#should mention Dry is less about the texture so much as it is about the flavour

[tabe4]

How about some pretzel sticks? Nothing dries my mouth out like pretzel sticks...

[starvingmedievalpeasant]

Morning Routine Before & After Prison // Kevin Khatchadourian HC

Important Tags! : Brief mentions of online gore, Porn and violent fantasies, male masturbation ig? Not in a sexy sex way, In a canon to the book way.

Requested by @witch-ren

English is not my first language so please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes. Always appreciate feedback.

Before prison

Kevin doesn't have a strict routine to his mornings, He's quite impulsive, really, Does whatever he wants whenever he wants. The only thing he does everyday with no fail is clean his face.

His wake patterns are inconsistent but usually go between 5am-7am.

The days he wakes up at 7 are the rare days his mom is responsible for driving him to school, He likes making Eva stressed by being ready at the last minute or just straight up taking his sweet time, Making her late for work and other affairs. He doesn't really care if he's late for school it's usually a bonus for him to spend less time in that cesspool.

He likes to alternate between the two to add to her anxiety of not knowing if she should let her workers know she's going to be behind schedule that day.

On the much more common days when his dad gets him to school he likes to have some alone time before he has to put on the mask for the rest of the day.

He sets a morning alarm for 5am, (Sometimes if he's exceptionally tired that morning he snoozes it to 5:30 or 6) It takes him around 5-10 minutes to fully wake up.

Once he gets out of bed he either goes to wash his face and sit on his computer until his parents call him down for breakfast or immediately grabs his archery gear to practice in the back yard, Still in his pajamas.

He could train from 10 minutes to a full hour, De-stressing before he has to play the irritating game of pretend with Franklin, He often imagines people like his family or classmates in place of the target, Sometimes his teachers if he has a test that day or if they were particularly annoying recently.

Once he's finished his morning training he feels like he can finally truly start the day, He like to take a cold shower to cool off from the session (even in the winter).

I feel like he'd be kind of lazy with his hygiene but not to a disgusting degree, Things that wouldn't really be noticeable. Like sometimes not even bothering to shampoo his hair or only using soap on his armpits or not brushing his teeth, Because his hair isn't oily, He doesn't smell bad and he's going to eat before he goes out anyway so what's the point?

Two things he does bother to do is bare minimum skincare and shave his face.

He does both not just to stick to the uncomfortably not age appropriate look he's got going on with the little T-shirts and all, But also because he just really hates the texture of his face when it isn't smooth.

When he started puberty and the hair and zits came onto his face he went crazy picking at his skin and only made it breakout even worse, So he began taking Accutane and shaving his face. The Accutane made it dry and a little flaky which irritated him to no end too so he started using Eva's face cleanser and moisturizer and it solved the problem right up.

He uses her personal moisturizer and cleanser just to be an asshole and make her have to waste her money and buy it more frequently, But he does have a secret stash of one or two containers just in case she stops.

He does everything in the shower, Piss, Brush his teeth (if he bothers to), Jack off, Shaving and skincare.

Sometimes he likes to leave the door open, lower the water pressure of the shower head so it goes quiet and beat his meat really loud just to bother Eva, Every time he hears her slam the bathroom door shut when he does that he can't help but laugh his ass off.

He takes 5-30 minutes to shower depending on how lazy he is that day, When he finishes he takes a peek outside of the door and if his mom's in view he just walks out butt ass naked to irk her even more.

He doesn't care about what he's gonna wear that day, Not like he has much choice between his like 7 T-shirts he's been wearing since forever and 3 pairs of skinny jeans.

If he has some time left before breakfast he goes online to look at stuff, Usually gore or a news report about this school shooter or that serial killer.

When he's done he goes down for breakfast, He's a picky eater, Usually a plain strawberry jelly sandwich or plain cereal, He adds milk to the cereal if he's feeling adventurous that day.

Sometimes he gets caught up with his computer and misses the time window for breakfast or just doesn't feel like dealing with his family in the kitchen and stays in his room, If he didn't brush his teeth that morning he pops a mint or two and goes down the stairs when his parents call him to get in the car.

After Prison

After 7 years of prison Kevin develops a strict routine, Not out of need or compulsiveness, Rather out of being accustomed with it. He becomes very punctual but still wouldn't really mind if his routine gets thrown off schedule.

He wakes up at 5am sharp, He is no longer allowed to practice archery so he exercises in his room until 5:30, He often reminisces about the early mornings he would train in the backyard, Exhilarated by violent fantasies and the wind cooling down his body. In particularly vulnerable moments he closes his eyes and pretends like he's back to that Thursday, Shooting his crossbow in the gymnasium.

When he's finished he heads to the shower, His personal hygiene has gotten better and more thorough in his method. He uses body soap, shampoo and conditioner everyday and brushes his teeth well.

Although while he was incarcerated he was quick with his showers, When he gets out Kevin takes his time and savors every single minute of it, He hated showering next to other disgusting naked people and he hated having such a short time limit for it.

He doesn't use any of Eva's skincare products anymore, He became even more possessive of his belongings after prison and can't even bare the thought of another person using the same soap as he does.

He doesn't leave the door open anymore either, He always checks that it's indeed locked before he gets in the shower.

Kevin still does everything in the shower with the added task of dressing himself, He stopped prancing around naked as it reminds him of prison like previously mentioned, Sometimes Kevin thinks that it might be karma for what he used to do to his mom in his teen years.

He has a timer set for 6:30am, Plenty of time to wash, Dry and dress himself, He almost always finishes putting his shirt on right as the timer dings, He wishes he could wear the T-shirts to his office job but he also doesn't want to get fired after someone finally agreed to hire him.

He heads back to his room to make his bed, Sits on his desk chair and opens his computer.

Having no internet access for 7 years means he finally has more new content than time to view all of it, He catches up on all of the shiny new viruses, Gore, Porn, True crime and other shock sites and videos he can consume. If he finds something particularly good he saves it as wanking material for later, Some things just never change.

At 7am Kevin goes down to eat breakfast with Eva, His mind is usually preoccupied with his online findings from earlier and prefers to keep quite while eating, Sometimes he does entertain his mother with a one or two word answer to her small talk, And even though he is living at her house, He still feels like every interaction in a closed room with her is like a prison visitation.

He's not as picky with his food anymore, Usually eating whatever his mom has cooked for both of them, Not because he thinks it tastes good or even decent, Rather out of being used to eating whatever is served and not wanting to waste time by cooking for himself.

By 7:30 Kevin and his mom are in the car, Eva is driving him to an office job she helped him score, Some kind of salesperson job. The drives are also quiet, Not as heavy as the silence they usually have at home, but it still feels somewhat loaded.

And every day when Eva drops him off in front of the office building he can hear her say:

"Have a good day Kev, I love you."

And every day Kevin's face darkens as he clenches his fists, Because he knows that no matter what;

He could never bring himself to lie and say it back.

[lavender-creame]

maybe for St. Patrick's Day you could write something about getting drunk on St. Patrick's Day with Ryan and him wearing that Kiss Me I'm Irish tank top and that leading to some giggly drunk sex?

Barhopping (Ryan Magee x Reader)

| Minors DNI | 18+ only | 5.9k words Summary: Your best friend, Kia, takes you out barhopping on St. Patrick's day to help you get over your last relationship. Warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, sex, mentions of alcohol a/n: I'm back!! mwah <33. You can also find my stuff on a03 at lavender_creame

The ache and yearning you’d felt since the night your ex cheated on you seemed to always find its way back to you on the brightest days. Unfortunately for you, the ‘Golden State’ held onto its title tight, and shined through your window no matter the time.

It was 9:13 PM, and technicolor still blinded your eyes through the cracks in your curtains as your best friend, Kia, sat in front of you, lightly patting your face with powder. 

"So, remind me, Y/N, how long has it been since you and Jake broke up?" Kia asked, smirking. 

As your best friend, she knew all the best ways to prod you, even worse, she knew that because she was doing you a favor, there wasn’t too much you could truly complain about.

"You’ve been hinting at it all night, Kia, don’t start with me-" you replied, attempting to cut her off with a grumble and roll of your eyes, but she had already begun and you knew that this conversation was a long time coming.

The truth was, the relationship had been long over even before that fateful night; what is a relationship if it’s dateless, sexless, and loveless? Truth is, that was no relationship at all. Still, seeing him with another woman gave you a feeling you doubt you’ll ever forget, and as much as you spent most nights desiring nothing more than to be held, days, months, and now years hadn’t helped you overcome the fears that clouded your mind.

"No, YN!” She spoke playfully, “Come on! It’s been a year and a half. It’s time for you to get back out there, and this is the perfect night!"

You held a tube of Kia’s mascara between your fingers, fiddling with the textures, sighing, and shifting uncomfortably. "Kia, you know how bad Jake cheating on me messed me up. I just don’t know if I’m ready to trust anyone enough to fall in love."

Pulling your face back into position, Kia shot you an annoyed look in the complaint of your shuffling, silently warning you not to ruin her hard work.

Within the blink of an eye, however, her glare softened back into a smirk. "Who says you gotta fall in love to have a little fun?"

You laughed at her audacity as she refocused on her task at hand. "YN, if you keep moving, this mascara is going to make you look like a raccoon."

This time taking her warning seriously, you commented once more before truly and actually holding still: "You can’t blame me when you know I’ve never done anything remotely casual before let alone a one-night stand with someone I’ve met at a bar.”

Kia chuckled, "Well, maybe you should," patting your cheek to let you know she finished her work.

Letting you see the final product, she turned the mirror towards you, letting you admire yourself. The makeup was light and dewy; brushed onto you, without coating. It was perfect. Dropping the tube, you hugged Kia to thank her for her time, but even more, for her care.

"Alright, it’s done now, so try not to move too much while it’s drying.”

Kia stood up and began the work on her own face, picking her shade as you too lifted yourself from the bed to begin thumbing through shirts. As you picked your outfit, and Kia finished her makeup, you thought about how despite wanting to prove her wrong, chances were, it wouldn’t solve anything. The truth was, it really had been some time since you last were kissed, much less had sex. You and her both knew that your ex had left you in shambles, but perhaps was right when she hinted that the amount of time passing was getting a bit absurd. Although you never guessed a one-night stand would be of interest to you, there was a chance that popping your last long-term relationship cherry would finally set you on the right foot. 

Stepping outside, the air was just warm enough to wear the outfit you had chosen but still cool enough to fit the still earliness of the spring. The sun had just begun to set when you slid into the Uber, and while sitting next to the window, you realized you were gifted a perfect view of the sky. It shimmered with bright oranges and reds, yellow clouds scraping the sky and clashing with the green that covered the town for the night. Laughter filled the night sky as a group of drunk girls walked past your now parked Uber, giggling about who knows what; Kia dragged you out the door into the first bar.

“Your first shot is on me, cause’ we're making sure you get laid tonight!” She said with an inarguable excitement in her voice which when paired with the shot she shoved in your hand, shut down your long list of grievances. Looking between your enthusiastic friend and the drink in your hand, you knew that she truly just wanted to see you happy, so instead of complaining, you responded with a simple shrug, downing the liquid in one, swift gulp.

The bar you walked into was much emptier than either of you would have guessed, but you both sat down regardless. It was a nice, quaint bar with pop culture posters lining the walls alongside a few pinups.  The two of you hadn’t been to this bar in years and although it looked the same, you definitely remembered to be busier.

“So what? We may not be able to find you a man here,” Kia started, “But we sure as hell can start drinking before we move on to the next bar!”

You laughed at the thought, slowly settling into the idea of finding someone to stay the night with. The two of you clinked glasses before taking large sips of the cocktails in front of you, finishing the drinks, and ordering another as you stood up and started a game of darts.

As you returned your empty glasses to the bartender, Kia hailed a second Uber. You ignored her winning taunts, smiling and rolling your eyes, knowing that there were pool tables at the next bar where you would get your revenge. 

You were relieved to see that this bar had a better and busier vibe, it was bigger, but not huge, and you knew, just by glancing around, that there were plenty of possible suitors. The bar’s name was ‘Mr Furley’s Bar’ and used to be your favorite back in college. The lighting was warm and the walls and furniture were covered in a beautiful hardwood. Red pool tables were lined up all the way to the back wall, and it was always one of the most popular places to be, especially on a night like tonight. Splitting off from the entrance, you and Kia found yourselves at the last open pool table starting a rematch that was quickly interrupted.

"Mind if we join you, ladies? Looks like all the other tables are taken." 

Turning around, you were met with the sight of two men, the one who spoke was tall and skinny. His hair was a bleached blond with dark roots and a smile that when spread across his face was beyond contagious. The man that stood beside him; however, made you blush from sight alone. He too was tall, but was built much more broadly, with shoulders that stretched across his strong body and long brunette hair that fell atop them in loose waves. His beard was clean-cut and defined his jawline to a sharp edge. He was dressed in such a way that you couldn’t help but giggle, a bright green tee hung upon his muscled chest that said ‘Kiss Me I’m Irish” a shirt which you could tell he wore with an ironic pride, numerous cheap plastic necklaces draped around his defined collar bones as well.

You and Kia looked at each other, you shrugging and her looking at you mischievously, which suddenly made you regret your nonchalantness surrounding them joining your match. You couldn’t believe yourself as butterflies filled your stomach. You knew that half of them were anxiety and the other were from excitement, regardless; nausea was the result. After all the contemplation you had done over the last couple hours, you thought that when the time came, you’d feel ready, but now that it was happening, there was finally a guy who you were interested in right in front of you, you were a nervous wreck, and all you could focus on were your sweaty palms and the way his biceps peaked through his tee.

“Yeah, no problem, we’ll share, but not for free, of course. You two definitely owe us drinks for this.” Kia said playfully, inviting one to buy you some liquor to loosen your anxiety.

The blond stepped forward, "No worries, that was already the plan. We never receive without giving in return,” he said with a smile and a wink as his friend beside him scoffed at his innuendo, although amusement was still present on his face.

The broad-shouldered friend spoke, trying to turn the conversation, “I’m Ryan,” he looked to his side, inviting the blonde to speak again.

He spoke with a playful and childlike confidence that exuded the same energy as that of a middle schooler, introducing himself as Matt.

Ryan quickly cut into the conversation by turning to you, “What’s your drink of choice…,” he paused, giving you time to introduce yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat as he turned his attention in your direction; you rather liked his voice.

“Y/N and you should pick a shot for us both to take together.”

Ryan smiled, “Shots,” he thought out loud, “Alright, I like that energy. I got just the one.”

Ryan nodded and asked Kia the same, taking a mental note of her answer before heading towards the bar.

“Wow, okay,” Kia said, pulling you out of your trance before she redirected her attention to Matt, “I’m thinking teams, you and me versus her and Ryan.

When Matt’s already amused smile turned into a devilish grin in response to Kia’s request, you realized that both friends were on the same quest: to get their buddy laid, and oh boy, they stared at each other as if they had both stumbled across a gold mine.

As the three of you waited for Ryan to return with the drinks, you made conversation, getting to know each other before Ryan came back holding a drink and two shots. He handed Kia’s glass over before heading to you. Looking at the two shots, you realize that although you’d never seen shots like them before, they looked delicious. They were a beautiful shade of brown that you were sure was some kind of whiskey or bourbon, topped off with whipped cream. Ryan smiled as he returned, noting your curiosity. However, as Matt’s gaze also fell on the shots he began laughing.

“Dude, no way you still ordered them,” he turned to you, “they have a crazy name, but I promise they’re great.”

Looking down at the drinks himself, Ryan suddenly looked surprised followed by a bit of bashfulness, “Shit. I didn’t even think of that,” He spoke as if he made some kind of mistake before he sighed, “Me and Matt always order these to start off the night, and I honestly didn’t think anything of it until now, but,” he said, pausing once again, hesitant to say their title out loud, “It’s called a ‘Blow Job’ shot, I promise I didn’t mean it to be weird though, I swear.”

Matt and Kia’s small, and hidden chuckles had turned louder at hearing Ryan admit such a thing aloud. 

Ryan ignored them and continued, “You know what? Me and Matt can just take them and I can go grab you another shot-”

You cut him off, finding his embarrassment cute, “No, I’ll take it with you. What is that? Whiskey? It’s St. Patrick’s Day so it’s perfect.”

“Close, it’s Irish Cream Liquor.”

“Even better.”

The two of you shared a smile and readied yourselves to take the shots as Kia pulled Matt away to grab cues as well as give the two of you some space. As you and Ryan threw back the shots, you could tell that he was much more tolerant of the taste of liquor than you. While you tried your best not to cough, he swallowed the liquid in stride. Even despite the burn, Matt was right, the shot was easily one of the best you’ve had. The liquor itself was smooth, and when mixed with the whipped cream evened out the strength of the liquid.

Looking at you, he smirked, turning towards you silently. As one hand reached to lightly grab your cheek, you once again felt a blush creep to where his palm held you. He tilted your chin upwards and brought the thumb of his other hand up to your lip, swiping away some leftover whipped cream, before bringing the sweet foam to his mouth.

“Couldn’t have you walking around looking like a mess.”

All you could whisper out while still stunned was a humble, “Oh, thanks.”

As Kia and Matt got back the game started and you found out very quickly that Ryan was much better at pool than you were. You didn’t want him to feel like he was carrying you, but there wasn’t much else of another choice given the circumstances. In fact, you and yet to get a single ball in besides the one you happened to pocket while doing the breakout.

“What?” Matt said dramatically, “Boo, that was just a lucky shot.”

Before you could answer, Ryan spoke, “You haven’t seen anything yet, man, but even if it were, that just means she has the luck of the Irish on her side.” 

You laughed, “It really was just luck, but I appreciate it, Ryan.” 

Regardless of the level difference, Ryan seemed like he was having a great time, especially when he started giving you tips. It started with him telling you which ball you should go for, but it slowly progressed to more intricate teaching: showing you how you could make better aim by adjusting your grip, showing you how hitting different parts of the sphere will completely change how the ball travels before and after collision, and after another drink, he even begun to show you a more ‘hands-on version’ of his teaching methods.

The second Ryan had slid behind you to change the way you held the cue, there wasn’t anything else in the world that mattered to you, let alone some silly game. You couldn’t care less if you missed completely, guttering the eight ball, if you could get Ryan to hold you like that forever, you’d do anything. His strong hands fell lightly against your delicate fingers, surprising you with a gentleness you’d never felt before from a man. The feeling was new and intoxicating; to have a man pressed up against you dominatingly, yet with the same caution in which you’d carry a glass full to the brim; just close enough where you could feel the heat radiating off his body, but just far enough away to keep you wanting more. The act of him teaching you was so intimate that there were long periods where you couldn’t even breathe in fear of scaring him away. As he bent you over to make the shot, you felt his hardening cock just barely brush against you, and you knew that with one more drink, you too would have the guts to do more than just ‘accidentally’ brush your ass up against it while attempting to make the shot.

Although you managed to hit the ball with enough force and in the right direction, it just barely rolled by the pocket, hitting the wall and ricocheting in the other direction. You sighed in defeat, sure, you didn’t really care about the match, but you didn’t exactly want to disappoint Ryan either; however, when you turned to him to apologize, he wore an excited grin.

“See! You’re getting better! That really wasn’t bad, I promise.” He said with honesty in his voice.

Looking at him, giving you the most ‘proud dad’ pep talk you’d ever experienced, you couldn't help but feel pride in yourself even if you had missed.

As the match went on, it got more and more heated; you would miss, but then Kia would get one, or Matt would miss, but Ryan would get one. It felt like every second, the tension between you and Ryan seemed to build and crackle in the air, adding an electrifying edge to the game. Each missed shot or successful pot would heighten the connection between the two of you, the competitive spirit fueling an undeniable chemistry. Each turn, your eyes would meet, sparks flying as you focused on the game but couldn't ignore the growing attraction between you. Ryan's smile was charming, his confidence infectious, and you couldn't help but be drawn to him more and more with each passing moment.

Every time one of your opponents balls would fall into the pocket from the field, the stakes would make you a bit more anxious; however, not in terms of winning or losing, but in the fear of disappointing Ryan. 

Finally, there was only the 8 left in the field. The final shot loomed ahead, and as you lined up your cue, you could feel Ryan's eyes on you, a silent challenge and invitation all in one.

Finding the tension to be too much, you put down the cue and apologetically looked up to Ryan, "I'm sorry, Ryan, but I'd feel more comfortable if you took the final shot. I don't want to lose it for us."

With a soft smile, he reached out to gently place a hand on your arm, his touch reassuring and warm, "Nope, I want you to take the final shot," he pointed at his friend, "Go show Matt that the first point wasn't luck. I know you can." 

When you turned to meet his gaze, you realized he was now finally close enough where you could see into his eyes; they twinkled with warmth, and between the shades of brown were gold engravings like strings of honey embroidering his irises. He had, perhaps, the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. Your breath caught in your chest and you were sure your heart skipped a beat as you tried to answer, but oh god all you could see was the same sunset you had been entranced by earlier, now holding you by the throat, making you beg for air; you wanted nothing more than for him to make you beg for air.

His words were genuine, and as you met his gaze, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. It wasn't about winning or losing for Ryan; it was about the connection that had grown between you throughout the game.

With a deep breath, you steadied your hand on the cue, feeling a surge of determination fueled by Ryan's unwavering support. As you took the shot, the cue ball glided smoothly across the table, striking the final ball with precision. And with a satisfying clack, the ball rolled into the pocket, sealing your victory.

A surge of exhilaration coursed through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. The satisfaction of victory mingled with the pulsating energy that had been building between you and Ryan throughout the intense pool match. You couldn't contain the joy that bubbled up inside you, and before you could even fully process the win, a delighted squeal escaped your lips.

In a split second, you found yourself launching into Ryan's arms, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your heart beating rapidly with a heady mix of triumph and something more, something unspoken but palpable. His strong arms wrapped around you in a secure embrace, and you felt a rush of warmth and comfort enveloping you. The scent of his cologne, a subtle mix of spice and musk, filled your senses, adding to the intoxicating moment.

Ryan's laughter rang out, a melodic sound that harmonized with the joyous rhythm of your own. His hold on you was firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes without the need for words. In that embrace, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into the background as you relished the closeness between you and Ryan, the shared triumph binding you together in a moment of pure connection.

As you slowly pulled back from the embrace, a flush of warmth tinged your cheeks, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, the victory on the pool table only amplifying the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer to Ryan with each passing moment.

Ryan, breaking the eye contact between the two of you turned to Matt, "She tried to tell you it wasn't luck, man. Maybe next time."

Neither Matt nor Kia could be upset they lost after seeing how happy it had made you and how close it had brought you and Ryan.

"Well, next time will have to wait," Kia cuts in, "Me and Matt were just talking about how tired we're getting so the two of you are free to start another round, but we were planning on sharing an Uber to head back to our apartments."

As Kia and Matt bid their goodbyes, a sense of anticipation fluttered within you, thankful for the chance to have some alone time with Ryan. The air seemed to hum with newfound energy as you and Ryan settled back at the bar, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm ambiance around you; the clinking of glasses and murmurs of other patrons faded into the background of your conversation and the room around you blurred as you found yourselves lost in each other's company.

"You know, I haven't really liked St. Patrick's Day these last few years," you said to Ryan.

"Why not?"

"I don't know, but it probably has to do with this one stupid wish I had when I was young that I figured I’d fulfill by now.”

Ryan cocked his head at you, curious, "It couldn't be that stupid. When I was young, I believed I was the most talented person at my school's talent show for being able to lay my back on the ground from a kneeling position, meanwhile, other kids were playing the guitar and shit."

You laughed continuing, "I suppose it wasn't that bad, but it's still pretty unnecessary," you watched Ryan nodding at you to continue, "I always wanted to travel to Ireland for St. Patrick's Day and kiss an Irish guy."

Now, it was Ryan's turn to laugh, "No! That's like a cute thing to want as a kid compared to the kind of stuff I wanted at that age. I just wish I could grant that wish for little you, and maybe I can one day, but for now, I hope this’ll suffice."

Suddenly, Ryan reached his hand up to your cheek, just as he had done earlier, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb once as if to ask for permission before leaning in to meet your lips. The feeling of his lips on yours was soft and sweet, bringing a blush to the apples of your cheeks with each stroke of his thumb against your face. The tenderness of his touch sent shivers running through your frame; the electricity of his touch made goosebumps form under your skin, igniting sensations that you weren't quite familiar with. You were suddenly struck with a wave of desire for his body to press closer to yours, the smell of his cologne mixing with the faint taste of shots you had taken together. As if reading your mind, Ryan placed his free hand on the small of your back pulling you even closer, your body now flush against each other as he deepened the kiss by sliding the hand that sat on your cheek, to the back of your head, lightly holding you.  A low moan rumbled through your throat, your tongue brushing gently against his lips in a brief caress before pulling away to catch your breath. As you pulled away, you noticed his shirt and finally realized exactly what he meant when he said that he hoped the kiss would suffice; 'Kiss me, I'm Irish'. Pausing for just a moment in silence, the two of you made eye contact again and began to laugh.  

With a playful grin, he asked, "Was that close enough to your dream for now?"

"Works for me," you whispered softly.

As Ryan pulled your face toward him again for another passionate kiss, this time pausing to giggle between the moments your lips touched. 

"Do you wanna get out of here?" He asked you, causing you to nod and blush.

The two of you talked more as you waited for the Uber back to his house. After several minutes, he stopped you with a gentle nudge towards the door. With a soft smile, he kissed you, pressing his lips firmly against yours for a long moment before releasing you, "Ready?"

Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden change in mood. His question was innocent, but somehow, you knew he wasn't asking about the ride home; you kissed him back before following him to the car. 

The soft hum of the car engine filled the air as you sat next to Ryan, the gentle vibrations from the vehicle mingling with the pulsating energy that seemed to radiate between the two of you. His touch was warm against your thigh, the circles he traced with his thumb sending a rush of tingling sensation through your body. You couldn't help but bite your lip, a mix of nervous excitement and anticipation building within you. The fact Ryan kept a playful conversation with you as you struggled not to moan from his touch kept a fun rather than serious air in the car that made you less nervous for whatever would come of the night. 

As the Uber pulled up to Ryan's house, you couldn't help but giggle at his drunken insistence on opening the car door for you. His attempts were charmingly clumsy, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. The moment he fumbled with the keys to unlock his front door, a wave of anticipation washed over you both, fueling a mix of laughter and desire.

Once inside, the playful atmosphere between the two of you intensified, and amidst shared laughter, your lips found each other in a heated embrace. The sounds of clothes being shed filled the air, punctuated by breathless sighs and soft moans, as desire gave way to a primal need for each other's touch. The warmth of his skin against yours, the urgent press of his body against yours, sent shivers of pleasure down your spine, heightening the intensity of the moment.

In the midst of passion, laughter mingled with whispers of desire, creating a symphony of shared pleasure and connection. The world outside, including your past, faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of intimacy and raw emotion, lost in the moment of mutual desire and unbridled passion. Leading you to the bed between kisses, you fell onto the side, leaving you beneath him. The soft glow of Ryan's bedroom lighting illuminated his silhouette, his hair mussed and disheveled as he leaned over you. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing back strands of stray loose curls.

He looked at you in complete adoration, "You're gorgeous, Y/N. I'm so glad I met you tonight."

You smiled shyly, a blush spreading across your features, "So am I."

His hands trailed along your skin, trailing over your hips and legs, before settling on your hips and kneeling on the floor so he was beneath you instead now, between your legs. Without hesitation, his mouth met your inner thigh, leaving light kisses on top of any hickies he’d leave, drunkenly tickling you gently with his lips and breath, keeping the mood light and lively.  

As he moved lower, he looked up at you one more time. Meeting his gaze, you saw that his once brown and golden-speckled eyes were now dark with lust.

"Is this okay?" He managed to whisper up to you.

You nodded at him, "Please."

He laughed, "Thank god," that was all the permission he needed to lift one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder, and pulling your hips toward him.

The movement was so quick and surprising to you that you squealed and giggled, "Ryan, slow down!"

He chuckled, "Sorry love, but I've been wanting to taste you since the moment I laid eyes on you."

You continued to giggle until you felt him begin to tease your core with his tongue, sending tremors throughout your entire body as his warm breath fanned across your sensitive flesh.  He began to slowly lick at your center as you let out small cries of pleasure, unable to contain yourself, yet enjoying every second of the experience nonetheless. Your heart thumped rapidly, beating faster than ever as he pleasured you with his mouth. As much as your body ached for more, the thought of stopping caused you to feel embarrassed.

"Jesus Christ, Ryan! Where'd you learn to do this?" You asked between moans, "Fuck, Ryan that feels so good."

Bringing his hand to your clit he rubbed slow circles and lifted his head. The sudden break in such intense pleasure was equally relieving and disappointing and you tried to swallow your whines. 

"Give a thirsty man water and he lasts a day. Teach a man how to be a munch and he'll never be thirsty again," He said in slurred speech giving you a lopsided grin.

"Ryan, that's not a saying. Isn’t it something about fishing?" You laughed.

He shrugged in response, slipping the fingers that were on you inside your pussy, and he placed his mouth around your clit.  With that, you felt yourself start to become dizzy with arousal, your breaths becoming shallow and uneven.  You felt his fingers continue to work their magic, making your whole body quake from the intense pleasurable feelings they brought you. You couldn't help but latch your fingers into his hair as your hips bucked up slightly off the bed.  You cried out in pleasure as you felt him push a third finger in without missing a beat. In your current drunken state of both liquor and pleasure, the moment felt as if you were having a dream. Every stroke of his fingers in your most sensitive places felt like an assault on your senses, and soon enough, you were moaning and groaning at each stroke on the edge of orgasm. A high-pitched noise escaped your throat and you clenched your thighs tightly, trying hard to stay quiet. Ryan smirked against your cunt, knowing what his tongue did to you, as you shook with your release.  

As you lay on your back panting, trying to breathe normally as Ryan rubbed kind circles into your thigh, "Think you can give me another? This time on my cock?"

Feeling a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure spread throughout you, you looked up at him, "Please, fuck me Ryan, I want to feel you inside me so bad."

He let out a chuckle, "You're cute when you take dirty, but you're even cuter when you cum."

You felt your cheeks heat up, "I'm going to change my mind if you keep teasing me."

Ryan chuckled again, "Yeah, we'll see how well that works out for you."

A wicked grin crept its way across his face and you watched as he rose to his feet. As he reached for his waistband, you waited in anticipation to finally see his cock.  

As his dick started to emerge from his jeans, the sight caused you to gasp, "Oh my God!"

"What's wrong?"

"You're fucking huge, Ryan. That's what's wrong!"

"Oh, that's it?" he laughed, "What? You think you can't take it?" he teased you, his voice dropping low as crawled onto the bed taking your nipple between his teeth, sucking lightly.

A loud moan escaped you as you tilted your head backward. His mouth quickly moved to your other breast, taking them into his mouth as well. 

"Well, can you take it or not, princess?" He smiles up at you.

You took a deep breath as you looked down at him. There was nothing else but pure lust and desire shining in his eyes and the devilish smirk plastered across his face made your knees weak with anticipation. 

"Are you always such a teasing shithead?"

"You'll get used to it, I promise."

"Your huge cock or your teasing?"

"Both, but we can worry about my cock later if you’re not ready to fuck tonight, obviously."

"No," you replied, completely forgetting any fear you once had towards this moment, "I want to do this."

Ryan smiled up at you before pulling himself up, reaching down for your legs and once again raising them above his shoulders. Seeing his muscled body above you was enough to make you cum alone, his broad shoulders as the perfect platform for your ankles. You watched in anticipation as Ryan lined himself up with your entrance. He stopped, waiting for your nod before entering you slowly, his length stretching and filling you fully. It had only been hours since you met him, yet the feeling seemed almost familiar, like something you'd done a hundred times before and would do a hundred times more.  A small smile formed on your lips as you closed your eyes, enjoying the blissful sensation of him filling you.  You let out a deep sigh of satisfaction, relishing in the new sensation as Ryan worked his hips slowly before connecting lips and taking your bottom lip between his teeth as he moved in and out of you, creating a rhythm of gentle thrusting.

"Ryan..." You breathed, "Fuck..."

He smiled against your lips, his eyes locked on yours as he began to move faster, harder.  Your own breathing became labored and you felt yourself coming closer to release, your orgasm already building just as he pushed harder within you. 

He let go of your lip, kissing and licking his way up to your earlobe where he sucked and nipped at it. You could feel his cock pulsating against your cervix, going deeper with each thrust.  

He pulled away from your ear and whispered, "You sound so close, why don't you cum for me, baby?"

You let out a cry as your body tensed up and you came undone on his dick. The sound echoed through the room causing him to pull out as he came as well, unloading onto your stomach and tits. 

"I told you you'd get used to it," Ryan chuckled.

You sat up slowly, looking down at the mess you both made, "God, you are such a dickhead."

"Honestly, not the worst thing I've been told after sex. Not to mention, you seem to like dickheads quite some, so as far as I'm concerned, I'm still on your good side."

It wasn't long before he rolled off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. After a moment, he returned with wet wipes, kissing your stomach and tits softly between wipes.

[steakout-05]

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

[consumeroflemoans]

Turns out I lied and I'm back with another ask

It's an entirely different scenario and requires much less explaining, I feel like I should mention I put my last ask in a word counter and I managed to rack up 2.449 words which is something for a Tumblr ask, a new record too, the first lighthouse ask was just above 1000

So, I've mentioned food from my childhood that haunt me to this day before in the form of Raw Fish Onion Sandwich, but I'm getting into another one that I want to inflict on Vil

Also, fucking wild that we're only one hour apart time wise right now, I googled it when you mentioned what time zone you're normally in and usually I've got a solid seven hours on you

But back to the dish, I recently remembered this monstrosity when someone brought it up, crumb noodles with fruit

I googled the translation and those images don't do it justice so if you want a picture of what I mean google "Bröselnudeln mit Obst"

So just noodles mixed with bread crumbs with like baked canned fruit on top, it tastes bad and the texture is a nightmare, the noodles are somehow dry despite having the fruit juice on them and the bread crumbs rub against your tounge weird, it's Bad

It's real Bad and I hate it

It's not a very common dish and it's more renowned as like the food your grandma would make for you

I think wether or not Vil likes it, anything involving it is just kind of funny

If we suppose he does, I'm thinking about him making it for people he's close to perhaps Epel, honestly Epel kind of seems like he'd actually enjoy it, or of course Idia and Idia has to go like "Vil, I love you, but this is fucking repulsive and it's not because of your cooking"

If we suppose he doesn't like it, I can still see firstly Epel enjoying it and Vil having a look of horror in his eyes or if we do a meet-the-parents thing where Vil introduces Idia to his dad or takes him to some family thing because he likes having his boyfriend around and whoever cooked brings out that fucking thing and Vil gets a thousand yard stare, puts his hand over Idia when he attempts to pick up his fork and spoon and only says: "Don't eat that"

Idia is a little bit relieved to have been stopped

-Leuchtturm

Honestly if Vil was inflicted by that as a child I think I can judge his taste of plain ass chicken and vegetables a little less. I would also be traumatized into eating the default meal

I think to combat that Idia needs to introduce him to Greek dishes. Spanakopita and tzatziki could fix Vil. He’d love them trust.

Idia is just barely saved from the grandma food and afterwards he plans an outing with his own parents where they set up a feast for him

[glamcode123]

Which Facial is best in winter and how do we get facial at home?

Now, why are some facials better for winter?  They are often specific to the worst winter has to offer.  One of the main problems that occur with the skin in winter is dryness. Cool air holds much less moisture than warm air, and it constantly draws moisture from wherever it can find it. This includes your skin too!  So when dry air hits your skin, it tends to feel itchy, red, and scaly.  A moisturizing facial is perfect to ward off winter dryness.  Many hydrating mask facials include hyaluronic acid, a substance that occurs naturally in the skin.  It is capable of holding a lot of moisture, which means that your skin can hold on to water much better than it did before the treatment.  As an added bonus, hyaluronic acid may also help smooth wrinkles and fine lines.

   Some facials, especially more intensely exfoliating or acne-focused facials, use acids that can make your skin sensitive for a short time. This means that your skin is more sensitive to sun damage.  Thankfully, winter is the perfect time to avoid sun damage altogether.  You're usually indoors, hiding from the cold, and when you're outside, as long as you're using daily sunscreen, your skin is perfectly protected.  It's even harder to maintain when your skin is sensitive to light in the height of summer when daylight hours last longer and you really want to be outside.

   A basic facial is great for the winter because odds are you're feeling some stress during the holiday season.  A long facial massage may be just what the doctor ordered.  Beyond comfort, your skin absorbs all the moisturizer it can take.  Even the most basic facial will give you the moisture you need to look and feel your best.

 Benefits of getting facial service at home in winter:-

1. Nutrient Boost for Your Skin

No matter how hard you try, you cannot protect your skin from the harshness of winter.  To maintain its texture and appearance, your skin needs certain essential nutrients.  And it is compromised in the winter season.  A facial help replenishes it.  The products used during the procedure contain essential vitamins and antioxidants that help maintain the health of your skin.  Not only do these products provide anti-aging benefits, but they also combat skin inflammation, and sun damage, and help improve the skin's barrier function.  A facial, thus, benefits the skin by providing it with the nutrients it needs.

2. Exfoliation

The accumulation of dead skin cells is not uncommon during the winter season.  The skin becomes dry and the turnover of skin cells also decreases.  This means that your skin does not return to the way it should be.  A facial helps in exfoliating the skin and thus helps in dealing with this problem.  Exfoliation removes dead skin cells, dirt, and impurities from your skin leaving you with fresh and revitalized skin

3. deep pore cleansing

As mentioned above, the skin becomes dry and the accumulation of dead skin cells increases. This closes the pores.  And if you know anything about skincare, you would know that clogged pores can cause irreversible damage to your skin.  From acne to blackheads, there are many skin problems that occur when your pores are clogged.  Facial deep cleanses your skin, unclogs skin pores, and leaves you with soft and refreshed skin.

4. Adds hydration to the skin

Extremely dry skin is common during the harsh climate of winter. With the chill in the air and the heater running indoors, your skin starts to lose moisture.  Dry skin has its own problems and can lead to irritation, itching, and redness.  During the process of facial, moisturizers, serums, and face masks are applied on your skin which does a great job of hydrating your skin thus treating dry, flaky and flaky skin

5. Brings glow to the skin

Another great advantage of facials is that it brings out the natural glow in your skin.  During the facial process the various products applied to your skin nourish your skin and the massage provided improves the blood circulation in your skin.  This, in turn, helps to improve the elasticity of your skin and boost collagen production in the skin to give you smooth and glowing skin.

 How do we get facials at home in winter?

If you want facials at home then you can easily take facial services at home from home salon services. The best benefits of getting home salon service are that it is affordable, easy to get, comfortable, and most important that they work with full safety and hygiene.

[hairose-love]

How To Wash Human Hair Wigs  ？

Wash Hair Is A Very Common Thing For Everyone, But Washing Human Hair Wigs Is Not As Same As What We Always Do To Our Natural Hair. You May Grasp All The Tips Of Washing Human Hair, But There Are Still Some Misunderstandings Exist On How To Wash Human Hair Wigs. Please Follow Me, To Clean Up The Misunderstanding About Human Hair Washing.

Before Answering This Simple But Significant Question, Let Us Consider Why Should We Wash Our Hair. To Clean The Oil, Dust, Sweat, Or Other Dirty Substance On Your Hair? Yes, That Is It. Depending On This, It Is Clear How Often You Should Clean Your Human Hair Wigs. When To Wash Your Human Hair Wig Depends On How Often You Wear It And What Type Of Damage It Incurs While Wearing.

It Is Recommended To Wash Human Hair Wigs Every 6-8 Weeks Without Frequent Wearing. Generally, You Need To Remind Yourself To Wash It When You Already Have Worn It 10 Times. Human Hair Wigs Do Not Need To Be Washed As Often As Your Natural Hair. Because Wigs Do Not Have The Benefit Of Natural Oils Like Our Real Hair. If You Wear It Daily Life Or Almost Every Day, Please Increase The Time Of Washing To Keep It Cool. But Not Too Much, Or The Color Of Wigs Fades Quickly.

Buy Now Pay Later

Too Much Washing Does Harm To Your Wig, But Too Less Washing Will Also Cause Hair Tangling. Even Though You May Not Wear Your Human Hair Wigs More Than Twice Half A Year, It Is Advisable To Wash Your Hair Every Three Months. Just To Remove Its Odor Due To Long Time Storage And Give It A Choice To Absorb Water.

Should You Wash The Human Hair Wig Before Wearing It?

The Answer To The Question Is No.

So Why? Why You Should Not Wash The Wig When It Arrived?

As The Words Mentioned Above, The Goal You Are Going To Washing It Is To Make Sure It Is Clear. From This Aspect, It Is Promised That All The Human Hair Wigs At Beautyforever Are Super Clear And Neat.

Buy Now Pay Later

Before Wigs Are Packed And Shipped, The Last Process Is To Completely Clean And Dry Them By Air. Then, Wigs Could Be Shipped And Sent On Your Hand. So, There Is No Need To Wash It Again Before Wearing It.

Maybe You Are Concerned About The Plastic Smell Once The Wig Has Been Taken Out. Put The Wig On A Wig Head And Leave It Alone In The Draught Place For Hours. And Then, You Will Find It Fresh. If The Human Hair Wig Messes Up Its Original Shape And Loses Moisture In Transit, Please Comb It At First. After Cleaning The Odor Up, Spray The Moisturized Spray On The Hair.

Could I Scrub Or Rub Human Hair Wigs?

It Depends. Too Hard Scrubbing Or Rubbing Will Damage The Texture Of Hair. Imagine The Way You Wash The Duster Cloth. Do You Think It Is Great To Do The Same To Your Pretty And Natural Human Hair Wigs? Without The Protection Of Hair Oil, Human Hair Wigs Lose Their Protective Film. Rubbing Hair With Strong Force Certainly Increases The Friction Of Hair And The Possibility Of Hair Breakage.

Here Is Another Method That Helps You Remove The Dirty Things Adhered To The Surface Of Hair Without Hard Force Friction, Use The Cleansing Shampoo That Is Specially Made For Human Hair Wigs. This Kind Of Shampoo Has A Strong Clean Effect So That You Do Not Need To Get Rid Of Dust Through Hair Friction.

Untangle First Or Wash First?

The Regular Way Is To Comb Human Hair Wigs At First, Remove The Tangled Knots And Make It Smooth, Then Wet Hair. It Is A Good Tip To Make Sure Every Piece Of Hair Could Be Cleaned And Moisturized Evenly.

However, Combing Hair By Force When Hair Is Dry Increases The Risk Of Hair Damage And Breakage, Which Sounds Unreasonable.

Conditioner Lubricating Properties Ensure That All The Hair Is Smooth After Application. It Avoids Hair Loss By Force And Smooths Hair Easily. It Seems That Washing First Is The Better Option.

Wash Off The Shampoo, And Rinse Cool Water From The Base Down To The Bottom Of The Hair. Gently Blot Your Hair With A Towel Before Applying The Conditioner. Run Your Fingers Lightly Through The Strands To Keep The Conditioner Away From The Base Of The Wig. It's Best To Start From The Bottom And Work Your Way Up To The Roots.you can choose hurela.

[droptrust]

Cashew nuts health benefits

CASHEW NUTS HEALTH BENEFITS SKIN

They’re native to Brazil but are popular throughout the world. This childhood joke always brings back the memory of savoring delicately flavored Cashew Nuts with cousins and laughing at the silliness of the joke. Anyway, if you're looking for quality and affordable dry fruits, Pureheart is a renowned Cashew Company brimming high-quality cashew nuts and other dry fruits to your abode.How does a nut sneeze? It says “caaaaasheeew!” But as you all know that too much of anything is bad so you should also avoid eating too many cashew nuts on a daily basis. We advise you to eat cashew nuts in moderation and if you already have a kidney problem avoid consuming cashew as they contain a high amount of oxalate.Ĭashew nuts are a very rich source of nutrients and have many health benefits associated with them. So, if you experience or feel uneasiness and something wrong after eating cashew nuts that simply means you’re also allergic to cashew nuts.Įating too many cashew nuts is an invitation to chronic health problems like kidney damage. It is often heard that a lot of people are allergic to cashew nuts. So if you eat too many cashew nuts on a regular basis, it will surely trigger a constipation problem in you. Do you want to know what could be the possible disadvantages of eating cashew nuts? Look at the list mentioned below.Ĭashew nuts can cause constipation if you overeat them or if you have an allergic reaction to them. It’s hard to believe but it’s true that cashew nuts can also cause side effects on your body. Our next section will talk about that so keep on reading. It’s time to move on to know about the side effects of cashew nuts. The health benefits of cashew nuts are endless.

CASHEW NUTS HEALTH BENEFITS SKIN

You can also use cashew oil for hair and skin to improve the texture. Even if you want to get glowing skin, cashew nuts will help you do so. If you eat cashew nuts regularly, they will boost your brainpower and power as well.Īs you know, cashew nuts contain iron, phosphorus, zinc, and antioxidants, they boost your skin health and do wonders for your hair. They protect the fragile nerves and tissues of the brain. Cashew nuts can work wonders in improving brain function. Since they contain a high amount of antioxidants and lutein, they promote eye health and ensure that your eyesight also remains healthy. Moreover, it heals wounds and strengthens against microbial infections.Ĭashew nuts protect the eyes from danger as they are highly rich in omega 3 fatty acids and vitamin E. Rich in copper and iron, cashew nuts are a support system for your red blood cells and also improve the immune system of your body. Moreover, it is also found that people who consume cashew nuts are less likely to get a stroke or cardiovascular disease.Īnother health benefit of cashew nuts is that it helps boost the immune system of your body. Let’s now have a look at them.Īccording to several studies, it is found that cashew nuts are great for lowering the amount of low blood pressure and bad cholesterol in the body. We have mentioned a list of health benefits of cashew nuts below for you. But what are the health benefits - this is the main question here. There is no doubt that cashew nuts are quite beneficial for keeping your health fit and fine. Top Health Benefits Of Cashew Nuts You Must Know About Here we have got you a detailed guide on the cashew nuts benefits and their side effects. With their sweet and buttery taste, they become the favourite snack of kids and adults.īut are they really good to be true? Are they really good for your health? Can they cause side effects on your body? A lot of questions would be trotting in your mind, fret not. Almost everyone’s favourite nut, cashew nuts are the most delicious of all the nuts. Cashew nuts can never go unnoticed when you talk about dry fruits, right. But here we will talk about Cashew Nuts particularly. Every single dry fruit offers you some kind of benefit. Dry fruits are quite beneficial for your body be it almonds, raisins, cashew, or walnuts. Dry Fruits - are a good source of vitamin, protein, calcium, potassium, copper, zinc, and other essential minerals.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Can I ask something like: reader being engaged to someone of the Zen'in clan (not willingly) and discovering that she is pregnant with Getou's child, which she's having a secret relationship. So this would lead to a huge conflict. Feel free to add smut or change anything if you don't feel confortable writing it! Thanks for your work. Lots of love <3<3<3

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER (who happens to be me)

Arrangements: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.9k

tw: nsfw, angst, mentions of abuse

The priceless china teacup - the only one of its kind in the set of four - drops from your hand and to the dining room floor, where it shatters into a million pieces.

"No."

Your father looks at you with concern, as if you had just spoken some foreign language.

"No," you repeat, this time with much more emphasis. Didn't he understand the meaning of the word? Or was "no" not a part of his vocabulary?

"Unfortunately, you don't have a choice, y/n. You and Naoya have been paired together since birth, and it's now time for you to--"

"I said no!" You stand from the table and walk past your father to exit the dining room, pushing the door open with fury. As you stalk away from the arranged marriage to a Zen'in and your father, you feel tears well up in your eyes.

You scrub them away as you push past your bodyguard and into your room, where you lock the door. But the tears come faster than you expect, and you can't help but weep. It isn't until the sun goes down that you stand from your seated position and move to your desk, where the picture of you and your best friend sits, his black eyes glaring at the camera as you pinch his cheeks, smiling at him with glee. You were only five then, but if you knew then what would happen to you fifteen years later, you would have begged to run away with him much sooner.

The 'plink' of a pebble smashing into your window calls you out of your daydream, and you place the picture back down before moving to open your windowpane.

"You really could just knock," you advise Suguru Geto, who stands at your window with a silly grin on his face. "It'd be a lot less annoying."

"But what's the fun in that?" he wonders, climbing inside easily. "Plus, it gives me an excuse to find pebbles around the grounds. You know how I like rocks." You roll your eyes as he leans in, placing a deep kiss on your lips and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Mmm," Suguru hums. "You've been crying. What's new?"

"Nothing," you lie, but he tilts your chin up, examining your face.

"Looks like you've been crying for a while... Did your father say something to you at tea time?" You hold in a sob, lips quivering. "Perhaps a spat over something he sees as trivial, per usual?"

"Stop," you beg, pushing his hand away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Suguru steps back, rifling around in his pockets for something. When he produces the black stone, he hands it to you, letting your fingers drift over the polished texture as you consider opening up to the only man you love. "Here's one of my worry stones. You can rub at it and it'll take the negative feelings away."

You hold it in your hand, making a note to save it with the other pretty things Suguru has given you over the years in the box under your bed. You sit on your bed and he follows suit, laying beside you and sighing.

"Have you ever thought about running away?" you wonder, and Geto bites his lower lip thoughtfully.

"Sometimes. But then I remember that I can't run away from all of my problems, and I'd be leaving you behind."

"Maybe we should run away together." At your proposal, Geto puts his hands underneath his head, staring at the spinning fan.

"I can't condone that. You'd be running away from your problems, y/n."

"And? What does it matter if I only have you? Is that enough?"

"It matters a lot," Suguru mumbles, and you sigh. "I can't ask you to give up your life for one of hardship. I've been working on saving a bit of money, though. When I get enough, I'll buy a ring, come to your dad, and ask him for permission to marry you. Just wait a little while."

"We don't have a little while," you blurt, and he frowns. "My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in, and--"

"What?" Suguru sits up, black hair falling down his back. "Say that again."

"My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in," you repeat, and Suguru's eyes widen immensely before squinting.

"No, no, no... that can't be right," he breathes, and you shake your head.

"That's why I've been crying." Shock gives way to a blank look and he stands, running a hand through his hair.

"I have to go."

"Wait!" you cry out, but Suguru is out of your window in a flash, walking across your lawn without turning back.

_____________________________________________________________

The look Naoya Zen'in gives you is revolting.

When he strides into the room, your insides melt to nothingness and apprehension takes over. He circles you like prey, smiling at your shape and making lewd comments about your child-rearing abilities.

"Looks like you have a set of hips that are perfect for---"

"Naoya," your father chides, and the man slides his eyes to your father's face.

"Right, well..." the man clears his throat. "I would like to see what she's like by herself if you don't mind." Your father gives you a look that says 'behave' and you plead with him in your head to remain in the room. But he leaves you two alone, and that's when Naoya's face drops its smirk.

"Alright, let's be frank with each other." He leans forward on the table between you, lacing his fingers together. "I'm not in the business of making you feel good about yourself. You have to do that on your own. I'm going to tell you what I need when I need it. If you can't provide it, then you should seriously consider emptying that little head of yours of the idea that I won't remind you of your place."

You recoil at his words, lips curling up in disgust.

"And don't even think about replying with some smart-ass remark. I'm not the Chief of Hei for nothing." Bile rises up in your mouth at the thought of this swine being your betrothed, but you force it down, swallowing hard.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, let me see you turn around and walk out. I want to watch your hips as you walk away."

_____________________________________________________________

You rush into your bathroom and lean over the toilet, all of your consumed food coming back up. You vomit until nothing is left in your stomach, and dry heave for the rest of the time you're perched at the toilet bowl.

When it's all said and done, you wipe your mouth and flush, face redder than it was before you started feeling ill.

'Plink'.

Your head swivels to the window, and you rush to open it, coming face-to-face with Suguru.

"Babe..." he whispers, face flushed. "I brought you something." When he comes inside and sits on your bed, you consider telling him about the encounter with Naoya, but when he opens a small box, you're stopped in your tracks.

"Su!" You eye the small moonstone ring with curiosity, a smile creeping across your face. "Su, this is gorgeous."

"Solid rose gold and moonstone; your favorite." You slide the ring onto your ring finger and hold it up to the light.

"I love it... I love you." Suguru stands and brings you close to him, holding onto your head carefully.

"I'm going to take it to your father right now and--"

"I really wouldn't recommend you do that," a voice calls out from your doorway and both of you pull apart, startled by Naoya's sudden presence. "I had a feeling you'd be otherwise occupied." Naoya closes the door as he enters, smirking. "I should tell Mr. L/N myself that I've discovered this little tryst, but I think I'll let this poor man off the hook just this once." He turns to Suguru and gives him a deadly glare, crossing the space between them. "Leave. Don't come back here. I don't care how you feel or what you've done. But she's my property now, and no one other than me touches my things." Geto bristles at the threat, eye twitching.

"Make me, you piece of dogshit."

It's apparent that Naoya isn't quick to anger, but his fists clench in defiance. "I see," he breathes, letting go of his fists and running a hair through his light-colored hair. "You'll regret those words." And he leaves you two in the room, closing the door behind him carefully.

_____________________________________________________________

You stare at the little bump protruding from your belly in disbelief, fingers quivering over the skin. You try to recall the last time you and Suguru had unprotected sex and realize it was over a month ago, right before Naoya had appeared in your life.

The heavy onyx ring sits on your finger, reminding you of your engagement and the despicable man who had chased your lover away on that dreadful night.

Footsteps approach your room, and you quickly dress in your loose-fitting cotton shift dress, concealing any signs of pregnancy. Naoya throws open your doors and strides in, eyes looking about the room. "I have a little surprise for you, doll," he smiles, holding his hand out for you to take. Without hesitation, you grip it, knowing any delay could mean a swift backhand or a bruised wrist. "You'll enjoy this. I think I'll consider it my wedding present to you."

Naoya half-drags, half-walks you to the courtyard, where many of the townspeople have gathered, their faces somber and uneasy.

And chained to a post at the front is Suguru, his shirt torn and scrapes dragging across his skin.

"Just in time," Naoya chirps, pushing through the crowd and making you stand at the front, where Suguru could see you. His eyes widen, and he mouths something to you, but you shake your head, hands trembling.

"This man has been accused of stealing from the town's jeweler," Naoya calls out, circling around Suguru carefully. "And in his possession, we found a valuable piece of evidence." The accuser holds up a moonstone ring - your moonstone ring - showing it to the crowd proudly. "The punishment for theft is usually loss of a hand. But I feel that he should be delivered a much less barbaric punishment." Your heart leaps out of your chest, and you bite your tongue to keep from crying out.

Nothing Naoya would do would be less than barbaric.

"Fifty lashes are appropriate for the crime," he announces, and a man comes out of the crowd with a whip, standing behind Suguru with authority. Your eyes sting with tears, and you try your best to hold in a scream when the first lash lands across Suguru's back.

His black eyes are trained on you for the first fifteen strikes, but when the sixteenth lash rings out in the crowd, they begin to roll back, and he cries out in pain, voice echoing across the courtyard. Naoya sidles up beside you, gripping your wrist.

"See what happens when you sleep around with thieves?" he hisses, and you begin to weep, your vision blurring with tears. He chuckles and you hide your face behind your hands, sobbing furiously.

By the fortieth lash, you're all cried out, and Suguru's lost consciousness. His eyes are closed and his head lolls forward, hair drooping across his face. And when the man finishes, Suguru is left on the post, his blood and sweat mixing together across his back. You can hear ragged breathing after a minute of waiting, and Naoya goes up to Suguru's body, pulling his head back by his hair.

"Learned not to mess with my things?" he grins, and Suguru drags himself from the edge of consciousness to whisper,

"For y/n? I'd do it all over again."

The look of pure, unadulterated shock on Naoya's face is enough to haunt you every day afterward.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter Eight

Here's Chapter 8, y'all. My work is not to be posted on any other site. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: language, violence, descriptions of torture.

Series Master List

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

You climb down from the tower, trying to dry your eyes. You dust your hands off and head for the lab. You don’t want to study these stupid flowers, you just want to forget that whole stupid fucking planet. Your eyes won’t stop watering, your throat thick and painful as you try not to burst into tears again.

You round a corner, glancing behind you as you wipe your eyes again. The skin around them is starting to feel raw as you rub them endlessly. There’s something in the middle of the walkway that shouldn’t be there. You turn back to look at what you’ve walked into, stumbling back as fingers wrap around your shoulders.

“Y/N,” Poe breathes, eyes fluttering closed.

Oh, Maker. Your lower lip trembles as you look at his beautiful face, the rejection from earlier swirling up and stifling you. Your eyebrows pinch against your will, eyes starting to squint as the tears threaten to overtake you. Fighting for control, you struggle to smooth out your forehead, but no matter how hard you try, it won’t relax. You inhale sharply through your nose and his eyes fly open.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He mumbles, pulling you in for a hug. It hurts, feeling him care about you this way. You don’t hug him back, keeping your arms rigid by your sides. If you let yourself give in, it will only make things harder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean… this morning…” he takes a shuddering breath. “Please? Just… pl-please.” He hugs you tighter, his voice breaking.

“Poe,”

“Don’t you think I want… if I let myself ki-“ he cuts off audibly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He whispers.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, but it comes out colder than you mean it to.

“Forgive me? You have to know I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me.”

“You didn’t do anything that needs to be forgiven.” You say softly, your arms curling around his back, your willpower crumbling.

“In my room-“ he starts.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” You sigh, turning your face into his neck. “Moment of weakness. Will you forgive me?” You ask.

His soft lips press into your neck and you shiver at the unexpected touch. “Nothing to forgive.” He murmurs, lifting his head up to trail up your neck. Your heart thrums erratically in your chest as his lips brush your jawline. “Please tell me you haven’t been crying all day because I’m an asshole.”

“No.” You say, barely more than a whisper. It’s all you can manage as his lips trail up your cheek. “I finished my report for Leia.” You say and he tenses. “Poe? I know… I know I don’t deserve it, but can we talk about the river?” You ask quietly.

“I liked the river.” He mumbles against your cheek. You desperately want to turn your head, to catch his lips with yours. Maker, you feel like you’re on an emotional rollercoaster, high then low, upside down, then backwards.

“I meant what happened in the river.” You correct.

“Liked that, too.” That earns a weak chuckle.

“You shouldn’t have.” You mumble.

“Y/N,” he groans, guiding you against the wall. He brushes his thumb along your jaw. “What’s bothering you? Tell me. You have so much that you’re not saying and it just breaks my heart.”

Your holopad beeps and you close your eyes. “I have to get to the lab.” You twist your face away.

“I have literally nothing else to do. We can talk on the way.” He says, taking your hand.

“You don’t have to.” You look at him suspiciously. “Why send poor Snap to my room earlier?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing.

“For funsies.”

“Pando? What the hell was that about?” You ask, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Lando Calrissian. You mentioned he was an inspiration of yours to become a pilot. I figured you would get the reference. Poe, Lando, we’re both pilots.” He shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“I mentioned Calrissian once, five years ago. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything.” He promises. “How was your caf?” He hints.

“Better than the one Bryce brought me. Thank you. And for the food.” You add and he beams, lifting your hands to trace your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Of course.” He looks at you before facing straight and keeping his lips pressed together.

“You might as well say it. You have a terrible sabaacc face.” You sigh, pulling him into the lab.

“I don’t like him. He’s been dating you for three years and still doesn’t know how you like your caf. It’s not hard. He’s a jerk. And I hate that he kept me from the med bay so I couldn’t see you. I hate that he acts like he owns you.” He picks up your protective lab coat and helps you slide your arms in. You wince in pain but quickly compose your face so he won’t see.

“Anything else?” You look up at him.

“Only a million other things.” He sighs, leaning against your lab bench.

“Tell me.” You say, catching his hand.

He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips parting slightly as he flutters his eyes shut. He inhales deeply, lips moving silently against the back of it.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“This is so fucked up to say, but I’m so proud of you.” He says. “When we were taken, you were incredible. I never should have put you in that position, but you didn’t say anything, not to save me, not to save yourself and, Maker, I’m so fucking proud of you. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to hold out when he started hurting you, but the fact that you weren’t breaking gave me strength.” He bows his head, clinging to your hand. “And I hate the fact that you think we went through all that because of you. None of it, none, was your fault.” He sighs, lifting his eyes to your face. “In fact, if it wasn’t morally the exact wrong thing to do, I would kiss you again in a heartbeat. Over and over. But you’re a good person and that wouldn’t be fair to you.” He murmurs softly.

“Poe,” you plead. It’s all you want, to kiss him.

“I know. I shouldn’t want that. You’re not mine to want that with, but I just… it’s in my head now. How good you taste, how soft your lips are.” He squeezes his eyes shut, cutting off his words and you squeak. You try to get your hands free, you want them in his hair, holding him to you.

“Poe, please!” You struggle and he drops your hands, hurt written all over his face.

“Okay.” He turns to leave and you grab his arm, pulling him back. You cling to his face, pulling his lips against yours. His hands grip your waist and you exhale in a rush. A massive weight is lifted off your shoulders as you kiss him, hold him. His lips part under yours and you moan low in the back of your throat. He clings to you, crushing you against him like he can’t get close enough.

Maker, you could stay like this forever.

He backs you into the lab bench, fingers pressing into your hips and you rock into him, starving. The door hisses open and he jerks back, spinning around and walking away a few steps.

Nya walks around the corner and looks up to see you fiddling with your holopad. Having barely recovered your wits, you grabbed the first thing your hands landed on.

“Y/N.” She greets with a smile. It’s fake and you want to slap her, but you just tighten your grip on your holopad instead.

“Nya. What are you doing here?” You ask, trying for polite at least and failing horribly. Poe smirks at you over the shelf he’s studying.

“Looking for you, actually.” She says, heading over and you internally groan.

“What did I do?” You ask and she laughs lightly.

“Nothing yet.” She promises. “Your plants are in bin Cin17.” She says, handing over the packet she’s holding.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She smiles at you and turns to walk away. You glance at Poe and he shrugs, coming back over. “That was odd.” He comments.

“Odd? That’s literally the nicest she’s ever been to me.” You sigh, turning back to your bench.

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe she wants something? Maybe she saw my outright panic attack in the dining hall and is getting off on my suffering.” You sigh.

“Or. On a slightly less negative note. Maybe she missed you? Maybe she realized she’s in love with you and now she wants to make it right and have babies with you.” He says and by the end, you’re laughing much harder than you should be. You double over, grasping your knees, your entire midsection aching for various reasons.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me rip my stitches.” You gasp.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He mumbles.

“Oh man, you’re a funny guy, Dameron.” You pant, standing up and wiping your forehead.

“Thanks.” He mutters dryly. “May I ask what, exactly, was so funny about that?”

“Nya. Liking me? She’s so into dick, it’s all she talks about sometimes. Everyone who has one is in her sights. Especially you, Commander. And then babies with me? Come on. Get serious.”

“Just her? Or anyone in general is unbelievable?” He asks, an odd, stiff texture to his voice.

“I dunno. Anyone? I never really thought I’d make a good mom.” You shrug, heading for the containers now that you’re back under control.

“Really? I do.” He says and your face heats.

“Moot point at the moment. Bryce doesn’t want kids.” You say and he groans.

“Just when I think…” he rubs his face. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He mumbles, swiftly heading for the door.

“Wait, Poe!” You call, half turning.

Too late. He’s gone.

***

You’ve never been punched before. Training was always hand to hand, blocking blows or fighting with weapons. They don’t teach you how to take a punch, or five, or twenty.

It doesn’t hurt at first. The impacted spot on your cheek just goes numb. You can feel the cut on the inside from your teeth against the sensitive tissue, but it doesn’t hurt. Yet.

Then after a couple minutes, it turns into a white hot pain. Couple that with fists landing all over your body, and you’re in pain like you’ve never felt before. Tears spill over your cheeks as the fist lands against your nose, cracking your head back against your prison table. You can’t see, can’t feel your face. Your mouth fills with blood, coating your tongue and spilling down your chin as you gasp for air. You can feel your lips split in different places.

There isn’t a part of you that doesn’t hurt, but you hold onto Poe. He didn’t give them anything, so you can’t either. You can’t let him have suffered for nothing.

The trooper stops, rolling his shoulder. “Answer me. Where is your base?”

You spit the blood out of your mouth at his feet. “That all you got? I was just getting into it.” You say and he grumbles, turning to leave for the time being.

You close your aching eyes and drop your head against the support. It’s not comfortable by any stretch of the word, but it’s better than having to hold your head up anymore.

The image from your nightmare flashes in front of your eyes, Poe fighting the invisible enemy, only now it’s not so invisible. A StormTrooper is wielding the blade, plunging it deep into Poe’s heart.

You jerk upright in your bed, upsetting your holopad and sending it crashing to the floor. You flip on the light, unnerved and feeling like you're not alone in your room. But there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Just your clothes on the floor.

You push yourself to your feet, not feeling safe here, and grab your blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. You want to go see Poe, make sure he’s okay, be positive your nightmares haven’t gotten him yet.

But he doesn’t want to see you. Having avoided you for the rest of the day, you get the hint. A moment of weakness. That’s what that kiss was. You were there and he needed someone. Could have been Nya, probably for all he would have minded. Any port in the storm.

So, you bypass his room and head for the tower where you ate your lunch. It’s quiet, dark, you can see anything coming for you. You climb the steps slowly, feeling the familiar pinch of your stitches. They’re still ugly, crude, jagged. Maybe it’s good that Poe doesn’t really want you. No one could possibly love the new mutilated you. Bryce hasn’t seen them yet, either. You’re positive that the second he does, he’ll run for the hills.

Maker, you’re selfish.

You push open the door and a body in the tower makes you freeze. “Oh.” You mumble, realizing it’s Poe. “Sorry. I’ll leave.” You rush, ducking back down.

“Stay.” He croaks and you hesitate. “I can’t sleep. Stay and talk to me?”

“You sure you want me to?” You ask.

“I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He admits.

You feel like leaves on the wind as you climb the rest of the way up. Swirling around in chaotic confusion. You don’t know which way is up, what to trust. You sit a little ways away, back against the wall, facing him.

“What do you want me to talk about?” You ask finally.

He drags a stick through the dirt, making scratch drawings. “I told you some stuff earlier. Spilled some of my guts. Anything you wanna tell me?” He asks finally.

“Yes.” You answer. It’s harder than you think to get these words out. “I…” you close your mouth, thinking about where to start.

“Not easy. To spill your secrets.” He muses. The pale moonlight ghosts across his face. He looks terrible. Tired, hurt, miserable.

“Anything you wanna ask me?” You prompt. “Maybe I can say it that way.”

He looks at you warily. “Will you tell me the truth?”

“Always.” You answer immediately.

“Why did you kiss me in the river?” He asks. “I’ve been thinking over it on a loop and I just can’t figure it out.”

“It felt… right. I needed to do it. I wanted to do it. You’ve always been the best person in the world to me, always taking care of me and looking out for me. And on that planet, I was losing my fucking m-mind, seeing things, hearing things. You were so patient, so kind, so… you. And I could feel tension. Not in a bad way, but pulling me towards you. I’m so sorry, Poe. I know you said I didn’t do it, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I hadn’t, if I hadn’t distracted you, you would have heard those troopers coming. You’ve never been so compromised on a mission before until you go on one with me. I fucked up so bad and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for hurting you like that.” You ramble, the dam broken and the words spill out everywhere. He doesn’t move in the shadows.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Your ears start to ring in the dead silence before he speaks again. “So, why kiss me in the lab?”

You sniffle quietly. “You admitted you wanted to do it again, and it’s been one of the dominating thoughts in my head since you saved me in that closet. I want to kiss you. And I like kissing you, but… the guilt… it just keeps reminding me that I’m hurting everyone. Every time I kiss you, I hurt Bryce. Every time I mention him, I hurt you. I can’t get it right. I’m turning into a plague.” You press your lips together.

“You had a nightmare in the cave. What was it?” He asks. You’re not even sure if he’s actually listening to your words, he gives no indication of hearing them.

“I,” you pause, having to think back that far. “I was hovering over myself as I slept. You were saying something but I couldn’t really hear it. Then I went outside, but it was into a First Order ship. And then I saw the tables we were attached to. And then two men fighting with lightsabers. And then…” you cut off, swallowing thickly. This part you remember, even though you wish you could forget it. “A-and then you. Y-you were fighting something I c-couldn’t see. It had a bl-blade and it killed you, stabbed you th-through the heart.” You say, gasping for breath. It feels like the surrounding air is crushing you. “I w-woke up and you weren’t there, I pa-panicked.” You twist your fingers into your blanket, hiding your face.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” He asks finally.

“Poe,”

“Do you? If you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.” He promises.

“Of course, I do. But it’s not that easy. I keep hurting you. I don’t know how not to. And being around you, it makes me happy, it makes it easier to breathe. I don’t wanna lose you. I couldn’t survive it.” You admit shamelessly.

“You won’t lose me. I won’t leave you.” He says. “One more thing.” He starts.

“Okay?”

“Do you hate the way dickhead doesn’t know how you like your caf?” He asks and you crack a tearful smile.

“Yes. It’s not hard.” You mumble.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. “Come sit with me.”

You scoot over, resting your head on his shoulder as he spreads your blanket out over the both of you.

“I need you, too, you know. I can’t lose you, either. And if that means I have to kick Bryce from here to Tatooine, I will.” He says, nuzzling into your hair.

“Please don’t. You’ve been hurt enough on my account.” You close your eyes to him stroking your hair.

“No promises, sweetheart.” He's quiet for so long, you nearly fall asleep. “But I’m not gonna stop kissing you.” He murmurs against your hair.

With one last conscious thought, you dig into your pocket, reaching for his hand with your other one. Sleep is making your limbs like lead, heavy and clumsy. You feel him chuckle a little, placing his wrist in your fumbling palm. You place the chain in his hand, curling his fingers around it.

“Meant to give it to you earlier,” you mumble, almost certain you formed actual words.

“Y/N, ” he chokes, squeezing you tight. “Thank you.”

***

“You have to eat something.” He protests, guiding you down off the ladder. His chain is back around his neck, shimmering against his tan skin as it always has. Some day, he's going to give it to someone; someone he wants to spend the rest of forever with. Someone who isn't broken like you. Someone who actually deserves him. And you'll try to be happy for him, but you know it'll break your heart.

“Can’t you just… go get it for me?” You ask, feeling your hands start to shake at the thought of the crowd.

He smiles softly, brushing your hair back. “Sweetheart. No.”

“Poe…” you start and he cups your face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? I’ll be right there the whole time.” He promises. “But you have to eat. You need your friends. They miss you.” He looks around, noting the empty pathway. “If you need to leave, we’ll leave. Just say the word.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s gonna be loud.” You protest as he takes your hand and leads you towards the commissary and dining hall.

“This early?” He scoffs. He pulls you along gently. You could stop him, you could let the tears free that have been simmering just under the surface since you got back. You know he wouldn’t push you to do it if you’re not ready.

But… he’s gone in there, he’s seen his friends. If he can do it, you can, too. You take an extra step, falling in next to him instead of being pulled by him and he smiles down at you proudly.

“There’s my girl.” He says softly. He holds your hand right up until you stop outside the doors. He lifts your hand to his mouth softly, eyes never leaving your face. “I’ll be right next to you.” He promises. You nod and he lowers your hand, reluctantly letting it go until not even your fingertips are touching.

He pulls open the door and lets you walk inside first. He doesn’t shove you in, instead, he waits for you to take a deep breath, smiling down at you until you straighten with a false sense of confidence, and step inside. He follows you, just barely touching your arm as he guides you to the line of food.

Despite his assurances that the room would be mostly empty, with shift changes and missions leaving early, the room is fairly crowded. You can feel his eyes on you, along with about a hundred others, but you feel better today. Stronger, even. You can do this.

You hope.

Poe picks up two trays and starts to put food on both, watching your face for positive or negative signs. You could do this yourself, you’re perfectly capable, but you like him waiting on you a little bit. Just this one time, let him dote on you.

He finds an empty table, just the two of you and he sits across from you, foot tapping against yours. They trickle over, slowly, one at a time. Your friends come to sit next to you. But this time, they don’t swarm you. They sit next to you, or next to Poe, talking to him about something trivial and you’re so grateful. It lets you get used to it again, being around people, acting human again.

You watch Poe, listening to him joke with Snap; Beaumont sets an apple on your tray as he tells Poe some gossip. And Poe sits there, listening and laughing to all of it. He interacts, partakes, and never once does he look uncomfortable or like he wants to bolt. You don’t know how he does it.

And then Lieutenant Connix walks behind him. She leans down to say something in his ear, her hand squeezing his shoulder as she talks. His hand lifts to cover her own as he twists his face to listen. After a second, he nods and she walks away.

You’ve always liked her, she’s friendly, smart, ambitious. But maybe you need to rethink your ideas. She walks quickly, her hips swaying, and you huff under your breath. Since when are she and Poe so close?

You try to listen, to distract yourself, but you can’t tear your eyes away from where the pretty girl disappeared through. Poe’s foot taps against yours and you flinch, looking up at him slowly. He smiles softly, his eyes falling to your ignored food.

You roll your eyes, picking apart your roll and taking small nibbles. After a couple minutes, Connix is forgotten as Beaumont regales the table with a story of how he got trapped in a wedding dress on Coruscant.

Soon, you’re laughing along with them. You forgot what this feels like, your face hurts from smiling so much. Poe’s beautiful eyes are on you, his own grin infectious.

A crack echoes across the big room and you jump, hands grabbing the table, ready to run. Your heart pounds in your ears and it’s like your vision completely leaves you. Snap’s hand settles on yours closest to him as he shouts something. Your brain slowly fades back in and you realize Poe has your other hand across the table and Beaumont is out of his chair, peering across the room.

Two mechs collided, neither paying attention to what was in front of them, their trays falling to the cement. That was the cracking noise.

Poe’s hand is shaking just slightly, hardly noticeable, as it covers yours, but you feel it. You twist your hand into his and he glances over at you. You smile softly, tracing your thumb over the back of his hand.

Beau sits back down next to you, his eyes searching your face for a minute before he grins. “Never boring, eh, Y/N?” He asks, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“I guess not.” You answer. You pull your hands back and pick up the apple. Poe is quicker than you thought possible, his favorite knife out and the handle pressed into your palm before you can even realize you need one.

You cut the apple in half, core out the middle on both halves and give the other half to your best friend. He’s abnormally quiet for a minute as he chews, and you wonder if maybe he’s not as okay as you thought.

“Wexley, what’s on the agenda today?” You ask Snap, half turning to face him, giving Poe time to recover.

“Well, I have a mission the day after tomorrow. So, I need to get my ship ready. There’s a part that’s being problematic. I have some mechs that are gonna look at it today and see if they can fix it.” He sighs.

“Well, if they have any problems, you can always come find me and see if I can help.” You offer and he grins.

“I just might do that.”

Once Poe is sure you’ve eaten all you possibly can without getting sick, he collects your trays and you join him to deposit them before leaving the room with a wave to your friends.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks and you slip your hand into his.

“Thank you for making me go.” You say, leaning into his shoulder.

“Of course.” He smiles. “And… thank you.” He sighs, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. You cast your mind around, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thanking you for.

“I didn’t do anything.” You frown.

“With that stupid tray… you… fuck. How are you always so strong exactly when I need you to be?”

“Poe, I was ready to bolt. The only thing stopping me was you and Snap.” You tell him. “If you hadn’t grabbed my hand to keep me there, all you would have seen was my dust as I hightailed it out of there.”

He smiles softly, but it’s weak, a little broken. “I didn’t grab your hand to keep you there. I grabbed it to keep me there.” He admits, pausing outside the door to the lab.

You stare up at him, realization dawning much too slowly. “Poe,” you place a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. “Anything I can do, anything you need-I’ll always be here. You’re not alone.” You whisper and he pulls you close, kissing you softly.

Every time feels like the first time. His lips press against yours like they’ve known each other forever, no hesitation. He tips your head back, towering over you as you hold onto his shirt. His tongue is soft on yours, not domineering and controlling the way… someone else’s is… your subconscious blanks on the name, but it doesn’t matter, not when Poe is kissing you like his very life depends on it. No, like your life depends on it.

He pulls away, breathing slightly faster, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are closed, but yours are open, drinking in every detail of his beautiful face. “Me and you, kid.” He agrees and you punch his arm, a smile already pulling at your lips. His eyes fly open and he rubs his arm.

“We’re the same age.” You glower and he laughs.

“I know. But you’re so much shorter.” He puts his hand on top of your head and you slap it away, turning towards the door with a huff. You’re about to swipe your keycard, but he pulls you back, plucking it out of your pocket. He swipes it and pushes the door open, letting you step in first.

“Will you stay?” You ask, reaching for your log books.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything else to do. I’m still technically on leave, recovering from…” he trails off, but you get the picture.

“Alright.” You start checking off your supplies and notes while he moves around your lab. You don’t pay him much attention, there isn’t much trouble he can get into. But you feel better having him around.

He looks through every box on the supply shelves, every glass container. You look over at him, catching his eye being magnified through a specimen jar. He looks so ridiculous that you can’t help but snort at him. He grins and straightens up, coming over next to you.

“Didn’t find anything you liked?” You tease, flipping through the last of your notes.

“Oh, I found plenty I like. Just nothing I can take right now.” He sighs wistfully. Your face heats, so you keep your gaze directly away from him. He chuckles and sits in the spinning chair next to your bench.

Chapter Nine

Everything Tag List

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[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 3

One, Two, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Warmings: General Angst and Food Mention.

Word Count: 1,820

The smells of cooking food permeated the kitchen as Virgil nervously slunk into the kitchen, his eyes darted around, catching a glimpse of Roman’s foot tapping up and down as he bounced his leg. He could feel the anxiety pouring out of the creative side like a faucet about to overflow a sink, and ordinarily he would have snapped at Roman to reign it in with the last thing he wanted to deal with was yet another person’s anxieties… but not this time. This time he could understand Roman’s fears, as they aligned with much of his own. 

Moving over to the dining table, he perched himself on top, giving Roman more occasional glances. 

“Are you okay?” He mumbled, detesting the way that he felt himself softening at the heartbroken expression on Roman’s face. He had cared for sure… but he also hated the fact that he cared so much for this, if he had cared less then all of this would have hurt much less than it currently was. “How’s Pat?” 

Virgil felt his heart sink into his stomach at the sight of Roman’s expression breaking apart even further. 

He hated this so much. 

Roughly Roman ran his hand over his face, as if he was attempting to wipe away tears before they could even be seen. “I’m… not okay.” He honestly said, and looking towards the kitchen he couldn’t help but to add on. “And I don’t think Patton’s much better, I think he was crying all night...” A part of him couldn’t help but to be resentful towards Logan for all of this, but another part of him… the part of him that he was desperately trying to squish down before it could rise back up… actually felt oddly proud of Logan for doing this. 

It felt… right, almost. 

But it didn’t make it hurt any less, the distance that Logan was obviously trying to put between all of them. He had thought that they were closer than that, but then again… He wasn’t all that certain that he had even been acting like a friend lately, sure he had been focused on getting Thomas with the man of his dreams, and sure he had been neglecting the others a little. But he was certain that Logan would’ve been fine on his own for a little while, it was the entire reason that he had given Logan access to the imagination to begin with. So that if he needed to blow off some steam, or just relax he could easily do so without him needing to be there to make him relax. 

But… 

He’d been wrong. 

Again. 

Virgil huffed, dragging Roman’s attention away from himself and back to the anxious side sitting beside him. He looked… well honestly he looked okay-ish. There were tiny tell-tale signs that Virgil hadn’t slept as well as he was trying to portray, the caked on eyeshadow covering up dark circles and the even more caked on foundation was something that Roman could almost too easily see through. But he didn’t look like he’d be swept away, not like Patton did. And he didn’t look like he was about to break apart into a million pieces, at least not like Roman did. Virgil looked… weary but strong, like an old piece of rebar poking out of concrete that refused to be weathered down by anything. 

Roman felt more than a little jealous of Virgil's strength, or maybe it was just his denial that he wished he could fall back into...  

Either way, he could only sit silently as Patton came into the dining room sniffling as he carried the plates of food for them to eat. It was almost painful to watch him consider and then reconsider putting a plate out for Logan, just to immediately go back into the kitchen and grab a plate for the logical side even though he had yet to show up. 

“Just in case…” Patton softly mumbled, putting the plate down so carefully that one might have thought that it would break at the softest breeze. “You never know…” 

They didn’t know, there was no telling if Logan would even want to eat with them. They hadn’t heard anything from him since he’d sunk out, and they’d heard even less from him that night. When Virgil usually heard Logan going crazy on his various projects during the night, now he heard absolutely nothing. He had no idea if Logan had merely just gone to bed early, or if he just… wasn’t in his room at all. 

For a long moment, they all sat there. Their plates filled with the food that Patton had prepared for them, with one empty seat at the end of the table. And for that moment they sat there not touching a single thing on their plates, unsure if they should actually eat or not. 

Roman had picked up his fork, but just half-heartedly poked at his food. While Patton just morosely looked back at his food, a self-pitying look on his face as his hands laid limpy on the table not making a single movement to begin eating. Virgil taking one look around at the two sides he stuck with, only sighed wanting to do something to break the uneasy tension in everyone but not having nearly enough gusto to do so. That was something that would require energy from him, and that alone was something that he really didn’t have enough of right now. So he resigned himself to sit in silence, and to eat a meal that he wasn’t even sure that he wanted anymore. 

When he heard the footsteps. 

Patton’s head snapped up so fast Virgil was sure that he heard something crack, and a hopeful look blossomed across the moral side’s face. Like a flower seeing the light of the sun for the first time, a light flourished in his eyes that almost instinctively made Virgil want to look away or to playfully curl his lip at how damn happy Patton looked in that moment as Logan came down the stairs his eyes fixed onto a book he was reading. Maybe everything would be okay, if Logan was still willing to eat with them, then perhaps they could slowly fix things over with him. Perhaps all wasn’t lost, and-

And just like that the look of happiness was gone from Patton’s face. 

Logan had… Brought his own food.

With no more than a second of hope being dashed from them, the uneasy silence was back. Only this time, with Logan finally sitting amongst them, they all finally began to eat. 

The moment seemed to stretch on, even though they all knew that it really hadn’t been that long to begin with. 

 Logan hasn’t looked at them once, as he took quick bites from his sandwich while his eyes remained glued to the pages of his book. Every now and then, his phone buzzes and then and only then does Logan look away from his book, shifting his attention to his phone for short bursts of time. It was a timer, that much Virgil could glean from the screen of his phone reflected in Logan’s glasses, much more than that… it was a reminder set to go off every ten minutes for thirty minutes. Like.. like he was nothing more than some person at work who had a thirty minute break in between doing his work. 

Virgil had felt awfully betrayed when that realization had finally smacked him across the face, to the point where he was honestly unsure if he wanted to even tell the Roman or Patton. The both of them were taking Logan’s new… whatever this was, pretty hard. While he may have been annoyed with both Patton and Roman in the past, it truthfully hurt him an awful lot to see Patton crying as much as he was, and to see Roman blaming himself the way that he was. A part of him wanted to tell them that it wasn’t their fault, but he knew that they wouldn’t accept it. Not with Logan the way he was now, and especially with no end in sight. 

It certainly seemed like this was going to carry on for some time, and how long… Virgil didn’t know. 

He didn’t want to consider that this could possibly go on forever. 

Tearing his eyes away from Logan, he tried to drown himself in the food that he had on his plate. But even then, with the empty space that seemed to be Logan, the food felt like tasteless mush in his mouth. He could only stand a few more bites, before the texture of it forced him to put his fork down, calling it quits for this meal at least. 

Looking up he could see Patton and Roman glancing at one another, desperately trying to convey who exactly should try to talk to Logan while he was still here. But their useless glances, and suggested shoulder shrugs did less than nothing. 

It was almost painful to watch. 

It only became that much more painful as Logan stood up, clapping his book closed before dusting himself free from invisible crumbs. Not a single glance was given to them as Patton and Roman each tried to convey with their eyes who should be the one to talk to Logan, and as he took a quick glance to his watch Roman had opened his mouth. 

Looking at Logan’s face, and the professional detachment on it, Roman found himself faltering. There were no words to be had from him, or at least none that he could think that would help this problem in any kind of way. 

Logan sank down, without a word back to them and Roman’s mouth snapped shut. 

There wasn’t any anger to be thrown at him though, Patton himself felt largely the same way. What could he say? What could he do that would make Logan reconsider, let alone begin to trust them again? He could hardly even ask for such a thing, he’d hurt all of them more times than he cared to admit in the past couple of weeks. And whether he liked it or not, he had done something to obliterate Logan’s trust and his love for him. To the point where he couldn’t call Logan his own name to his face, he could only do so personally in his own head as if that would get the relationship they once had back.  

Perhaps he didn’t deserve it…

But it didn’t make him, or any of them any less concerned for Logan. 

Patton’s mouth felt as dry as the sand on a beach, “I…” He paused, as his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “I don’t know what I can do to fix this…” He sorrowfully whispered, “I’m sorry…” 

Neither Virgil nor Roman could say anything in return.

They didn’t know how to fix it either. 

[saturatedboy]

Greetings! it is me again

im here for another request for m'lady donna

Could you do Mafia Donna x Mafia Reader

Enemies to lovers please ( ╹ v ╹ )

Donna Beneviento x GN!Mafia!Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: Mentions of death, gore and violence

Requests: Open

Smoke drifted into the crisp cold air as the clouds overhead began to turn into a darker grey, carrying the weight of all their pent-up water. The breeze had turned against the sky, picking up speed as time went on. “Seems to be a stormy night tonight boss,” A croaked voice spoke out, putting out their lit cigar as they scraped it alongside the cobbled wall that they were leaning on.

With an audible sniff and eyes turning upwards, a smile was drawn upon your lips. “Seems so. However, don’t let the simple trickle of water make you forget your place. We are doing this tonight, rain or no rain. I can’t have any more fuckups you hear me?” The other cowered down a little, turning their head to face the other way down towards the open entrance of the alleyway that both of you were hiding in.

“Yes boss,”

“Good, now get the horse and cart ready, we have an order to deliver.” soft noises of the worker footsteps travelled down the alleyway, echoing with each step. Once out and turned, you shook your head and pulled fingers through your hair. The slight texture of grease made you sigh, disappointed at the fact your hair wasn’t as soft as it had been in previous days. “I need a shower,” you moaned, glancing up as you felt the first drop of water touches your skin and slide down. The feeling of its coldness made you groan, pulling your hands away from your hair onto your shoulders where the hood to your poncho over your head keeping you dry from any further water droplets. Once you made sure it was secured, you began to set trail off down the same way your partner had travelled, down the alleyway and made a sharp right as you entered back onto the streets of the village. Although it was bustling with life, you found not many people had travelled down the small areas of darkened light between houses. So instead, you and your team began to meet up there to discuss matters upon next delivers.

Keeping your head low, you walked down the dirt pathways, only to look up when the noises of soft neighing could be heard. A horse stood tall; its brown of its body being sploshed with bits of dirt along with the odd leaf in its mane. Smiling at the beautiful creature, you ran your fingers through its mane, starting with the top of its head and working your way down, picking the fallen leaves out and throwing them onto the ground. Beng caught up in pleasing the horse, a sudden tap of your shoulder made you turn and huff. “What.” You spoke, the word coming out as a demand rather than a question. Another partner of yours looked at you, rubbing the back of their head sheepishly as they cracked a long-side smile.

“Time to get going, everything is ready.” Nodding, you looked back at the horse one more time and placed a soft kiss upon its mussel, cooing as you stared into its black eyes.

“Aren’t you just magnificent.” You whispered, giving one last stroke through its mane before you walked away, letting your hand wonder over the side of its rather plump body. The horse whimpered under your touch, missing the feeling of your warmth soothing its headache from staying up all day since the crack of sunlight.

You stopped just behind the horse, grabbing hold of your partners hand as they pulled you up upon a wooden cart that had the edges as benches and the middle being filled with bags. Waiting for the rest of your team to climb on, you fiddled with your dirt and cracked nails letting your mind wander. Everything had changed after the disappearance of Mother Miranda. People had no one to worship so instead a vote for mayor had been decided as the village needed someone to keep everyone in shape. Although the Lords and Ladies still existed, no one had really known much of them as it sometimes felt like they too had disappeared. ‘Fools’ you spoke within your mind, leaning back against the wooden rest as you relaxed your body slightly, opening your legs taking up much space since a small of your group would be coming with you for this delivery.

Soon once everyone was settled, the cart began to move with the horse towing it. As the journey had begun, you checked in on everyone in your team making sure that they were okay and that any sort of fuck up they make, you would handle it appropriately- not like they really made ay fuckups; a generous pay drop would be the worst thing you could do to them. Back to your thinking, you smirked as a sudden image crossed your mind.

The fair and sweet Lady Beneviento.

Oh, was she a kicker to your reputation amongst the vast of villages. Although not many knew this, but their ‘oh so wonderful’ Lords and Ladies hadn’t actually disappeared. They just worked in more secretive jobs, like you. Now, being a contraband giver was more of an illegal crime now that the mayor had placed down laws but what's the fun in following when breaking them gave you such more of an experience to be truly alive. Now, knowing the whole area, you had knowledge of where the Lords and Ladies were hiding away and doing their own nasty deeds.

When you first got into business by delivering the ‘secret bags’ as the Duke would sell them to their buyers, you had stumbled across The Lord Heisenberg being someone you were delivering to. It didn’t come to any shocker that you and him got along almost instantly. The dynamics of your relationship with the fourth Lord was nothing more than a buddy to see very now and again- it was your listening skills that got him to like you on a mutual level.

In the past 3 years, you had stumbled across what the other lord and Ladies were doing. Lord Moreau would ask for you to deliver DVD’s that he could watch, Lady Dimitrescu would ask you to deliver your services to her to help out with her three daughters and lastly, Lady Beneviento. She has never asked you for such things. She was quite secretive in the past, keeping to herself. You did expect so much her to keep that up- but you never expected to find her doing such activities like yourself.

It was a dark night that you saw her for the first time. You both had crossed paths that faithful night. You were doing a private mission of walking to Lady Dimitrescu’s castle for a ‘play date’ with her three daughters. Upon arriving, you had bumped into the Lady Beneveinto and knocked her onto the floor. The doll cradled in her arms came to life and attacked you by the legs, with small bruises, you huffed and picked up the doll, holding her out at arm reach so her long limbs of wood couldn’t hit you. The Lady on the floor stared up at you as the impact had revelled something one might describe to be ‘horrifying’ to the human eye. She had quickly began engaged with red as she stood back up and swept her veil back over her face, walking over to you and giving you a straight punch in the face just as you were trying to apologise for your mistake. The impact had you falling onto the ground, and the doll was released being brought back to its owner the doll maker. “How dare you,” She spat out, letting the doll in her arms glide above her shoulders.

You got up again and muttered a ‘sorry’ before trying to proceed past her, already knowing you were going to be a little late to the ‘play date’. However ,it seemed the doll maker had other ideas, seeing as you did reveal something she was so self-conscious about she had the doll at her shoulder swipe down at you, using a thin string to wrap your arms behind your back. The quick movements of the doll flying about had you unbalanced as you tried to keep up with the doll’s movement moving around your head. Misplacing your step, you fell back onto your knees and received a harsh blow to your face by a black shoe. With your head tilted to one side, blood running down your nose with the taste of metal between your lips, you could feel a sweep of warmth burst in your chest as your senses began to argue whenever you should try fight the Lady or scream for help. You didn’t know what to do so you kneeled in silence, waiting the next move. “I see you again I’ll make you more broken than porcelain doll that has fell of the highest shelf” Lady Beneviento had spoken, walking out with her doll back in her arms. It wasn’t till the daughters had gone searching for you that they found yourself in a bloodied state, holding back their hunger and instead getting you cleaned up. You kept the meeting between yourself and the doll maker a secret, saying that you were simply ambushed by a maid that worked at the Castle not really thinking about their lives since anyone who worker for the Lady Dimitrescu would be dead anyway.

The cart had come to a sudden stop, awaking you from your memories. Biting your lip, you could feel one of your canines scrape along- the tooth being chipped after being kicked in the face. A frown came to your face, another day doing business was not the most amusing thing you could be doing but none the less you had to get it done. A day’s worth of money was more you could ask for, being the secretive organisation that brought the outside technology and knowledge into the homes of those willing to pay large amounts for such items. Scanning the cart, watching as your team for this mission take some of the bags from the middle, you readjusted your hood on your head and jumped out after. Turning around to face the empty cart, you leaned in and collect the last of bags that were carrying such items that you didn’t know since the Duke gave no information what-so-ever, just to deliver the goods and collect the money.

“Let’s go.” You called out, walking in front of your team as you felt the water of the rain come more intensely down, matching your sudden mood. Rain was the worst of the weather; it wasn’t like you had anything to shield yourself from its droplets since your last umbrella was back at the base. Water fell off your frame, your poncho soaking it up and letting it cling to your clothes underneath. Shaking your head, you took in your surroundings. It appeared you were in a wood, maybe forest? You weren’t sure, you hadn’t exactly explored such parts since you were a child. “Charles, recite what Duke said,” You called out behind you, waiting for the other to respond.

“he said we should head Nother-West to deliver these bags. A mansion that he had spoken of should be there and we are to give the bags to the house owner.” Nodding to the words, you kept along a path that was littered with the dried leaves and dust from the dirt below. It was as though the bright colour from the grass had been taken away, leaving nothing more than distress and dust of those had become one with the ground. As you walked with your team trailing behind, the hairs on your arm shad spiked up, peaking interest at the sudden change in atmosphere. It felt as though you were being watched, maybe by the owls, maybe by the squirrel's that gazed down at your forms from the high trees- all that you knew was that you had eyes watching you and your every move. You felt mildly disturbed.

Deep breaths had calmed your nerves slightly, a silent voice in your head telling you that you were safe yet the nagging guy feeling had you on your toes, leaving our shoulders to be tensed. The quietness had been broken by one of your team mates, them speaking up in a high pitch voice. “What was that?!” Turning heads stared at him as he looked to the side, his eyes focusing on the trees that were staggered about.

“What was what.” You asked, arching a brow as you stopped walking. The man that had spoken up stayed quiet, staring at one spot until he shook his head getting rid of his thoughts.

“Nothing, let's keep moving. I thought I saw the doll moving.”

“Great he is going insane,” A woman had joked, making others around you laugh at her comment.

“Keep talking and each word you all say is a deduction of your payment. Let's go, we can’t be late.” That had shut them all up, this time you all were walking a faster pace to find the mansion, still sticking on the path hoping it led you there.

Each minute that had passed, you felt the feeling of your disgust growing. You were fine with the one doll that was laid against a tree a moment ago, the thought of a child that came through crosse our mind and they may had left it but every minute that passed and the deeper you followed the trail, the more dolls that were hanging, left and stuck to trees, branched and the floor had grown in popularity. Mentally you were no prepared for such toys, ever since the doll maker had attacked you, you had grown disgusted of the creation finding it to be a taint onto your pride to let such a dainty, yet somewhat nerve-ticking woman to beat the crap out of you. How she made the blood that circled your body become thick with hatred. “I can see the house up ahead!”

Your team and yourself had heaved the bags onto the front porch of the mansion, being wary to not knock over any plant pots that were settled amongst the rocking chairs that were soft rocking in the wind. Pulling down your drenched hood, you rolled up your sleeves of your grey dress-shirt and knocked against the door waiting for the house owner to answer. “This place is giving me the creeps,”

“You can say that again, I mean look at that doll in the window.”

“Oh gosh, it’s so large.”

“That’s one creepy ass-looking doll.”

Rolling your eyes at your employee's comments, you knocked again getting slightly impatience waiting for the owner to answer. It was hammering down with rain; the wind was picking up and not to mention you have yet to head back to base and sort through all the money this week to give out. You were a busy person; you had no time to be waiting around for-

The door had creaked open slightly, letting the small amount of light from the inside pour into line on the dark porch. “We have brought your package.” You spoke, stepping into the small amount of light in between the double doors hoping to see who the buyer was. The door creaked more open and you stepped back, taken back at the sudden appearance who you were facing.

Lady Beneveinto had stood, her veil over her face and swarmed by her feet were many small dolls, dressed and suited in different colours. You could feel your nose twitch, the sudden reminder of what she had done to you last time. You bit back a hateful comment and breathed out heavily. “Your order...ma’am.” You stepped aside so she could stare behind her veil at the bags your employees were carrying. She slowly nodded and she took a step outside to stand next to you. In a low voice she had spoken.

“Please, leave them inside by this door and you may get going.” She turned to look at you. “I’ll give your...boss their money.” Oh, you could clearly here the smile playing at her lips, the way her voice had deepened slightly when saying the last part brought your jumble of nerves to appear more. Hearing your team agreeing, you watched as each of them entered her house and left unharmed by the dolls that sat waiting patiently by the door. You did however find it humorous how each one of them had carefully stepped over them, as though they would come to life and attack them if they dared to accidently touched them. Once all bags were safely inside, they nodded at you and began to leave the porch, disappearing the further they walked as a lonesome fog had taken up the atmosphere. Soon, it was just you, Lady Beneviento and the creepy dolls. “Why so tense,” She spoke up suddenly, scaring you half-to death. Placing a hand over your fast beating heart, you looked away and pulled your hood over your head.

“Because its cold,” You weren’t going to back down to her, yeh she has creepy dolls but you have pride and dignity to not be stricken down by such a sly woman. Her laugh had caught your ears, it was eerily soft and gentle, as though she was the one nervous in this situation.

“Hm, sure. Do come in then whilst I fetch your money- if your cold you’ll warm right up.” She backed away into her home, looking back waiting for you to make your move. Looking back at the fog becoming thicker, you quickly gathered the much-needed courage to walk into her home and close the door behind you. You couldn’t lie, you almost moaned at the heat you felt surrounding your body. Seeming to approve, Lady Beneveinto began to walk away and out of your sight, leaving you with the hundreds of dolls surrounding you. Leaning against the wall by the doors, you looked down at your nails and picked at them finding comfort when doing so...

“Boo,” A voice had whispered into your ear, making you jump and grab the hunter knife that was hidden in your boots. Pointing the knife at the offender who floated above you, you scowled at the so-called-being. “Oh, I see your nose isn't bleeding. How sad, red is a pretty colour on you.”

“What do you want,” Sneering your words at the doll, it in response laughed at your facial features.

“Ya know you squint when your mad, that’s pretty cute but that isn't why I’m here. Lady Beneveinto was hurt deeply when you scared her- and I don’t like those who harm my mistress in any way.” The doll had stepped onto the wooden ground Infront of your feet. It slowly touched your left knee and watched in amusement as you tucked them under your body, being sat on your knees holding the knife out at it. “Sadly though, you work for the Duke and we can’t harm the only person being a life saviour brining the goods to us.” She smiled as you lowered your knife, a little relive that you won’t be dead within this place that you now wanted to badly leave.

Taking another step, the doll was now close to your position, looking up to see you staring down at it. “You work for a mafia, right?” It asked, it’s eyes never leaving yours.

“Maybe, though I see it much more as a bunch of individual enjoying breaking the law.” You responded, not even noticing the feeling of small hands gripping your knees gently as they lean up further to your face.

“Enjoy breaking the law hm? Too bad we can’t break your nose again-” the doll spoke, fully climbing onto your thighs ignoring your protest against it. “Your kind of fun,” it said, smiling up at you. “I’m Angie, and you are play mate?” You grimaced at the word. Playmate. It sounded weird.

“(Y/n), pleasure.” The doll giggled, jumping up and down slightly and clapping her hands.

“I have a name to a face, how fun. Playmates don’t normally get to speak their names, but you're weirdly different.” an awkward laugh erupted from your throat, you were silently hoping that the Lady would come back and save you from the doll of hers. “She hates you.” Angie said, humming slightly at your reaction. You pursed your lips into a thin line and nodded.

“I hate her to, she didn’t have to attack me and neither did you,” Angie stared at you, her smile disappearing of her face.

“You revealed her insecurity, how could you take her safety and pull it away from her.” Her posture on your lap held little aggression, yet her voice held anger. You were taken back from her change in mood, what had you done exactly?

“I don’t understand, what has she to feel insecure about?” Your question lingered between the both of you, the other dolls that you didn’t even bother to register had stood off to the side in a line watching you, hushed voices of their own talking amongst each other.

Angie turned her head slightly to look at the, you followed her gaze and a small gasp came from you. You hated dolls even more- BECAUSE THEY FUCKING MOVED AND THEY WERE MORE OF THEM! “Jeese calm down, they aren’t going to hurt you...unless you want them to-”

“No, I’m good thanks.”

“Okay goodie! Now let's talk more! You revealed her face! Everyone knows Lady Benevento hides her face for a reason. And you went ahead, pushed her and made her veil show her face to you. Of course, she hates you! I do too! Well- sort of. You’re fun!”

You sweated at Angie’s word, giving a half-smile. “Yeah, you said that earlier that I was fun. Now c’mon. She has nothing to hide, she’s pretty why would she need to hide her face? -wait I didn’t mean to say pretty she’s average, ya know? Like all females, average and cute- not cute just-”

“Shut up, please. You’re becoming less fun and more annoying.” You nodded and stayed quiet, going back to biting your bottom lip. Any further conversation between you both had been left alone. You just wanted to get your pay and go back home, to everyone in the village and to never come here again. You’ll have to talk to Duke about this.

“Apologies for waiting, I was caught up in looking at one of my finest creations all dolled up for me. And had to make sure the others had done their jobs.” Her clicking of her shoes had you pushing Angie of your thighs and as swift as a fox grabbing prey you stood up, your hood falling down and splatting against your shoulder remining you of how wet you felt around yourself.

You stared at her, looking down at her hand to see she was carrying a money bag that looked rather filled. She walked further towards you, her expression unseen to your eyes as she held the bag out for you to reach. With itching fingers, you grabbed the bag and nodded a ‘thanks.’ “We do hope to have you over again, maybe this time we can play with you.” She tilted her head, hands clasping in front of her. You gulped and didn’t reply too shocked or scared to even use your words.

“I’m going to head back now,” You whispered, turning around to face the double doors and grabbing hold of the handle. When pulling the handle, a familiar hand caught your laying over it.

“It’s quiet the storm tonight, Stay over hm? I’m sure you can stay the night.” Her voice was right beside your ear. You felt intimidated by her as her grip on your hand had soon stung as the iron handle under your grip had pushed itself up into your flesh, marking it with red.

Not answering her, she let go of you and walked away again, letting her shoes echo against the wooden floor. “Take those wet clothes of you, you’ve already started to make a pond in my house and I don’t appreciate it from the likes of a low-life like yourself. At least my dolls do high quality services and not try to strip someone of their safety.” Body freezing up, you dropped your hand to your side. You still didn’t understand why she was so mad at that- she's a Lady for Mother Miranda’s sake. She has no need to feel self-conscious about herself, in fact you didn’t even think of any questions about when you saw her face. She was somewhat...pretty you guess.

“Oi daydreamer, c’mon. I’ll show where you shall be sleeping- that is if you can even manage to sleep hehe!”

‘stupid fucking doll’ the thought of even sleeping in this house surrounded you with dread, a frown placed upon your face however it was soon wiped away when you felt Angie’s hand wrap around your own. She led you up the stairs that were on the right, pulling up and chanting that you should ‘hurry up’ like there was something chasing after you both. Once making to even the top, after slipping one time on the stairs, she unshed you to continue forward and into a room that was plain. A simple single bed with a wardrobe and rocking chair in the corner. You looked back to see Angie gone and a sigh of relief was released between your clenched jaw from holding back your tongue when it touched you. Finding yourself wandering to the bed, you stripped your poncho off and let it sit on the windowsill, opening the window a little to let cold air rush in, and after you laid back on the bed. Getting yourself comfortable you laid down against the pillows and closed your eyes, letting your hands lay upon your stomach interwind with each other. “Quicker I get to sleep, quicker morning will come,”

The feeling of something petit touching your cheek had you groaning. “What is it mum?” You mumbled out, forcing an eye lid open. Soon the tiredness within your eyes had been slapped out of exitance as you scrambled awake. Letting your body scrunch up as you laid fully back up against the head board of the bed. Sat on the other side of your bed, near the bottom, were a range of different size dolls. All of them were giggling, making you once again grabbing the hunter knife in your shoe and pointing it all at them. “Stay back!” Your throat felt slightly sore, only have woken up. The dolls all looked at each other as though they were whispering to each other, soon they had scrambled off the bed and out of the door, running past the Lady. “I see you’re all dry now,” She spoke, walking into the room with a silver tray in her hands.

You quickly let your fingers glide over yourself, finding new clothing on yourself. This time a baby blue dress-shirt accompanied with white pants. You glared up at the Lady as she placed the silver tray on the end of the bed. “You changed me whilst I slept?”

“Why yes, it took all my power to not turn you into a doll when doing so.” Her remark sent shivers down your spine, your body reacting by feeling your skin just to make sure you weren’t actually wood. Your shoulders slumped when you felt your skin, finding the meat still on and attached. “I suggest you eat up; my dolls don’t like guests that stay too long and I’m very busy today.” She left the room in long stride, having the decency to close the door behind her. Wiping a hand down your face, you leaned towards the end of the bed and grabbed the tray, gabbing it and pulling it towards your body. Upon the tray sat a plate of toast and a cup filled with water. Hearing your stomach rumble suddenly, you dug into the food which soon settled the unknown hunger. Once done, you swung your legs out of bed and placed your shoes on that were settled under the bed. Once they were slipped on, you took your partially dry poncho of the window sill and placed it over and arm- like a butler would do with a towel or a waiter.

Walking out the room, you jumped slightly back as the smaller dolls once again were running bout, each carrying different doll limbs with themselves. Waiting for them all to go past, you stepped fully out the room just to have Angie swing by quickly. “Hey there! Morning, now c’mon you can be helping hands!” She exclaimed, grabbing your hand like she did the previous night and dragging you along with her.

“B-But Lady Beneveinto said I had to le-”

“Thats because she doesn’t want you to get mixed up but oh well- now c’mon slow poke!” You could already tell Angie was trying to sit trouble between yourself and the Lady, you were so close to going back home as well. Following you complied, going through hallways and down the elevator shaft with the many dolls.

‘I hate dolls’

“Why are they here Angie,”

“They can help”

“Why would I want them to help us, we are doing fine.”

“But it’s nice to have a more interactive company”

“Angie”

“They can be of use.”

You were sat on a stool, overlooking a deceased child body that was paced on a medical table. At first glance, you had almost thrown up your breakfast into your mouth however you weren’t going to give the Lady satisfaction of getting under your skin with her wicked ways a ‘mortal can’t handle’. The body was cut open, limbs cut and replaced with wooden and iron ones. It wasn’t until you saw the sun and moon crest that had been burned into a wooden leg attached to the body that some things made sense.

‘so, she is the one that sends the so-called gifts and toys into the village.’ you thought as you placed a hand over the creates and stroked it, feeling the indents under your skin.

“Okay fine, if you want to stay then stay. Don’t touch anything you hear me?” The Lady spoke, pulling back her veil and rolling her sleeves to her black dress. You nodded and stayed in your place, staring at the body again.

‘They aren’t giving me any sort of reaction...no words spoken even.’ The Lady stared at you, feeling a little more comfortable with the situation. A small smile even broke out on her lips, eyes drooping a little as she felt a warmth claim her normally cold body. “If you could grab the screws over there on the able behind you, that would be helpful.” You turned to face her, nodding and got up out of your seat to do as told. Angie waited until you had sat down again, nodding at the teamwork you both had unknowingly fell into. Soon she left the room, leaving you both alone to work on the ‘gift’ for the children down in the village.

“So, I’m guessing these creepy things are given to the children?” You spoke up, watching as Lady Beneveinto as she weaved stitched upon the open cuts on the body.

“Yes,” she spoke out softly, tying a knot at the end of her thread and cutting it. “It’s so I can keep an eye on everyone. The dolls, I can look through their eyes and watch the world play. Mother Miranda had ordered me to do so before she left to wherever she had to go.” You listened, muscles relaxing as you watched her work.

“I’m sorry for taking your safety away, I honestly didn’t realise what I had done to do so but I believe an apology from me is the right thing.” She stopped her hands, looking up at you with a soft smile.

“My veil hides my deformed face; it hides the scar on my right side. I’ve been told by...villages when they accidently saw it that it scares them.” Her words had wiggled their way into your heart, you felt so much sympathy for her as she had been outcasted by such people. “But you didn’t scream...It was a new feeling.”

“I suppose we are all feeling new feelings. I didn’t even question your scarring, it’s a part of you. It shouldn’t make you different.”

“For someone who does illegal crimes, your oddly nice.” You chuckled at her, sending a smile of your own her way whilst a soft heat took over your ears.

“Many people are within the business; we just are hidden from the society we are forced to grow up in.” Your words hung into the air; the conversation cut off as Angie came flying in screaming as a fox chased after her.

“Angie!” Lady Beneveinto had shouted, grabbing her and bringing her close to her chest as the fox clawed at her leg. Getting your hunters knife at, you jumped at Lady Beneveinto and made a clean cut through the fox, blood splatting onto the floor. The heavy breathing of Angie was only heard now, Lady Beneviento to shocked to even say a word whilst you stood above the now dead fox, hand dripping in blood a little. ”Like I said...your oddly nice.”

A total of a week had passed after that day, Angie was house bound for at least another week after she had brought in the fox chasing her. Within that time, you and Donna (as you found out), had settled differences and began acquaintance with one another. Whenever you didn’t have an order to give out from the Duke, you would visit her to join her and Angie for a tea party or to just help around the mansion. Her company was far more peaceful than you would expect, she had slowly started to greet you without her veil over her face and instead a warm smile is what you would see when she answered her doors.

Weeks had turned to months, and months had turned to years. You were still a successful business runner for contraband, still not caught by Mother Miranda as she had returned from wherever she had gone off to. Life was running smoothly, you felt safe when at Donna’s house, the dolls somewhat warming up to your presence and not giving you so much of a creepy vibe.

On this particular day, you were sat on the front porch in the rocking chairs with Donna, a China cup in both your hands. “How has the selling been Donna?” You asked, sipping upon the herb tea feeling your body settle in comfort. Donna shifted in her chair, looking over at you on her left side.

“I’ve heard so much gossip lately so you better be careful out there. They are starting to get suspicious of your recent buyers, the blacksmith in particular. Apparently, he left a ‘television’ out in his workshop and the sewers wife with her child by her side was suspicious. Luckily, he lied and spoke that it was a random object he created.”

You chuckled and leaned over, resting your hand on her knee. “You worrying about me? Isn’t that sweet.” you teased, only fake pouting when she slapped your hand playfully.

“Oh yes, I worry about you a lot. So much I’m scared one day I may not kiss you being alive.”

Time stopped, her words replaying in your mind. “You...want to kiss me?”

“Well yes, isn’t it obvious I have taken a liking towards you?” Her forwardness had you blushing deeply, your whole face, neck and ears covered by the red. You opened and closed your mouth like a cod fish, making her sigh and lean over this time to meet your face in the middle. Using her free hand, she cupped your cheek and forcefully pulled you into a soft kiss. Her lips moved in sync with your, yours reacting to the feeling of both love and affection almost immediately. The moment was blissful, you enjoying the feeling of her being closer than ever to you.

Until you dropped your China cup upon being to focus on the kiss- making a perfect memory for your first ever kiss with your future wife.

[bluejayblueskies]

eros

n. a natural, passionate love; based in physical touch, such as a kiss to the back of a hand or to another’s lips 

Words: 3.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker Tags: Pre-Archives, First Date, Alcohol, Ace Rings, Asexual Jonathan Sims, Kiss-Averse Jonathan Sims, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia (throughout), mention of past acephobia (brief), fear of poor reaction to finding out a character is asexual (doesn’t actually occur), brief mention of unsafe food

|| Ao3 ||

.

In retrospect, Tim probably shouldn’t have begun their very first conversation on their very first date at the very nice bistro by the Thames (which he’d chosen because he’d panicked and picked the place that was the least likely to earn Jon’s disdainful expression) with, “I really, uh, like your ring?”

 It had seemed innocuous enough. But from the way that Jon froze up, his eyes affixed to the menu in front of him with suddenly rapt attention, it was painfully apparent that somehow, somewhere, Tim had fucked up. It had barely been five minutes since they’d walked through the doors of the restaurant and their date had officially started, and he’d already managed to ruin it. God, it had taken him months—months—to work up the courage to ask Jon—beautiful, prickly, awkward, and completely oblivious Jon—out on a real, actual date—no, not a lunch date, not a coffee date, a would you like to get dinner with me date?—and he’d already somehow crossed a line he hadn’t known not to cross.

 “Or, uh. Not?” Tim’s mouth says all on its own, which is worse, so much worse, just shut up Timothy Stoker. In an effort to do some—any—kind of damage control, Tim says, “Sorry, just- just forget I mentioned it. The, er. The mushroom ravioli here is good?”

 Tim’s never had the mushroom ravioli. It just seemed like a good thing to say.

 Fuck.

Jon still hasn’t said anything. One of his hands has gone to the shining gold ring holding the cream-colored fabric napkin neatly wrapped and is twisting it back and forth, like Tim usually sees him do with the black ring that sits on the middle finger of his right hand. The ring that Tim had seen ages ago, back when Jon had first joined Research, a stripe around the base of his finger that was fractionally darker than the skin around it. It was something he never took off, and Tim found his gaze going to it every time Jon would hand him a book or a file folder or a cup of coffee. He’s held Jon’s hand only once, and the ring had been cool against his fingers, worn smooth from how often Jon’s hands went to it during the day to twist it back and forth, an absent-minded motion done whenever Jon was stressed or anxious or nervous or just deep in thought.

 Jon’s fingers twitch around the napkin ring, just for a moment, like they’re itching to reach for something else, before stilling, and now Tim just feels guilty. Before he can stop himself, he says, “I- I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Jon. I’ve just. I’ve always thought it was nice?” Oh god, stop talking, just stop—

 “It looks good on you.”

 Finally, Jon looks up from his menu, his eyes blown wide with surprise. “What?” he says, his voice just a touch rougher than normal, and Tim isn’t sure whether or not to find that incredibly concerning or incredibly hot.

 Focus, Stoker.

 Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. So, with a shrug that’s meant to seem casual but really, really isn’t, Tim says, “I’ve always thought so. The way you fiddle with it sometimes, it’s- it’s, I don’t know, cute.”

 “Cute?” Jon says, that same roughness scraping the edges of the word raw.

 Fuck it. “Yes, Jon, cute. I asked you on a date because I think you’re cute and because I want to spend more time with you and because I like you. And I just- I don’t know, it just seemed like the ring was something special to you? Maybe should have gone for something like favorite movie first or something, but I already know a lot of that stuff, and I guess I just. Wanted to ask?”

 Tim’s thrown all semblance of this being a put-together, normal date out the window. Not that anything has ever been normal, or easy for that matter, with Jonathan Sims. Still, he wants this to work. He wants it so goddamn bad he aches. So he bites his tongue, watches Jon’s face, and waits.

 The waiter comes to their table suddenly and without any preamble, with quite possibly the worst timing ever. Tim has no idea what Jon orders. He just blurts out mushroom ravioli on instinct and orders a mid-priced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon because if this conversation turns any more sideways, at least he’ll have wine to drown his sorrows in.

 There’s a brief pause after the waiter leaves, during which Tim can’t help but notice that Jon’s hand has gone back to his ring, twisting it back and forth on his finger with what now seems like an intentional focus, a way to ground himself in the feeling of it against the pads of his fingers. Then, Jon lets out a small exhalation and says, “I’m… I’m not upset that you asked, Tim.”

 Oh. Tim searches for something to say and comes up with nothing. Relief and confusion curl in his chest in equal measure, and he settles for just nodding, giving Jon what he hopes is an encouraging smile—though it feels decidedly more like a grimace than he’d like.

 In the interim, the wine arrives at their table, their glasses filled by the waiter and the bottle set near the candle flickering in the center. The firelight refracts off the dark glass and Tim swears he can see it reflected in Jon’s eyes, a repeating reflection of flames in Jon’s pupils that goes on for eternity. Tim takes his glass, feeling the desperate need to have something in his hands, and takes a long sip of the wine. It’s nicely bitter on his tongue, briefly chasing away the salty, nervous taste that had filled his mouth.

 Jon takes his own glass in hand and tilts it back and forth, watching the red liquid within swirl around and around. After a long moment, he says, “I wear it for a reason, and I… I suppose I’m afraid that you won’t care for that reason.”

 What? Tim sets his glass down more heavily than he intends to and reaches across the table. When his hand meets Jon’s, Jon flinches ever so slightly.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Tim says, hastily retracting his hand. Before it can retreat more than a few inches, however, Jon shakes his head and reaches forward, grasping Tim’s hand firmly in his. His fingers are warm and dry against Tim’s, and the ring on his finger is cool to the touch where it presses against Tim’s palm.

 “Please, don’t- don’t apologize.” Jon looks down at the table, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying it for a moment before continuing, softly, “I just don’t want to mess this up before it’s even begun.”

 Tim says, with more certainty than he’s ever felt about anything, “You aren’t going to.”

 Jon sighs, exasperated. “Tim, you can’t possibly know that.”

 “Yeah, I can. Because whatever horrible reaction you’re expecting from me isn’t going to happen. Unless your big secret is that you’re secretly a mass murderer, or- or that you’re only dating me to use me for some big master plan—neither of which seem likely explanations for the situation at hand—I’m not going to hate you for telling me. If you don’t want to, I won’t pressure you to, but I don’t want you to not do it because you think I’m going to like you any less for whatever it is. I’ve had a year and a half to pine over you, Jonathan Sims—believe me when I say that I want to be here, with you, more than I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life.”

 Tim really hadn’t meant to say all that, but there it is, and he finds he really doesn’t regret any of it. Well, maybe the pining bit, if only to scrape back together at least a bit of his over-confident and charismatic reputation. Jon’s eyes are wide with shock again, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally says, in a punched-out voice, “A year and a half?”

 Oh. “Ah, yeah,” Tim says sheepishly, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck. “Didn’t really think I was being all that subtle, but. Yeah.”

 Jon looks scandalized. “Tim, that’s the entire time I’ve been in Research! This whole time, you’ve—”

 He breaks off with a strangled noise, and if Tim squints, he thinks he can see the tips of Jon’s cheeks darkening, though that could just be the flicker of candlelight across his face. “You didn’t say anything,” Jon says finally, after several seconds of silence during which Tim decided to stop pretending like he’d ever been anything other than completely enamored with Jonathan Sims.

 “Sure I did,” Tim says with a shrug and a sliver of a teasing smile. “Three days ago, when I asked you out to dinner. And now, of course, can’t forget that.”

 “Tim!” Jon’s hand retreats from Tim’s and he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, and I thought six months was a long time.”

 “Six months?” Tim echoes, a wide grin splitting his face in two. “Wait, wait, have you been—”

 “Tim—”

 “—for six months?”

 “Well, it’s better than a year and a half!” Jon snaps, taking his hand away from his nose and shooting Tim a glare that contains about as much heat as a block of ice.

 Tim laughs and reaches for Jon’s hand again; when Jon sighs and allows him to take it, Tim runs a thumb along the back of it, feeling the smooth texture of Jon’s ring as his thumb passes over it. “Mm, perhaps I should have said something sooner,” he relents, his mouth still curved into a smile. “But I didn’t want to mess things up. I like you so fucking much, Jon, and right now, I can hardly think of anything in the world that could change that. All right?”

 Jon’s staring at their hands, his forehead creased with lines of mild irritation. When he says, “All right,” there’s still a touch of petulance to it, but there’s something softer behind it as well. Something warmer.

 “All right,” Tim repeats.

 They talk about everything and nothing as the evening stretches on, and Tim doesn’t mention the ring. He can tell that Jon’s still thinking about it by the way that his hand goes to it every so often, twisting it around his finger as he talks about the proper types of grass for each climate and the fermentation process for the wine they’re drinking and the food safety protocols put in place to ensure that things like insect legs and metal shards don’t end up in their meals.

 (“Ew,” Tim says, spitting his wine back out into his glass and giving Jon a look that he hopes fully communicates his disgust.

 “Sorry,” Jon says with a wince. “Um. But it’s safe? Because of the protocols.”

 Tim is not convinced.)

 Despite all of that, the meal is lovely, and the tingling warmth the wine is sending throughout his body is lovely, and Jon is lovely. Tim can’t stop staring at him—at the few curls that have slipped loose from his braid and that now frame the sides of his face, at the crisp cut of the emerald green suit he’s wearing that Tim had almost made a joking remark about before he realized that he found it really, really hot, at the way that Jon’s nose wrinkles and his hand flies up to cover his lips when he laughs, like his joy is a secret to be kept hidden. Tim has to take another long drink of wine to keep himself from blurting out right then and there that he loves Jon; he doesn’t think that an hour into their first date is quite the right time to lay his entire heart bare.

 They haggle over the check for an embarrassingly long time until Jon finally relents when Tim pulls out the a year and a half is a much longer time than six months, Jon, and also I asked you card. The night is cold and biting when they step out of the warmth of the bistro, and when Jon gives a full-body shiver as they’re walking to the tube station, Tim doesn’t think twice before shrugging off his coat and wrapping it around Jon’s shoulders.

 “Tim, I can’t take this.”

 “Oh? Seems to me like you already have it. Would probably be more trouble to give it back at this point.”

 Jon looks at the ground sullenly, gripping the edges of Tim’s coat with thin-fingered hands and pulling it tightly around him. “Must you always be so- so chivalrous?” Jon mutters, like it’s somehow a crime now to be nice to people.

 “Only on days that end with ‘y,’” Tim quips, and he wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulders. His fingers brush against the ring on Jon’s hand, settling there as they continue on their way.

 Tim doesn’t really live near Jon, but he still walks with Jon to his flat, his left hand at some point having slipped into Jon’s right. The ring cuts gently into the flesh of Tim’s palm as they walk, and Tim wonders if Jon finds the pressure of it between their hands as grounding of a presence as Tim does. Then, they’re at the door to Jon’s flat, and Jon lets his hand slip from Tim’s as he fumbles for his keys, narrowly avoiding dropping Tim’s coat onto the ground as he catches it with one hand and retrieves his keys with the other.

 “I…” Jon hesitates, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, before continuing, “I had a nice time tonight. I… that is to say, if… if you would like to do it again, I… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

 Tim chuckles, a soft, quiet noise, and throws caution to the wind, placing a gentle hand on the side of Jon’s face and feeling the prickle of stubble against his palm. It draws a surprised, breathy noise from Jon’s mouth, and when Jon’s eyes find his, Tim sees in them those same nerves from before, when Tim had finally tripped his way into It looks good on you. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed either,” Tim says with an audible smile in his voice, running a thumb softly over the curve of Jon’s jaw.

 Jon lets out another little noise, and all in a rush, Tim thinks, I want to kiss him.

 So he takes a step closer to Jon, lets his eyes fall to Jon’s lips, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

 The nervousness in Jon’s eyes multiplies tenfold, and in a quiet voice, like he’s admitting to something overwhelmingly tragic, he says, “Is it okay if I say no?”

 Something sharp shoots through Tim’s chest at that, and he only recognizes it as concern after he’s taken a small, shuffling step back in some instinctual effort to give Jon more space. Tim can see a million thoughts flashing across Jon’s face, none of them good, so he says before Jon can think to- to apologize again or something, “Of course it’s okay, Jon.” He hesitates only a moment before allowing himself to give in to the confusion nagging beneath the concern (and ignoring the hurt below that) and saying, “Is… does this have something to do with the ring?”

 Because Tim can put two and two together like any researcher worth his salt. And by the way Jon’s hand instinctively flies to his ring when Tim says it, he knows that he’s right. He just doesn’t know why.

 “I said you wouldn’t like it,” Jon says quietly, and Tim’s heart breaks at the certainty in Jon’s voice. Even though Tim hasn’t said anything yet. Tim gets the horrible, sinking feeling that this has happened before and that whoever had been standing in his shoes then had not been nearly so kind.

 “Jon,” Tim says firmly, his hand dropping from Jon’s face and finding Jon’s hand instead. He tangles their fingers together and squeezes tightly, hoping that the sensation will ground Jon enough that he’ll be able to hear what Tim has to say and that he’ll believe it. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to kiss me, then we don’t have to kiss.” He hesitates, only for a moment, before continuing carefully, “If you don’t want to do… any of that with me, that’s also okay.” He bites back the need to make a joke to dispel the awkwardness and says instead, straightforwardly, “Kissing, sex, all of that—I like them, sure, but I like you more, Jon. So if you don’t want to do any of that, then we don’t have to, okay?”

 Jon’s hand is stiff in Tim’s, but his eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide and watery and full of a raw uncertainty, like he thinks that any moment Tim will admit that it’s all too much, that Jon isn’t enough, that it just isn’t working out. Whatever he sees reflected back in Tim’s eyes, however, is enough to cut through that uncertainty and leave behind something cautiously hopeful. “You… you really mean that,” Jon says, a strange sort of wonder in his voice, like a child staring up at a truly clear sky for the first time and witnessing the full scope of the stars above.

 “I do,” Tim says resolutely, leaving absolutely no room for misunderstanding.

 Jon looks down at where their hands are joined and says, quietly, “Okay.”

 That same rushing, swelling feeling overtakes Tim in a tidal wave of affection, and he says, “Are hugs okay?”

 Jon lets out a little huff. “Yes, Tim, of course hugs are—”

 His sentence ends in a punched-out noise as Tim wraps him tightly in a hug, feeling Jon’s hair tickle the side of his neck and the rapid-fire hummingbird beating of Jon’s heart against his chest. “Good,” Tim says into Jon’s hair. He takes a chance and presses his lips to the crown of Jon’s head; from the way that Jon shivers and presses himself closer into Tim’s embrace, it was the correct choice. So he does it again, holding Jon close and trying to communicate with the press of his arms and the pressure of his lips against Jon’s hair just how much he wants this. How much he wants Jon.

 “I really should get inside,” Jon says finally, his voice slightly muffled from where his face is buried in the fabric of Tim’s shirt. “It’s gotten to be quite late.”

 “Mm, just give me a sec,” Tim mumbles into Jon’s hair, holding him a bit tighter to accentuate his point.

 Jon’s laugh is light and breathy, rumbling against Tim’s chest like the purring of a cat. “Okay,” he says, his smile hidden by Tim’s shoulder. “Okay.”

[fresh-bag-of-ham]

ok let’s talk SUNSCREEN

SO the UV filters available in the US can at this point be considered truly terrible. One of the main reasons you’re supposed to reapply sunscreen every two hours is that many of the filters we use are destroyed by the very UV radiation they are designed to block. Killed in the line of duty, thank you for your sacrifice, etc. Counterpoint: sunscreen is gross and reapplying it every two hours is the worst. I am not doing that. Fortunately, Europe and Japan/Korea have been much quicker to approve newly developed more stable UV filters for use and at this point they have some really good ones. They also have much better UVA protection, both because of the better filters available and better labeling regulations.

A quick simplified summary: UVB causes sunburns, is directly absorbed by DNA strands which causes the mutations that lead to skin cancer, SPF measures protection against this only. UVA does more generic damage, creates free radicals associated with aging, wrinkles, collagen loss, pigmentation, etc. etc., but can also contribute to immunosuppression and therefore skin cancer. It’s more complex than this obviously but that’s not really the point of this post.

My sunscreen criteria: I hate wearing sunscreen. However, Accutane + sun = an extremely bad time. My ideal sunscreen is something that doesn’t feel disgusting to wear so I will wear it regularly in the first place (i.e. dry-touch), something I ideally don’t have to reapply super often under normal daily use (i.e. photostable UV filters, water-resistant when necessary), and has maximum protection. As long as I’m wearing it, I also want as much UVA protection as I can find, without compromising the former criteria.

Note: The sunscreens I tried are almost all chemical UV filters and several are loaded with alcohol, so if that upsets your skin then proceed with caution/ask me for a specific rec!

Note 2: All of these are SPF50+ (the highest rating allowed in the EU (meaning they tested at at least SPF60) unless otherwise specified *cough*Supergoop*cough*)

Best Face: Kao Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Essence (x)

Best feel, best protection, best price point. This gets recommended everywhere for a reason. Bit of a silicone feel on the face. No white cast. Smells like alcohol at first. Really, really quality daily face sunscreen. Water resistant. Caveat that because of the alcohol I would make sure to throw a layer of moisturizer on beforehand to make sure I’m not totally drying myself out.

Also make sure you get the name exactly right, there’s a blah blah Watery Gel that’s totally different consistency, totally different filters, etc. etc. It has to be Watery Essence.

Best Body: Eucerin Sun Sensitive Protect Dry Touch Sun Gel-Cream (x)

This was a sleeper hit, so shout-out to Eucerin for the greatest body sunscreen I’ve ever tried. This stuff is SO protective and dries SO. DAMN. DRY. Zero grease somehow, feels like nothing. It’s even water resistant. I tried a couple LRP body sunscreens but they honestly aren’t worth mentioning. Eucerin or bust babey!

More Face Sunscreens:

I’ve also tried all top five sunscreens from this Stylevana listicle of Asian face SPF (x). The thing about face sunscreens that they’ve started doing is loading them up with silicones and acrylate polymers, which leaves a silicone-y feel on your skin like a makeup primer. As far as I can tell from poking through various patents, these polymers are doing a few things in the formula: a) emulsifying/stabilizing the newer/bigger UV filter molecules, and creating an occlusive layer over the UV filter molecules on the skin to a) improve water resistance and b) reduce eye stingy-ness. At first I thought I wanted to avoid these seemingly unnecessary additives but considering their function, these are all features I want/need in a face sunscreen so we’re living with them.

1. Shiseido - Anessa Perfect UV Sunscreen Skincare Milk: really good, sliiight white cast but absolutely no streaks, more like a foundation just a hair too light for my skin tone. However I can’t imagine buying this because #2 on the list is better and 1/3 the price. Medium silicone feel. Something I’d probably only break out for when I went to an outdoor summer wedding.

2. Kao - Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Essence: I have already sung its praises.

3. MISSHA - All Around Safe Block Essence Sun Milk: closest to a US milky/greasy sunscreen experience here, though very fluid and still absorbs nicely. No silicone feel. Not a bad choice but nothing special.

4. Canmake - Mermaid Skin Gel UV: probably second favorite after Biore. Similar, bit less of a silicone feel. I’ve gotten red a couple times using this though, possibly because less silicone feel = no layer of protection against sweat/physically rubbing off? I bet this would be perfect under makeup though, it’s super light.

5. COSRX - Aloe Soothing Sun Cream: SO moisturizing, almost a dewy feel that sits on your skin and never dries. I wanted to love her, but unfortunately she is so loaded with the aforementioned polymers that when you reapply/put the appropriate amount on to begin with, it completely gums up and pills and you lose all protection. Also definitely not water resistant. Probably my top pick for a winter daily face sunscreen that I wouldn’t ever be worrying about reapplying though.

Other Contenders:

La Roche-Posay Anthelios Invisible Fluid (x) and Bioderma Photoderm Max Milk (x)

These two bad boys have the highest rated UVA protection currently on the market, 46 PPD for La Roche-Posay and 42 PPD for Bioderma. The LRP is extremely watery (technically alcohol-y) and comes in a teeny bottle(though same size as a lot of these I guess) but it is The Best UVA protection money can buy. The texture is really nice too, and feels super water resistant. If I’m outside sweating or on the water in the summer, this is going on my face. I've also seen it on sale multiple times since I’ve started researching sunscreens (because it’s extremely popular) so you can definitely find it in the $0.30/mL-or-less tier if you keep an eye out.

This Bioderma is cheaper and also extremely protective (thanks Helena @bronyraurmp3 for the rec!) but unfortunately it stung both my and Mr T’s eyes like a BITCH. Extremely unpleasant experiences for both of us. TBH if I’m out in midday sun, swimming or kayaking or something, I’m gonna be wearing a long-sleeved UPF rashguard to protect my arms and upper body and not worrying too much about whatever cheap greasy sunscreen I put on my legs. This Bioderma stuff would be going on my neck, ears, and hands though bc it’s super water resistant.

Eucerin Sun Sensitive Protect Mattifying Fluid : bit of a white cast, really slippy texture going on and nice dry touch texture when it dried down, but drying down took foreeever. Probably really nice if you’re sensitive and pale.

Eucerin Sun Oil Control Gel-Cream Dry Touch : VERY matte and dry-touch, would have loved it if I hadn’t gotten burned using it (doesn’t have all the newest most stable UV filters). Approaching the expensive end of things too, but would be a lovely option if you really prioritize non-greasiness and don’t need the premium protection? Mr T really liked using it on his bald head lol.

Supergoop Unseen Sunscreen SPF40 (US): This is recommended many places but it has to be a joke that people are actually paying Shiseido Anessa prices for old American UV filter selection, only SPF 40, and no UVA rating to speak of, right??? (ok they do have a PA+++ rating meaning a PPD of 8-16, so. this is acceptable.) I did not test this one but damn wtf. The texture is probably nice though and it looks perfectly sheer in the photos on their website, so maybe as a last resort for darker skintones that show a white cast with everything else? At that price tho... you do you but damn.

Jigott Snail UV Sun Block : This had good reviews on Yesstyle but it sucked. White streaks, bad.

La Roche-Posay Anthelios Ultra-Light Tinted Mineral Sunscreen SPF60 (US): Another in the outdoor-wedding only price range. There’s a tinted and a non-tinted mineral version and I ended up mixing them together to get a shade that looked pretty good on me, but needing two bottles for that puts it in the extremely ridiculous price category. Really slippy nice texture that takes a bit to dry but dries down perfectly matte. I guess the person who wants to shell out for a high end all-mineral tinted sunscreen exists somewhere out there but I would bet there are many nice cheaper mineral options out there that I haven’t tried.

And that’s it! For EU sunscreens, I was able to order them on caretobeauty.com, and Japanese/Korean ones from yesstyle.com or stylevana.com, though I had to go to eBay for the Biore and Anessa. I ordered some Biore from a seller on Amazon but they shipped from Japan and I think they got taken by customs because the last known location on the tracking info is Chicago, so finding a seller in the US that has already imported them seems like a good idea (vendor lullabellabeauty on eBay worked great for me, fwiw, I will definitely order my Biore from there in the future).

If you have specific questions about any of these, or if you have any recs you think I should try, hmu! You will be shocked I’m sure to hear I have a whole sunscreen database at this point.

[cal-kestis]

You’ve Been Lonely Too Long | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Part I of The Aftermath of Losing Everything) 

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: After parting with Grogu, losing his ship, and battling with the tenets of his Creed — Din is plagued by memories he fears will only ever exist in his past. But when he meets you, he’s surprised to see a bit of himself reflected in your eyes... and the family he still longs for. (Set after S2) Rating: M (for reasons that will happen eventually)      Word Count: 6572 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (non graphic), Action/Violence, Mentions of Blood, Hurt Comfort, Slow Burn, no use of ‘Y/N’, Din is wistful while talking about Grogu :’), he misses him A/N: Here it is! I've done a lot of research when it comes to lore, planets, etc. But I've taken a few creative liberties. Replies/comments are very welcome!

[Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

Memories keep him awake more than he cares to admit.

They conjure themselves unbidden, slithering through the iron bars of his mind. And just before they burrow, just before they brand his brain, just before they emerge from the shadows and he can recognize them — images of bright eyes and petal ears, sound bites of gentle coos, memories he wants to keep locked like a treasure — they vanish like vapor.

Sometimes he tries to chase them, like a valuable quarry. But even illustrious bounty hunters like Din Djarin know what it’s like to lose. Especially at night, when memories morph into vicious nightmares... and he becomes the prey.

If he ever does sleep, he sure as hell never rests.

And no one would catch wise. That’s the beauty of beskar. Because — despite the deep purple rings circling his wrinkled eyes, the constant dry and chapped state of his lips, and the uncharacteristically unkempt stubble on his jaw — when he walks into a room, everyone only sees the harsh glint of metal armor, the precise swagger in his gait, the loaded blaster at his belt. A Mandalorian: legend coming to life. And everyone quakes in their boots.

Everyone except you.

After he had left Gideon’s light cruiser, helmet replaced on his head — an imposter’s crown — he’d expected to say his goodbyes and carry on the way he always did before everything changed, before the kid. Alone.

He hadn’t known his next move. But picking up another stray? Not part of the non-existent plan.

Yet here he is, coasting in hyperspace aboard his cold, newly bargained light freighter, watching his crewmate modify the jammers.

“Hand me that driver, will you?” You huff, wiping sweat off your brow.

He had found you on Tatooine almost three months ago, fighting off some spice-high lowlife in a dark adobe alley. He remembers seeing you throw a heavy punch to the man’s jaw, extending your other trembling hand toward his throat before softly shutting your eyes, brows pinched in gentle focus.

Something about you had felt familiar, something he couldn’t shake. Your outstretched arm had sparked a memory of tiny green claws. And it had all happened so quickly. You had your eyes closed, the man had reached for his blaster, but Din had always been the faster shot.

Smoke had wafted from the man’s chest, your eyes had opened in shock, and Din had disappeared before you could thank him.

Instead, you had managed to stow away on his ship that same night and hire yourself as his new crewmate.

“I have nowhere to go. No home, no family,” you had explained, eyes glistening. When he’d scrutinized you, he only found a small bag slung over your shoulder and a short, chewed-on pencil tucked behind your ear. “I’m a good worker. I can cook and I’m a decent pilot, a better mechanic. And I’m… crafty?”

“I work alone.” He’d said it so surely, but a cloud of sadness had hovered over the words as he’d forced saliva down his dry throat.

“You don’t have to. I can be a valuable asset to you. Take some weight off your shoulders. Be someone to talk to.”

You had glanced at his stoic frame, his silence filling the room like a smoke grenade.

“Well, you don’t have to talk. But I can be helpful.”

There had been something in your eyes, or maybe even beyond them… something in you, something so achingly familiar. He’d felt it floating around the ship, radiating off your skin, seeping through his beskar armor. And he’d sighed because he couldn’t have stopped his next words from tumbling off his tongue if he wanted to.

“Just don’t touch anything.”

He remembers how you’d gasped, your arms wrapping tightly around his torso without a second thought. And he’d just stiffened like solid carbonite, not allowing himself to dwell on how warm and soft you felt, and he’d gently pushed you off, disappearing into the cockpit.

You’re still chatting away as you continue tinkering with the jammers. You’re definitely a talker. But to him, everyone seems that way when silence is his chosen weapon of survival.

Below that primary qualification of ‘someone to talk to,’ he’d realized almost right after you joined his crew of two that your resume checked out. You’d been invaluable on this new, unfamiliar ship — helping him modify it until it had some of the Razor Crest’s best qualities. Some.

When small memories like that start flooding in and try to take him under headfirst, he thinks it’s better to be alone. At least then, he can decide whether to sink or swim. So, he excuses himself to the cockpit and you hum in acknowledgment, continuing your chatter despite being your own audience. 

He spends a lot of time here in solitary silence, staring at the stars as they reflect off the tiny metal ball that hangs from a string on an unused lever. It’s the only token he has from that life — the days of flying the Crest system to system with a giggling child in the backseat.

More often than not, you find him here exactly like this: helmet hung low, a silver sphere pinched between two gloved fingers, millions of confined thoughts racing through his mind faster than hyperspace and clawing at his skull.

When you find him like this, you try not to speak. Just sit in the co-pilot’s seat and watch the stars with him.

And as he studies the little gear knob from his past life, the one question that passes through his mind the most is:

What can you do when the reason you’re hurting is likely the only thing that can heal you?

 —

ii.

After many months on the freighter, you’re sure of two things when it comes to your new crewmate:

First, the Mandalorian doesn’t talk much. Or ever, really.

But you quickly get used to your questions — and there are many — being answered with a curt “yes” or “no,” sometimes a grunt or sigh thrown in when the question is just right. You don’t mind too much, it’s enough to get you familiar with the way the ship works and you always know what to expect from him. 

When he’s not outside hunting a quarry on some Maker-forsaken outer rim dustball, leaving you inside to tamper with the ship’s outdated systems, he’s usually on one side of the freighter and you’re on the other. If he seems busy, you leave his food outside his quarters, and later, you find his dish empty and washed in the storage cupboard. And when you’re fighting for sleep in your bed, you hear his footsteps echoing all night long. But there are times when you both find yourselves in the small, shared space of the cockpit, when your desire to see the corners of space beyond Tatooine becomes too great to stay away. In those moments under the domed viewport — faced with a myriad of vibrant hues and tremendous textures and infinite stars — he doesn’t speak and you can’t find the words, giving way to a tranquil, transfixing silence neither of you wants to escape.

The second thing you’re sure of is: the Mandalorian gets hurt, a lot.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve watched him drag himself and an unconscious body onto his ship or holed himself up in the fresher, hissing in pain as he tended to his own wounds.

But this time, he comes back and collapses outside of the ship, unable to even pull himself up the ramp, much less the dead weight of the quarry. There’s hardly a thought in your mind as your feet scurry to his side, sprawled across the ground beside his target. You don’t wait for permission before you’re reaching for the gloved hand pressed firmly to the side of his stomach. 

“No,” he grits out between his teeth, groaning when the tiny word seems to tear him apart where he’s already been gashed. “The quarry.”

You frown, almost rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. Always the job first.

Still, no arguments pass your lips when you turn to pull the heavy, unconscious Trandoshan by his bound wrists. It takes all of your strength to drag him up the steep incline of the freighter’s ramp, through the main corridor, and into the supply closet, Mando’s makeshift prison. You’d asked him about it before, one of your many questions, wondering if he should consider more secure holding quarters. And he’d responded with a surprisingly long (for him) statement, “Not as good as a mobile carbonite freezing system, but it does the job.”

After chaining up the quarry’s hands and ankles and locking the closet, you nearly trip over yourself while sprinting back to the groaning Mandalorian. You kneel beside him, pulling the hand pressed against his stomach over your shoulder to lift him on his feet. A harsh, metallic scent suddenly fills your lungs, drawing your gaze to the blood-stained palm of his glove dangling over your shoulder. You do your best to ignore it, refocusing your energy on lugging him into the ship. As soon as you reach the top of the ramp, your strength gives out, sending both your bodies collapsing to the floor with a dull thud. It’s a challenge disentangling yourself from his heavy limbs but once you manage, you quickly turn to examine him before his hand stops you again.

“Gang on our tail,” he rasps, coughing then groaning in pain. “Get us out of here.”

Your lips press into a straight line, a war waging behind your furrowed brow as you decide whether or not it’s smart to leave him alone, bleeding on the floor of the main hold. But his hand shakes as he squeezes your wrist in what you think is meant to feel comforting. You release a deep sigh before getting up to close the ramp and set coordinates in the cockpit.

When you return minutes later with a medpac, you find him stretched out on his back, his neck arching with a groan, and his glove clutching his stomach once more. You kneel beside him to assess the damage, reaching your hand to his waist before he grabs you again.

“You don’t have to,” he grunts. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” you say, gently removing the glove trapping your wrist. “But so can I. And I can actually move my limbs at a normal, painless speed, get the job done quicker. So, please, let me.”

He sighs, giving a quick nod of his helmet before allowing you to partially remove his armor.

You start with the breastplate, remove the thick padding over his stomach, then grab the ever-present pencil behind your ear and use the dull end to lift the edge of his brown undershirt, just enough to reveal the knife wound in his side.

“What happened?” You gasp, quickly gathering antiseptic, a laser cauterizer, and bacta patches from the medpac.

“Ambushed,” he grunts, wincing as you clean the cut, your breath sliding across his skin as you lean in close.

“I’ve sustained some pretty bad knicks myself. Nothing as bad as this,” you joke lightly, switching the antiseptic for the cauterizer. When the laser touches his skin, he gasps and curls in on himself as you burn the wound closed. Instinctively, you grab his hand, the one not stained with blood, and interlace your fingers with his on the ship’s floor, letting him squeeze your palm as a distraction. “Nothing I couldn’t fix up. When you’re surviving on your own, you have to learn how to take care of yourself.”

“I know,” he says quietly. I work alone, he’d said when you met. 

Even through the shadowy visor of his helmet, you feel his eyes on yours and stare back openly. But as always, you only see your own warped reflection in the silver gleam of his beskar.

“It helps to have the proper supplies,” you chuckle, tearing your eyes away from his helmet to finish closing up his wound. “This bacta patch should fix you up real good.”

After smoothing the gel bandage against his skin, your fingertips linger only a second too long on the exposed warmth of his tanned stomach. You pull down the hem of his shirt, starting to reach for the pieces of iron covering his arm but feel him stop you by squeezing your joined hands.

“They only got one jab in,” he says, his voice sounding more relaxed, almost cocky. But when he sees the worry on your face, his thumb sweeps lightly across your hand and he squeezes once more. “I promise. I’m fine.”

“You’d better be,” you warn, shaking your joined hands in front of your face like a cranky geezer. “Because I’m not carrying two unconscious bodies off this ship when we land.”

He huffs out a short breath, only wincing slightly at the movement. Without another word, you pull his arm around your shoulder once more, limping him toward his sleeping quarters to rest. But you stop just outside the door, not wanting to encroach on his privacy.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his hand against the doorway.

“Your gloves,” you say, his helmet tilting in confusion when you stare at his hand pointedly. “Let me clean them for you.”

He tries to argue but you won’t have any of it, simply extending your palm out toward him until he reluctantly pulls at the yellow leather tips on his fingers and hands them over.

“You can leave your shirt outside your quarters, too. I don’t want you stinking up the ship with your bloody clothes. Wash up. Get some rest. And be more careful next time,” you say, smiling and walking backward as you talk.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and you swear you hear a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Before you can question him on it, he presses the button to his quarters and slips inside.

 —

iii.

Time seems to pass quicker on the Mandalorian’s ship since the Trandoshan incident. And this man of few words quickly becomes a man of… just slightly more than a few words. Nevertheless, as his crewmate, you’ve learned quite a lot more about him.

One, he never stays in one place for long. He’s a bounty hunter, of course, and he takes multiple jobs at once. That means, together, you visit at least four different planets in the span of a few weeks, expertly flying around New Republic and Imperial scanners without a hitch. Two, he likes your cooking, a lot. You can tell because, by the end of the night, after a soft “thank you” buzzed from his helmet, his dish would always be licked clean — two dishes when you’d made his favorite. Sometimes, he’d even surprise you and try to recreate your recipes, generously leaving bowls of delicious food at your door. But he never eats where you can watch, enjoying the meals in secret and quietly washing up for you when you’re on the other side of the ship and can’t argue with him about it. Three, he doesn’t remove his helmet when you’re around, maybe even when he’s alone. “This is the way,” he’d mumble on occasion, a Creed that sounds like a foreign language even falling from his lips. Four, although he says he works alone, you see the way his helmet leans toward you when you speak and notice how his knees point in your direction when you sit side by side in the cockpit, gravitating toward you yet deeply cautious of drawing too close. And five, he’s lonely. You know because you’ve carried the same sadness in your chest almost all your life.

Several months on his ship have opened him up to giving more detailed answers to your numerous questions, and you take each opportunity where you can, desperate to unveil new pieces of his mind.

Tonight, Mando is particularly relaxed after capturing the last of four bounties, coordinates already set to turn them in. An empty bowl of bone broth sits beside his first helping. He leans back comfortably in his pilot seat as the stars shine off his chest plate and you ask about his past adventures.

“Has it always been just you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, not wanting to disturb this content stillness, but thinking of all the times you’ve found him sitting alone in the cockpit clutching onto a silver ball.

He’s silent for a moment, thinking over his words. He doesn’t turn to face you when he answers, “No. There was... a child. Not long ago.”

You think back to when you had first met him, how he’d said, “I work alone,” how those words had seemed devastatingly true — in the way only a person who’s lost everything could say them so honestly.

“Yours?”

A beat. “Yeah,” he answers, a small crackling sound coming from his helmet. “Yes, a foundling. But he was as my own.”

“What happened?”

The cockpit stays silent save for the dull tones of the control board’s beeps and ticks. Mando reaches for that silver sphere, leans forward in his seat, and he holds it to the crown of his helmet.

“I... had to let him go.”

His voice breaks over the vowels, just slightly but you hear it: the familiar shattered sound of loss. It radiates off of him in waves, penetrating your skin and crawling through your bloodstream until your own heart aches for the ghost this child left behind.

“What was he like?” 

He’s quiet again and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But suddenly, Mando swivels his chair to face you, the silver ball clutched tight against his chest, and he chuckles. It’s fleeting but it’s a sound you’ve never heard in all your months aboard his ship. A lovely sound you’ll never forget.

“This was his favorite toy,” the Mandalorian says, lifting the ball in the air for you to see. “He was a stubborn kid. Always getting into trouble.”

You smile, begging him to continue.

“He could do things I couldn’t even imagine. He saved me, in more ways than one. We were a clan of two.”

“A family,” you agree.

He stills for a moment, ponders your words, and hangs his head. “Yeah, a family.”

“What’s his name?”

“Grogu.” You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “His name is Grogu.”

“Grogu,” you whisper, testing the name on your tongue. “Can you describe him for me?”

You pull out a small, worn booklet of parchment from your pouch and the short pencil from behind your ear. His helmet tilts toward you curiously and you can almost imagine his eyes squinting behind the visor.

“Remember when I said I was crafty? Not a load of bantha crap,” you chuckle, waving the pencil at him. “I made a trade with some stingy Jawas to get these relics.”

He nods, quietly examining the antiquated drawing pad.

“Tell me,” you plead.

His helmet’s gaze drops back to the silver ball and he sighs a wistful sound.

“Grogu was — is special. A green, wrinkly, big-eared... very special little kid.”

“A green, wrinkly child?” You ask, looking up from the paper.

Mando laughs again and you can’t help but smile too. He describes Grogu like he’s a father mooning over his son’s first steps. You’ve never heard him talk so much, so joyfully yet sorrowfully all at once. There’s a wistfulness in his voice, a rasp that tells you he’s not used to putting it into words, at least not out loud, but he still wants to honor Grogu with every word he has. As he speaks, you can feel — almost see the image of Grogu in your mind. It’s crystal clear like your brain is reaching out and can somehow access every archive in Mando’s memories. It’s like a trance and you have to physically shake your head to release yourself.

“He means a lot to you,” you say, a matter of fact, tearing off the weathered page and giving him your quick sketch, your hand resting on one of his pauldrons. “I’m sure you mean a lot to him.”

Mando silently turns back to the controls, his fingers still clutching the little ball as he grips the page in the other hand.

He’s especially glad to have his helmet at this moment because he feels water pooling behind his eyelids as he stares at the uncanny drawing.

“That’s him,” he whispers, looking upon his boy. It’s almost an exact likeness, although in grayscale (he’ll have to find you other colors somehow). But it means everything to see Grogu again, even on a page, after months of only seeing him in fleeting dreams and distorted nightmares. 

“Thank you,” he says, his hand with the drawing joining your hand on his pauldron.

You smile as he neatly, delicately folds the paper and tucks it into the small pouch on his shoulder harness, keeping the drawing close to his heart. You sit together in comfortable silence as the ship drops out of hyperspace.

“I guess you weren’t lying when we met,” he finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“You are… crafty,” he chuckles, his fingers tenderly stroking the leather pouch on his shoulder. “And you’re a good person to talk to.”

 —

iv.

The Mandalorian doesn’t ask you to stay on the freighter while he works anymore.

He doesn’t want you with him while he hunts, can’t afford the distraction. But he doesn’t want you to feel trapped either. So, he tells you to explore villages and draw landscapes of forested planets with the set of pigmented chalks he’d sweetly gifted you after finishing a job one day. (“I saw them at some backwater trading post. Thought you might like them,” he’d shrugged.) 

He doesn’t say it out loud but you know he trusts you even more now, trusts you won’t get into trouble, trusts you can take care of yourself if it finds you anyway. And he knows you appreciate it after being stranded on Tatooine your entire life. Each time he lands on a new planet, he sees entire galaxies reflected in your awestruck eyes and he gains a new page of artwork to add to his growing collection.

His latest quarry leads the pair of you to Felucia, on the hunt for some scum who — according to the Mandalorian — is probably hoping to harvest the planet’s Nysillin, a valuable healing herb, to trade for hefty credits. 

Felucia is a beautiful world you could never have even conjured in your dreams. A dense jungle of flora extends toward the upper atmosphere, kissing the yellow-tinted clouds and glowing orange and teal when night falls. Vibrant purple fungi tower high above the ferns, providing shade that did little to combat the damp heat.

You felt a strange energy running through your veins the moment you stepped off the ship, blaming it on the humidity instantly sticking to your skin like honey, a welcome discomfort compared to the sands of Tatooine.

On Tat, the sand made a habit of blowing and whipping around your ankles, scraping slashes and slivers into your skin. You’d hardly ever felt it, soft skin having evolved into a numb armor over many years on the desolate planet. Even as crystal particles would fly into your eyes, fill your lungs, nestle into your hair — you’d hardly felt it.

Sand is nothing compared to the sinister shudder that would run down your spine as you’d make haste through dark alleyways. The hairs on the back of your neck would rise and stiffen. You’d feel it more than you’d see it: the mass of darkness constantly looming over your shoulder, disfigured shadows merging with yours on the sand. And a voice would ask you each time: are you willing to do what you must to survive?

You almost had that night you met the Mandalorian. You remember your attacker’s voice like you just woke up from a nightmare, coarse and rough, burying itself under your skin like the Tatooine sands. His hands had felt slimy and sticky like the Felucian air as he’d gripped your waist. That same question of will had rung in your ears and your soul had urged you with a whisper: “Survive.” Your hand had quaked as you’d lifted it and focused your thoughts on your attacker’s throat. 

Then, before you could save yourself, you’d heard blaster fire and exhaled a staggered breath, gazing upon the Mandalorian as your hand had dropped limp at your side. You never turned back.

Now, you explore more systems than you knew existed, a Mandalorian warrior at your side, filling your weathered drawing pad with sketches of worlds beyond imagination.

Felucia would be a quick job, he’d assured you when he’d left. Easy and clean. Besides, no matter how beautiful the planet seemed — you couldn’t afford to stay longer than one rotation.

The Mandalorian had warned you of carnivorous plants and mysterious beasts. He hadn’t asked you to stay on the ship, but you knew he’d feel better if you kept close by. In the low shrubs and behind sky-scraping stalks, a deep grumble echoed through the jungle — something hungry and menacing. You stayed far from the sounds, choosing to explore the other colorful flowers that lived nearer to the ruddy soil, not straying too far into the mystifying wilds. You scribble away in your booklet, airways filled with a fresh petrichor that reminds you of a watery star system the Mandalorian brought you to a couple of months back. Your chalks fly across the tiny page as you capture this planet’s inimitable beauty as best you can.

Hardly four hours pass before you hear the Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps returning. Behind him trudges a stout man, wrists in binders behind him as he follows the bounty hunter in defeat.

“You’re getting slow, Mando,” you say, grinning when he comes to a stop in front of you, hands on his hips, a slight tilt to his helmet.

“What are you drawing?” He asks, ignoring your previous comment. He kneels beside you, silently studying the chalk-smudged red flower on the page as you stroke the final flourishes of your sketch. You hand him your booklet, noticing how the quarry leans over Mando’s shoulder to sneak a peek as well.

“Beautiful,” Mando says, tone even, as if speaking a fact instead of opinion.

“Well, it’s easy to see beauty when it’s all around,” you answer, cheeks heated as you gesture to the plant life surrounding you.

“It is,” he agrees, tenderness seeping into his modulated voice. When you look up at him, his visor is already trained on your face, unwavering as you crouch eye to eye with each other.

“Hate to break it to ya,” the quarry says, coughing dramatically behind you. “But all this ‘beauty’ wants to eat us alive, so I suggest we get off this hellhole before we all become dinner.”

The Mandalorian sighs, tearing his gaze to probably glare daggers at the quarry. 

“Makes you wonder what you were doing on this ‘hellhole’ in the first place,” he says, sarcastic to a fault.

“It wasn’t my choice,” the quarry argues, lifting his hands in defense. “I’m here to do a job, just like y—”

A shrill, deafening screech cuts through the jungle like a blade and the group of you shrink at the violent sound. 

“Let’s go,” Mando says immediately, helping you on your feet and pushing the quarry into the freighter.

You watch from the ground behind him as Mando runs in to lock the quarry inside the storage closet, turning only when the screeching sound suddenly stops. Your eyes squint as you try to find a sign of movement in the dense jungle.

“Watch out!”

Before you can register the anxiety in the Mandalorian’s voice, you’re knocked on your back into the red soil by a hulking creature.

It towers over you, casting you completely in its shadow as it slowly stalks forward. Your vision blurs as the horrifying monster draws closer — wrinkled white skin stretching the expanse of its belly and blue spine-covered leather painting its face and shell-armored back. 

“I’m guessing this is the rancor you were telling me about?” You grit through your teeth, inching away like a pathetic crab along the shoreline. Drool leaks from the rancor’s jagged teeth in dangling strands as it reaches long, webbed claws toward you. 

Before they can reach your body, you see the Mandalorian’s whipcord wrap around its arm. On the other end of the cord, Mando yanks the rancor away from you, rapid blaster fire whizzing through the air, hitting the beast with deadly precision. But the blasts bounce off its thick, impenetrable skin as it continues prowling toward you with renewed anger.

“Good guess,” Mando grunts, flying above the rancor with his jetpack, shooting at it in quick succession.

The rancor turns its attention away from you to the shiny flying pest blasting at its leathery skin. It’s at least six times the Mandalorian’s height but seems worlds larger from your view on the ground. 

“Stars, I thought you said these things were peaceful!” You shout.

“The Felucians don’t mind them. You must have scared it with your aggressive craftiness,” he quips, and you imagine what his smirk might look like under his helmet, even as the rancor approaches closer.

Mando launches miniature whistling explosives at the beast, but they do little to deter it. He throws grenades but the rancor swats them away like insects. It stomps toward the Mandalorian, its maw gaping wide as it releases a petrifying roar.

“Mando!” You scream when the rancor’s claws grab him by his jetpack, plowing his body into the ground with brute force.

The Mandalorian groans as he tries to stand back up, falling on his back when his bones prove too weary to support his weight.

“Get to the ship,” he rasps, voice crackling through the helmet with static. He raises his arm, flamethrower igniting at the rancor’s face, making it fumble backward with another roar. Only seconds later, the fire sputters and dies out. “Dank farrik!” He curses, reaching for his hopeless blaster once more before the monster’s claws slap it from his hand. “Get to the ship!” He yells.

Rooted to the ground like the surrounding plants, you’re helpless bantha fodder as you watch the rancor slowly creep forward, stretching to its full height above the Mandalorian. It feels like you’re sinking in quicksand — your feet and your mind hopelessly going under.

Then, you hear a soft voice ask a familiar yet distorted question:

Are you willing to do what you must so he survives?

You don’t hesitate. Anything, your soul resolves.

Steadily braced on two feet, you throw out your hand like a whip, focusing all your energy and emotions toward the blue beast. It sends the rancor flying backward like a ragdoll, wailing as it crashes through the thick jungle, loud cracks echoing from the mist as its body breaks every plant in its path. It lands far away with a heavy thud, but you feel it in your veins when it immediately gets on its feet, vengefully sprinting back toward you.

“Can’t say it isn’t persistent,” you mutter.

“How? You—” Mando grunts, a thousand questions on his tongue that will have to wait.

“I’ll explain later,” you huff, yanking his arm over your shoulder and pulling him to the ship. “We need to get out of here.”

“What’s happening?” The quarry yells from inside the locked compartment when he hears footsteps boarding the ship. You drop the Mandalorian onto the floor of the main hold rather unceremoniously, a metallic clanging sound ringing through the freighter. You punch in his code to retract the ship’s ramp before running to the cockpit. Outside the freighter, the rancor’s screeching grows louder and your fingers flit across the control panel to get the ship in the air. The engines whir to life and you swear it’s the second most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

With one final glance at the glowing jungle outside the viewport, thunderous roars softening into a low rumble, the ship finally launches out of Felucia’s atmosphere. Sinking back in the pilot’s seat, you let out a breath you’ve been holding for what feels like years. A labored dragging sound echoes behind you and you snap your head back, instinctively on defense.

But your shoulders relax when you see the Mandalorian gripping the walls of the ship as he attempts to limp closer. You run to his side, carrying his weight as you lead him to sit in the co-pilot’s chair.

“You need to rest,” you whisper, standing in front of him to quickly scan his body for signs of a major injury. “Looks like you got away with just a few shallow cuts and bruises. Nothing a bit of bacta can’t soothe.”

Your words come out like the rapid firing of his blaster before a gloved hand on your wrist stops you from speeding off. 

“What happened back there? How did you...” He asks, his visor lifted at an uncomfortable angle to meet your eyes.

Your lips press into a straight line, brows pinched in worry as you turn away from him to rummage through the medpac.

“I don’t...” you start, letting out a long exhale as you gather your words. “I don’t know. Since I was a kid, I’ve been able to do things I can’t explain — move things without touching them.”

You turn back to him, bacta in hand as you study expressionless beskar.

“Sometimes, it frightens me. I have no idea where it comes from or why it happens or how to control it. I never do it around other people. I didn’t want them to know,” you admit quietly, dropping your gaze to his vambrace, wordlessly asking if he still trusts you to remove it. He nods, visor watching you with masked curiosity as you roll back his sleeves and expose bruised, tan skin. “I’m afraid of what could happen if people knew.”

You don’t tell him how you don’t sleep well most nights, your thoughts eating away at your mind as you wonder if your abilities are the reason why you’ve always been alone… if they drove your family away before you could understand and just explain.

It stays silent while you tend to his wounds, applying bacta wherever your hands coax sharp hissing sounds from his helmet. His armor lies on the floor of the cockpit, sleeves pulled up to his elbows and the hem of his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a shallow cut and smattering of bruises on his abdomen. It’s not the worst you’ve seen and the bacta seems to already be easing most of the discomfort, allowing him to sit up straighter.

You leave him for a moment to allow him to tend to the bruises on his legs himself, walking to the supply closet to make sure the quarry is secure in his makeshift prison. When you return, you sit in the pilot’s seat, facing the zooming stars as if they hold the answers to every terrifying question you’ve held inside for so long.

You almost don’t hear the soft way the Mandalorian calls your name. It takes all your strength to pivot your seat in his direction.

“Do you remember when I told you about the mudhorn?” He asks.

You nod. The story of the mudhorn, of course you remember. After he’d first told you about his child, he seemed eager to tell you even more tales of their adventures across the galaxy. The mudhorn felt like their origin story, the birthplace of his connection to Grogu. 

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” he says quietly, piquing your attention. “Grogu saved me. Not the other way around.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “But how? He’s just a baby.”

Mando stands from the co-pilot’s seat, testing his leg’s stability before walking to the control board, leaning back on it, his knees brushing against yours.

“Grogu had powers too. He could heal people. And he could move things without touching them,” he mirrors your words, making your jaw drop as you take them in. “Just like you. I was quested to bring him to others of his kind.”

“You mean?” you ask, and he doesn’t miss the flash of hope in your eyes.

“Yes. There are others like him — like you.”

You listen with rapt attention as he unravels the legend of the Jedi — a fierce warrior he’d met named Ahsoka Tano and the hooded figure who had single-handedly defeated a platoon of Dark Troopers and became Grogu’s new mentor. He tells you the few fragments of what he knows about laser swords — lightsabers — the bright colors he’s seen them radiate. But he leaves out the heavy weight of the darksaber locked away in his weapons cabinet. Besides that, he tells you everything he knows, which he regrets isn’t much.

“The Force?” You ask in confusion.

“The Force is what gives you your powers,” he says, reciting the words like folklore passed down through generations. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

Ahsoka’s words have been imprinted on his brain since she first spoke them.

“I can take you to a place where you can communicate with them,” he whispers. Truly, he doesn’t want to do as he says, doesn’t want to repeat the heartache he’s still not fully recovered from. He wishes he could snatch the righteous words out of the air before you hear them. But he knows what it would mean to you to find others, a family when you’ve had none your whole life. “The… Jedi, I mean. On a planet called Tython. If you want to be trained.”

He imagines a familiar hooded figure leading you by your hand, leaving him behind.

“I… I’d like to hear what they have to say. Get some answers,” you say. “If you’ll take me.”

“Of course.”

You stand up, allowing him to take his place in the pilot’s chair.

“After we drop off the quarry, I’ll bring you to Tython.”

His breath stops when he sees your hand reach out to cradle the side of his helmet. His eyes screw shut, imagining the plush warmth of your palm caressing the skin on his cheek instead.

“Thank you, Mando,” you say, a gentle smile on your lips.

“Din,” he offers, grinning beneath his helmet when your chin tilts in silent questioning. “My name is Din Djarin,” he clarifies. “But you can still call me Mando if you want.”

You smile, so wide and so bright it could blind him.

“Thank you, Din,” you say, unexplored galaxies sparkling in your irises. For the first time, he lets himself daydream what it’d be like to discover each one of them with you, for as many years as you’ll give him. Even as he fears his time with you is ending. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

As you walk to your sleeping quarters, the soft sound of controls beeping and ticking in the ship, you don’t hear when he whispers:

“Anything.” [READ PART II HERE]