me,” Din urges, voice tight. “Do you know why he was targeting you?” 

You straighten up and bite your lip for a second, struggling over the best way to break the news to him. You’d thought it was long enough ago that old scores would be forgotten, but on Tatooine, grudges rarely die, instead simmering deep beneath the filth like a krayt dragon awaiting its next meal. 

And now you’ve unwittingly brought your riduur and his ad’ika into danger. 

“I lived in Mos Eisley for a bit at one point.” You sigh. “And I left under…difficult circumstances. I’m a bit of a loose end as far as a local gang is concerned, Din. They paid well for some mercenary jobs — it was a nice temporary setup. Last hit I was hired for turned out to have a Guild bounty on him though, and they paid more to have him delivered alive. I saw a business opportunity and didn’t look back. But I made some powerful people here pretty angry.” 

“Dank farrik.” He curses under his breath. You can nearly hear his exasperated thoughts — can’t I have ONE uneventful outing? Just ONE? — but he shakes it off swiftly and is soon all business again, his next query clipped and brusque. “Does he have a tracking fob?” 

You shake your head. “They don’t want Guild here anymore, if you recall. No, it’ll be a more intimate affair, I’d bet my blades on that. This is about revenge and closure; if there’s a reward payout it’s from the boss man himself, and probably only advertised by word of mouth.” 

The Mandalorian refocuses his thoughts from where they ever so briefly derailed at your casual misuse of the term “intimate affair” and grunts his acknowledgment. “I gather the boss man wants you alive, then?” 

You laugh, a dry, ironic sound. “Oh, he will. I have a feeling he wants to watch me suffer a bit before he kills me. Or who knows?” With a shrug, you shove the body into an alleyway and return to where you both left your purchases, only the dance of your tense fingers across the grip of your blaster giving away your readiness to protect yourself. “Maybe he’ll make me his own personal slave instead. I knew all that club dancing I did would come in handy someday.” 

Din makes a hissing sound of annoyance at your flippant tongue as he follows. There’s something about the way you can talk so carelessly about such degrading fates that truly distresses him. He knows you don’t need his protection on the same level the Kid does, but the thought of either of those options actually befalling you under his watch makes his hands clench into fists, leather gloves protesting as they stretch across his knuckles. But he knows too, that dark humor is often your way of dealing with stress, so he endeavors to let it slide and not see red. 

“Do you know where he is?” he demands suddenly. 

“The boss man? I used to. And there are people I could ask.” You take the satchel with the Kid off and hand it back to him, opting to take the parcels instead. He can fight with a baby strapped to him better than you can, and knowing you’re the primary target this time, you’d rather keep him safer. “Why?” 

“Later.” His voice has gone tense again, he must have seen something you don’t. “Right now we have to get out of here. You’re too exposed.” 

Your gaze falls on a nearby speeder bike with no obvious owner nearby. “They’ve gotten lax without me around,” you smirk, straddling the bike and revving its powerful engine. “Leaving their valuables all helpless and unattended. It’s a real shame.” 

The Mandalorian is staring at you, the drop of his shoulders suggesting surprise at your brazenness. 

“Get on,” you encourage him, laying the carrying pole across the seat behind you. “You’re getting twitchy, so there must be trouble. What’s got your cape in a twist?” 

He takes a seat behind you and settles his pulse rifle across his knees. “There’s a couple more in similar jackets closing in,” he reveals in an undertone. “And I just haven’t seen you…steal a vehicle before, is all.” 

A shot pings over his helmet before you can properly react to that. 

“Drive!” he orders, pivoting to return fire. 

You oblige, gunning the motor and tearing off down the main thoroughfare. “There’s still a few things you haven’t seen me do, Cyare,” you toss back as he dusts one of the gang members on your way past. “You and the Kid made me go soft.” 

He huffs doubtfully and nods to a narrow opening between buildings up ahead. “Can you get us out of sight?” 

“If you hang on tight enough.” You execute a tight turn at the last moment and shoot down the alley, glad the bike is compact enough to follow the cramped tunnel between the crumbling dwellings. “It’s gonna be rough ’til we’re in the open, though.” 

Din doesn’t answer in words, but his free arm wraps around your waist and you can feel the Kid’s small body tucked between the two of you. 

And it’s almost an oddly pleasant feeling, outrunning any would-be pursuers with the two of them held so close. 

By the end of the hour, supplies have been loaded into the ship and Grogu has been left in the doting care of Peli, who as always is more than happy to entertain the little guy as long as you and Din keep trouble far away from her repair station. You and the Mandalorian are now camped out on a rooftop overlooking the marketplace, a tattered fabric canopy mercifully providing some scant relief from the sunlight if not the oppressive heat. As always, your riduur appears totally indifferent to such a thing as physical discomfort, leaning out from under the awning to scope the street below through the sight of his rifle. 

Does his armor have an internal cooling system? Or are Mandalorians really just that tough? 

“You know, we could just leave,” you finally suggest. “It’s not like this particular group ever goes off-world.” 

“We could.” 

You can tell there’s a reason why he won’t. 

“But I return to Tatooine semi-frequently. And I don’t want you to constantly be looking over your shoulder every time.” 

You sit back with a sigh, idly tuning up your blaster. His ways are still foreign to you sometimes. Before your partnership, you made a life depending on adaptability and quick thinking. Having only yourself to worry about, and knowing there was no one else out there worrying about you, made it easier to simply uproot and go elsewhere whenever the heat was on you. 

Din is nearly the opposite. If there’s a way he can make things more secure for those in his care, if there’s a good enough reason, he won’t ever back down from a struggle.

He already has his mind made up. 

It’s just a bit jarring to realize that you’re the good enough reason this time. 

“What are you thinking, then?” you prompt. 

He doesn’t break his focus on the area below as he answers. “I’m thinking I just killed a couple gang members and got some interesting information out of them. I’m ex-Guild and looking for work, and being a ruthless mercenary, I might just be willing to turn on a crew member if the price is right.” 

You can’t help your sudden intake of breath at his ingenious plan. “And once we get there?” 

He finally turns to face you, his next words cold and hard as tempered beskar. “Then we kill him.” 

And there’s something a little bit more menacing in there than simple pragmatism. He has taken on the role of cabur for you and the Kid; this isn’t just about keeping trouble off your backs in future. 

Someone has threatened you, and he will not rest until that threat has been put down.

That is his duty, and he will not shirk it. 

“I love you,” you murmur, barely above the hot breeze that rakes through your hair. 

He rises to his feet, shoulders his rifle. “And I you. Which is why we’re going to have to make this look convincing. You get a two-minute head start. Whenever you’re ready.” 

You swipe a dull sand-colored cloak from a stall as you pass, immediately diving into the heart of the throng, which seems to have recovered from the earlier incident. Mos Eisley is nothing if not desensitized to crime and violence, and for a moment, you almost lose yourself in awe at the apathy of the average citizen as you let the flow of movement carry you along. Nobody cares what happens around here, so long as it doesn’t happen to them. 

It’s…odd, to remember how it felt to think that way. 

Shaking yourself back into the moment, you weave between beings of all shapes and sizes, focusing on making yourself forgettable and not appearing in too much of a hurry. You know Din will find you no matter where you end up — he’s just too good at his job not to. So for the moment you let yourself enjoy this little game, a moment spent as the quarry of a very desirable predator. 

It would be a lie to say you haven’t fantasized about this before. 

A ripple passes through the crowd to your left and behind you, people shifting to make room, like river currents split by a large stone. Only one person you know could possibly cause such a stir.

Only idiots choose to stand in the way of a hunting Mandalorian. 

Which means he’s here. 

Your heart accelerates and you try to think of a way to stall him just a little longer. Reluctantly pulling a few credits from your belt pouch, you regretfully let them scatter in the dust, knowing the only thing that reliably beats fear is greed. The people nearest to you devolve into pushing and shoving in their eagerness to get their hands on them, a writhing wall springing up between you and your pursuer. 

With a grin, you slip backwards, drifting in the opposite direction of where you had been headed before, catching the barest glimpse of sun glaring off metal as you pass. 

That's a little longer. 

He’ll expect you to be thinking the way he thinks, not the way you do, so you stamp down the inclination to think that way and instead travel into a seedier part of town, seeking out more raucous company. Wandering through cantinas and gambling dens, you pick up a refreshing blue milk along the way and almost start to let the tension ebb from your muscles. But when you see him emerge from the street and gaze through the window of the same building you were just about to exit, your adrenaline shoots up again. A dash through a maze of alleys and one stolen ride on the back of a droid rickshaw later, and even you aren’t so sure what part of the city you’ve made it to. 

The twin suns are finally beginning to sink lower in the sky as you thoughtfully chew on a piece of bantha jerky and walk through a crowded residential section, no doubt where the lower classes live. It’s much quieter here, the low-income strata not having the credits to spend on frivolities at the market. 

It’s almost…too quiet. 

You hear him before you see him, an almost deceptively musical clink of the explosive charges on his belt against his vambrace as his arm brushes past. There’s nowhere to run anymore, so you pull back your hood with an admittedly dramatic flourish and discard your savory treat, hands sliding to the twin vibroblades sheathed at your thighs. 

“So, its finally come to this, Mando.” You pull your knives and take up a fighting stance. “No use in trying to sweet-talk you out of this, is there?” 

He doesn’t answer, just pulls his own blade and gestures with his chin as if saying “Try me”. 

So you do. 

The pair of you has sparred many times before, and this altercation is brief but outwardly brutal. Finesse is nice, but necessity calls for any potential advantage to be pressed and pressed hard. For the agility your much lighter choice of clothing grants you, you can’t dent him when fully armored, so finally you resort to simple but effective tactics and throw dust in his face. 

Even a visor with a heat sensor takes a second to recalibrate from that. 

You do, however, have a scripted ending for this outing, and as you sprint off, his grappling cable snakes around your hips and down your legs, dropping you in the sand. He strides up to you, tosses a pair of binders down next to you. 

“Cuff yourself,” he orders, breath coming in heavy pants after your scuffle. “I’m taking you in.” 

And since it’s him who just captured you, who would have captured you eventually no matter what because he’s just THAT good, you don’t mind. 

No, you reflect as he hefts you over his shoulder and walks away from the few scattered spectators your fight drew out, you really don’t mind this arrangement at all. 

Maybe you’ll have to tell him that, later. 

Your former employer’s headquarters are still where you remember them, and you almost smirk at the sense of uncomfortable familiarity when Din lowers you to the floor and unties your legs. Still cuffed — and a bit tired after spending the afternoon trying to outwit the best hunter in the parsec — it’s not difficult to look angry and beaten down, kneeling there in the dust. 

The boss man rises from his seat at the table, a hulking Devaronian with a chipped horn and a hungry grimace. He swaggers over, nods at the Mandalorian standing behind you. 

“I suppose I can turn a blind eye at the loss of a few good men for this. You have absolutely no idea how this one little troublesome scavenger has been occupying my thoughts.” 

Din remains silent, simply holding out a hand, a wordless demand for payment. 

Your old boss grins, nods to a couple of lackeys to bring over the credits, hauls you to your feet by the back of your shirt. 

The Mandalorian’s hand brushes past your leg as you move, and one of your knives is quietly returned to its sheath. 

“Since you turned tail and ran so quickly after disobeying me, I assume you have some idea of what I do to clever little turncoats, don’t you?” sneers the Devaronian, leaning altogether too close for your liking. 

Your cuffed hands lower in seeming fear as you shrink beneath his intimidating glare. 

“This is going to be fun,” he threatens, a hand drawing up your neck and along your jaw. “You need to learn some respect, and I’m going to —” 

The vibroblade sunk deep into his chest cuts his words off rather suddenly. 

There’s a lot you can still do, even in binders. 

The outraged lackeys are swiftly dropped by precise shots from Din, and the two of you are left gazing at each other in a now oddly quiet room. 

“I don’t know if I’d call that ‘fun’," you remark to your limp ex-boss, crouching to retrieve your knife. “A little anticlimactic, actually. Bit of a shame I had to do that. But also satisfying to see your plan turn out so well, don’t you think, Mando?” 

Din doesn’t answer right away, tucking away the bounty that he earned by catching you. “We should be on our way,” is what he finally grunts. “There’ll be more gang members swarming this place any minute now.” 

“I agree.” Rising to stand in front of him, you hold out your arms expectantly, casting a flirty smile up at his dark visor. “And, much as I enjoyed being your prisoner for a day, you can let me go now.” 

There’s a long pause. 

He stares down at your bound wrists, up at your face, down at your wrists again. He appears to be pondering something very intently, and your breath turns a little choppy for some reason. 

“I don’t think I will,” he says simply, after a little more consideration. 

“You won’t?” 

“Not yet.” His large hands tenderly find your hips, and he throws you over his shoulder again, walking out the exact same way you came in. “You’ve caused me quite a day here, you know. Keeping track of you like this might be the only way to make sure we don’t run into any more trouble.” 

“What would happen if I screamed ‘Help, I’m being kidnapped!’ as you carry me down the street?” 

He snorts. “No one’s going to help you here, Cyar’ika. Who’s going to challenge a Mandalorian over his prisoner?” 

You smirk. “No one in their right mind.” 

“Besides, you just said you enjoyed this.” There it is, a sly edge to his filtered voice, the indicator that he has more going on in his mind than simply staying out of more trouble. 

“Oh no, caught by an attractive bounty hunter! I’ll probably never see the light of day again.” You groan dramatically and drape yourself a bit more comfortably as he loosens up into an easier stride. “I’m completely at his mercy — who KNOWS what devious things he’ll do to me behind closed doors?” 

“This bounty hunter is hot and tired, and in need of a shower, if that gives you any consolation.” 

“Ah.” You poke him in the back. “Are you saying you’re all sweaty under this shiny shell, Cyare?” 

A hand slides up the back of your thigh, a subtle reminder that you ARE currently at his mercy, as you just said. 

Undeterred, you try again, knowing he must be getting more riled up than he lets on. “Have I ever told you how much I like it, when you take all these awful layers off for me and you’re all sweaty underneath…?” 

“I would rein in my suggestive tongue a little, if I were you.” He’s still looking straight ahead, but the edge beneath his words is a bit more strained now. “If you behave for me until we get back to the ship, maybe I’ll even take those binders off.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

He sighs. “My belt compartment back there. Take a look.” 

You manage to get it open, and can’t quite stifle a delighted sound as you pull out the dolovite ring from much earlier. “You sneaky son of a — ! How — ?” 

“I gave you a two-minute head start,” he shrugs, by way of explanation. 

“I adore you,” you inform him as you slip the ring onto your finger, admiring its burnished color. “I’ll be a good little prisoner for you, Mando, I promise. And who knows…,” you nudge him again. “Maybe I’ll let you keep these binders on me after all, since you’ve been so good to me today.” 

He can’t find anything to say to that, but by the fact that you can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck in that tantalizing gap between cowl and helmet, you know he’s definitely sweating now, if he weren’t before. 

“Is my big bad bounty hunter at a loss for words?” you tease softly. 

He clears his throat. “Just saving my voice, Mesh’la. If you’re REALLY well-behaved, I might — possibly — be persuaded to talk Tusken to you later. Possibly.” 

The idea takes a moment to fully crystallize in your brain; Din, and a shower, and binders, and if you just stop teasing him so naughtily in public he might actually bring that unreasonably provocative language into the bedroom? 

You finally let yourself relax into his hold, and after a bit you hear his breathy sigh of relief that you aren’t going to keep tormenting him anymore for the moment. 

After all, he has put forth an offer you can’t refuse. 

Ad'ika = Little One/Small child

Cabur = Protector

[blossoming-mind-palace]

Chung Myung x Fem! Reader: 100 Years and a Promise (SFW/Part 4/Finale)

Summary: You’re both used to your new life. A few years have passed and things are comfortable. This part has a sillier vibe than the last. It’s also the last SFW part I’m writing.

Contains: Fem! Reader, Alcohol mention (thanks Chung Myung), hangovers, Chung Myung being jealous, Jo Gul getting bullied because Chung Myung is jealous (sorry Jo Gul), a Chung Myung POV I’m not very proud of but it’s there

WC: 5,184

Chung Myung feels warm sunlight hit his eyelids as he begins to stir. His head is pounding thanks to last night’s activities, and the grogginess is not helping. A faint snoring hits his eardrums, but it takes him a moment to realize they were too soft to be his. He jolts up when he realizes that someone else is in his room.

He tries to look around, but not too fast to avoid vomiting. It feels like someone is holding his hand, so he looks down to investigate and finds you lying on the side of his bed. It looks as if you fell asleep while sitting on his bedroom floor, and he can’t imagine that sleeping like that is comfortable.

You feel someone nudging your cheek, and when you wake up there’s a creek in your neck and a slight headache. My headache can’t be as bad as Chung Myung’s considering how much he drank, you think, and look up to see him staring at you. “Oh, good morning,” you say softly. You're assuming he has a hangover, and you don't want to make it worse by speaking too loud.

“‘Morning,” he replies and immediately follows it with a yawn. You notice that one hand covers his mouth, but the other is preoccupied with holding yours. You must’ve fallen asleep while holding hands, how scandalous! Imagine if someone walked in on you two. Your peers wouldn't let you live that down for years.

“Chung Myung, can you let go of me, please?” you ask after a futile attempt to retrieve your hand. “Do I have to?” “Yes, because you need to burn off that alcohol and take a bath, stinky,” you say and get up from your uncomfortable spot. “I’ll go draw a bath for you while you get rid of your hangover, m’kay?” You tell him this so he’ll let go, and he does. You run off to heat up some water for the wooden tub, and Chung Myung is left alone with his own thoughts.

- Chung Myung’s POV

“I’ll go draw a bath for you while you get rid of your hangover, m’kay?” is what (y/n) said before she left the room. After taking care of my hangover, my mind is still plagued by her. No matter how hard I try I cannot stop thinking about her and the way she glows in the moonlight. I’m not entirely sure if that beautiful scene from last night was real or a dream, and if it was a dream, I’m upset that I woke up from it.

She looked divine, but did she always look like that? Even a hundred years ago? I'm a fool for not realizing this sooner. I also can’t help but wonder if she’s always been so soft and caring towards me. I suppose she was when I wasn’t causing trouble and trying to start fights. She’s always made sure I’ve eaten, patched me up, and has helped me achieve my goals.

Just thinking about her makes my chest feel warm, and I can’t figure out why I constantly feel the need to hold her. It’s as if she’s holding a magnet that’s constantly pulling me towards her… Is this what romantic love feels like?

Everytime I look back on my previous life, I’m certain there’s a familial love I feel towards people like Chung Mung, but this is different. This is a new uncharted territory, and it makes me feel anxious. It’s not a bad version of anxiety; it’s hard to explain. These feelings are complicated and I really wish it didn’t take me this long to notice them. Life would be easier if I knew what to do next, but I don’t even know if she feels the same.

Knock knock! “Chung Myung, I’m coming in!” I hear her yell. Think of the woman and she shall appear. She walks in and continues,” It’s hot and ready, so hurry before it gets cold.” “(y/n), can I ask you something?” I ask. After last night and realizing my feelings, something has been bothering me.

She mentioned something about starting a family back in the day, and that she already had someone in mind. Obviously that never happened, but the thought of her loving someone else upsets me. She loved this person, but I never heard anything else about him. I never even noticed anyone getting that close to her, so whoever it was, he wasn’t very public with his feelings. Could this mean he didn’t care about her? Did he even love her in the first place? I’m probably overthinking things, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask her about him.

I feel the mattress dip while she sits beside me, and the curious expression on her face makes my heart beat faster. Since when was her expressions so cute!? She’s pulling such an adorable face, and the fact that I can’t pull her towards me and mash my lips on hers is killing me!

My face is definitely beet red, and I know that she’s noticed because she asks,” Are you feverish again? I thought you were getting rid of your hangover? I’d rather talk to you when you have a clear mind-” “I did! It’s clear enough! Now, let me ask you something,” I say. I can’t help but anticipate her answer; I’ve waited over one-hundred years to find out who this man is. I’m going to be pissed if it turns out he was an asshole towards her.

- Reader’s POV

“Remember the promise you made to me?” he asks, and you shake your head. You’re lying of course; you didn’t expect him to remember such a thing! “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve made a lot of those over the past hundred-and-something years, so you’re gonna have to clarify,” you reply while twirling your hair around, and it suddenly feels like eye contact is more intimidating than any war you’ve fought in.

“You promised me you’d tell me who you loved before the war ended. It’s ended, so now you have to tell me!” He clears the air and his face is filled with anticipation. “O-Oh! I don’t remember that-” “Bullshit! You made a pinky promise, too, so you HAVE to answer the question!”

Oh, I fucked up. You think, because you actually have to answer his question now. There’s no backing out of something as serious as a pinky promise. You try your best to create a lie but struggle to come up with anything. You decided that giving vague answers would be your best bet.

“He was tall, dark and handsome,” you reply with a falsely confident smirk plastered on your face. He raises an eyebrow,” Tall, dark and handsome?” “Mhm!” “That is painfully vague, (y/n). That description matches almost everyone in the sect,” he points out. His expression looks genuinely upset and he’s not playing around like all those years ago. He continues,” How long are you going to keep this from me? At this point, I’d assume he was never real in the first place. You’d never do something like that, though. Right?”

You look down at your palms and notice that they’re starting to sweat. You stare at the floor like it’s infinitely more interesting than your conversation, because you’re trying your best to avoid what’s about to happen. You really don’t want to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. It'll be painfully awkward, but it looks like that might happen soon.

”Right, (y/n)?” He asks, and there’s an awkward silence that fills the air afterwards. “Dammit, (y/n), please tell me you didn’t lie about that…” “Okay, so here’s the thing. The part about wanting to settle down was genuine, but I couldn’t find a bachelor I liked. When I finally did, the crush was one-sided.”

”When you kept pestering me about who it was, I panicked and didn’t know what to say. Back then, I didn’t want to look lame in front of you, so I told you it was a secret!” You blurt out. You release a sigh to loosen up the tightness in your chest caused by all of this stress and continue,” I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to lie and lead you on like that. Honestly, I thought you would have forgotten by now. That was over a hundred years ago, but you still remembered that little promise we made.”

“Of course I did. I didn’t know how to show it or realize how much I cared about you back then. When you died, I tried to cherish every memory you left behind,” he answers while rubbing the back of his neck. Talking about your death upsets him, and he’s trying his best to not show it. The mattress dips as you sit beside him. “Aw, Chung Myung, that’s so sweet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve gotten soft since then,” you elbow him while you tease him in hopes that it lightens the mood.

Your teasing certainly gets a reaction out of him as he retorts,” No, I have not!” His arms cross while he continues,” Anyways, back to you. So you did all of that because you were awkward and couldn’t pull anyone. Instead of looking like a loser in front of your friend, you lied and kept that secret for over a hundred years.” “I mean, yeah, most of that is true. Except for the awkward part. I was hot and I could’ve pulled anyone I wanted!” “Except for the guy you had a crush on,” he points out.

You frown, because that guy was technically him and him pointing that out stings. You quickly recover from this, though. You’ve had this unrequited love for years, so hiding your true feelings is as easy as breathing. You chuckle and reply,” Yeah, except him.”

”Seeing how upset you are makes me regret everything. I should be more upfront with stuff like that, and I’m sorry for keeping that from you. It was wrong of me to do that,” your gaze looks serious while you apologize. You grab his hand while you continue,” I swear I’ll never do something like that again.” You notice his cheeks turn red, maybe from anger? Who knows. Chung Myung’s mind is hard to read and he’s unpredictable. That’s why you enjoy his company so much. He keeps you on your toes.

He lets out a long sigh,” You swear it?” “I swear it.” “Well then I’ll accept your apology, but make sure you stay true to your word. They hold no weight if you don’t practice what you preach,” he says, and you couldn’t agree more. After finally getting all of that out, you feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“It’s settled, then,” you say as you get up and hold your hand out to him. “The bath water has probably gotten cold by now, but you still need to clean up.” “Yeah, yeah,” he says as he takes your hand and gets off of his bed. “You still stink like alcohol,” you comment. It’s not overbearing, but it’s not what an honorable disciple of Mount Hua should smell like.

”I do not!” “You do, stinky.”

-

After that morning, you noticed Chung Myung started acting differently. Anytime you’d hand him something his fingers would ghost over yours. When you walked side by side, he’d walk so close that your hands would brush together. Any bystander would think you two were about to start holding hands.

He’s also been weirdly aggressive towards some of the disciples. Well, he’s always been like that, but lately it’s increased ten fold towards disciples that are “suspiciously friendly” towards you. That’s what he said when you asked him about his attitude, and you just assumed he was being extra protective since you two were old friends.

You’ve overheard disciples gossiping about you two. They say that you guys act like a couple, and you’re secretly in a relationship. That last part is kind of dumb in your opinion. Dating is technically allowed so hiding it makes no sense, and even if it wasn’t, Chung Myung isn’t afraid to break the rules. He already drinks like someone who’s about to have their limbs amputated, so a petty rule like that is nothing to him.

While walking to the dining hall, you overhear a group of younger disciples actually talk about who’s dating who, and you think you heard them drop your name and Jo Gul's. You decide to ignore it and mind your business; there’s no need to ruin your day with something like that. You have something more important to concentrate on, anyway, and that’s dinner.

When you enter the dining hall, the fragrance coming from the rich meats and spices fills your senses. Your stomach starts to growl; the roasted meat on the table is the only thing you can think about right now. Never mind the gossiping disciples from earlier, food is ten times more important than the nonsense they spat!

You make your way over to your usual spot, and Jo Gul and Yunjong are already there. When you sit down, your mouth starts to water at the sight of beef glistening in a spicy sauce, roasted vegetables, fluffy white rice, and crispy chicken. Your stomach growls at the exquisitely appetizing scene in front of you, and you waste no time in grabbing a plate and filling it to the brim.

“(Y/N), don’t steal all of the food! Save some for the rest of us! I’m begging you!” Jo Gul playfully wines while giving you puppy eyes. You roll your own eyes at him,”Of course I’m not going to eat everything, Jo Gul… Or will I?” You snicker at him, and he’s acting overly dramatic as he makes a devastated face at your response.

”Just kidding!” You laugh at him. “Here, have a bite!” You say as you toss a chunk of meat at him. He flawlessly catches it in his mouth, and can’t help but smile while he chews it. The flavors are so divine it’d put a smile on anyone’s face.

You hear someone’s foot steps approach you from behind, but you pay them no attention as you grab another piece of meat between your fingers. “One more time! Say ‘Ahhhh’!” You tell Jo Gul while you aim. He starts to open his mouth, but closes his lips when he looks over your shoulder. He is visibly nervous when he makes eye contact with the person behind you.

Yunjong, whose lips were originally smiling during your guys’ exchange, have now turned down slightly. Your eyes follow theirs, and they land on Chung Myung. He looks intimidating while he towers over you. Well, intimidating to other disciples, but not to you. You’re used to his pissy face at this point. It has its own unique charm.

”Chung Myung, it’s about time you joined us!” You chime in, and he finally stops glaring daggers at poor Jo Gul. His attention snaps to you and his gaze softens. The expression he makes towards you is so tender, and it brings a sentimental warmth to your chest. It reminds you of how grateful you are that you two are here living with each other again.

”Here, sit beside me!” You say while patting on the chair beside you. He follows suit, but gives Jo Gul the side eye before filling up his plate. Did something happen between them? You think, but brush it off. There’s no need to pry into that right now. If you bring it up, Chung Myung might get pissed at him again and raise hell. Everyone’s happy because we’re surrounded by food; better not change that.

Except the mood did change unwillingly. Even as he ate, you could still see that there was something wrong with Chung Myung and Jo Gul looked terrified. There was an awkward silence that felt like it droned on forever until Jo Gul decided to do something about it. ”So, (Y/N), the weathers been good, right? Lots of… Sun…” the poor guy tried so hard to break the uncomfortable silence. He stopped the silence, but the atmosphere was still awkward.

“Jeez, that’s how you’re going to start this conversation? I don’t mean to judge, but… Nevermind, I’m judging,” You reply to him. You swear you saw Chung Myung smirk out of the corner of your eye. “What’s so funny, Chung Myung?” You turn and ask him. Something clearly happened between the two of them, and they're starting to make this evening unbearable.

”It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he replies while digging into his food. It's your turn to give him a side eye, but you decide to ignore him and redirect your attention to your meal. After eating in peace for a couple of minutes, you see something fly out of the corner of your eye. You tried to mind your business, but the second time you snapped your head in the direction it landed.

Poor Jo Gul got smacked in the face with a smidge of sauce. You notice that there’s another glob heading towards him, so you catch it mid-air with a napkin. Your eyes follow the direction it came from, and notice that Chung Myung is looking really suspicious.

“Chung Myung, did you throw this?” You ask and stare him down. His eyes refuse to meet yours while he replies,”Me? No, that’s wasting food. I’d never!” He cracks a smile. “You’re a terrible liar,” you say, and a small piece of chicken hits him on the cheek. He glares at the culprit, and this time it’s Jo Gul that's on the attack.

“Are you stupid!?” Yunjong blurts out at Jo Gul. It looks like someone will have to plan his funeral later. Immediately after Yunjong’s outburst you watch Chung Myung throw a large piece of chicken at Jo Gul, and a food fight is definitely going to break out if you don’t stop this.

You decide not to, because this is the most entertaining thing you’ve seen all week. Thanks to Jo Gul’s terrible aim, someone that was sitting at the table behind us got involved. Everything escalates quickly, and there’s a food war breaking out in the lunch hall.

It’s chaos. They somehow even got Yunjong involved, which surprised you. He’s so quiet and seems like a goody two shoes, but here he is slinging handfuls of rice like it’s no one’s business. You feel something sticky hit the side of your head, and now there’s sauce stuck in your hair. Time to get involved!

You shoot out of your chair and fling your food at your attacker. It was Jo Gul, and it smacks him in the face. He’s covered in what was going to be your leftovers and you can’t help but laugh at the sour expression on his face.

Chung Myung takes this opportunity to grab an entire chicken, stuffs one of the legs in his mouth, and chucks it at Jo Gul’s head. The poor guy tries to hit it before it lands on his face, but fails. The force of this chicken actually knocks him off of his feet, and his butt smacks on the hardwood floor.

Chung Myung starts walking towards Jo Gul with a chair, and you grab him by the waist to make him stop. “Jeez, at least let him get up! And what’s with the chair? That’s too far!” You yell at him. “Mmmph!” Is all you hear while you grab at his arms. He looks annoyed at your sad attempts to stop him, but you eventually rip the chair out of his arms. If you weren’t there, Jo Gul definitely would’ve gained another head injury thanks to Chung Myung.

While you sit the chair down and scold Chung Myung, you hear a slam coming from the entrance and everyone halts. ”What’s going on!?” You hear one of the elders yell. You’re all fucked.

-

“Man, I’m beat!” You sighed while walking to your room. You tried your best to get you and your friends out of punishment, but it backfired. They made you mop AND wash the dishes. Chung Myung didn’t have to help you with the dishes, he didn’t even get punished, but he still helped you anyway. That was sweet of him. You think as you walk side-by-side.

You finally got to bathe after all of that, and you can’t wait to go to bed. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” He suddenly asks. “What do you mean?” “Our life right now,” he clarifies. “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, the last one was nice and I miss it sometimes, but this current one is good, too. We get to be young again and have fun. It’s especially fun since you’re here,” you reply while elbowing him.

He’s giving you another one of those tender smiles, and his eyes soften. You’re ridiculously pretty in this life, too. You think to yourself. “I think these new disciples have grown on me, too,” you add. “Maybe a bit too much,” you heard Chung Myung say that under his breath.

“Oh? Afraid I’ll replace you with one of them?” You ask and Chung Myung stops dead in his tracks. You stand in front of him as you tease,” Are you getting jealous, Chung Myung?” “Yes.”

You stare at him for a solid second. You did not expect him to say that. You’ve known him for well over a hundred years and couldn’t predict that he’d say something like that. “Wait, you’re actually jealous?” “Mhm.” “Of who exactly? Is there someone specific, or are you jealous of every person that interacts with me?” You ask him.

He grabs both of your hands and asks,”Do you like Jo Gul?” He looks anxious while he’s waiting for your reply. “I guess he’s nice,” you reply. “Why do you ask?” “I heard someone say you two were sneaking off in the middle of the night and planned on eloping,” he says while crossing his arms.

“Heh… Heheheh-“ you let go and break out in giggles, but you’re quickly interrupted by your friend. “Stop laughing!” He snaps, and you hold your stomach while you try your best to stop laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Hah, I just can’t believe you actually thought I was talking to him like that-“ “I didn’t say that I believed it!” His cheeks are starting to turn red from embarrassment.

”Good, because none of it’s true,” You say and start walking towards your bedroom again. He catches up to you, and you feel his hand brush against yours. Should I hold his hand or not? I mean, he did grab mine earlier… You think, and after going back and forth a couple of times you decide to take that risk.

You grab his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. A small smile cracks on your face, but you’re too nervous to look up at him. You don't know if you should let go or not when you both get near your bedroom door. The both of you finally stop, and when you try to pull away Chung Myung keeps holding on to you. It's like last night all over again.

“This is my stop-” “What if I liked you like that?” His eyes look dead serious, and judging by his tone you know he's not joking right now. “W-What?” You asked hesitantly. He takes a step closer to you and doubles down on what he was saying,” What if I liked- no, loved you enough to sneak off with you? What if I loved you enough to secretly elope with you during the night?”

”You’re not drunk right now, are you?” “No!” He replies with desperation in his tone. You nervously swallow your spit, because this isn’t real, right? This has to be a dream. Your crush, who you’ve loved and waited for for over one hundred years, is trying to confess to you. It sounds too good to be true!

Your heart feels like it’s going over a hundred beats per minute right, and you look down at your hands that are still interlocked together. You pull his hands closer to your chest and look back into his eyes. “Chung Myung, if this is a joke, it’s a really cruel one.” “It’s not, I’m asking a genuine question!” After his response, you inhale and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves. It doesn’t help much, and you can already feel your cheeks heating up.

”Don’t laugh at what I’m about to say,” you tell him, and pray that you won’t cringe at this moment in the near future. He looks slightly confused, but you continue before he can say anything. It’s now or never. “That would make me the happiest woman in the world,” you reply to his question and he holds your hands a little tighter.

His lips start turning upwards into the cheesy grin you've always loved. “Do you know how long I've waited for this, (y/n)?” “I don't know, since you started getting jealous of Jo Gul?” “I was not!” He groans at your response. “I've been waiting for over a hundred years, you know,” you tell him and his eyes widen.

“Over a hundred?” He asks with his mouth agape. “Mhm.” “... You were talking about me back then, weren't you?” He asks. He really hit the nail on the head, huh? It only took him over a century to realize that.

You wrap his hands around your waist, and he doesn't budge when you get closer to him. At this point you guys are so close that your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck, and with a sudden burst of confidence, admit,” Well, you are tall, dark, and handsome, aren't you?”

His eyes widen slightly and his cheeks redden at your sudden boldness. His flusteredness makes it clear that he didn't expect this, and the current look on his face is adorable. It's the kind of face you'd want to grab and plant kisses all over. Maybe I should… you think while sitting in silence for a couple of seconds.

You haven't seen Chung Myung be this nervous in years. His tan lips suddenly part as he tries to break the silence,” Can I…” “Can you what? Use your words,” you tell him while keeping your eyes on his lips. His gaze follows yours, and what you want is obvious.

“Can I please kiss you?” He asked with bated breath. “Of course,” you reply and he hesitantly closes the space between you. When your lips finally met, it was sloppy. You're an elder who’s never kissed anyone, and judging by his movements Chung Myung is in the same boat. You two probably look pathetic right now, but oh well. You're literally living your dream right now, so you could care less.

When your lips part, he grabs your face and tries to go in again. This time it's more sporadic and heated, and your hands start to roam his chest. He acts like he's been starved for weeks and is finally digging into his favorite food. You try your best to match his hungry pace.

When you part a second time you’re both out of breath, and this love feels electrifying. His eyes are unfocused while you grab his face and start planting little pecks all over it. “I’ve- peck loved- peck you- peck for- peck so- peck fucking- peck long!” “Heheh, I can tell!” He says in between giggles.

All you feel right now is your love that’s accumulated over the years finally spilling out, and Chung Myung definitely isn’t complaining about it. You keep spoiling him, and he’s basking in all of the new attention he’s getting. If your love is water, he’s the sponge that’s soaking it up.

After a few more kisses, you pull away to get a good look at his face, and he’s smiling from ear-to-ear. Your face mirrors his, because after saying what was on your mind for ages, you feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest. He continues holding you tightly, and for a moment all you do is lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It reminds you that you two are alive and the nightmares from your past life are long gone. You’ve yearned for his love for over a century, and you finally got it.

The silence is comfortable, and after you've had your fill of bear hugs you look up at Chung Myung. “How long have you loved me?” You asked him. “That's hard to answer,” he replies while running his hands up and down your back. You rest your chin on his chest while eagerly waiting for him to continue.

“There might've been something before you died, but it intensified after you left. Then, I found you again, and for the past few years it got stronger. I didn't realize what those feelings were until recently… I've never had romantic feelings before, y'know?” “Yeah, and you were never really pursued, either-” “What's that supposed to mean!? I had people all over me during my prime!” “You're lying and you know it; most people were terrified of you and your attitude! You only tolerated me and a handful of other people,” you confidently call out his bull shit.

You sigh and continue,”Regardless, I am over the moon now that we've been upfront with each other.” “Yeah, me too,” he replies. You pull away, but not without grabbing a hold of Chung Myung's hand. You turn to open your door and make your way in while dragging him in.

“What are you doing?” He asks while following you, and you close the door behind him. “Going to bed. Are you joining me or not?” You ask as you let go of him and plop on your bed. Not even a second passed and he's already thrown himself onto the mattress.

“Desperate, are we?” you tease as you finally get to lay down after such a long day. He hushes you, but never denies it as he pulls you into his chest. It's softer than you expected, and you prefer this over your old pillow.

“I love you,” you remind him and give him one last peck on the cheek before going to sleep. “I love you, too,” he adds and falls asleep not even a minute after his head hits the pillow. He snores like an old man, and while it would annoy most people, it's endearing to you. It's what you listen to as you drift off into a blissful slumber.

That was the best sleep you’ve had since you both reincarnated. There were no nightmares about your past or tears, just comfort while being in your lover’s arms. It's like he's your nightmare repellant, and you hope you're the same for him. You'll have to sleep with each other again.