#to the point of changing his posture and stance to make them more comfortable around him

[latent-thoughts]

"Azriel is a fuck boi." "Azriel has the personality of a wash cloth." "Azriel is a creep." "Azriel is a stalker." "Azriel doesn't understand consent." Etc. etc....

I keep reading these mind-blowing takes in the Azriel and ACOTAR tags here, and....

All I can say is...

Well, reading comprehension is a rare commodity these days. 👀

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [5/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: I am so glad people are enjoying this so far! I am having a great time writing it, and I am excited about the chapters that are yet to come. I’d love if you let me know what you think of this new chapter, but no pressure, enjoy!!

The next morning, as all the other transfers ran laps, you made your way to the infirmary for physical therapy. When you got there, the doctor who had stitched you up the day before waved at you in greeting. “Hello, Y/N, how is the leg doing?”

“Better than yesterday,” you replied with a small smile. 

“Glad to hear it,” she replied. “You’ll be working with Andre today, he’s one of our physical therapists,” she said and pointed to Andre, who was standing a few feet away and waved. 

“Alright, thanks,” you said and started walking towards Andre. “Nice to meet you,” you said and stuck out your hand.

“Likewise,” Andre said and shook your outstretched hand. “So the program I have designed for you focuses more on keeping your leg muscles engaged without running the risk of tearing your stitches open more than recovery because the injury is serious but ultimately, it is just a deep laceration.” You nodded in understanding, and he led you over to a stationary bike. “For the next half hour, you are going to ride this bike. I want you to work your leg muscles and cardio system, but do not put more strain on your legs than necessary, the last thing I want is to tear those stitches or for your leg to start bleeding. Here is a set of headphones that hook up to the bike’s electronic system; I know riding a stationary bike for half an hour can get boring, so feel free to listen to music while you work. I’ll come get you in half an hour, but you can call me over at any point.”

“Sounds good, thanks,” you said before getting on the bike and connecting the headphones to browse the music selection for a little while before settling on an upbeat song with a strong bass beat. Then you got to pedaling. 

--

You were sweating--not as much as you did during regular training, but you were still getting a good workout in--when the thirty minutes ended. Andre walked over to you and helped you get off the bike, and it took you a second to adjust to the solid ground beneath your feet. “Good job,” Andre said. “It really seemed like you were pushing yourself while still respecting the boundaries set by the injury. That’s smart, if you keep this up, you’ll probably heal quickly. Most dauntless go all out and reinjure themselves, so it takes even longer to heal. But I see you have some brains, a good quality for future dauntless.”

“Thanks,” you beamed at him.

“Y/N,” someone said, waving you over from the entrance of the infirmary. You turned to see Four standing there, and you furrowed your brow; you were supposed to be at physical therapy for another half hour before going back to the training room. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as you walked over to him, Andre right behind you.

“Eric changed the plan, we are working with crossbows today instead of fighting, and since you can participate in this, I came to get you while he explains what's going on to the other initiates,” he explained. “Although, perhaps leaving them alone with him wasn’t the best idea,” he said, half-joking, earning a smile from you. 

“Alright, let’s go then. I’ll see you next time, Andre,” you said to the physical therapist as Four walked with you back to the training room. “So… what’s up,” you said to fill the awkward silence that settled between you and Four as you two walked. He looked at you, amused. 

“Oh, you know. Training initiates.” You laughed at his bluntness. 

“Right,” you chuckled. “So, why did Eric change the plan?” you asked cautiously.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Four shrugged. “Though I suspect it has to do with the fact that he’s particularly… grumpy today, and he probably wants to shoot arrows at someone.”

“Well, that does sound like a very real possibility,” you agreed, and the two of you reached the training room to see Eric walking up and down the line of initiates holding crossbows and aiming at targets, aggressively yanking them into the correct positions, yelling all the while.

“Finally,” he snapped as you picked up a bow and walked to the end of the line, lining yourself up with the target. You closed your eyes to prevent yourself from rolling them at his comment while he continued roughly moving arms and legs of different initiates, sometimes making them wince in shock, surprise at the force, pain, or all three. When he got to Tris, who was right next to you, he looked her up and down, moved her arms, and said “Back straight, initiate! With that posture, you’ll shoot yourself in the foot, assuming you even get the arrow out of the crossbow!” He waited for a second for her to move, but he quickly became frustrated and yelled to Four, “Four, you deal with this one, I’m going to catch Y/N up, since she has finally graced us with her presence,” he said sarcastically. Tris made eye contact with you, and you knew she was wishing you luck, making you smile a bit. 

“Alright,” Eric said, turning to you. Turn sideways, aim down the line, legs shoulder distance apart. Don’t lock the knees, but stand straight. Non-dominant arm straight, other arm pulls the string back once the arrow is notched, pulling with the middle three fingers. Pull the string all the way back to your ear, look down the line, and shoot. Go,” he said, stepping back and watching with crossed arms. You took the stance Eric had described as well as possible, and Eric’s hands landed on your hips, turning them just the slightest bit. Then, as quickly as they had landed there, they were gone. “Same thing as with the punch, initiate. The angle of your hips matters; it’s where your legs and torso connect, so there’s a lot of power there. You can use your core to help your arm pull the string back further, allowing you to aim better and send a more forceful arrow.” You nodded, notching an arrow, pulling back, and looking down the arrow towards the target. Without hesitation, you released, and the arrow landed mere millimeters from the bull’s eye. “Good,” Eric nodded, walking away. 

As you reached for the next arrow, Tris said, “What the hell just happened?”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Eric. He made us run fifty laps, then he changed up the plan and told us all to take an archery stance. Then, he walked up and down the line, pushing and pulling people into the right positions--I think he almost sprained Al’s shoulder! And then, just now, he just… what, turned your hips? No yanking or bending at unnatural angles or anything!”

“It’s probably just because I got injured yesterday and he doesn’t want to reopen the wound,” you shrugged. 

“Maybe,” Tris said with a sigh. “But still, that was… weird.”

“As opposed to the way Four helped you?” you countered, and she blushed. If she thought you hadn’t noticed the way Four had helped her by taking a softer approach than Eric, she was in for a surprise.

“It’s better to try and get into a position you have a hard time with when you exhale,” she defended, knowing you’d heard Four’s suggestion of a quick breathing exercise. 

“I know,” you smirked. 

“Ugh, let’s just get back to shooting,” she said, and you laughed.

“You two, shut up and get shooting,” Eric’s voice called out, quieting your laughter and causing both Tris and yourself to fall silent. You both made eye contact though, took aim, and released your arrows at the same time, each sending a swift arrow into the center of your respective targets, pride for both yourself and your friend rising inside of you.

“Ten more minutes,” Four called out. “After that, you will retrieve your arrows, put your equipment away, and get to lunch. So give it your all!” 

You took a deep breath, and each arrow you shot for the next ten minutes was aimed with extreme precision, resulting in a pretty crowded center of the target when Four called for everyone to stop. It also made the job of retrieving arrows easier since they were all in one area, which you were grateful for as you pulled each one out of the target. 

As you and Tris walked over to the storage cabinets to put your bow and arrows away, Will and Christina jogged over to you guys, having already put their stuff away. “How was physical therapy this morning, Y/N,” Will asked as he came to a stop. 

“It was good,” you replied, “I just rode a stationary bike so I could get a cardio workout and engage my leg muscles as well as my core in a more controlled setting.”

“That makes sense,” he nodded in approval. “I’m glad it went well. The rest of us had to run around here fifty times!”

“So I heard,” you said, still surprised at the number of laps your friends had run that morning. “And this one here,” he put an arm around Christina’s shoulders, “was one of the first people to finish!”

“Congratulations!” you said with a smile to Christina. She had set a goal for herself to improve her cardio, and it would seem she had reached it. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, blushing slightly at the contact with Will. “So, wanna get out of here and grab some lunch?”

“That sounds great to me,” you nodded, ready to go. 

“Y/N,” Eric said loudly from across the room as he strode towards you and your friends. 

“Yes?”

“Before you go, I want to take a look at your leg; there’s a first-aid kit in here and I want to see if it needs cleaning seeing as you sweat earlier. The last thing I need to deal with is an infection.”

“Alright,” you said and walked over to the bench, your friends following you. You rolled up the leg of your sweatpants, and thankfully, the wound didn’t look too irritated. 

Nodding, Eric said, “It looks good, but make sure to clean it well later. Use soap and water, and halfway through the day or between workouts, I would recommend disinfecting it.”

“Is there anything I can use now? Just to be safe?” He nodded and grabbed the first aid kit from a shelf on the wall, opened it up, and grabbed a hydrogen peroxide wipe. 

“Here,” he said, handing it to you. “There is also some cream here which you’ll be glad to have once you feel the sting of that wipe,” he said, handing you some ointment. 

“Thanks,” you said as you ripped open the hydrogen peroxide wipe and cleaned the wound. 

You hissed as it stung, and Eric sounded further when he said, “Told you,” since he was putting the kit back. You grunted in acknowledgement, and after wiping the area down, you put some of the ointment on, which was a much nicer way of keeping the area clean. Then, you rolled down your pant leg, stood, and made to toss the ointment back to Eric, but before you could, he said “Keep it.”

“Thanks,” you said, surprised as you pocketed it. Eric simply nodded. 

“Now get out of here,” he said, “go eat lunch.” And with that, you were swept out of the training room by your friends. 

--

“So, we missed you at dinner last night,” Christina said as you and your friends sat down at a table in the dining hall. “Although I totally get that you had other things to worry about. You did get to eat though, right? We wanted to save you some food, but it was pasta night, and everyone had to fight just to get their fair share.”

“That’s sweet of you guys,” you said. “Four tried to do the same thing, but he was too late. “Luckily, Eric had a backup plan.” 

“Oh my god, did you eat dinner with Eric?” Tris whisper-yelled, making eye contact with Christina, whose jaw was hanging open. 

“Yeah, last night was a lot. I waited in his apartment while he got me some sweatpants, which are really comfy, and then he got back and made ‘low-carb enchiladas’ for dinner.”

“Of course they’d be low-carb, Will said, rolling his eyes.”

“Were they good?” Christina asked.

“They were so good,” you nodded. 

“How was the company?” Tris asked.

“Honestly it was fine. I think that the fact that we didn’t talk because we were both tired prevented an argument from breaking out.”

“That’s good,” Christina said. “I’m glad he wasn’t completely horrible to you after you’d just gotten hurt. Although, I have to ask, why wasn’t he completely horrible to you today? I didn’t think he’d have that long of a ‘grace period’ after injuries.”

“He probably didn’t want to reopen the wound,” you said, repeating what you’d said to Tris earlier. “Why are you guys so interested in him?”

“Because he is the scariest person here, and he just gave you some ointment for your leg, which is the exact opposite of what it seems like he would do!” Will said. 

“You do have a point,” you admitted. “Look, I don’t know, but it doesn’t really matter. Besides, we still have to talk about the way Four keeps eyeing Tris,” you said, smirking evilly as you turned the attention away from yourself, launching a new line of questioning, this time aimed at your friend.

Tag List: @shykoolaid, @taina-eny​, @parabatai-winchester​, @marvel-ousnesss​, @kid-from-new-zealand​, @polychr0matic​

[hellcaster901]

What Now?

The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: After going through the market, things change between you and the Bounty Hunter. 

Word Count: 8,197

Warning(s): SMUT! (wrap it before you tap it, this is a fanfiction), language, slight choking kink, creampie, you know, the usual. I kinda did some edits, but whatever mistakes you find, it is what it is. 

A/N: After my first one shot of this lovely man, it’s hard not to think about him even more. Hope you guy’s enjoy!!!

Masterlist

Never Been Better (Pt 2) Say Something (Pt 3)

“Look, I want to go.” You explained, a hand on your hip staring up at Mando. He stood by the ramp, staring back at you, the sunlight from the planet shining on his beskar helmet, making it almost too bright to stare at. “I want to help more.” 

“I’m just grabbing supplies, there’s no need for you to come with.” Mando remarked. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Even more of a reason why I want to go.” You huffed, keeping your stance. You were prepared to stomp your foot like a child if it came down to that. “I’ve been cooped up in here, let me come.” You returned, your voice softer now, hoping that it’d show the Mandalorian how much this would mean to you. 

Ever since you first saw Mando it was on Tatooine when the Mechanic was fixing his ship, you fixated on the fact that he was going to be the one to take you away from the planet. Living there all your life, scavenging to survive wasn’t what you wanted for the rest of your years. And seeing the small child that he cared for, was enough of a reason to convince him to come with. If there was something you could do right, it was taking care of a youngling. Of course, being experienced at flying, shooting a blaster, or fixing a ship wasn’t on the list of things you could do, but you knew that that Child was going to be a handful sooner or later. Overall, offering your help was more of a ‘I need a ride to another planet, drop me off and never think of me again’ sort of thing. When you caught up to him before he was ready to leave, offering what little help you could give, he rejected the offer, leaving you on the planet. 

It wasn’t until weeks later that seeing the same ship, and seeing the same Mandalorian that it felt like fate. He still had the child, and was willing to accept your help with caring for it. He didn’t care to fill you in on how he came to possess the small green creature, all that he told you was that the Child was now in his care until they found his kind. And that was a good enough answer the Mandalorian was going to give you.

It’s been months since you joined the two of them, what turned into only a need for a ride to another home, turned into the ship that was now your home. Mando taking bounties here and there from the Guild and as he turned in the bounties, collecting the credits for it, he gave you a portion each time. No matter how many times you told him that being given a second chance was enough payment, he still always left credits on your sleeping cot, telling you to save them in case something were to happen. It was small things like that that made the small crush you harbored for him form. A crush on the Mandalorian seemed like a silly thing, of course it was, being that you never saw his face. But it didn’t stop the feelings. 

He wasn’t the stone cold Mandalorian you were sure people thought he was. Honestly, that’s what you thought he was the first time talking to him, but soon you came to find out he was actually human. Not just blood and bone, but he showed emotion, but in his own way. The first time you saw that was when he was caring for the Child. You knew he cared for that child like it was his own, protecting the child with everything in him. Soon, without you knowing, you became a part of that. 

He cared about you, in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain or show. He knew that he’d do anything to protect the two of you, even if it took his life. Within these short months, it surprised him with how easily you fell into place here. Making yourself comfortable and making the ship your home the second you stepped foot. It was hard not to like you. You kept your distance at first, nervous about the bounty hunter but soon you came out of your shell. You didn’t ask questions about his helmet, asking if you could see his face, but you did ask about his creed. You respected him enough to not ask him to take the helmet off, knowing that this creed was all he had. You didn’t know a lot about the Mandalorians, but you were willing to learn if Mando was willing to tell you.

“Do you even know how to shoot a blaster?” You shifted on your feet, shaking your head at the hunter. A sigh left his lips, before he tilted his head towards the door. You quickly followed, stepping down the ramp and after the Mandalorian. Glancing back at the ship, the ramp shut, leaving the sleeping Child. Mando was silent as you followed him, leading the way off the dirt trail and into the trees. When we got a certain distance Mando stopped short, turning around to face you. You tripped slightly, not wanting to bump into him at such short notice, staring wide eyed up at him.

“Here.” He spoke, the filtered voice making goosebumps rise on your arms. He lifts the blaster to you, your hand wrapping around the heavy weapon, weighting it before slipping it comfortable in your hand. You noticed Mando move out of the way, stepping close to your side. “You see that tree with the broken branch?” He pointed out, you followed the gloved finger, your eyes landing on the tree he was talking about. It was a ways away, but close enough where you both could see it. With a slight nod to Mando, you glanced back at him. It was like the air was ripped from your lungs as he stood a bit closer, close enough the sounds of his filtered breathing filled your ears. “Shoot it.” He spoke. You took a deep breath, turning back to the tree, trying to ignore the man that stood so close. With a deep breath, you lifted the blaster, pointing it towards the tree. On the exhale, you pulled the trigger, hitting the tree behind the target, a large burn spot on the bark. 

A wave of embarrassment and disappointment flows through you, cheeks growing hot as you glanced back at Mando with a disappointed frown. “Here” He mumbled, stepping directly behind you. Mando lightly kicked at your feet, moving your legs in a better stance. Mando noticed the way you tensed, not sure if it was from not shooting the target, or with him being so close. “Make sure to plant your feet.” He whispered, his hands moving to your hips. It became painfully aware for the both of you how close you were. The way Mando’s hands flexed against your hips, the thin shirt you wore catching on the groves of the gloves and lifting slightly as he moved his hands. “Keep yourself steady.” Mando saw the way you shuddered at his voice, trying to hide the way he was making you feel. He couldn’t help it either. You could lean back and you’d be leaning on his chest. He looked over your features as you looked back at him, the way your eyes widened at his touch, the way your lips parted as his fingers digging lightly into your hips. His eyes trailed over each and every feature, memorizing them. “Try again, keep yourself tight.” He managed out, trying to keep focus on the task, but the way she was reacting to a simple touch made his mind wonder. If you reacted this way with a single touch, what else would your body react to? 

You try to stay calm as he moves his hands up, the shirt catching on the gloves and lifting, revealing flush skin to his eyes. His hands trailed lightly on your back, the reaction you gave him only fueling him even more to find out what else you reacted to. You try to contain the shudder than trailed down your back as you felt his fingers wrap around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against the crook of your neck as he pulled your shoulders back, your chest pushing out. This didn’t go unnoticed, the small hitch in his breath was enough to let you know this was affecting him the way it was affecting you. From his height he only had to glance down, getting a small glance at the swell of your breasts, the way the shirt hid your cleavage from his greedy eyes. 

You lifted the blaster once again, aiming at the tree with the broken branch. Tightening yourself, and keeping your posture. With a deep breath, you pulled the trigger as you exhaled, watching as the broken branch was shot, the branch smoking from the heat. A disbelief chuckled left your lips, lowering the blaster as you stared at the smoking target with astonishment. You looked back at Mando, a grin on your face, ready to thank him for the help, but it soon felt like the world disappeared as your mind registered how close the two of you were. 

Eyes scanned over his helmet, wondering what he looked like underneath the beskar. If he was staring down at you with the same sort of dazed look, or if he was trying to mesmerize the grin you had on your face. He had to admit, the look on your face, the happiness that you shot the branch rather than the tree was enough to make his heart tug, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. A small part of you wanted to do something, or say something, but another bigger part thought that doing anything would ruin what was going on. “Thank you.” You whispered, staring up at the visor of his helmet. With a swift nod, he pulled his hands away from your hips, breaking the spell the both of you were in.

He couldn’t let himself get caught up in you, he couldn’t let himself give in like that. No matter how many times he did think about how soft you’d be, or how sweet the sounds you’d make when he’d touch you, he had to keep his distance. “It’s different when it’s actually living.” He advised, walking past you. 

“At least I know.” You shrugged, hearing a small chuckle from the hunter. With a heavy heart, you followed Mando, shoving the blaster into the waistband of your pants and keeping a steady distance from him as he showed the way. There were a few moments of silence, both of you going over the small moment that just happened. You weren’t sure if it was anything to fret over, but of course that didn’t stop you from playing over each moment again and again in your mind. The way he grabbed you, man handling you, it was enough to make anyone’s knees weak. “Where are we again?” You called up to Mando, realizing that he never told you where the three of you landed at. 

The walk was short, hitting the small town in a matter of minutes. You soon realized that coming was probably the best decision you made. It was unlike anything you’ve seen. “Where are we again?” You repeated to Mando, jogging light to catch up with him. He tilted his head towards you, noticing the way you stared at the sight before you.

“Dantooine.” He quipped, watching as he saw that smile spread on your face. The small town was filled with colors, booths lined side by side of merchants selling goods of all kinds. The people of the small town mingling with one another, shopping along the booths of goods. 

“This was the headquarters to the rebellion during the Galactic Empire.” You smiled, watching the people shop. You noticed the curious tilt of his helmet as he stared down at you. “My mother told me stories about the rebellion.” You explained with a shrug of a shoulder. He only stared down at you, a wave of nervousness rising in you. “What do you need from here?” You asked, hoping to change the subject. 

“Need to see if there’s parts for the ship.” He explained, looking at the vast crowd of people, “Maybe anything else we need.” You nodded, waving a hand to the crowd.

“Lead the way.” You smiled. You weren’t sure, but it almost felt like he rolled his eyes before he took a step. With a smirk, you followed Mando as the two of you weaved through the people, your eyes looking at every booth you passed. Seeing all these exotic foods you’ve never seen, or the colorful beads the people had on display for jewelry, the fish people caught and the small trinkets people made. It was unlike anything you’ve seen before. 

Although your eyes were on the products, you soon began noticing the stares the two of you received. It was more what Mando was receiving. People moved out of the way, staring at the Mandalorian as he walked through the people, their gaze landing upon you as you walked through the crowds. Mando didn’t seem bothered by it, something he’s grown used to. For you, you stepped closer to Mando, ducking your head down, avoiding eye contact and only staring at what the booths were offering.

You watched as Mando made his way to one of the booths, talking to the older man that stood there. You stayed close, hearing the two men barter on what the price should really be for the parts Mando wanted. Your eyes wandered over the neighboring booths. Small trinkets people had to offer, things they wielded themselves and turned into small creatures and small toys for children, other booths with bright fabrics and gorgeous patterns. You soon saw a booth across the way with jewelry you haven’t seen before, the colors catching your attention. Weaving through the people you soon noticed the crystals on the table, different sizes and colors wrapped in wiring and hanging from a line of fabric. The older woman who sat there noticed you, cracking an eye open, a small smile spreading on her weathered face. You returned the smile, looking back down at the jewelry she displayed.

It wasn’t like the others you saw, the jewelry they made were from gold or silver, or even wielded metal into those large exquisite necklaces made for royalty, but these were gorgeous. The old woman watched as you looked over her artwork, lightly touching the items, the smooth silk of some of the cloth necklaces rubbing against your fingertips.

“They’re beautiful.” You smiled up at her, watching as she stood from her chair, waddling over to the necklaces. Her eyes raked over you, her eyes squinting as she took in your features before she looked down at the necklaces, grabbing one that she deemed the one. She held the necklace up by the two strings, the small crystal dangling, the sun making it look like it was glowing. It was a gorgeous piece, a pale white crystal wrapped with a bronze wiring, hanging from a thin cord of brown leather. She motioned to the necklace, still smiling up at you.

“Turn around.” The filtered voice made you jump, your head whipping around as Mando stared at the necklace.

“What?” Your face scrunched up at his request. But he simply reached across you, a small nod towards the old woman as she handed him the necklace. He held it up towards you, motioning for you to turn. With a nervous nod, you turn, grabbing the hair that hung loosely on your shoulders into one hand. His hands came into view, your eyes watching the necklace lower until you felt the cold crystal hit your chest, the chilled leather sending chills down your back as it laid on the crook of your neck. It felt like time had stopped when you felt his fingertips brush the back of your neck, tying the leather cords tightly together, his gloved fingers brushing against  your skin and lightly pulling the short strands of hair that got caught in the knot. You reached up to grab the crystal, the rough edges scrapping lightly against the pads of your fingertips. 

Mando tried his best to keep himself from touching you anymore. The way your skin looked in the sun only made him want to feel how smooth your skin looked, let his hands wander. He watched as you turned, bright wide eyes staring up at him, a small smile playing on your plump lips. “Thank you.” You whispered to him, his eyes glancing down to see your fingers twist and turn the crystal. He only nodded, looking back at the older woman.

“How much?” He asked. 

“15 credits.” The woman smiled. You glanced down, grabbing what credits you had in your pocket. “Thank you, sir.” Your head shot up, watching as Mando placed the credits in the woman’s hand.

“Mando, I-”

“We still need to get food.” He started, turning away from the booth. With a slight wave to the woman you followed Mando, grabbing his elbow. He turned quickly, staring down at you. You couldn’t help but be nervous whenever he looked at you, no matter how long you’ve been with him, his stare always made you feel like you were the only one there. 

“Thank you.” You whispered to him, reaching up for the necklace. Again, Mando wasn’t one for talking, wasn’t sure what to say when you grabbed him. The only thing he could do was nod, turning back around and going back on his mission to find the food he was talking about.

You followed silently, holding what food the two of you bought, keeping quiet as the two of you gathered the things you needed. Both of you knew there was a silent tension in the air, the events of him teaching you how to shoot a blaster and what happened with the necklace were in reply in your mind, going over each touch, each movement and each word or sound that came out of his mouth.

---

You took a deep breath as you sat on your sleeping cot, twisting and turning the necklace that laid on your chest. It’s been a week since the events of what happened at the market, neither of you bringing it up once you got back to the ship. You weren’t sure if it was awkward for him, but it was for you. Stepping around him within the ship, staying out of his way. There was a difference in the air, and you weren’t sure what to do about it.

You grabbed the thin blanket from the cot, wrapping it around you and leaving your small area, tiptoeing through the ship to the ramp. Keying into the pad, the ramp lowered, the night breeze washing over you. You weren’t really sure what you were doing, but you knew whatever it was, you had to be off the ship. Walking down the ramp, feeling your feet hit the soil from the planet, you sat down, the cold metal sending chills up your back. A week ago you left Dantooine, and since then it was just going from planet to planet, stopping wherever Mando thought was best. This planet, D’Qar, seemed safe, nothing seemed out of the ordinary from what Mando saw. 

You sat there silently, letting the night breeze wash over you, looking over the vast majority of the green land. 

Everything was confusing, the actions Mando showed you were confusing. You weren’t sure what was going on, if the way he was acting was he acted with all his female friends or if this was something different. It had to be different, the way he reacted with Cara was of a friend, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him act so… shy with her? You groaned softly, dropping your head. What am I doing? Freaking out about him like this? Just enjoy the fact you got off that damn planet and you have something good now. There’s no need to make things more awkward just because I have a silly crush. 

“What are you doing?” You turned in your seat, seeing the man of the hour standing there. Words couldn’t explain how different he looked. The beskar armor he wore was now gone, leaving him in his black shirt and pants, the helmet still on. 

“I needed some air.” You spoke quietly, watching as he stepped down the ramp. The nerves were back as you watched him step down, stopping next to you and sitting as well. “What are you doing?”

“I needed some air.” He repeated, you could hear the smile in his voice. You shook your head, staring at the green land. You sat there in silence, both of you enjoying the company of the other, something you were sure Mando would never admit but it was nice while you sat there. 

“Have you ever thought about changing your life?” you asked, still staring off at the land and the sky, not really sure where the question came from.

“What do you mean?” He knew what you meant, the question was something that was on his mind ever since he found the child, and even more now since you came into his life.

“You know what I mean.” You chuckled, looking down at your bare feet in the grass, wiggling your toes. “Leaving the Guild and the Mandalorian lifestyle behind.” You explained, looking up at him. “Settling down and raising the Child.” He noticed the way you didn’t mention yourself in this scenario. “I’m sure the Child would love that.” You chuckled.

“Once I take this helmet off in front of someone, I can never put it back on.” He explained, looking out in the distance. “This is the way.” 

“What if it isn't?” You questioned, noticing the way he sighed lightly. You imagined he thought about this a lot. Any one who was raised in this sort of condition probably does think about leaving, wonder what else is out there besides the Creed. “Leaving Tatooine was something I knew I had to do.” you explain, “And seeing you the first time felt like a gift from the Gods.” you smiled, watching as Mando turned to you, listening to your story. “It was like fate the second time you came and accepted my help. I knew that Tatooine wasn’t it for me.” 

“Did you think staying was your fate?” You watched the way the moon shined off the helmet, making you wonder if he ever came out by himself, taking the helmet off and enjoying the breeze on his face.

“For a while I did.” You admitted, thinking back to life on that planet. “There wasn’t a lot for me there, it always felt off.” Mando watched the way you shivered from the breeze, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself.

“We should get back in.” He muttered, ready to stand. Before he could, your hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him. 

“I like it here.” You smiled, watching the way he tensed for a quick moment, before settling back on the ramp with you. He could feel your eyes searching over his helmet, and he could tell you were thinking about what he looked liked. Everyone did, but with you, you never asked him to take the helmet off or asked him for hints on what he looked like. You respected him to keep those questions to yourself. “Thank you again.” You softly spoke, smiling up.

“For Tatooine?” 

“For everything.” You realized you still had a hand on his wrist, noticing he didn’t have any gloves on. You decided to bite the bullet and let your hand travel down, your fingers touching the skin on his wrist. From the moonlight you can see his tan skin, his long fingers twitching lightly as you touched his wrist, your fingertips brushing lightly over the back of his palm, lightly tracing the veins that were prominent. “For taking me in,” You whispered, watching the way his fingers flex as you touched them, your fingertips lightly brushing over the coarse skin. “For giving me a home,” you started on his thumb, tracing the skin to the nail and back down before moving onto the next one, both Mando and you mesmerized at the actions. “For the necklace.” You smiled, lightly, feeling as though the crystal got heavier on your chest. 

You barely registered the blanket that slipped from your shoulders, exposing more of your skin to Mando than he’s seen. The short sleeve shirt you wore to bed hanging loosely on your shoulder, his eyes looking up and seeing the way your skin basically shines in the moonlight, your hair loose from whatever ponytail you had it, pieces of hair curling on the back of your neck and tops of your shoulders. He especially couldn’t forget the necklace, the brown leather cord complimenting your skin tone. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling his hand from your tracing, his fingers brushing against the skin of your shoulder. 

You gasped lightly at the touch, the action making you shudder, still staring down at your hand as you let him touch you. He dragged his fingers up your shoulder to your neck, his fingers lightly hooking onto the necklace, pulling it and letting it drop. You tried to keep your breathing under control, but he could hear the way your breath hitched when he played with some of the loose hair, tucking it behind your ear. You finally got the confidence and looked up at him, looking over the visor wondering what he looked like as he studied you. 

He definitely studied you, looking over your skin, your eyes, the way your lips parted as he stared over you. He was taking in everything he was seeing, like it was the last time. He wanted this look on your face burned into his mind, thinking of it whenever he could. And that scared him. 

You opened your mouth to say something, before a small gurgle was heard from the ship. You both glanced back at the opening, seeing the Child stand there, eyes droopy from sleep. “Oh sweet thing.” You whispered, standing from the ramp. Mando’s hand fell from you, a twinge of sadness running through him as he was robbed from this moment. He watched as you walked over to the Child, picking him up and wrapping him in the blanket with you.

You gave him a shrug and a sad smile, turning on your heels and bringing the kid back into the ship, rocking him lightly as he smiled up at you. Those giant eyes fluttering as he became more and more tired. “Tired thing.” You hummed, watching as his eyes fell shut, his small body becoming heavier. You chuckled lightly, glancing over at the Mandalorian as he stepped up the ramp, turning his back and pressing the keypad, the ramp lifting and shutting us in the ship.You gently set the Child in his small pod, his hands tightly grasping the blanket, not letting it go in his sleep. With a defeat sigh, you slipped the blanket from your shoulders, nestling it around the Child.

Mando watched as the blanket slipped from your shoulders, exposing that you weren’t exactly wearing any pants. The shirt hanging loosely around your form, hitting mid thigh. He couldn’t help the way the front of his pants tightened, wondering if there was anything else under the oversize shirt you wore.

You took a step back, pressing the pad and the door shutting on the child as he slept, hopefully through the night. You wrapped your arms around yourself turning and giving the Mandalorian a sheepish smile. You quickly became aware of the lack of close you were wearing, a slight breeze making goosebumps rise on your legs. 

“I should get to bed.” You shrugged, one hand reaching down and grabbing the hem of your shirt, tugging it further down your legs. Mando didn’t say anything, only a swift nod. You sheepishly walked past him, your gut turning as you felt a hand wrap around your wrist. You looked up at him, wide eyes as he stared forward. “Is everything okay?” You whispered, feeling the way his hand tightened around your small wrist.

It felt like time stopped as the two of you stood there, reminding you of when he was teaching you how to shoot the blaster. It all felt really… surreal to you. You waited for him to do something, but you could only focus on the fact the way your arm felt with his hand on it, almost like it was on fire. And it wasn’t something that you didn’t mind.

Everything in him told him to touch you, bring you closer till you were against his chest, his hands running up the back of your thighs, grabbing at every single piece of you as he could. But he couldn’t. “Take my blanket.” He finally said. You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head. You knew he wanted to say more, say something else, or do something else. But something was stopping him, you could basically see the internal war he was having within himself. 

It was now or never.

You slipped your arm from his hand, lifting it with hesitance to his helmet. With a shuddered breath you turned him towards you, the cold beskar cooling your hot hands. There was no resistance as he let you turn his head towards him, looking down at you with confusion and lust. You tried to convince yourself that if he were to reject you, tell you that this was something he never wanted, you’d be okay with being dropped off at the next planet, or even have them leave you at this planet. 

I took everything in you to let yourself be confident. Slowly, you turned, facing your body with his, your hands brushing along his arms as you reached for his hands. You could tell how tense he was, hearing how jagged his breath was as you touched his arms, your fingertips brushing against the material of his shirt as they moved down towards his hands. 

He could feel how shaky your hands were as they brushed against his. He watched as you pulled them up, guiding them to your waist. Mando’s breath hitched, the sound filling your ears and making your thighs clench. “I trust you.” Was all you said, looking up at him. “You can touch me.” Your voice was lower now, barely a whisper, something only the two of you could hear. 

“Are you sure?” Mando whispered back, his hands grabbing at the shirt. “Once I start, I might not be able to stop.” You could’ve died right there, those being the last words you ever heard, and you’d be happy. You wanted those words branded in your mind. You could barely speak, only clench your thighs even more, giving him a nod. “I need to hear you say it.” He spoke a little louder this time, his hands already lifting the shirt up slowly, seeing more and more skin revealed to him. 

“Yes.” In a split second he grabbed you, turning the both of you and pushing you against the wall of the ship. You gasped as the cold metal digging into your skin, cooling you down slightly. He held you there, hearing his jagged breathing through his helmet as he looked down at you, his hands slowly trailing down your hips. You said nothing, letting him control the pace, waiting on him to cross the line. You tried to keep the whimper in when you felt his hands on your thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh lightly, dragging a low moan from your throat.

The sound was enough to spur him on even more. All those nights imagining what you sounded like, and actually hearing it, was music to his ears. He had to hear more from you. He slipped his hands under the shirt, his calloused fingers brushing against your panties, up your stomach and resting right against your rib cage, the back of his hand brushing against the underside of your breasts. “Please.” You whimpered, the sound shooting straight to his cock. He couldn’t resist anymore, you were here, in his hands, willing to give yourself to him. 

You heard a low moan, almost a growl as he cupped your breast, his palms against your hard nipples, his fingers digging into the flesh. He couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed the hem of the shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side, his greedy eyes taking it each and every piece that was displayed to him. You tried your best to not cover yourself, knowing that you trusted this man with your life. You felt confident as he stared down at you. 

“Gorgeous.” He mumbled, reaching for you again. Pulling you tight to him, his hands traveling frantically over your body, trying to touch each piece of you. You dropped your head to his shoulder, enjoying his hands, moans and whimpers leaving you as he grabbed your ass, kneading the soft flesh before his hands dragged across your back, up to your shoulders. You gasped as he spun you around, your back against his chest, his hands on your arms, keeping you tight to him. “I told you I wouldn't be able to stop.” it sounded almost like a warning, but it didn’t scare you away.

“I know.” you replied breathlessly, grinding against him, his bulge rubbing against your ass as you circled your hips. “I don’t want you to.” You felt his head drop to your shoulder, moaning as you continued to push back on him. All he wanted was to taste your skin, bite down on the flesh and leave marks he’d be able to see later, letting him know that you were marked as his. He snaked one of his hands down your stomach, digging his fingers lightly as he got to your panties, stopping at the hem. He was teasing you, letting a finger dip under the band, hearing the way you whimpered at him, moaning loudly when you moved your hips, trying to get him closer to where you needed him. “Please.” You begged, resting your forehead on the cold beskar. This man was going to be the death of you.

“What do you want.” His modulated voice filled your ears, one of his arms keeping you close to him while the other played at your panties.

“You.” You gasped, bucking your hips one again. “I want you everywhere.” All that was on your mind was him touching you, you didn’t care if you seemed desperate, cause you were. You were desperate for this man in every way possible. “Please Mando.”

Mando groaned, the sweets words you spoke made him want to bend you over and take you right there, give you what you wanted. The way you whimpered his name made rut against you, his cock twitching in his pants. He had to have you, feel you, taste you. “Close your eyes.” He whispered, his hand leaving your panties. You whimpered softly, shutting your eyes without a question, feeling Mando raise his head from your shoulder. There was subtle movement behind you before a loud thud that made you jump. “Keep them shut.” Your thighs clenched together, hearing his voice, his actual voice, against your ear. You were sure you were going to die when you felt his lips brush against your right shoulder, facial hair poking the skin as he peppered soft kisses. 

“Mando, you didn’t-”

“I wanted to.” He whispered against your shoulder, making his way towards your neck. You tried to suppress the giggle, the coarse facial hair tickling the sensitive skin, feeling his lips turn up in a smile. Of course you’ve imagined what he looked like. Imagining what facial expressions he made, the way he looked when he smiled, honestly anything. And to feel his lips on your shoulder at this very moment, was enough to make your knees weak. “I wanted to taste you.” He mumbled against your skin, chills running down your back. “Just don’t open your eyes.”

You reached behind you, your hand weaving into his thick hair, short nails digging into his scalp as you grabbed the short strands. The moan that left his lips was sinful, his teeth biting down on your neck. It was like a switch was flipped as he frantically grabbed you, keeping you close to him almost like he was hoping you’d just morph into him. He hooked a finger into your panties, pushing them down your hips, the fabric brushing your thighs as it fell around your ankles. You were quick to step out of them, kicking them to the side, knowing you were going to be looking for them later. 

Mando hummed against your shoulder, his hand reaching down and cupping your sex, one of his fingers dragging slowly between your folds. You gasped at the sensation, keeping your eyes shut as he continued to touch you, gathering the juices that leaked from you on his fingers. “You’re so wet.” Mando whispered against your ear, hearing your breath hitched at his words. “Barely even touched you.” It was almost like he was talking to himself, but you could hear the amusement in his voice, the way he was fascinated with the way your body was reacting to him. Of course he’s been with previous lovers, but the way you were reacting, letting him do what he wanted, it was something intoxicating and he wanted more. 

“Please, Mando.” you trembled, tilting your head to the side, your lips resting against his cheek. You hummed softly, feeling the hair prickel against your lips, his thick hair brushing against your forehead. “I need you.” With those simple words, he realized that he would do anything in the galaxy to hear you beg for him. 

You reached down, a small hand wrapping around his wrist, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick circles around the bundle of nerves. “Stars.” You groaned against his cheek. You reached your other hand behind you, grabbing his thick thigh, trailing up to feel the tent in his pants. A gasp left fell from your lips, feeling his thick bulge, his cock twitching as you rubbed the palm of your hand over it. Mando moaned against your neck, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand as you continued to rub against him, both of you moaning, needy messes as you pleasure each other. “Fuck.” Mando grunted, his other hand reaching around you grabbing one of your breasts, pinching and twisting at one of the hardened nipple. 

“I need you. Please Mando.” You begged into his cheek, whimpering as he pulled away from you. Your chest rose and fell, your mind trying to gather and process everything that was going on from the way his hands felt, to the way he kissed up your shoulder. You wanted to live in this moment for the rest of your life. Mando quickly worked at his pants, looking over your heaving form, the way your skin was flushed, thighs clenched together as you heard him work at his pants. He shoved them quickly, kicking them and stepping back to you, pulling you hard against him, the air ripped from your lungs as you felt his cock rub against the small of your back, trapped between your bodies. You’d give anything to find out what he tasted like. “Let me taste you.” You gasped, feeling him rut against you at the request.

Mando was sure he was going to bust from what you said, the image of looking down and seeing your plump lips wrapped around his cock, taking all of him in your mouth only made his cock twitch at what could be, and you noticed, your mouth watering. But he knew that’s not where he was going to finish tonight. “Another time, sweet girl.” He rasped, another pet name making you shudder. Another time. This wasn’t a one time thing for either of you. Mando leaned back, staring down at your exposed back, running his hands over the smooth skin, hearing the small whimpers and gasps you gave him, egging him on to keep touching you. He wrapped a large hand around your shoulder, pushing softly as you bent at the waist, hands coming up and steadying yourself on the walls of the ship. A chill of excitement ran through your body, a smile creeping on your face as he pawed at the curve of your ass, grabbing at the flesh. 

You arched your back, standing on your toes, giving Mando a better view. He groaned loudly, swallowing as you presented yourself to him. “Are you sure?” He whispered softly, leaning down and pressing soft kisses in between your shoulder blades. You only giggled, eyes still shut and turning your head to him.

“I’m literally bent over for you.” You giggled again, hearing a soft chuckle leaving his lips. The sound was foreign, but something you could get used to. “I’m sure Mando.” You confirmed, wiggling your ass against the curve of his cock. “I only want you.” He nipped at your skin playfully, reaching in between your bodies and grabbing a hold of his pulsing cock. He stroked himself a few times, staring down at the position he has you in, gathering the precum that leaked from the tip, using it as lubricant. You reached back, fingers wrapping around his length, your breath hitching. You knew he was huge, but this… this was something else. “You’re huge.” You mumbled, stroking his cock, feeling the way it twitched when your thumb brushed the tip. He was thick and long. Could he even fit? He bent at the knees, letting you guide him to your pussy, the head of his cock pushing past your soaked folds, teasing the entrance. Mando grabbed at your hips, watching as he pushed into you, his cock sinking in slowly, no resistance as he stretched you open. He felt you pull away, his hands tightening on your hips, keeping you against him. 

“Stars.” You gasped, his cock stretching you open like never before, the slight burn being cancelled out by the pure pleasure from him making you take him. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, watching the way your breathing picked up, your head falling forward back still arched for him. 

“You’re taking me so well.” He grunted, grabbing your hips and bringing you back to him. Low groans echoed through the ship as the back of your thighs met his, his cock filling you to the brim. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt, eyes rolling back in your head as he waited, giving you a moment. “So tight.” He growled, his hips bucking, grinding into your ass, his cock pushing into you deeper. You gasped at the thrust, your mind telling you he was going to destroy you, but your pussy was loving each second of it. You clenched around him, gasping again as he grind against your ass. “Shit.” he greeted through his teeth.

“Move. Please.” You begged, wiggling your ass against him.

It was a storm of moving bodies, Mando grabbing at your waist, thrusting into you in a slow rhythm, watching his cock disappear and then glisten with your juices as he pulled out. He was speechless as your walls gripped him, squeezing around his cock tightly as he moved within you. 

You were a blubbering mess, moans and whimpers bouncing off the walls as he fucked you into oblivion, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock filled you like never before. The tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot, your legs shaky as they tried to keep you up. You were sure that if he didn’t have his hands on your waist you would’ve been on the floor in a matter of seconds. “Maker, you're huge.” You whined, feeling him pick up his pace, his thighs slapping onto yours loudly.  You felt as if he was splitting you in two, a bruising grip on your waist making sure you weren’t going anywhere. 

Mando growled as you clenched around him, your juices covering your inner thighs and his pelvis. The sight alone made him something snap in him. He reached up for your shoulder, pulling you upright, your back against his chest, his hand trailing to your neck. “Tell me to stop.” He grunted in your ear, not faltering his thrusts as you gasped against him, the hand around your neck only wrapped around, but the thought of his squeezing your throat made you whimper, your pussy fluttering around his cock. “Tell me to stop, and I won’t ruin you.” His voice, the way he smelt like sweat and sex made you dizzy. Everything about him and the position he had you in made you dizzy. He slowed his hips, painfully pulling out until the tip was all that was left, waiting on your response. “Tell me Y/N.” He growled into your ear, his other arm coming around and wrapping around your stomach, keeping you tight to him. 

“Ruin me.” You whined, reaching up and grabbing his wrist, “Don’t stop, please Mando.” He slammed back in, forcing a small yell from your lips as he fucked you with a brutal pace, his hand squeezing lightly around your neck, the leather cord against his palm, the crystal bouncing against your chest. “I trust you.” You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Maker,” He marveled, seeing the way you gave yourself up to him, “How are you even real?” He remarked, squeezing his hand around your throat. “How are you so fucking perfect, sweet thing?” You noticed he talked more as he was balls deep in you, something that made you smile, before whining as he walked you forward, pushing you against the wall. Your breasts squished against the cold metal, hands planted on the wall as Mando kept his hand around your neck, the other gripping your hip. “You’re taking me so fucking well.” He panted, resting his head on your shoulder, staring down as he fucked into you. The coil that was building in your lower stomach was threatening to snap, threatening to push you over as he continued to fuck you, and Mando felt it. The way you tightened around him, your breathless whimpers fucking you harder. “Cum all over me.” He whispered in your ear, pinning you against him and the wall, his words tightening the coil in you, ready to snap. 

“Mando, I can’t-” You stopped, your thighs shaking as he drilled into you. You never felt more weightless than you did in this moment, feeling almost as if you died and went to heaven. It was all so much, his cock, his words, his hands over you. The coil was tightening and tightening until it finally… snapped. You twisted your head around, catching Mando’s lips with yours, moaning like a whore as you clamped around his cock, squeezing him as you came all over him, thighs basically becoming like liquid as the waves of pleasure washed over your body. 

You grind against him, the kiss was all teeth and tongue as you came around him, his hand tightening on your throat. “Fuck.” Mando growled, panting against your lips, feeling your cum drip over him. You were basically boneless against him, using his body to keep yourself up. 

“I want you to cum in me.” You whined, feeling his fingers dig into your hip. “I want it, give it to me.” He held you to him, his hips snapping against your ass as they began faltering. 

“Sweet thing.” He muttered into your ear, his breath picking up before he stilled against you, giving you harder slowed thrusts. Your body was basically made of chills as he growled in your ear, his cock twitching in you, filling your pussy up to the brim in his seed. Painting your walls white. 

Mando pulled away from your lips, his breath fanning against your lips as the two of you caught your breaths. The smell of sex filled the air, his chest tight against your back, slick with sweat as your bodies calmed down. Neither of you wanted to move from one another, but as his cock softened it was hard to stay still and not make a mess. 

“Are you okay?” Mando mumbled, loosening his hold on your neck. You hummed, giving him a small nod, resting your forehead against his. 

You weren’t sure what was going to happen after this, you weren’t sure if what he said before about this happening was true. But at this moment, you felt like the only two people in the world. You reached up, planting a soft kiss against his lips.

What now?

-----

There’s no tag list for these stories, but let me know if you want there to be one!!

[ha-hatdog]

little one / daisuke kambe

i definitely did not swoon while writing this. again, i did not know if you wanted hcs or one shot but i'll go with one shot. this is a good time to post this since the latest episode showed pics of smol daisuke omg. also, the name of your son is kakeru - yes, as in kakeru from run with the wind lmao

and to those who are saying i should add read more to my long fics, i really want to but i don't have a laptop or computer. i write everything on my phone, on the tumblr app. so if you know how to add read more in posts using the app, then please do dm me. thank chu💛

requested by anon: one where daisuke and reader have a two year old son together? lots of fluff

UNEDITED

__

Your palm concealed your amused lips, a snort emanating from your wrinkled nose as you took in the sight before you.

Kambe Daisuke was a man of little words and little expressions, and even now, after being married to you for four years and having a son who was now at the age of two, that has not changed. He was still the stoic and cool detective millionaire you have met many years ago - which is exactly what makes the unfolding scene before you much more hilarious.

Monotonous Daisuke, the same man you had seen take down criminals twice his size, was haphazardly sprawled on your carpeted ground, arms and legs outstretched, cheek pressed flat against the material of the carpet as a smaller and cuter carbon copy of him perched comfortably on his back, oblivious to the position he had set his father on, doing nothing but lie down on his father's back and sleep soundly, eyes closed, snoring and wearing such an adorable sleeping face that it was difficult not to coo.

The sight alone was already adorably hilarious, but seeing the genuine distress on Daisuke's face had you doubling over, your palm muffling your laughter.

"Look at you," You whispered at him by the doorframe, your knees bent and your other hand sliding along the frame of the door. "You look so dumb, Daisuke."

"I'm happy at least you find this amusing, but I do not." Your husband responded back in an ired puff, azure eyes glaring at you from the floor. It took all of you not to swoon.

"Don't look at me like that, my love. I can't take you seriously when our son is using you as a mattress." Daisuke's glare intensified, but as your previous statement suggested, all purpose of threat was dulled by the position he was in. "How did you even get yourself in this situation?"

"I find it unnecessary to tell you." Answered Daisuke, and from how his cheeks tinged red, you could only assume it was something embarassing. "Will you help me, love? Take Kakeru off of my back."

You shifted your gaze back to your slumbering son, and a fond smile sprouted on your brims.

Sometimes you wonder how you were even able to make this precious, big eyed, nuzzling baby. He was an exact copy of Daisuke, not a single hint of your genes. Blank face, quiet, raven hair, blue eyes, the little shine in his eyes whenever he saw you - it was like seeing Daisuke when he was a child, and it was because of this fact that you were at least feeling a little bit alright with your son having no semblance with you.

"Kakeru," You whispered to your son as you stepped closer to your best boys with quiet footfalls, and he scrunched his face ay the brief interruption of your cooing voice. You stopped yourself from squishing his cute little face, and knelt down beside them. "Kake -"

Your sentence was cut off when you felt a hand under your knee. Immediately, Daisuke retracted his hand away, hurling your way a soft glare. "Watch where your knee is going."

You chuckled at his dilemma and reached down to stroke his head. "Mattresses don't talk, Daisuke."

"Normal people don't talk to mattresses." Countered Daisuke, huffing and averting his gaze away from you. You stifled your laughter as his pout grew more prominent. It might be very obvious already with how Daisuke has everything handed over to him with a single breath, but your husband absolutely hated losing in any forms ; even in your daily banter, he must always have the last word. People often mistakenly thought that you, being his darling wife that he had persistently courted for a whole year, would be exempted to this childish pettiness you consistently deny her allegations, firmly believing you were receiving the worse end of it. This man cannot forget the times you have successfully reigned victory over his own game, months or weeks, it never failed to be permanently ingrained in his mind ; and this resulted to puzzling moments which goes by a chronological sequence - a relatively normal day, an opportunity to divulge the opening you have unknowingly presented before his feet, and then comes his last word, to which he will remind you as your confused face stared back at him when his out of the blue statement has originally birthed from.

However, there was only one person who could defeat him at that, would never let him get the last word and that is your son Kakeru. As you stared at his sleeping face, you cannot help but smile as you reminiscent that particular day.

***

Haru Kato has been invited to your house to meet Kambe Kakeru. Daisuke has been mildly cross with Haru meeting his son because he was petty and said that Kakeru needed no other man than him but seeing that Daisuke has become good friends with Haru in the two years they were partners, you insisted that he meets him. It was already unfair that Haru had to wait until Kakeru was two to meet him, the first and last time he saw him being after you had given birth (Daisuke only let him have a glimpse then pushed him out of the hospital room because he doesn't want Kakeru thinking he was his father).

"Kakeru," You chided as you crouched beside your son who was hiding behind Daisuke's legs and peering at the gray haired male, eyes curious yet cautious. "Don't you want to meet Uncle Haru?"

Haru stepped closer to the three of you, bent down near Kakeru's height, and outstretched his hand for him to shake. "Hey there, Kakeru." Haru greeted with a smile.

Kakeru recoiled and hid himself further behind Daisuke, hands around his pants tightening. "Daddy," He whimpered. "Bad man."

Haru's face fell at the enunciation, and you covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. Daisuke stared blankly at Haru as his hand travelled behind his back to stroke Kakeru's head. "You heard my son. Get out of here, bad man." Daisuke uttered his command.

A tick mark appeared on Haru's forehead at Daisuke's vocalization and before things could escalate out of the power of your responsibility, you interjected, regaiming your proper posture and clasping your hands together. "Kakeru is just wary of Haru because this is the first time he's seeing him, no need to fight." You told them off.

"No, Haru is just naturally scary." Daisuke stated with bantering finality.

"This is coming from a man who barely smiles." Argued Haru, scowling.

"And this is coming from someone who seems to be making a living screaming at me." Countered Daisuke.

Kakeru's eyes widened at what his father had said and shot Haru a small glare, yet his stance never wavered from its hiding place. "He screams at daddy . . . " Murmured Kakeru in a thoughtful trance, and pointed at Haru, shocking all three of you. "D-Don't scream at daddy again!"

Alarm made its way to Haru's facr at the accusation. "No, I have not once yelled at your dad - "

Daisuke turned around and knelt in front of Kakeru. Daisuke stared into his son's eyes and Kakeru stared back. "Don't listen to him, Kakeru. You should never listen to him, never ever. He makes daddy get all angry when we're doing police missions together."

"O-Oi," Haru inserted, fuming. "You're the one who always makes me mad! Don't turn the child on me!"

But Kakeru was not listening to Haru, as his beloved father has told him. Kakeru nodded firmly, lips curling. "Yes, daddy." He vouched in determination.

"Daisuke, stop it." You chastised, sighing and turned to the other detective that was not using your son to his advantage. "Sorry about this, Haru. Kakeru really looks up to Daisuke so he does anything he tells him to."

Kakeru, all of a sudden, began trotting away from the three of you, leaving all of you confused. After a few minutes, Kakeru returned, a determined look on his face.

"Kakeru, sweetheart, where did you go?" You asked as you approached him. "It's rude to leave our guest hanging, you know."

"Fight bad man," You and Haru gasped in horror when your son suddenly brandished a gun to Haru, not just a toy, but a real one. His tiny hands trembled as he was not used to the weight of the metal weapon burdening his grasp, and he was still glaring at Haru. "I pew pew bad guy, mommy, like daddy do with bad guys!"

"Kakeru, where did you get that gun?" You questioned, alarmed and and genuinely frightened. You looked to your husband to assess his reaction, but much to your mortification, Daisuke looked calm as he always is, as if your son wasn't capable of hurting a person as of the moment. "Daisuke, what the hell?"

You let out a yelp when Kakeru turned to you, and in the process, turned the gun to you. "Bad word, Mommy." He scolded. "I don't like."

Daisuke drawled. "It's not a big deal."

Haru growled. "Your son has a weapon! How are you not freaking out?" He then turned to Kakeru and extended his hand. "Give me the gun, Kakeru. Give it."

But Kakeru shook his head defiantly. "No!"

Daisuke frowned at his wife and his partner. "Why are you making a big fuss about this?" He questioned. "It's unloaded and the safety is on."

At the mention of those, you and Haru felt a brief sense of relief until Haru spoke out, "Just because it's unloaded doesn't mean it's okay!"

"It's basically a toy." Retorted Daisuke.

You walked towards your husband and pulled at his ear. His face did not at all change, seemingly expecting this reaction from you. "Daisuke, where did he even get the gun? Has one of yours been just lying around his reach?" This concerned you. If your son was able to get a weapon easily, what more is your husband letting him get?

"I gave him one." Answered Daisuke.

"And why would you give our two year old a gun?" You snapped at him.

"Kakeru said he wanted to hold a gun. Just like you, I said no." Daisuke glanced over at Kakery who was watching the three of you curiously. "However - " He turned back to you, and looked away. " - he's too adorable, as you might say."

You and Haru, in unison, slapped your hands to your forehead, exasperated with Daisuke's response.

"Kakeru probably looked sad when Daisuke said no." Haru remarked. "I can't blame him to be honest."

"He's spoiling him in ways too many." You added, and removed your hand from your forehead. "Daisuke, I know you love our son and pampering him but he can't just have a gun."

"Why, mommy?" You all looked at Kakeru, and immediately understood why Daisuke was forced to give him an unloaded gun. "Not love me?"

"A-Ah," You shrieked, horrified. "The secret move!"

Haru gulps. "This boy knows a little too much about his abilities."

"Even if it doesn't have any bullets?" Daisuked asked you.

You hurtled him a glower. "Even if it doesn't have any bullets and yes, even if it has the safety lock on." You immediately added when you saw Daisuke open his mouth.

Said man huffed. "Fine. If I knew you were going to react like this, I wouldn't have done it."

You and Haru watched as Daisuke knelt down in front of your son. Kakeru stared at his father, eyes wide and admiring. Daisuke lets out a sigh and extended his palm, "Give."

Kakeru shook his head vigorously, and his face scrunched as if he was going to cry but was trying to suppress it. "Daddy no love me too?"

You waited for what Daisuke would do, but he did not move. More seconds has passed, and he was yet to move. You and Haru exchanged glances before you moved over to him, checking him out. "Daisuke, love, what - Daisuke?"

A torn man was what Daisuke coukd be called at that moment. His face was deadpanned, but being with him longer than anyone else, you were able to pick up the small difference his expression held right now.

"U-Uh, Daisuke, are you okay?" You questioned in a form of a titter, eyebrows connected. "Daisuke?"

Haru walked over to Daisuke and leaned to look at him. "A-Ah, he looks like he's suffering."

"No, no," Denied Daisuke, frown deepening as he tried not to fall for his son's adorable trap. "Daddy loves you. But mommy and I agreed that you can't have that kind of toy, Kakeru."

"But," You all drew in a breath Kakeru hugged the gun to his chest, tears prodding the corners of his eyes. "My favorite toy is this."

"But why that, baby?" You asked softly. "You have so many other toys. Why that one?" You recalled the heaping amount of toys Daisuke bought for Kakeru.

Kakeru pouted, cheeks puffing. You couldn't help but imagine little Daisuke like that. "Because Daddy gave me this." Said Kakeru. "I want to be police, like daddy."

Daisuke turned to you, the internal struggle in his eyes prominent but you shook your head at him. Your husband sighed and looked at Kakeru again. He put his hand on top his head and ruffled his hair. Kakeru closed his eyes at the affection, welcoming it and his rigid frame loosening. Kakeru opened his eyes and let out a small noise of surprise as Daisuke wiped a stray tear from his cheek.

From what you can deduce, you knew Daisuke was about to say something brilliant to your son, to teach him something valuable. But before Daisuke could even open his mouth, Haru cut him off -

"A gun doesn't make a cop, Kakeru. It's the sense of justice to do the right thing and keeping people safe does." Haru then proceeded to take out his badge and handing it to Kakeru with a large smile on his face. "You can borrow this for a while, while I'm still here. As much as I want to give it to you, I need it to do my job as a cop. But maybe in the future, you can get one of your own. You'll be just like your dad."

You were impressed by what Haru had said, but Kakeru - his eyes were wide and glittering with admiration as he stared at Haru, all fear of the bad man gone. You swear that there was light all around Haru if you're ever seeing through Kakeru's eyes. But one member of the group disliked this mild change, and it was your irritated and pouting husband.

You covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. Daisuke was obviously feeling jealous of Haru now that his son was ignoring him - the emotion only worsening when Kakeru took the badge from Haru and dropped the gun on the ground and stared at the shiny object, whispering, "Uwahh,"

A cloud of dread hung over Daisuke and you patted his back in comfort. "There, there, Daisuke, he's just making a friend."

"But why with Haru?" Grumbled Daisuke, sulking. "And why is he looking at him like that? I should be the only one he's looking at like that. You too, I guess."

You let out a sigh. "You're really jealous when it comes to me and Kakeru."

Haru looked proud of the achievement and improvement he had made with Kakeru, his hands over his hips. "Looks pretty cool, right?"

Kakeru nodded enthusiastically, examining the badge thoroughly. "Very cool." He murmured, and then stared at Haru intently, lips pursing. "I wanna be like Mister Haru when I grow up!"

That was the first time you have seen Daisuke speechless and the last time Haru had seen Kakeru for six months. You were certain Daisuke did not speak to Haru for about two weeks, only communicating through nods and grunts, and Haru did not know whether to feel relieved or irritated at that. Maybe a little bit of both.

But, that was the only time Daisuke did not have the last word.

Kakeru certainly has Daisuke around his little finger.

***

You reached forward and shook Kakeru awake softly. "Kakeru," You chimed, and he scrunched his face again, not wanting to be disturbed sleeping on Daisuke's back. "Wake up, baby,"

Kakeru let out a small groan, and slowly opened his eyes. A familiar pair of blue hues greeted you, the same eyes that you wake up to every morning. Kakeru let out a big yawn and rubbed his left eye with his hand, groaning out, "Mommy," He then looked down at Daisuke who was craning his head to watch his son. "And Daddy."

You smiled at him and opened your arms, hands making grabby movements towards your two year old. "Come here, baby," You cooed sweetly.

Kakeru perked up and a glimmer crossed his eyes, the same glimmer when Daisuke had seen you for the first time. You could never forget that time, and you can never find it more beautiful than seeing that in your son's eyes whenever you offer him affection. Immediately, the two year old scrambled out of Daisuke's back - Daisuke grunted as his little feet padded on his back a few times as he struggled to get to your lap and arms - and sunk in your embrace. Your eyes grew gentler as Kakeru snuggled closer to your chest, cheek rubbing on your clothing and his hands clinging to the fabric.

"Are you tired, baby?" You questioned as you stroked the back of his head, finger running over his hair.

Kakeru nodded tiredly. "Daddy played cops and robbers with me."

"Let me guess, you were the cop and he was the robber?" You commented.

"Yes, and I captured Daddy many, many times." Answered Kakeru, proud with himself.

"Oh, is that so? That's amazing, baby. You're going to be a great cop like Daddy." You then turned over to Daisuke who was now recovering from being used as a bed. He dusted himself as he sat properly on the ground in front of you. "Is that why you were under him? Because you were arrested?"

Daisuke looked away. "I think I need to teach him how to properly apprehend a criminal."

You giggled. "When he's older, Daisuke."

He faced you with a sharp twist of his face, expression determined. "He won't grow older."

You frowned. "What?"

You and Daisuke looked down to see Kakeru fighting the need to sleep, his eyes opening and closing.

"I don't . . . " Daisuke trailed off, and a trace of embarassment scrawled on his face. You rarely see your husband embarassed and so you waited for him to continue. " . . . I don't want Kakeru to grow up."

You shook your head lightly, smile broadening. "Daisuke," You whispered, and when he did not look at you, you called him again. "Love, look at me."

He did so, and with one hand, you cradled his face. "I know how you feel. I understand where you're coming from. But - " You mused. " - don't you want to see our son grow up to be a fine man? To be the person he aspires to be? To be like you?"

Daisuke stares back at you, and took a gander at Kakeru who was beginning to fall asleep. He lets out a sigh and nodded in agreement, "I guess that would be pleasant to see."

"And he'll marry a great girl." You added.

"Marry mommy," Kakeru drawled. He was forcing himself to stay awake but his eyes was not cooperating with his spirits.

Daisuke scooted closer to both of you and brushed his knuckles on Kakeru's forehead. "Marry mommy? You're going to take mommy away from me?"

Kakeru shook his head. "Marry someone like mommy," One of his hand extended and took hold of Daisuke's shirt, the other still clinging to you. Kakeru looked up at both of you, still comfortable in your lap and chest. His eyes, again, were bright. "I want family like me, and mommy, and daddy."

Warmth swathed your chest, your heart melting. You took a gander to Daisuke and saw that the expression he wore - love, care, and the promise of sacrifice when it comes to it and when he looked at you, the emotions never faltered, and they only grew stronger. Sometimes you wonder just how much Daisuke loved you and Kakeru.

"A family like the three of us." Kakeru let go of your clothing and showed three fingers of his and quickly pressed the three digits together. "A happy family."

Kakeru fell asleep after his statement. His arm dropped and his head moved to one side, his eyes closed and lips parted.

"We should tuck him in." Daisuke declared.

"Yeah," You agreed and Daisuke helped you stand up, making sure you two aren't waking your sleeping son. You moved him to his bed, setting him down the mattress gently. Daisuke took the liberty of putting the blanket over Kakeru. Your child shifted in his spot, and cuddled to his pillow.

You sat on the bed beside Kakeru, observing your son. "Already tired when the morning has just barely started." You chuckled.

"He said he needed practice to be a cop, and I couldn't say no." Daisuke inserted.

"You can never say no to Kakeru anyways." You jested.

"Same with you." Daisuke knelt down beside the bed, arms resting on the mattress and his head level with his son's. He admired Kakeru, his deadpan expression gone and a small smile on his face. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Kakeru's cheek, lingering for a while before pulling away.

Daisuke faced you and you raised an eyebrow as he took your hand.

"You have given me a beautiful son. Thank you so much, my love."

[ggukkiedae]

Hi, I’m Hannah...

notes: a very very very late nct 127 anniversary post where we dive into the members’ first impressions on hannah... i’ll have some stuff up soon for hot sauce and hello future hannah as well as 2018 hannah!

also she never actually says “hi, i’m hannah”

reminders: italic conversations are spoken in english

Suh Johnny

Something felt different that day. Johnny was peacefully walking around the company towards the cafeteria when he remembered why. There was allegedly a new foreign kid joining the company, around twelve to fourteen years old, he wasn’t too sure. He shook his head. Another young one trying to work for their dream in a foreign country.

That’s when he saw her. An unfamiliar face, confusedly checking each and every door she passed by. She was caught up in her thoughts of how to catch up with everyone else when she bumped into him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking,” were the first words that came out of her until she seemingly remembered where she was. She bowed hastily. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” Johnny answered her, making her freeze.

The girl bowed a little deeper before straightening out, suddenly more aware of her posture. Johnny looked at her curiously, trying to see things from her perspective. She was met with a very tall man looking down at her, making her eyes avoid his as she bowed again.

The elder chuckled and bent down so he was closer to her height. “Hey, no need to bow. Are you new here? I’m Johnny.”

Needless to say, her slightly relieved sigh in response to his English was a good sign. “I’m so sorry, again. Do you perhaps know where the conference room is?”

The accent he heard baffled him just a little. It was strong and took a little longer than it should for him to comprehend it.

“I do,” he confirmed while tilting his head in the direction it was in, “I’ll show you the way.”

Her hesitance didn’t go unnoticed, and neither did her slight flinch when he straightened out. This made him make sure to stand at a distance as he began walking.

To ease whatever nerves it looked like she was feeling, Johnny animatedly spoke about the different areas they passed by as well as some of the other girl trainees who he was sure she’d meet in training. Before long, they made it to the conference room.

“Well, here you are,” he smiled while patting the wall next to the door, “the conference room. Not a lot of trainees here speak English, so you can come to me if you need anything, okay? Hopefully I’ll see you around...”

The clenching of her fists caught his attention as she took a breath and nodded. “Hannah. My name’s Hannah Lee. Thank you, Mister Johnny.”

Nothing else was said between them as the girl quickly bowed and rushed into the room. Johnny chuckled. Looks like he found someone he wanted to look after. Besides, she’d probably need an English buddy while starting out.

(others under the cut)

Lee Mark

Mark was just the slightest bit irritated.

Johnny had promised him he’d be at the practice room by 3, but it was already 3:45 and he still wasn’t there. But, Mark being Mark, he just decided to work on his rap while waiting for the elder. They had the room scheduled to them until 5 anyway.

Just as he was about to leave and find his rap teacher for help on a certain flow, he heard the doors open.

“Dude, finally! You’re literally almost an hour late, what happe— oh, hi.” The Canadian boy stopped in his mini accusation when he saw a girl with his older friend.

“Sorry, Mark,” Johnny chuckled as he gestured to the girl slightly behind him, “I looked for Hannah. I thought she’d like to make more friends. Turns out she’s pretty good at hiding from everyone.”

Mark observed the girl in front of her. She stood behind Johnny almost like she was using him as a border, but she wasn’t so close to him that she was completely comfortable. Her stance felt defensive, yet her face was settled in a way where, if Mark saw her on the streets, he wouldn’t try to strike up a conversation. But Johnny looked like he was cool with her, so he reached out his hand.

“Hey, I’m Mark. Hannah, is it?” There was a slight pause as she cautiously looked at his hand. Thinking she was slightly uncomfortable, he smiled and tucked his hand away. “It’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“Depends,” she shrugged. “Recently? San Francisco. Grew up in Newcastle though.”

Mark was visibly taken back by her accent. It was strong enough that he could get confused with what she said if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, is that from Europe or something?”

“England, yeah.” He almost missed the way her hands were curling in on themselves. “You from America or something?”

“Vancouver, Canada. So what’s your specialty then?”

There was a slight hesitation in her while Johnny looked down and nodded at her encouragingly. “Tell him what you told me.”

She looked at the Chicago boy them back at Mark. “I dance. I mostly did cheerleading and gymnastics, but I’ve been going to a dance studio for hiphop since I moved to Cali.”

“Well, miss Hannah,” Mark smiled and walked off to the side where computer connected to the speakers sat, “if it’s alright with you, how about you show us what you’ve got?”

At first, her steps forward were hesitant. If Mark had to guess, she just wasn’t used to dancing in front of new people. He settled by the mirror with a smile and brought Johnny down to sit with him.

“Come on,” he encouraged, “let’s all do a short freestyle just for fun.”

The tall boy next to him groaned, “I can’t freestyle for shit.”

Mark glanced back at her and grinned when he noticed a small smile make its way onto her face. The first he’d seen so far. Her body had loosened up and her smile became more comfortable as she started grooving to the music before fully freestyling. He took note to introduce her to the other younger girls, and maybe she’d smile a little more.

Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

“Ah, hyung!”

“Donghyuck, I told you. She’s not so comfortable with new people.”

Donghyuck huffed in frustration. For the past week, he had been hearing about the new trainee who apparently had a dance style that was loved by Lee Sooman as much as the SM founder loved his singing style. Not only that, but he heard she was a shawol as well! Good taste and talent meant Donghyuck got curious.

From what he knew, she barely spoke to anyone aside from Johnny, Mark, and Goeun. Apparently she was also quite elusive to the girls as much as she was to the guys. That made him even more curious, and slightly competitive. He wanted to befriend her before anyone else.

“Donghyuck, listen to me,” Mark turned to the younger boy, “even with us, she’s still pretty closed off. Besides, she’s still trying to get used to Korean. I don’t want her to get overwhelmed.”

“Well, you can’t stop me.” The 00 liner stuck his tongue out at his friend and left the room, the frustrated mumbles just barely audible to him as he walked out the door.

The cafeteria was the first option. According to the girls, they were on their lunch break, so he decided to start his search there. True enough, he saw the foreign girl settling into a corner table on her own. Needless to say, he rushed to grab a soda and a plate of pasta and a small side dish of salad before approaching her table.

“Hannah, hi!” Her surprised to confused expression made him laugh while he settled in front of her. “My name is Donghyuck.”

“Hi,” she slightly bowed her head at him before proceeding to pick at her salad.

Donghyuck frowned. He forgot that the girls were usually only given salads for lunch a few days a week. Today was one of those days.

The way she moved the vegetables and bland chicken around made him feel upset. It looked like she wanted to eat a lot more. As a trainee specializing in dance, she probably would need more as well.

“Oh, the chicken breast looks good,” Donghyuck leaned over a little exaggeratedly as he pretended to take a whiff of Hannah’s food. “I kinda want to eat that. Could we switch? Can we change food?”

Of course, he left her no room to answer and just switched their trays around. He gave her a cheeky smile before looking down at the salad. Something was different. She had very clearly separated the carrots from the rest of the dish. Looking at the salad that was his side dish, Donghyuck quickly reached his fork over and picked out the carrots.

“You don’t mind if I get the carrots, do you? I like carrots.”

“Thank you.” The small smile on her face as she bowed her head towards him made Donghyuck grin even wider.

“No problem, Hannah.” A thought crossed his mind. “Hey, do others know you don’t like carrot?”

She shook her head.

Donghyuck cheered once he found out he was the only one who knew that fact about her. “Nice. Starting from now, let’s be close, okay? You and me, friends, okay?”

The smallest of chuckles escaped her lips as she nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, Donghyuck began to chatter her off about how trainee life had been for him so far. A new friend had been made, and he was satisfied.

Lee Taeyong

To say Taeyong was confused was an understatement.

Johnny had been spending considerably less time with the rest of the guy trainees recently, and it was all because of a new recruit. Never once did he see Johnny like that, not even when Mark first arrived. This made Taeyong curious. Who was this new trainee who had caught Johnny’s eye for the first time?

It’s not like the 95 liner disliked his friend’s new kid, it’s just that he’s never actually seen the trainee, much less interacted with her. Lee Hannah, he recalled the name. Elusive. Practically aces dance classes and is rapidly improving in vocals as he heard the rumors, yet still stays within the same circle of five people. What was with her? Was she so shy to the point where she couldn’t make friends, or was she cocky enough to see them beneath her?

Taeyong shook his head at that last thought. No way would Johnny hang out with someone like that. No way would Mark hang out with someone like that.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard music playing from one of the vocal practice rooms. Those rooms were normally pretty soundproof, so the noise confused him. Upon closer inspection, one door was slightly ajar, allowing the music to flow out of it, together with vocals he hasn’t heard before.

Curious, Taeyong approached the room an peaked through the little glass window of the door. Inside was a girl with a slight upturn to the corner of her lips as she switched to humming along to the melody of the song. Her eyes were closed, and her fingers were lightly tapping on the wall next to her almost as if she was trying to keep the rhythm. He had never seen her before, so he came up with the conclusion that this was Lee Hannah.

Upon the end of the song, he knocked on the door, shocking her into jolting her eyes open. He tilted his head in confusion when, the moment their eyes met, she scrambled up and hastily bowed towards him.

“Hi, I’m sorry for taking up the room for longer than expected.”

“No problem,” he tried to keep his voice reassuring, “the rooms are free to use, and there are a lot of them. You’re pretty good, by the way.”

She was picking at her nails as the 95 liner spoke to her. “I don’t know. I’ve only been practicing my singing for a few weeks, so it’s still really unstable.”

“Relax,” chuckles escaped from him, “you are good. Don’t worry, though. I was a lot worse than you are when I first entered SM.”

“Thank you.”

A small silence passed over them before Taeyong realized she probably wanted to practice on her own. With that, he nodded at her in the slightest and smiled. “I’ll leave you be now. Hey, if you want more company that isn’t Johnny, you can come look for me, alright? Any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

He didn’t wait for a response anymore as he left. So it seemed like she was shy. Not for long, though. She was, after all, friends with Johnny and Donghyuck.

Jung Jaehyun

Jaehyun was in a rush. He had ended up staying late in school because he was the one assigned to clean up that week. Of course, he had completely forgotten about that, so he had told the SM staff that he’d be in time. Of course, not wanting to admit he forgot, he still rushed to training rather than correcting. It was good conditioning anyway.

But Jaehyun forgot the different factors that could go wrong. He could trip, drop something, get too tired, or run into someone. Which he did.

“I am so sorry!”

The dimpled boy immediately knelt down and offered his hand to the young girl he had accidentally knocked over in the halls of SM. He had hit her hard enough that she hit the ground with a loud thud, the contents of her bag slightly scattering around them.

“No, it’s fine,” she had told him. “I’m sorry, too.”

“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going...” Jaehyun trailed off when he saw a small meal scattered on the ground. He cursed to himself. Her food was all inedible now because he had knocked it all over. Looks like it was a good idea to bring a handkerchief that day.

“I’ll do it, it’s okay!”

The girl went to pick up her stuff, waving her hands at him, but Jaehyun shook his head. He bent down to help her clean up.

“No, I’ll help,” he told her. “I’ll buy you new food, too.”

“I’m really okay!”

The way she was avoiding his eyes made him think that perhaps she was angry with him. Then that’s when he fully processed who she was. It was Lee Hannah, who he had often seen with Johnny during breaks! Remembering she was still new to being immersed into Korean, he decided to switch to English.

“Hannah, right?” Jaehyun smiled at her as she looked at him in surprise. “I’m Jaehyun. I’m a friend of Johnny’s too. Sorry for literally running into you. I’ll get you more food.”

Her eyes widened, “It’s fine! You don’t have to, I can just go and get more.”

“I insist.” He helped her up as soon as she was able to collect all her things into her bag. “It was my fault, anyway. I really shouldn’t have been running, especially not in here while the younger kids are still out and about on their break.”

She had closed her hands around her bag strap while thinking. Jaehyun tilted his head in curiosity. His initial thoughts of her being mad all faded away when he realized she was just being, well, shy. That was interesting considering she spends most of her time with Johnny, Mark, and Donghyuck. Then again, those three could be friends with literally anyone. Maybe she needed to befriend someone of a little less energy than the three.

“Hey,” Jaehyun began, “really, I’ll get it. It was my fault you dropped everything. Besides, think of this as a peace offering.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re friends with my friends, so why not we be friends as well?”

A grin grew on her face when she nodded, although a bit shyly. With that, he led her out to the small hidden restaurant he just found a few weeks prior. Training be damned, it’s not like he was never late before.

Kim Dongyoung (Doyoung)

Doyoung was just adopting trainees all around.

Not literally, of course. It just so happens that he likes taking the younger boys out a lot and bringing his foreign friends home for the holidays. This time around, he was bringing home Mark. Just Mark. If he was right, Yuta and Johnny would be hanging out in Taeyong’s place.

Usually, Mark went with the flow and did as he was told without asking for anything. That’s why he was a little surprised when Mark brought up a favor.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want, hyung,” Mark fumbled with his words. “I have a friend, and it’s either this friend goes with me or with Hyuck for the holiday. You know how overwhelming Hyuck and his siblings could be, so could you maybe ask your mom?”

“I guess that’s another one for the table,” Doyoung smiled. Who was he to deny Mark’s wholesome request especially since it was probably his first time asking the elder for a favor? “Let’s just surprise mom. You know she likes having guests over.”

“Nice!” Mark cheered. The younger boy then looked past Doyoung and grinned. “Hannah! Get over here!”

Doyoung jumped slightly at the name. Familiar, yet not at the same time. He put on a gentle smile as a younger girl made her way to them. It was the first time he had seen her, which was surprising since Doyoung did spend a lot of time with younger trainees.

“Hannah, this is Doyoung hyung,” Mark began, “and he’s taking us in for the holiday. Hyung, this is Hannah, the friend I was talking about.”

“Oh, um, thank you for letting me come over.” The way Hannah fumbled with her fingers lightly tugged at his heart. She looked so nervous, almost as if she felt like he would take back his offer any second. Doyoung couldn’t do that. Not when his fondness that he felt upon meeting her was starting to mirror the fondness he felt when he first met Jeno.

“No problem,” he reassured her. “It’ll be fun, okay? I promise.”

Her flinch didn’t go unnoticed, but Doyoung decided not to pry. He had just met her, anyway, so questioning her was out of the question.

“We’ll have a lot of good food there,” he began as Mark nodded along. “We’ll watch movies, too. Or we can go hangout at the playground.”

He watched as Mark lightly nudged the quiet girl with his shoulder, an excited look on his face. A brief whispered exchange went between them, one he couldn’t understand with both the volume and the language used.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she bowed her head to him, the smallest of smiles on her face.

Doyoung let out a small laugh and patted her head. Looks like he might just adopt this kid as well.

Dong Sicheng (Winwin)

Staying later than everyone else became normal for Winwin.

He was still getting used to it. The different dance style, that is. The things he was learning and practicing in SM, they were non-existent to him in Chinese traditional dance. He wasn’t used to it, which is why he tried to stay behind often just to get himself a little more used to the different grooves and steps.

This night in particular, though, he was struggling with the way he had to move his legs in order to swing his whole self. It was in a different manner than what he was used to, so he did tend to do it the way he knows. This frustrated him to no end.

With one more mistake, he let out a groan and just dropped to the floor. Through the mirror, a flash of movement caught his eye. There had been someone standing by the door, but whoever it was left as soon as he had fixated on the mirror.

“What?”

It wasn’t a ghost. Winwin had his fair share of horror stories in the company, but this felt different. There were no sudden chills or ominous feelings, so who was that? And why were they still here?

He went over to the training room’s door and opened it, looking outside. His eyes widened in the slightest as they met another pair. It was one of the younger trainees, he knew that.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “I thought all the younger trainees have to go home by 10? It’s midnight now.”

The girl’s face shifted to one of guilt. “Sorry. I wanted to practice a little more. I didn’t mean to watch you!“

Winwin just nodded. That was basically the same reason he was still there, anyway. He opened the door a little wider and tilted his head towards the inside.

“Come in. This is the only room they leave unlocked. Everything else is used by the sunbaes. You can connect to the speakers, I was just about to clean up anyway.”

He went in without waiting for her. Her footsteps quickly followed his, the sound of the door shutting slightly echoing through the room.

A simple beat filled the room as he organized his things. Eventually, his eyes were drawn to the way she was warming up. It was familiar. She was stretching areas of her body that the other trainees didn’t really do much, but he did.

He looked at her curiously. “Did you do some type of ballet or modern dance before?”

A smile cracked onto his face when she jumped in surprise.

“Gymnastics and cheerleading,” she explained. “What makes you say?”

“Your stretching.” Winwin mirrored her straddle and began demonstrating. “I did traditional dance back in China, so I could see the differences. The others tend to do it like this, but you do it differently. You extend past your toes and fingers, and you’re graceful, um...”

“Hannah.”

“Hannah. I’m Sicheng, but everyone here calls me Winwin.”

“Oh, you’re Chinese, then? I’m half-Chinese.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Do you speak, though?”

“No,” she bit her lip, “but I’m planning to learn.”

He nodded at her. “Alright then. If you need to practice with anyone, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Okay. If it’s not a bother, could I see what type of traditional dance you did?”

Winwin glanced at his bag. He was ready to leave, but maybe he shouldn’t. Besides, even he knew that letting her walk alone at ungodly hours would be a mean move. He could stay until she had to go.

“Sure.”

Nakamoto Yuta

Yuta wasn’t oblivious.

He had noticed Hannah hanging out with some of his friends, so of course he knew her. He just never actually met her. Well, not before the last monthly evaluation of the year.

The young girl sitting a few seats from him was quite obviously struggling with her phone and the portable battery she had with her. This grabbed Yuta’s attention. For the first time in the months she had been in the company, she looked nervous. Curious, he silently made his way closer to her.

“Are you okay?” His voice must have startled her since she jumped in her seat when he spoke. A spark of fondness lit in him when he saw her expression. She looked like a fox caught stealing food.

“Oh, I’m okay,” she nodded, “I just can’t get my phone to work.”

One look at the gadgets in her hand and Yuta could tell they were both drained. Damn, he was supposed to bring his own portable battery, but he decided against it since his phone was fully charged anyway.

“I don’t think you’re going to get any power from that.” He watched amused as she followed his finger when it tapped her gadgets then unlocked his phone. “What song are you doing? Maybe I have it here.”

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Her voice was the slightest but hesitant.

Yuta pressed his lips into a line with a small smile. “Yeah. There’s quite a while between out turns anyway. So? What is it?”

“Everybody by SHINee sunbaenim.”

He let out a hum as he searched his music library. “Instrumental or the song itself?”

“Just the song,” she confirmed. “I’m still focusing on dance first.”

This was interesting. From what Yuta heard from Johnny, Hannah had a good set of vocals on her. Donghyuck said so as well, and god knows how picky Donghyuck could be with vocals.

“Is that so? Ah!” The Japanese boy tilted his phone to show her he had it secured. “I’ve got it right here. Anyway, I’ve heard you’re quite a good singer.”

“Not so,” she shrugged. “I’m still learning, and I know I’ve got a long way to go. I think I’ll just show what I’m good at for evaluation.”

The older shook his head. “I’ve been here for almost a year, and I think I can say that they want to see your progress. Next month, why not try something else, hm?”

A thoughtful look crossed her face, making him chuckle. He quickly removed his passcode from his phone and placed it in her hands. This made her look at him in confusion.

“It’s almost your turn,” he nodded towards the center of the room, “so hold onto that. You can give it to me when you finish. I’ll be right over there. Good luck, Hannah.”

“Thank you,” she bowed to him as well as she could in her seat. “Good luck to you, too.”

With that, Yuta went back to his original seat next to Taeyong. His dragon-eyed friend lightly tapped his leg.

“Hey,” Taeyong nodded in Hannah’s direction, “you went to talk to Hannah? She didn’t back away from you or anything?”

Back away? Why would she back away from him? Was he intimidating? Maybe she was shy?

“No, I think she was too nervous about her phone dying to worry about being shy.”

The confused look on Taeyong’s face made Yuta laugh. It looks like Yuta was able to become friendly with someone faster than Taeyong. That’s something he had to tell Johnny.

Moon Taeil

Many things had been lost within the company and found by someone who isn’t the owner. Phones, water bottles, clothes, even notebooks. This is why Taeil was surprised with what he found inside the vocal practice booth.

A binder.

It was filled with sheets of popular song lyrics, both western and Korean. There were also multiple scribbles on every single page, annotating the intonations, emphasis, and whatnot of the lyrics. It was something he did himself, but not really to this extent. It seamed every other syllable had some type of note written for it. Whoever owned this must have been working quite hard to sound the way they want to exactly.

Taeil closed the binder and looked at the cover. Who owned this? Sure he’d normally leave a lost thing behind, but the amount of effort placed in this binder made him want to look for who owned it and give it back. He flipped the binder and scanned the back.

Lee Hannah.

The English letters written in silver market stood out to him. Ah, one of the younger trainees. If Taeil remembered correctly, then she was probably in one of the dance practice rooms just wrapping up a dance class with the rest of the girls.

That’s how he found himself on the fourth floor and looking for the girls’ practice room. Of course, he got a little lost and ended up face to face with some of the younger boys.

“Taeil hyung!” He was immediately greeted in a tight hug by none other than Lee Donghyuck.

“Hyung,” Mark greeted him with a smile, “what are you doing down here?”

“I was looking for Hannah,” the elder explained as he let his free arm rest across Donghyuck’s back. “She left this binder up in the vocal rooms, I thought maybe she’d want it back.”

“Oh, let me see!”

Taeil could only laugh as Donghyuck took the binder from him and flipped through the contents.

“She’ll be here in a bit,” Mark explained. “Jeno and Jaemin usually invite her to hang out here during their break.”

True to what Mark said, the two boys walked in with the girl of the day in between them. Taeil smiled and waved at them as they came, noticing how Hannah moved to stand a little behind her two friends.

“Hey, Hannah,” Taeil greeted her, “you left your binder upstairs. I brought it down to give it to you, but Donghyuck took it.”

Her eyes widened as she bowed to him in thanks. “Thank you so much! Yah! Lee Donghyuck!”

The young girl practically yelled as she stormed over to her friend who was currently trying to apply her annotations to the way he sang. He chuckled as she pulled her binder from his grasp and lightly smacked him. Jeno and Jaemin had come over to try and look at the binder as well, but she had shooed them away. So the quiet Hannah he very rarely saw in the company had a loud side to her as well.

A sigh from Mark caught his attention.

“They’re always so excessively loud when all four of them are together.”

“That’s what you get for being the eldest among them,” Taeil laughed. “Hannah’s like this often, too?”

“I thought she wasn’t,” Mark shrugged, “but I think she finally warmed up enough to be like this.”

“Well then,” Taeil nodded as he went towards the door, “good luck with the kids, Mark. Check on Jisung, I think he’s hiding from the mess of the millenium kids.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Taeil shook his head in amusement as he left. There was definitely more to the younger kids that he didn’t know.

Kim Jungwoo

(pls i can’t find predebut jungwoo pics 😭)

The rumors were getting to Jungwoo’s head. This was why he decided to talk to Jaemin about it. The current NCT Dream boy on hiatus had been visiting him a lot, and he had let slip that there was a rumored lineup change and that Jungwoo would be joining NCT in the next year.

“I don’t know, Jaemin,” Jungwoo began. “I don’t think they think I’m ready. What if I—“

“Na Jaemin!” A familiar voice had cut him off. “What are you doing here?”

Jungwoo watched as the one and only female member if NCT raced towards them and stopped right in front of Jaemin. The 00-line boy pulled his friend into a hug, which was quite a heartwarming sight.

The younger girl had just newly dyed her hair green in preparation for their comeback, and it was a stark difference from her previous brown hair. Seeing her hug Jaemin back warmly made him a little confused. She was known to be on the colder side and refuse affection, so this was new to him.

There she was, though, being all fussy over Jaemin and not even pushing him away when he squished her cheeks together. Caught up in his staring, he almost didn’t notice the way she noticed his presence and stood behind Jaemin while looking at him.

Not knowing what to do, the 98-liner bowed then gave her a wave, hoping he had the warmest smile on his face instead of an awkward one.

“Oh, right,” Jaemin coughed, “Hannah, this is Jungwoo hyung. Hyung, this is Hannah. She’s shy around new people, so please excuse her.”

“You didn’t need to tell him that,” Hannah muttered to Jaemin.

Jungwoo cracked a small smile. So the infamous Lee Hannah could also look like a kid outside of her Dream performances...

“It’s nice to meet you, sunbae,” He greeted her. “Hopefully you don’t feel too uncomfortable with me.”

Hannah nodded at him with a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“I’ve been meeting a few trainees recently,” Jaemin told her. “I hear Jungwoo hyung is possibly going to be added to our lineup for the rumored project next year.”

Ah, right. The lineup. If the rumors were true, Jungwoo would be able to work with Hannah, maybe. Would he be able to see more sides of her like this? Different from what the public see?

“Well then,” she turned to him with a gentle smile, “if the rumors are true, I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He was taken back by this. Straightening in surprise, he bowed his head to her in the slightest. “Thank you.”

Jungwoo zoned out as the two kids in front if him spoke. It still seemed strange to him, honestly. From what he knew from SM’s promotions of NCT Dream, Hannah was a cold princess who didn’t really speak to anyone outside of NCT. This is why Jungwoo wouldn’t believe it when his fellow trainee mentioned he was put into a group chat with her and Jaemin and that she was quite chaotic.

He was brought out of his thoughts as Jaemin placed a quick kiss to her cheek. Just in time, too, since Hannah had bowed to him. He bowed back and watched as she headed down the hall.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Jaemin chuckled affectionately. “Actually soft in her own way, she just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“Not like how SM paints her.” The older of the two looked back onto her public imaged and compared it to what he saw.

“No,” Jaemin shook his head, “I’m sure you’ll see what she’s really like sometime soon. Who knows, maybe she’ll warm up to you real quick, hyung.”

Jungwoo could only shrug. “It’d be an honor if she did.”

[jostepherjoestar]

👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?

Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it

DIO aiding his helpless descendant 

sfw / gn reader 

notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)

Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is

Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.

Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.

Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.

He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.

As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.

“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.

“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.

“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.

You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.  

Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.

“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.

Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.

“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.

“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.

Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.

“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.

Family.

One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.

As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.

“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Party - o2

CW: implied whumper changing Whumpee’s clothes, public humiliation, pet whump, asphyxiation, corset, defiant whumpee, swearing, intimate whumper, non con touch (non sexual)

[masterlist]

Len had to take off the straps for o2 to change, so they had replaced one restriction with another. A thick leather muzzle with metal rivets serving as small air holes.

There wasn’t nearly enough, but it was temporary.

They changed their pet into something more fitting of a party, more elegant and luxurious. No expense was spared for their pet’s first appearance, every article of clothing on him made especially for him. The shirt collar had been made low as to not cover the dark bruises that bloomed around his throat.

No, Len would never dream of covering those.

The waistcoat was black with golden filigree embroidered across it. It fit perfectly over the white dress shirt, double collar plunging to the center of his chest. His black slacks and shined shoes were left less ostentatious so as to not distract from the rest of the outfit.

Usually, Len wasn’t a fan of most corsets. Truthfully, something about the function made them uncomfortable. Shaping ribs and moving organs was wrong. Disturbing. However, a friend had suggested one that they simply couldn’t refuse.

It was black with golden ribbing, lacing tightly in the back. It didn’t try to rearrange the boy’s shape or cause his ribs to stick out. This corset was just pressure, just restriction, keeping his lungs even more contained in his chest.

O2 whimpered when they secured it, legs only barely keeping him standing. He had to lurch forward to hang onto the bathroom counter for support. Len smiled and ran a hand down his spine.

“Do you like it Sweetheart? I had it made specially for you.” They looked up into the mirror in front of them, looking directly into o2’s face. The muzzle covered much of it, but his expressive eyes were still there. They were hazy and pained, glaring back at them. Amused, Len wrapped their arms around his chest and placed their chin onto his shoulder.

His arms shook to keep them both supported.

“I like it.”

Len released their pet and turned to gather the next step of the process. O2 was fading fast, so they guided him to the stool they prepared next to the vanity. They had to keep a hand behind his head for support as they applied the eyeliner and shadow.

More straps, only three this time, were replaced around the boy’s chest. The buckles were gold with slick black leather, evenly spaced. O2 whimpered at the sensation and the way that combined with the corset. He couldn’t breathe out, or down, forcing his shoulders to rise and fall drastically to try and find space. Even gasping did nothing, barely able to get air past the muzzle pressed onto his face.

The marble of the bathroom started to grow fuzzy.

Len unclasped the muzzle carelessly, as if it was nothing. As if it was just another piece of fabric - not a death sentence that had been locked over his nose and mouth. O2 gasped loudly then immediately shivered at the wave of pain that swept over his throat. It hurt, it hurt so much. It stabbed and cut, every fiber sore and wounded. His pain earned him nothing but a smile a soft hand on his shoulder.

The last accessory that Len had for their boy was a golden circlet to sit in his black hair. It wasn’t too thin, large enough to clearly be seen in the dark locs.

“Mmmnn yes,” they purred, taking him gently by the chin. O2 squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to see the delight and pride in their face.

A few tears escaped and made their way down his face.

~~

O2 hadn’t been left in a corner. No no, that would have been too merciful for this nightmare. He had been left in the center of the room, holding himself up with the help of a side table. There were so many people. At first, he had been so shocked to see them, so excited at the prospect of getting help. This was obviously torture, obviously against his will. The bruises on his neck couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, and he was so weak. Even with the limited amount that he could talk, someone would have to notice, wouldn't they?

The guests that milled around did notice. They noticed the bruises and the way his legs trembled. They noticed the red marks from the muzzle that hadn’t quite gone away and the straps that cut into his chest. They noticed all of it, knew exactly what it was, and did nothing.

More than nothing, they enjoyed the view.

The first time one of them had come to lift his head up, to examine him closer he was so sure that they would lean over and whisper in his ear. Tell him it was an act, that they were going to get him out. That they were undercover and any second the door would be blown down and he’d be saved.

They never did that.

Instead, they palmed his head back and forth, thumbed over the bruises and brushed his hair to the side. They wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop and smiled when he winced as he swallowed. No one wanted to help him.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he? You wouldn’t believe how angry this one is when he’s given a little slack.” Len was always nearby, sipping their wine and keeping an eye on their guests and pet. O2 snarled at them from across the room.

“Seems to me that you’ve already given him enough slack,” their guests muttered. Len chuckled.

“I wanted him to be entertaining. At least for now. I don’t know if he’s the best one I’ve had, but he is my current favorite pet.”

“N-not… your, pet,��� Kenji ground out, having to take a shallow breath between each word. He grit his teeth and didn’t let his gaze drop. The air was just barely enough to let him speak, so he would have this asshole know his mind.

Len smiled, infuriating him.

“Oh yes you are dear. But, if you insist to learn your place in front of all these fine people who am I to stop you?” They strode over and took him by the arm, dragging him to the center of the crowd. Kenji tried to wrench his arm away, but there was no point.

“Tell me Sweetheart - where do pets belong?” Len let him go, watching as Kenji wobbled on his legs. He grabbed his own arms to try and find some balance. Another scowl, but no answer.

“Fine, if you don’t want to play, pets sit on the ground. Do you see any of us on the floor? No? That’s because we’re not pets. But do you know who will end tonight curled up on this carpet - like a pet?” They began to circle their pet, well aware that their raised voice was attracting the attention of every guest in attendance.

O2 grit his teeth, “but I’m not on the carpet - am I asswipe?”

Len laughed politely as they slid a hand around the corset and settled over Kenji’s stomach. They straightened his posture, pulled his arms down. Slowly, they leaned closer to whisper into his ear “Yes, but for how much longer?”

With that, they retreated again and Kenji realized the game they were playing. The room was already beginning to warp and sway, strength starting to wane slowly away. It was hard to keep standing with his knees shaking so. Kenji swallowed and closed his eyes against the pain. He wouldn’t be able to keep standing forever.

Or could he?

If it was a test of will, of determination, then he could. He could make it forever to prove that he wasn’t a pet. That he wasn’t some weak thing that could be manipulated and made to feel like an idiot. He wasn’t sweet or precious or soft - he was a pain in everyone’s ass and twice as loud. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of watching him fail.

So Kenji straightened his back further and held his head high. It didn’t matter that that was what the bastard had wanted, didn’t matter that this kept the bruises on perfect display for the entire room. This was Kenji’s decision, Kenji showing all of them that he wasn’t some doll that could be dressed up and paraded around.

But the straps around his chest didn’t care about his resolve.

The corset gave no thought to his pride.

His lungs paid no heed to his stance.

One by one the pressure and tension got to him. His spine arched further down, knees barely knocking together. Shaking hands found his forearms and he tried to hang on again, tried to keep strong.

But it wasn’t a battle of wills. It was human necessity.

His vision whirled and he found himself losing balance. In a moment he went down, carpet only barely dulling the sound of his knees hitting the floor. O2 curled in on himself, hot, angry tears spilling down his face. No, no no no he wasn’t- he wasn’t.

“There you go sweetheart. Isn’t that better? More comfortable? Things are easier for you when you do what you’re told.”

O2 tried to take deep breaths, tried to get back onto his hands and knees stand up again. He wasn’t, he wasn’t - but he couldn’t stand. His act of defiance had stripped away the last of his energy, leaving him defenseless and limp on the carpet.

Like a pet

~~

@milk-carton-whump @whump-it @whump-me-all-night-long @mysticwhump @bumpthumpwhump

[kitkat1003]

When the Tide pulls away and the Earth Sharpens to Steel

Chapter 2: But He Burns All the Same

HUGE Warning for this chapter -Temporary Suicide -Graphic Depictions of Violence -Blood and Gore Nothing too crazy imo, but still enough cause for an alarm I imagine.  Just want y'all to know what you're getting into. Enjoy!

AO3 Link

In the end, very little changes.  Tang still continues through the days, as winter turns to spring turns to summer turns to fall.  Almost lazily, Bajie and him fall into a routine just a little different, where they no longer have to dance around their feelings.  Lingering touches can mean something, can lead to something.  Tang can blush and get teased and not be terrified of being found out, of ruining anything.

The days are very much a routine.  He goes out to meditate, and comes back to help Bajie cook.  He’s not actually much help, considering that of the two, Bajie has far more experience in cooking, but he certainly does try.

Bajie seems to enjoy teaching Tang, regardless of Tang’s missteps.  Tang thinks Bajie likes feeling like the smart one for once.  Likes seeing Tang fumble around awkwardly.

Bastard.

The other monks notice Tang’s chipper mood, but no one was ever that interested in anything Tang has done or been, unless it’s to admonish his misconduct.  So, they leave well enough alone.

All save for one.

Tang is coming back from meditation to see what wonderful concoction Bajie is cooking up for dinner when a hand grabs him by the shoulder.  He whips around, startled, and comes face to face with

“Bao,” he grinds out.  “Have you taken up stalking?”

“You’ve been a ghost in the monastery for months,” Bao argues.  “I just wanted to see what you were up to.” 

He steps around Tang and towards the doorway.  “Collecting occult objects?  Sneaking in meat?”

Tang runs so that he’s back in front of Bao, trying to stop the monk’s advance.  His face is bright red, a mix of rage and embarrassment.  If Bao finds out about Bajie-well, the whole monastery will.  The one thing that brings Tang joy will be thrown into scrutiny, until he can’t enjoy it anymore.

“I wanted some privacy.” It’s not exactly a lie.  “And besides, no one liked living near me anyway!  Shouldn’t you be happy I’ve found a space far away from the rest of you?”

“Why hide it then?” Bao argues, smiling when Tang cringes away from him.  “Clearly, you’re doing something you know is wrong.”

“That-that isn’t-why won’t you leave it?” Tang clenches his fists, voice quieting as he speaks, as if the thoughts turn everything to a hiss.  “If you know I’m doing bad things, then why do you care?  Everyone already thinks I’m a bad person!  What, you just want to satisfy your curiosity?”

His voice has more hurt in it than anger, because he’s spent his entire life knowing his life’s features were segmented into categories. There was the place he lived, the people who lived there, and him.  He could never be part of that whole.  He’s the outlier, always has been, and he’s learned to live with that.

It still hurt, when he thought about it.

But Bao was a reminder.  Bao pushed.  Tang could take the neglect, the snide looks, but Bao would talk.  Would intrude into the space Tang carved out for himself and himself alone, and prod at Tang’s sore spots until he snapped.  And Tang was so tired of that, nowadays, because he finally had someone that made him believe he might not deserve it.

A shadow falls over them and anything Bao was going to say doesn’t come out, silencing into a squeak.  Tang watches Bao’s gaze rise up, up, up, before locking onto something.

Bao’s eyes quickly fill with fear.

A very familiar hand rests on Tang’s shoulder, though Tang is surprised to feel Bajie’s grip tighten.  The claws dig just a little into the fabric of his shirt, though Bajie’s grip is always careful not to damage Tang or his clothing.

A growl comes from Bajie’s throat, too.  When Tang looks up, he’s surprised to see Bajie’s eyes glowing, his teeth bared.

“Tang is my mortal.” Bajie’s voice is cold.  Rage is painted in his posture, as he leans down so he’s eye level with Bao.  He huffs a breath through his nose, one that ruffles Bao’s hair.  “Mine.”

Bao flinches.

“You stay away, or I’ll find you.  You say a word about this, and I’ll find you.  Got it?” Bajie pokes a claw into Bao’s chest every time to punctuate each ‘You,’ eyes narrowed to dark slits.Bao nods, very quickly.  His head is a blur.

Bajie leans in even closer, so that his snout is touching Bao’s nose.

“Now, start fucking running.”

Bao stumbles back, trembling.  He turns on his heel and sprints down the hall, disappearing behind the corner.

Tang blinks and looks up at Bajie.  Bajie continues to stay in a battle stance, free hand splayed out with claws bared, fingers twitching.  Likely for his rake, Tang surmises.

“Bajie,” Tang reaches up and places a palm flat against the side of Bajie’s face, gentle.  As much as it is charming to have a strong demon as his protector, Tang much prefers his Bajie when he’s off the battlefield.  Bajie responds best to touch, regardless.  Sometimes words don’t reach him. 

 “Dinner will run late if we stand out here all night.”

Bajie blinks a few times and shakes himself off, lifting his hand from Tang’s shoulder carefully.  His shoulders slump down as he relaxes, a little weary after being so tense.  He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and smiles, a little strained.

“Right.  Uh, sorry.”

He ducks beneath the doorframe and heads back into their room.  Tang follows.

They make dinner in relative silence.  Tang has gotten rather proficient with a knife, and he chops up the vegetables as Bajie sets up the broth.  Bajie’s started making the noodles himself.  Apparently it’s far cheaper if you do, even if it takes longer to complete.

When they’re done, and when Bajie pours out their servings so they can eat, Tang speaks up.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.  “I could have handled it.”

Bajie sets his bowl down with a heavy sigh, hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Bajie says slowly.  “No one should.”

“Bajie,” Tang starts, a sad smile of acceptance already on his face.  “Plenty of people here are like that.  I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be!” Bajie explodes.  “You shouldn’t have to deal with all that, it’s none of any of their business what you do!  People shouldn’t expect the worst from you!”

Bajie stares down at him with a plea in his gaze, like he’s begging for Tang to understand, but Tang looks away.  Something about what Bajie is saying, some part of Bajie’s expression, makes his chest twist something painful.  Maybe Tang has always known, deep down, that being treated the way he is is wrong, maybe he just buried that part down so it wouldn’t hurt so much.  The earnest look in Bajie’s expression, the desperation-that digs that part back up, and Tang struggles to bury it again.

“It doesn’t matter.  People think what they will of me.  I just don’t want their opinion to be any worse,” he sighs.  “I can handle what they throw at me.  I can prove that I’m better than they are.”

Bajie’s reaches over, tilting Tang’s head up and forcing Tang to look at him again.

“You don’t have to hold yourself to such a high standard, you know.  You’re allowed to be angry.  I get mad enough, and you never tell me not to be.  Why can’t you get upset?  Why do you gotta handle it all?”

Tang blinks, and his vision blurs.  When had anyone, before now, told him that he was enough?  Just as is, without need for a perfect posture, unbreakable composure.  When he was young there were times where he could almost say he was liked, but soon the other children pulled away and Tang was forced to climb his way up to somehow reach their level again.

But here Bajie is, on the same level as him, telling him the view is just fine right here.

Bajie pulls him forward, and Tang holds Bajie as tight as he can, hiding his tears in Bajie’s chest.

When he finally lifts his head up, Bajie is smiling down at him.

“See?  Nothing wrong with gettin’ upset.  Better to go through it and come out better for it than to let it sit and grow.”

“You’re just saying that because you liked going ‘protective demon’ on Bao,” Tang mutters, grinning despite himself.

“Hey—well, maybe, but that’s not the point!”

Tang presses his face into Bajie’s chest to muffle his chuckles.  Soon enough, Bajie is laughing too.

At night, when they lay together, Bajie likes to pull Tang close.  Tang will pepper Bajie’s jaw with kisses and lean his head against the demon’s chest, listening to the rumbling purr of delight Bajie is unable to stifle, along with Bajie’s heartbeat.

Being in love is something Tang finds unexpectedly warm and comfortable.  Like slipping into a slipper fitted perfectly, he stands taller and walks with far better purpose than he had before.  Even the whispers of how he isn’t a proper monk do little to stifle the swell of elation sitting in his heart, each breath making his ribs creak with strain, as if his heart couldn’t fit it all.

It’s a good type of pain, to be in love.

One night, though, Bajie presses Tang so tightly against him that Tang startles.  He’s about to ask when his lips are stolen in a kiss, and, well, he doesn’t mind that at all.  He leans into the heat, making his cheeks blush.

But a hand creeps up his thigh, beneath his clothes.

Tang is suddenly consumed by panic.

He pushes away, quickly, wide eyed and trembling.  Glancing at Bajie’s eyes show no anger, more confusion and hurt.  They’re both breathless, but Tang has to take an extra minute to get his lungs to cooperate, to be able to breathe at all.

He knew this would happen.  This was the whole point of the challenge, was it not?  He just...he hadn’t thought of it, between the shock of Bajie actually loving him and the fluttery feelings he had for the demon as well.

“I-I’m sorry,” he sputters, embarrassed.  Ashamed, even.  

He’d known that women were expected to perform for their husbands, and while Tang wouldn’t call himself a wife, he knew that there was always the expectation to perform if he began this sort of relationship.  To be unable to...it’s shameful.

Bajie looks very much like he wants to reach for him, but he keeps his hands pressed against his chest, away from Tang.  Worried.  Nervous.

“I-it’s okay.  I’m not-I want you to be comfortable.  Did I do something wrong?” Bajie assures.  Soothing.  The lack of anger makes Tang relax a little. 

“No-no, you didn’t, I just…,” Tang doesn’t know how to explain.  “I-do we have to?”

Bajie blinks a few times, confused, and he rubs the top of his head in thought, looking around before his gaze settles back on Tang.

“I thought…,” Bajie starts, haltingly.  So very careful.  “I thought that this is what mortals do.  Anyone does.  You know?  Is this about the monk thing?”

“No,” Tang replies again, firm.  “It’s hard to explain, I just…,” He takes a breath.  Shuffles a little closer.  

Bajie’s hand settles on the bedroll.  Tang places his own on top of it, like an olive branch.  He feels Bajie relax, a little.

“What do you like about me?” Tang asks. 

Bajie tilts his head to the side, at the question.  It’s an odd one, but Tang has heard time and time again that consummation equals the truest love.  And yet, if that were true, why love any other part of your partner?  Why think of anything besides this moment?

Tang has a plethora of things he loves about Bajie.  He hopes that Bajie is the same.

“I mean it literally,” Tang clarifies.  “Why are you in love with me?”

Bajie shifts, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.  His hand does not move from where it is, in Tang’s, so he rubs a circle into the back of it with his index finger.  He turns it into a spiral.  Bajie’s hand is big enough for it, after all.

Bajie’s voice starts soft. “I like the way your hair looks.  It’s windswept, almost.

“I like how your face looks.  It’s very soft, and comes to a nice point, you know?  I like your eyes, because they’re a brown red I haven’t seen before, and I like your smile, because it’s kind of cheeky but mostly just kind, and I like that look you get on your face when you read, or when I make you something to eat, and I like that your hands are soft, and—”

Bajie stops, for a moment.  His eyes are wide, face  flushed, like the more he talked, the more affection burned him.

Tang thinks he’s nearly a cherry tomato himself, with how much he can feel his face steaming.

Bajie shifts to face him again.

“I love that you can talk to me about things like this.,” Something warmer enters Bajie’s voice, right then.  “Most people either tell me to go or don’t tell me anything.  You stand your ground, but you don’t just shove me away.  You tell me why the things I do upset you, so I can fix it.  Most people are too scared to bother.”

“I am scared of you, sometimes,” Tang whispers.  He’d kept that fact a secret, afraid of the look it would put on Bajie’s face, to know that Tang, even with all his love, fears Bajie even a little.

“But you still try and stop me if I push too far.  That’s trust.  That’s bravery,” Bajie rebuffs, steadfast even with the hard truth laying between them.  “I love that about you.  You’re brave.  You trust me.”

The way he says that takes Tang’s breath away.  It takes Tang a few moments to even collect himself, and when he does he still feels like he’s going to melt into a puddle.

“Right,” he starts, and Bajie chuckles before he continues.  “And what does that, any of that, have to do with,” He gestures vaguely to the whole concept they’re avoiding.  “Sex?”

Bajie opens his mouth, and then closes it.  Tang watches the thoughts bounce around Bajie’s brain with a fond smile, until Bajie finally looks back at him.

“I guess it doesn’t,” Bajie mutters, and then laughs, incredulous.  “You’re so smart, you know that?  Sometimes I wonder if you’re wasted, here.” 

He reaches over and brushes a hair back behind Tang’s ear.  Tang chuckles, both at the sentiment and at the motion. Perhaps laughing will help the butterflies out of his stomach.

“This place is my home,” he says, and he shrugs.  “I belong here.”

Bajie’s smile flattens into a straight line for a moment, but he doesn’t argue.  Silence falls upon them, as Tang’s fingers trace shapes into Bajie’s hand and arm, until Bajie speaks up again.

“I uh-I thought for a second it might be because of, uh, this,” Bajie gestures vaguely at his person, and Tang raises a brow.

“You just gestured to all of yourself,” He says.

Bajie flushes, embarrassed, before huffing out, “The biggest hurdle most mortals have to get over is that I’m not exactly conventionally attractive, by mortal standards.” 

Bajie doesn’t look him in the eye.  It’s said matter of factly, and there’s an undercurrent of hurt that has Tang’s brow furrowing.  Tang doesn’t know about the partners Bajie’s had before, but he does know Bajie has been chased out of many towns.  He wonders how much of it was because of Bajie’s attitude and how much of it was his appearance.

“That’s true.  You’re not,” Tang replies bluntly.

Bajie seems surprised, before Tang continues.

“You’re not mortal.  You’re not human.  It would be ridiculous to use those standards to classify you as attractive or not.  By my standards….”

He trails off for a moment, and when he continues, his smile is coy.  “Well, you’re quite outstanding.”

“Tang,” Bajie starts, and it comes out choked out, the blush moving from embarrassment back to attraction.

Tang scoots closer, and reaches up to Bajie’s face.

“You have lovely ears.  Perfect for hearing anyone who would dare attack you.  They blush like your cheeks, did you know?  I always love that about them.  Gorgeous blue eyes.  Two different shades, even.  Most mortals are stuck with one, but I suppose this was a treat from the gods for me,” Tang fiddles with the ears for a moment, before his hands trail down. 

Bajie doesn’t seem to know how to handle this much affection.  His eyes are locked on Tang’s, and his lips are slightly parted in shock.

“You have such strong tusks.  Very imposing,” Tang wraps his fingers around them, grips them for a moment.  “Perfect for biting through most anything.  A strong jaw.” 

He trails the shape of it with his finger.  “To show you mean business.  Powerful vocal cords.”

Tang smooths a hand down Bajie’s neck.  Bajie shivers.  “To shout at anyone who would challenge you.  Broad shoulders so that you loom.   Sharp claws to cut through any obstacle.  Strong arms to lift that rake of yours.”

“Burly legs so you can move faster than any mortal would dare, and,” Tang has to laugh. “An adorable tail that you can’t stop from wagging when you’re happy.”

Bajie just stares, as if no one has ever said something like that to him in all his years of life.  The tragic thing, to Tang, is that it’s likely that that’s the case.  He pulls himself up, so that he and Bajie are eye to eye.

“I almost forgot your lovely snout,” he leans forward and places a kiss there.  “Perfect for kisses.  All of it makes you the most beautiful demon I’ve ever seen.  My Demon.  My Bajie.  My Pigsy.”

Each phrase is punctuated by another peck.  The last title snaps Bajie out of his haze, and he grins, lopsided and gorgeous.

“Pigsy?” he asks.

Tang flushes a little.  “Do you not like it?” 

Bajie lifts Tang up and shifts so he’s on his back, placing Tang on top of him.

“I love it,” he murmurs.

Tang smiles and curls on top of Bajie like he’s always belonged there.

They lay there for a moment, until Bajie opens his mouth.

“Did I still win the challenge?”

Tang laughs so hard  he cries, tickled by the memory of a conversation what feels like a lifetime ago finally coming to its close, leaning down until his forehead is resting against Pigsy’s.

“Of course you did.  You got me, didn’t you?”

They have arguments.  Disagreements, really.  Arguments imply real hatred and they never have that, not for each other, but they do disagree.

Bajie wants Tang to come with him, to leave the monastery and go out into the world.  But Tang can’t.  Not when everyone here already expects him to fail, to be the worst of them, to fall away from the religion and be the lesser monk they think him to be.  What would they say, if he disappeared into the night, never to be seen again?

“I don’t understand why that matters,” Bajie stresses, during one such disagreement.  “You know they’re never gonna be satisfied.  And what about when they find out about me, huh?  How are you gonna swing that?”

“I know!” Tang cries, head in his hands from the frustration.  “I know, I know that, but what can I do, Bajie?  I can’t just leave, they’re my family, this is my home.  What don’t you understand?”

Family is difficult to handle, and Tang knows his isn’t perfect, isn’t terribly kind, but it’s his.  It’s so hard to imagine disappearing.  Could he even come back?  Obviously not, they already dislike him, so there’s no way he could leave.  How could he keep in contact?  The mail moves so slow, and how would they write him back when he’s moving around so much?  Would they even write to him?

Bajie doesn’t get it.  Bajie doesn’t have a family like Tang does.  Hecan just salt the earth and leave and lose nothing.  Tang could lose everything.  He needs his foundation.  He needs something to go back to.

“Tang,” Bajie starts, soft and gentle, but unrelenting.

Tang raises a hand to silence him.

“Stop asking,” He says firmly.

His voice takes on a more desperate edge as he adds a quieter “Please.”

He needs to figure this out for himself, and if he’s constantly being pressured one way over the other, how can he make an informed decision?  He just needs a little more time.

Bajie’s brow furrows, eyes going dark for a split second before his expression empties, like everything has been poured out of him.  Tang stiffens, because the lack of reaction is frightening, somehow, like he’s been pushed to the edge of a cliff, and isn’t sure how long the precipice can hold him.

But then Bajie leans down, and presses a kiss to his forehead, soft.

“Alright,” Bajie whispers.  “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” Tang whispers, promises, hopes.

Bajie starts leaving.  At first, it’s only for a few days.  Then, the trips become longer.  A week.  Two.  

He’s never gone longer than a month, and he always tells Tang the night before that he’ll be gone in the morning.  Tang will wake up to the feeling of a soft kiss to his forehead and he will watch Bajie trudge out of their room as sunlight peeks over the horizon.

Tang hates every second that Bajie is gone.  Hates that the monotony of his normal life is no longer satisfactory.  He had forced himself to be satisfied with the mundane, the normal, the expected.  Then Bajie had come in and smashed all his expectations and made Tang yearn for more again.

At the very least, Bao is no longer a problem.  Tang feels a sense of satisfaction that when he enters a room, Bao is quick to leave it.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave so much,” he says, during a night when Bajie is here, and close, and Tang can lay with him.  “You never seemed bothered before.  You never went anywhere for this long.”

“I had a goal, then,” Bajie rumbles, voice soft.  “You’d be surprised by how easy it is to forget about other stuff when you have a task.  But I’m a demon, with a nine toothed rake that isn’t for tilling land.  I’m not made for domestic life.  Not when I’m just getting started.”

The explanation feels almost like a farewell, and something in Tang’s chest squeezes tight in a panic.  Tang isn’t a demon, he isn’t a fighter.  He’s the definition of domestic, isn’t he?  If Bajie isn’t made for domestic life, maybe Tang isn’t made for him.

“Can’t you stay?” Tang whispers, interlocking his fingers with Bajie’s.  His hand is dwarfed by Bajie’s large palm.  “Just for a little while.  Just—am I not enough?”

“Can’t you come with me?” Bajie rebuffs, voice almost too pointed.  “Aren’t I enough?”

And, well, there’s no winning the argument there.  Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and Tang’s afraid of the crash.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “It’s never because you aren’t enough.” 

He needs Bajie to know that, to know that Tang isn’t doing this because Bajie failed, in some way.  Tang wishes he could feel secure enough to jump ship, to leave everything behind like Bajie wants.

But, regardless of what Bajie thinks, Tang has never been brave.

Bajie says nothing.  Tang wonders what the silence means.

As Tang wrestles with himself, his wants, his life, he finally comes to his conclusion.  He rethinks life, his own, from beginning to present, and like any good story he wants a happy ending.  Who doesn’t?

And he realizes, at the center of it all, that a happy ending isn’t possible if Bajie isn’t there.  That in every path Tang’s life leads him down, Bajie has to be there if it's to end with a smile.

And if Bajie needs Tang to leave, then Tang will swallow his terror and take the leap.  He has to at least try.  If it doesn’t work, if Tang fails, then...then he’ll only have himself to blame, won’t he?

He has to try.

There’s preparations to be had.  He researches.  While Bajie is out on trips to who knows where, Tang learns about the marriage methods of demons.  Apparently, when a demon takes a mortal’s hand in marriage, they kidnap the mortal, steal them away.  There’s an exchange of courting jewelry.  A physical claim.

He doesn’t have the money for jewelry, but he thinks he could do something else.  So he buys some paper, some leather, some twine, and carefully, he constructs a book.  A journal.  Something that they can write in for years to come, something they can share.  Maybe it’s unorthodox, maybe it isn’t good enough, but Tang wants to be able to look back.  He wants to see Bajie’s scrawled sentences, words written comically large next to Tang’s smaller, tighter script.

Maybe it isn’t the right way, but it’s Tang, in every sense of the word.  If Bajie rebuffs that, then there’s nothing to be done.

He writes out a script.  The next time Bajie leaves, Tang works on his speech, writes and rewrites.  He memorizes until every line is burned into his head, and then goes over it again, because he knows that when he says it he’ll stumble.

He plans, and strategizes, and hopes.

 This time, when Bajie returns, Tang can tell something is off. Bajie is….distracted.  He spends more time off to himself, staring out the window, than he does interacting with Tang.

It makes Tang anxious.  It feels like the moment before an explosion.  He wants to broach the subject, but he’s afraid of being caught in the blast zone of whatever Bajie is hiding.

So he sets the plans aside and focuses on lifting the terrible fog that makes Bajie stare at him like Tang is already gone.  Like Tang is some far away place that Bajie cannot reach.

It seems to work.  Tang complains uproariously about different texts he’s been reading in the interim of Bajie’s stay, and he gets Bajie to laugh.  He helps make dinner and remarks on how invaluable he is to Bajie’s cooking process.  Bajie rewards him with a few stories of some customer service issues he had to resolve when he worked as a cook.

“She had to get thrown out by the owner, she was screaming so loud,” Bajie laughs.  “It’s a good thing he settled things with her and not me.  I woulda given her the what-for, if she’d screamed at me.”

“I have no doubt,” Tang giggles.

It settles, as they become comfortable with each other again.  Every time Bajie leaves and comes back, it’s like they have to slowly get back in sync with each other.  Sometimes it takes longer than Tang likes.  Like now, where it feels like it takes weeks.

Bajie stays for an entire month and it takes most of that to get back to that comfortable place their relationship should always be in. A month full of Tang making excuses to wait to propose, making excuses to be patient, to give it a little more time.

But, after a month, things seem comfortable.  Tang swallows his fears.  Bajie called him brave once and Tang has to live up to that, right?

Except, after a week of things seeming okay, Bajie suddenly closes himself off again.  Goes quiet, empty.  Pensive and secretive in the worst way.

“Don’t shut me out,” Tang whispers, a hand against Bajie’ cheek.

Bajie’s sitting down, staring out the window, and Tang is standing, as he slowly turns Bajie’s face toward him.  “Is something wrong?  Tell me, please.  You’ve been...different.”

Bajie still stares at Tang as if Tang were the world, except now it’s as if the world is crumbling in front of him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tang promises.

He leans in, so his forehead rests against Bajie’s.  Bajie leans into the touch, eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” Bajie’s voice is soft.  “I—nothing’s wrong.  I’m just...I’ve been thinking too much.”

“That’s a first,” Tang smiles, trying to joke.  

Bajie’s lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t smile.

Tang glances back, towards the book hidden, and thinks of the speech burned into his brain.  He could let everything out, right now.

But Bajie looks like he needs more time.  Looks as if Tang were to push, he’d crumble.  And Tang is terrified to see Bajie break, so he decides to wait a little longer.  To stall, a little longer.

It takes far too long to coax Bajie to lay down that night, pulling his gaze away from the starry sky and back to the ground, back to Tang’s eyes.  Tang searches for something familiar in Bajie’s, but the picture is too blurred to be recognizable.

“You look tired,” he hears himself say.  “You should get some rest.”

Bajie doesn’t reply, but he does lay down, and Tang curls up against him, like he always has.  Like he always should.

“I love you,” he whispers, promises, hopes.

Bajie must say it after Tang is already asleep.  He must.

That’s the only reason Tang wouldn’t hear it said back to him.

Tang does not see Bajie sit up in the night, knees pulled to his chest.  He does not see Bajie turn to look at him, eyes watery.  He does not see Bajie run a hand over his head, shaking, glancing between the door and Tang over and over.  He does not see Bajie reach a shaking hand over Tang, a breath away from touching down, from shaking Tang awake.  He does not see Bajie pull away with a choked breath so quiet it’s almost unheard even by Bajie’s ears.  He does not see Bajie cry into his knees for far too long, and he does not see Bajie wipe his eyes, look over, and press a feathersoft, gentle kiss to the top of Tang’s head.  He does not see Bajie stand, slowly, and walk out the door, never to return.

Tang sees none of this.  He wakes up the next morning to see Bajie gone, with nothing but the indentation he left in the bedroll to indicate he was ever there.

It’s odd, because typically Bajie says something before he goes, but Tang chalks it up to the odd mood Bajie was in.  He must have simply forgotten.  The alternative is of course laughable.  Impossible.

So Tang moves on, continues with his life, and waits for Bajie to return.  

Because he has to.

Right?

It takes three months for Tang to start doubting.  

It takes six for it to start to hurt.

A year passes.

Tang feels the shelter he’d given his heart cave in as he buckles under the weight of heartbreak.   

The cliff has crumbled beneath him.  He’s fallen over the precipice, and the worst part is that no one, absolutely no one, would ever think to reach and catch him.  

Heartbreak feels like grief.  Tang has felt grief before, when his beloved masters would eventually fall to time.  Loss of a person and loss of love are equally painful, because once something is gone it can never be reclaimed.

He goes through the motions.  Moves slow, but moves regardless, like every step is through mud. He gets up, gets breakfast, gets some new scrolls.  Meditates, waits.

He just keeps on waiting.  He refuses to get rid of the fire pit Bajie made, nor the kitchen utensils, nor the pot.  He cleans them, scrubbing them all until they shine in the sunlight, polished and pristine, and then he places them back in their spots with a reverence reserved for the gods.

When Bajie gets back, he’ll want them to look nice.

Another few months pass, before logic kicks in.  Of course Bajie would leave.  Why stay with a nobody, why stay with a mortal, a monk?  There are far too many cons against the few, if any, pros.  Tang should have known that this was an eventuality.  

Sure, he’d dreamed of them growing old together, or spending eternity together, or any number of things.  But those are all that those thoughts will ever be, dreams.

Tang is a fool, to dream.

The utensils collect dust.  Tang does not read books. He doesn’t do much of anything.  He meditates, more to give himself an excuse to sit, with his eyes closed, and forget existence.

He settles again.  He must.  Logic holds him together like cheap glue, and while his cracks drop pieces as he forces himself to continue to move on, move forward, it holds enough.  Enough that he can breathe.

“Have you heard?” 

Tang is eating lunch in the common area, idly chewing on rice, and he only hears the conversation because he’s not focusing on anything else.

“The monk Triptaka is going on a journey!”

“Isn’t his name Tang Sanzang?”

“Yeah, but he goes by Triptaka.  Maybe wants to get away from a name shared by…”

Tang ignores the glances thrown his way.  He’s dealt with them plenty.

“Anyway, he’s going on a journey to get holy scriptures.  I’ve heard Bodhisattva Guanyin is even overseeing the journey herself!  She amassed a group of demons to protect him.”

“Wow, who?”

“Sun Wukong-she had to release him from under a mountain.  She also got, um, I think a dragon prince to be his steed, a demon named Sha Wujing, and one named Zhu Bajie!”

Tang freezes.  Logic starts cracking.

“What?” he finds himself saying, turning to the group.  They seem startled by his intrusion into their conversation.

“Uhhh,” one of them goes, cringing away from Tang in confusion.

“Who is on the journey?  The last name you said.” The words keep coming out of him, and Tang doesn’t have the time to figure out where they’re coming from.

“Zhu Bajie?” The name falls out of the other’s lips, and Tang recoils.

No.  No, it must be a mistake.  It couldn’t be.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

The thought is acid in his brain.  It burns, and he feels his hands shake.  The bowl drops to the floor, and shatters against stone.  Rice is wasted at his feet.

“Tang?” someone says.

It doesn’t matter that this is the first time in months that anyone has spared him a drop of concern, because Tang is running, running to their room, running to the room he’s been waiting in for months and then was grieving in for longer as the pieces of his broken heart started trying to slide back together.

Everything is shattered again, and Tang doesn’t know if he can put himself back together.

He gets to their room and falls to his knees in the center, the thud muffled by a bedroll he hasn’t had the energy in months to fold or move because that would require realizing that one half of the space would never be filled again.  He covers his mouth with his hands.  He can’t stop shaking.

He can’t.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

He thought it was because he was a mortal.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

He thought it was because he was a monk

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Gods, he didn’t think it was because of his name, but even that avenue is gone.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Tang sobs.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

In the end, when you strip away his mortality, you strip away his monk status, when you strip away his name, all that’s left is his character.  His personality.  Himself.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

And that’s what Bajie ran from, wasn’t it?  That’s what he abandoned.  He didn’t abandon a mortal monk named Tang, he left Tang.  The person he is at his core.  Bajie looked, was given Tang’s heart, and decided that wasn’t what he wanted.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Tang laughs.

It’s funny, he thinks, after hours curled into a ball, heaving sobs and crackling laughs.  It’s so terribly funny, so terribly cruel, so terribly poetic.  He knew from a young age that he wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t a good monk, wasn’t a good person, but he’d tried.  He’d tried so hard. 

And then Bajie had come along.

And Tang had hoped.  Selfishly, he’d slacked on improvements, believed that he was enough as is.  Bajie never seemed to want more from him, never expected anything special, and Tang had grown lax, grown complacent.

No wonder Bajie had left him.  Tang was never good enough for anyone.

But maybe he can try to be.

He can’t change who he is.  Clearly, his 25 years of failure have shown him that.  He can’t change who he is at his core, but if he fixes everything else, maybe that will be enough.

Just maybe, then, he will be enough.

Step one.  Get rid of his mortality.

Bajie and him can’t share eternity if he’s dead a hundred years into it.  If he’s to reinvent himself into something worthy, into someone worthy, he needs time.  Mortality cuts that short.

He is a ghost in the monastery in the sense that he appears in rare bursts and his continued existence leads to whispers and rumors.  He leaves and does research in the library.  The stares of disapproval no longer stab through what once was pride, because that space in his chest has been torn open.  The knives pass right through the hole left in its wake.

He’s fervent.  Doesn’t sleep.  Doesn’t eat.  There is no point in maintaining a body doomed to die, regardless of his efforts.  He can care about himself when he’s worthy, when someone tells him he matters.

And no one has told him that.  Bajie can’t count anymore.  Not until Tang gets him back.

A year of research leads to nothing. 

Tang lives in the barest of senses, half dead on his feet as he works.  He has to figure it out, he has to.  The books he find tell him little.  But, then, he remembers the town.  The townspeople.  

People know plenty, when you know how to get it out of them.

He is a ghost in the town in the sense that he hides in its darkest, coldest corners and listens.  Travelers come in and out, always with stories.  Slowly, Tang learns how to use a stiff drink and a kind smile to pull the stories out.  Slowly, Tang learns how to twist until the people he talks to think that it was their idea, to say what he wants them to.

Tang does this all quietly.  He’s always had a way with words, always too afraid to use that power.  After all, a true monk wouldn’t be so manipulative, wouldn’t want the knowledge of anything beyond the buddhist texts, much less the ravings of wordly travelers.

Bajie is worldly.

Tang wants.

He has heard, from a million different whispers, of how Monkey King is able to live forever.

Folktales fall from slippery lips and Tang listens.  Tang learns and relearns, drags the specifics out with carefully placed drinks and sugary sweet honeyed words that coax out more information.  This is important.

Monkey King’s spirit was dragged down to Yama’s realm, he hears.  Monkey King blotted out his name from the ledger, so he may never die again.

Die again, he thinks, and realizes you have to die once for such a thing to be true.

He considers the stares aimed toward him.  He considers the lingering whispers of how he doesn’t belong, how he isn’t true to his practice.  He considers the years of him asking what else?  What else is there to learn?  He considers cold, disapproving eyes that followed him from youth to adulthood.

He considers blue, beautiful ocean blue ones that looked at him as if he’d hung the stars and he considers blue eyes gone in the night without a word.

Considers dying.  

Considers.

Acquiring poison isn’t difficult.  He buys it in the market (He used to go with Bajie where’d they’d pick out the vegetables and noodles for the ramen that night and make fun of weird shaped vegetables and laugh) with some coins Bajie left behind (left behind with him, like him, left left left abandoned because Tang made Bajie wait made Bajie lose love Tang ruined everything—) and stuffs it in his pocket.  He eats dinner (Bajie made it better he was always the better cook and Tang is nothing isn’t anything just the worst monk in the world—) and carefully pours himself some tea, mixes in the poison, and breathes.

It barely changes the taste.  There’s something bitter on the edge of it, but Tang drains the cup and sighs.  

He sets up his bedroll and lays down, eyes staring up at the ceiling.  He can feel a slight pain in his chest.  Likely due to the poison.  It’s not a very painful one, slow but not cruel.

Like this, he can practically feel Bajie next to him, a hand over his heart.  That must be where the weight on his chest comes from.  Must be.  Bajie has to be here, beside him, at the end of it all.  Where else would his love be?

They were having a conversation.  One hard to navigate, but Bajie was trying, so Tang would too.

“Why are you in love with me?” he tries to say, but the black edges take over his vision.

Dying isn’t so bad, he thinks, when it’s like this.

He comes to with little difficulty, laying down on stone.  The sky is a dark purple, with blue clouds.

He feels empty.  Weightless.

He stands and is immediately shuffled into a line of a million people, all spirits heading in one direction.  The dead are the dead, and he is placed with the typical mortals, those without plans.

Some are far older than him, some far younger.

The land of the dead is a palace.  He can see the entry gate, a speck in the distance.  The dead whisper amongst themselves, but he says nothing, stepping out of line.

He heads down the path away from the gate, off to the right.  Occasionally, he ducks out of the way of guards, which only proves that he’s going in the right direction.

Being dead doesn’t change much.  If anything, he feels a little lighter, without a physical body to hold him down.

He finds the room he’s looking for after about an hour, a large, seemingly endlessly long book sitting on a table, open on a table.  Tang walks over and when he looks down on it, he can see thousands of names.  Every second, another changes status.  Black for alive, white for dead.

White is a mourning color, after all.

He quickly begins searching for his own name, flipping through page after page with utter abandon and scanning, because time is of the essence.  He is fairly certain that there’s a reason only the Monkey King was known to have pulled this off, because it isn’t as though anyone besides King Yama and his attendants are meant to touch said book.

Not that Tang much cares who is and isn’t supposed to be doing this.  If he’d cared at this point, then, well, he wouldn’t have bought poison for himself.

He’s finally making headway, recognizing a few names from those who once lived in his town, when he hears footsteps coming toward his direction.

Well, not footsteps.  Hoofsteps.  The sound of cloven feet on tile.

Tang schools his expression, and continues to flip through the book, even as the steps come closer.

“Hey!” He hears.

He looks up.

Ox head and Horse face were mentioned in the stories detailing Monkey King’s escapade through the land of the dead.  They were the ones to drag the Great Sage’s spirit down, after all.  Ox head has dark eyes and a shining golden nose ring that accents the gold on his arm and leg bracers.  Horse face has golden earrings to match, and his outfit is much the same.  They both wear a leather-esque set of armor, ornate in its stitching, but scuffed with dirt from sparring matches or nonsense fights.

Tang looks them up and down, and decides immediately that they do not compare to how Bajie intimidates.

“Hello,” he greets, keeping his voice even and uninterested as he glances back down to the names on the page.

Ox head and Horse face stare, clearly taken aback by Tang’s cavalier attitude.  Tang is simply glad they can’t see his knees wobble behind the desk.  Sweat trails down the back of his neck.  He cannot fail.

He won’t.

“Mortals aren’t supposed to touch that,” Ox head growls out.

Tang looks up again, face the perfect picture of confusion, before he smiles.

“Oh,” He laughs a little.  “Clearly there’s been a communication error here.  King Yama sent me to fix a clerical mistake with this book.  I’m just looking for it now.”

He looks back down, and bites his lip to stop himself from smirking.  Time is of the essence.  If he finds his name before they catch onto the ruse, far better for it, right?  He just needs to find his name.  He can tell he’s close.

“Nobody told us about this.  And we’ve never seen you before,” Horse face interjects.

“Yeah, we’re in charge here.  Someone would’ve said something to us,” Ox head agrees.

“If you say so,” Tang replies.  “I’m simply following orders.  King Yama is a very busy man, and he wanted this completed quickly.  If you want to waste his time by dragging me to him just to get the same answer I’ve told you, be my guest.  

“But,” Tang shrugs and smiles. “I don’t believe King Yama is very forgiving, when someone is wasting his time.” 

He continues to flip through the book, ever patient.  When he glances up, for a split second, he can see Ox head and Horse face share a look.

“...You know what, I think I remember being told about, the, uh, clerical thing,” Horse face finally says.

“Yeah,” Ox head agrees, awkwardly.

“Don’t, uh, don’t tell King Yama about this, alright?” Horse face tries for a smile.

“We’ll just keep this between us,” Ox head fidgets with his arm bracers.

Tang smiles, and he doesn’t know what he looks like, but the two demons freeze.

“Of course,” hHe replies.

The pair leaves, rather quickly.

It takes Tang a few more minutes to find his name, written in white on the yellowed pages.  There are pens near the book, so clerical changes must be a plausibility.  He takes one of the small pens and dips it into the inkwell.  He carefully drags the ink across his name, blacking it out.

With a harsh yank, his soul is pulled away from tangibility, and he drops the pen with a clatter as he is rocketed back up, up, up—slammed into his body with utter abandon, weightlessness and emptiness replaced with the heavy feeling of embodiment.

He wakes up with a gasp, and when he breathes he coughs, as if his lungs collected dust in the time he wasn’t using them.  He moves his limbs experimentally, and everything moves fine.  His senses are a little duller, he thinks.  His vision was always poor, but now it’s even moreso.  He doesn’t smell much of anything.  He can barely taste his own saliva.  There’s a ringing in his ears that doesn’t go away, but eventually he gets used to the sound.

He sits up, glancing around. Everything in his room is untouched.  He is unsure of how long he was dead.

To the left, he hears the shuffling of footsteps.  He turns his head.

Bao is scrambling back, half fallen over, hand gripping the doorframe.  His eyes are wide, his breaths are coming out as gasps.

“You—” Bao breathes.  “You were dead.  I-I checked—you were dead.”

Tang stares.

Bao.  Terrible, awful, disgusting Bao.  A nuisance that plagued Tang’s life for years, a person who took great joy in Tang’s upset.  A person who, at one point, was someone Tang desired the respect of.

Terrible, awful, disgusting Bao, trembling at the sight of him.

Tang smiles, slow, letting his lips curl up to show a flash of teeth, and finally learns the joy that comes from being feared.  He winks.

“Only technically,” He says, almost hisses, and he finds a perverse sense of utter satisfaction as Bao pales, turns on his heel, and runs, as fast as he can.

Away from him.

Tang laughs to the disappearing sound of footsteps, and breathes in new air.  He thinks Bajie would be proud of him, as he stands and brushes himself off.  He’s finally stopped caring.  

Immortality achieved.  But there’s still more to do.  If he’s to be worthy, he needs power.

Which means he needs to learn how to acquire it.

He takes what will be useful, settles it into a pack, and leaves his home of a quarter of a century behind without much thought.  So silly of him, to be attached to it.  If only he’d left sooner.  If only he’d stopped caring sooner, maybe this all could have been avoided.

He leaves the utensils.  Leaves his books, the dictionary, and keeps the memories safe in the space where his heart once resided, heading off to the next town.

He becomes a vagabond of sorts, coasting from town to town.  He will devour the town library’s collection, searching for something, anything, and perhaps partake in town gossip.  People have so much to say, after all.  Finding the pearls of wisdom and knowledge beneath the swine tales, so to speak, is something he becomes rather shrewd at.  

Some of the people he talks to apparently find him attractive.

“Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes?” A woman he met in a small restaurant asks him.

 I like your eyes, because they’re a brown red I haven’t seen before.

“No,” Tang replies.  “But it’s kind of you to say.”

He’s drawn to a town over whispers of mystic artifacts and knowledge being held there.  It’s a rather unassuming town, no different from the others, but the library is a bit bigger than most.  He pours over texts, though in the week he spends searching for something of use he comes up short.

Frustration has him nearly tearing the pages, and he lets out a harsh breath through his nose and forces himself to be patient.  He has eternity, after all.  As does Bajie.  The execution of his plan needs to be perfect or it won’t work.

A tap on his shoulder.  Tang turns his head to glance up at the librarian, previously absent or seemingly oblivious to his existence.  She stares at him with sharp, knowing eyes.

“You seek something?” she asks.

“Knowledge,” Tang finds himself replying.  “Power.”

She smiles at him.  It’s a wicked type of smile, but nothing cruel towards him.

“Come. I have something for you to see.” She turns, and gestures for him to follow. 

Tang nearly trips over himself rushing to her side.

She leads him to a room behind the library desk, a small office with more bookshelves filled with large, old scrolls and books.  He watches her trace her fingers across the different scripts, searching, before she slides a book out from the shelf and turns, handing it to him.

“If you want power, this is how you will take it,” she says.

She opens the book in his hands, flipping it to a specific page and pointing at the picture there.

“A gem,” she explains.  “You fill it with life, and it grants you power.”

Tang reads over the text.  You take a gemstone, one typically one clear in color for better results, and then use the life force of others to power it.  After a certain amount of power is added to the gem, you fuse it with your being.

“I’ll have to kill humans?” he asks, glancing up at her.

She chuckles.  “If you want, but it would take a lot.  Demons are far more...potent.”

Tang nods.

Demons.  That may take some work.  Demons are a breed far more powerful than humans, and even as an immortal being, Tang is fragile.

And, before even that, there’s the matter of acquiring a gemstone.  Those are often expensive.

He snaps the book shut.

“Thank you.” He bows his head in thanks.  “I’ll be taking this.”

It’s not a request.  He leaves with the book in hand and starts his search for a jewel.

He finds it three towns over.  There’s a jeweler there with an assortment of gemstones.  All definitely out of Tang’s price range, but now he’s located them. 

He thinks of stealing, but that’s a fool’s errand.  Taking something that can be bought with hard work is something an idiot would do.  Tang wants to be able to move between towns as he pleases, and gaining a reputation of a criminal makes it far less likely that people will speak to him, will tell him the things he needs to know.

So, he gets a job at a restaurant.  Bajie did it once and so shall he.

The work gives him something to do.  Being immortal means sleep and nourishment are no longer a requirement, and without those time killers the days and nights stretch on longer and longer, Tang made painfully aware of every passing hour, minute, second.  His purpose, his goal, remains the same, but with his job now there’s something else to occupy his time as he plans.

Plus, it helps that he learns how to use a knife effectively.  Bajie taught him the basics, but when it’s the lunch rush you learn far more how to cut, dice, chop, and slice efficiently.  If he’s to kill demons, he needs to be able to fight.  

His coworkers do try to start conversations with him, but he is far too focused on the task at hand to join in.  They learn, eventually, that he isn’t up for talking.  Interacting with people is only useful when there is something to gain from it.

Life has made it very clear that friendships do not come to him, so there is no bother hoping.  Tang is chasing the only person who gave him some semblance of respect.  He does not need, nor want, anyone else.

No one typically comments on his appearance.  His skin is paler than most, eyes dark and shadowed.  Still, that’s not enough to raise suspicion of him.

Typically, anyway.

“Do they know?” A man asks, when Tang comes up to the counter to hand him his order.  “Do they know what you are?”

Tang glances at the man with a small smile.

The man pales.  

Tang smiles wider.

“Here’s your order, sir,” he says.

The man leaves.  Quickly.

It takes him a year to accrue enough funds to acquire the gem.  It’s a clear white stone, almost in the shape of a teardrop, and it sits comfortably in his palm.  The jeweler had asked if it was a gift for someone.  Tang chose not to reply.

Now, there’s the matter of finding a demon to power it.  Again, not very hard.  Demons are well known to ravage towns from time to time.  Steal their crops, take the flesh to devour, things like that.  The next town over has been struggling with one.  Nothing too powerful, or else they’d have had a far bigger outcry, but of interest nonetheless.

He leaves his job without notice.  He doesn’t care if they’re bereft of a cook, not when he’s so close.  He rushes off, clutching his gemstone and his knives and disappearing into the night.

The demon doesn’t attack during the day, so when he arrives he has enough time to ask around.  Gather details.

They’re some sort of rhino demon, evidently.  Charging through homes in the night, taking mortals to consume, leaving nothing but demolished buildings and blood in their wake.  The townspeople are terrified, spending most of their days fortifying their homes.  They’ve neither the money nor support to escape, and sending for help will likely take too long.

That’s fine.  Tang can take care of this for them.  They get to be saved, and more importantly, he gets the power he needs. 

Tang stands at the entrance to the town, the moon high in the sky, patiently waiting for the demon to arrive.  His knife is gripped tightly in hand.  He has his pants rolled up to his knees, though his sleeves still hang loosely.

He hears the footsteps before he sees them.  Charging hoofsteps on the ground, and the glint of blood red eyes.  The rhino demon is large, at least twice his height, and is aiming for him, specifically.

Tang side steps, holding his knife out and letting it slice through the demon’s hide as he charges past.

“Sloppy,” he calls, turning around.  

Blood drips down the demon’s side.  The demon snarls, baring his sharp teeth.  He shakes his injured leg out a few times, splattering blood across the dirt, before he stomps it back down onto the ground, readying his stance for another charge.

Tang readies himself.  “Not used to a human who fights back?” 

Bajie taught him to fight.  Well, more how to dodge, because he said if Tang got hit by a demon even once he’d probably die on the spot.  Apparently, humans are very fragile.

“Do you have to be careful, with me?” Tang asked.

“A little,” Bajie had admitted.  “I mean, you’re not made of glass.”

“I’d hope not,” He’d laughed, sitting on Bajie’s shoulder..

“But I have to be a little careful,” Bajie shrugs the shoulder Tang isn’t sitting on.  “Most demons wouldn’t.  I, uh, want you to be ready for that.”

Tang scritched the place behind Bajie’s ears that always made a purr rumble up Bajie’s throat, smiling when he heard it right on cue.

“You have a lot of enemies?” he’d asked.

Bajie laughed.

“Something like that.”

The demon charges, and Tang jumps, stepping onto the demon’s large horn and using it as a springboard.  He leaves a large gash in the demon’s back when he descends, stumbling a little when he hits the dirt.

There’s a roar of pain from the demon at that.

Tang smirks.

He ducks when a large fist is levied his way.

Jump.  Sidestep.  Dodge.  Slash.

Close quarter combat would be to Tang’s disadvantage, considering one blow would break him into pieces.  The demon knows it, refusing to allow Tang an opening to make any more distance.  Tang doesn’t let that deter him, using the milliseconds between strikes to slash at whatever part his knife can reach.

By the time he trips, the demon is bleeding in more places than Tang can count.  Not bleeding much, the gashes rather small, but bleeding a little from a lot still has an impact.

Of course, getting choked also has an impact, Tang finds.

A large hand grips him by the neck when Tang trips, squeezing tight enough to bruise and then some.  If Tang were entirely mortal, well, this would be it for him.  Needing to breathe is certainly something required of Tang, in a sense, but he can hold his breath for far longer.  He makes his eyelids flutter, sliding them shut to keep the illusion that he’s dying. 

As this happens, as he goes limp, the demon huffs. Even relaxes a little, as if the battle’s won.

Tang opens his eyes and smiles.  He slashes once more and catches the demon across the throat.

Blood sprays out as if it were thrown out of a bucket, coating Tang’s face before he’s dropped.  The demon presses his hands to his throat and chokes, coughing up blood and wheezing for air.

The demon drops to his knees.  Tang comes close.

He drives his knife into the demon’s head, right below the horn, and the demon goes limp.

Tang side steps the falling body.

He takes a few deep breaths, watching the blood pour across the dirt in a way he’s never seen before.  He’s never watched anyone die like this.  He’s never made someone die like this.

All life is sacred, he was told.  All life was to be protected, cared for.  That’s why he was vegetarian.  That’s why he was a monk.  He should feel something, staring at the dead body before him.  He should be devastated by his actions.  He should be horrified.

He should care, but the demon was killing this town.  All life cannot be sacred when one life takes so many.  And, besides that, he needs the power.  If this is how he is to gain it, so be it.

He pulls out the gem, fumbling a bit.  His hands are wet from the blood.  He presses the gem against the demon’s body and waits.

Sure enough, energy flows into it.  The gem warms in his grip, and Tang swears he can hear a rattling scream before the gem begins to glow pink.  Reaching towards red, but not quite there.   

He holds the gem up in the moonlight, watching the light filter though it.  It’s too clear, still.  Once it’s near opaque-that’s when it’s ready.

“Look on the bright side,” he says to the body, though his voice is hoarse.  His throat is sure to bruise, and it makes it a little difficult to speak.  “Now that you aren’t murdering families in the night, maybe you’ll be of use.”

He pockets the gem, and after stealing some hanging clothes from the village—he feels little remorse, considering he saved the town—leaves the body to rot.

He washes himself off, burns his bloody clothing.  He’ll have to be smarter, he thinks, about how he kills.  Clothes are not easy to come by, and Tang doesn’t enjoy the idea of taking new clothes every time he kills a demon.  Far too much work, honestly.

He cleans off his knife once the rest of him is free of blood, staring at his reflection in the water.  The knife glimmers in the daylight.  The gemstone weighs heavy in his pocket.

He travels on the words of humans towards demons, flitting through the towns of the former and murdering the latter, and finds it a little isolating that he sees himself as neither.

The isolation is nothing new, though.  Tang has always been alone.

It’s after the sixth demon he kills that the gem starts to glow with promise, rattling in his grip as it begs for an outlet.  One powerful demon would have brought it to this point easily, but while Tang is no longer mortal, he is still terribly human, which means he is terribly weak.  He has to find the scraps of the demon world, those so weak they spend their days with mortals, hiding amongst them while trying to live a normal life.  He finds them using sigils that allow him to follow their trails like a scent, and he is silent as the grave in the night, knife steady in hand.

He’s gotten rather proficient with a knife, but he hates using it.  Too messy, too close, too personal.  He’ll find something more suitable later.

For now, there’s the matter of making sure the power he won (stole is such a dirty word, and is it really stealing if he beat the demon fair and square?) stays with him.  Consulting the book he took from the library, he knows he needs to establish a physical connection to it. 

That requires effort.  But Tang is nothing if not stubborn enough to make it work.

That night, he takes off his shirt and folds it carefully, setting it down beside him.  He places the gem on top of the cloth, and then uses his finger to trace the line where he needs to make the incision.  

He grabs the knife and follows his finger’s line down the center of his chest with the tip of the blade.  

Up and down, up and down.  

It starts to burn.  He trembles.  

It stings, aches, sharp and raw, and the knife slips from his fingers.

It drops, he presses a shaking hand to the wound.

Gasping for air, he coughs on agony.  Chokes on it as he wrestles with the pain of the action.  The urge to heave makes him shudder.

He isn’t unused to pain. He’d slipped a few times, cut his fingers while preparing dinner with Bajie.  The bruises on his neck took weeks to heal and asphyxiation burned.

But nothing like this.  Carving flesh, your own flesh, and having to continue regardless of every logical, emotional, and primal part of yourself screaming at you to stop is a challenge Tang didn’t think would be so hard to undertake.

Not for the faint of heart, the book said.  

His is already shattered, isn’t it?  What’s another break?

He takes a piece of wet cloth and wipes away the excess, patching up his failed attempt and making sure everything is clear.  He cleans off the knife, and takes a deep breath.

He raises the blade to right beneath his chest, closer to it than his stomach but still enough below that it isn’t exactly where his heart resides.  He hisses a breath in through his teeth as he sinks the blade in again.

Up and down, slowly pushing in deeper and deeper until the blade presses into flesh.

Up and down, like cutting vegetables, steady.

Up and down, deeper with each movement.

Blood wells up and pours down his chest as he slices deeper.  The stream buffers with every rise and fall of his chest as he takes deep breaths.

His hand shakes.  Pain is all he can think of and he pulls out the knife when he manages to make an incision a centimeter deep.  

Deep breaths.  Focus.

His teeth are clenched so tight they might shatter in his mouth, as he reaches over and grabs the gem.  He sets the knife aside and uses one finger to pull one side of the incision apart, creating more space.

His skin is clammy, sweat dripping down as he fights to keep himself from curling in on himself and screaming.

The blood pools down his legs, dripping toward the ground.

The gem sits comfortably in his palm, as he drags his tired limb up to press the stone into the newly made space.  His fingers are slick with blood, fumbling and terribly unsteady, as he forces the gem in deeper, until it pushes apart his flesh even more.

The sound is wet and sticky, as if his flesh were overwatered rice.  He swallows back nausea at the thought.  His breaths are haggar pants, wheezing gasps as his lungs beg for air below the lump of pain that tightens his throat.

The power hums, as he presses a flat palm against his chest, holding the gem in.  It pulses once, twice.

And then everything pitches into white hot agony.  Tang screams.

White becomes red in his vision as power surges through his core, the smell of burnt meat rising up to his nose as the gem clings to his flesh and fuses with it.  He can feel it touch bone, pressing against it.  He can feel veins crawling beneath his skin like worms, forcing their way into him.  

He curls in on himself, holding himself up by his forearms trembling against the ground, as something inhuman breaks through any barriers Tang once had and makes a home in his center.

It feels like hours.  Like centuries, even, as he twitches uncontrollably with every spark of energy that courses through him.  He coughs, and blood splatters onto his knees and onto the ground.  He spits a few times, to get the rest of it out of his mouth.  The metallic, bittersweet taste lingers on his tongue.

He swallows the urge to vomit up the meager meal he had a few hours earlier and breathes hard through mouth.

And then, as quickly as the pain comes, it vanishes.  Warmth spreads through his being, a soothing balm against the agony that threatened to pull him under.  Skin and flesh knit itself back together, even his first attempt healed within moments.  Where there was once pain there’s adrenaline

Tang pushes himself up and wipes his mouth.  A flash has him staring at his palm in surprise.

Crackling red energy twirls around his fingertips.  It bathes his skin in warm light, and when he clenches his fist and opens it again the power settles in his palm like a flame. Swaying with the wind, it moves in time with each breath.

His eyes glow with promise, as power surges through him.  He throws his arm out towards the firewood and the red energy crashes against the wood, splintering it and creating a blaze that shoots up tall, the flame rising up towards the treetops before it settles.  

He lets out a half hysterical laugh, a hand still against his chest.  He traces the veins that pulse outward, bright red, and imagines just how powerful he’ll be with more than six demons, more than ten, more than a hundred even.  It doesn’t matter how much it’ll take, he’ll make it happen.

“Just you wait, Bajie,” he whispers, grinning, imagining warm blue eyes, imagining the room they shared, imagining a new one.

The journal, the speech, it sits in the forefront of his mind.  He hasn’t had a chance to give either, yet, but that’ll change.  It’s only a matter of time.

“I’ll catch up to you soon.”

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 12: Hesitation

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

This chapter is a little longer, but I couldn't find anything to cut out of it! So, enjoy! Things are starting to get kind of real with both dudes, lol. Thank you so much for reading, as always. Love and appreciate you guys. Going to try to update again tomorrow but if I can't find time then it will definitely be Tuesday. Had some unexpected hang ups this weekend. Don't worry- next chapter Liu is back! Also, who has seen Max Huang's Flawless Victory video?? Is it not just... unf??? (and as always, open to suggestions!)

Part 11 Part 13 Chapter Index

You followed Kung Lao to the fight pit and by the time that you got there you’d managed to shake any remaining embarrassment. Your nerves about your arcana had long since taken over. Why were you nervous? The fight the other day had gone exceptionally well except for the whole thing with Kung Lao’s hat. You couldn’t get the idea out of your head that you’d hurt Liu Kang without realizing.

You knew Kung Lao was right. The more control that you had over your arcana the better. Besides that, he promised to take it easy on you. Right? He’d promised something but he’d been so close to you that when you tried to recall his exact words, you mostly just recalled his lips forming around the word ‘promise’. Stupid Chen. Teasing you. Stupid Kung Lao. Finding you right after you’d been teased. You couldn’t be blamed for struggling to focus.

Kung Lao didn’t have you meditate the way that Liu would have. Meditation would have helped you so much right now. Your thoughts were jumbled up in a confused pile. You weren’t even dressed properly for a fight, you realized, so you walked back to the edge of the fight pit.

“We haven’t even warmed up, Y/N. Where are you going?” Kung Lao laughed, setting his hat on the steps and out of the way.

“Oh, I just realized I’m not in my gi.” You tugged on the tank top.

“You half are.” He pointed to your pants. “You should be fine. This looks more like you anyway. Not that I’m arguing. You can wear whatever you want but this is much more like you.”

“I didn’t realize you had an opinion about it.” You rolled your eyes but walked back into the fight pit. He was right. You were fine in what you had on. It was your brain that wasn’t cooperating. It was sabotaging you- full of racing, hectic thoughts. Then Kung Lao was next to you, staring down at you with both concern and amusement behind his eyes. How long had you been standing there lost in the spaghetti of your thoughts?

“What’s going on with you today? I thought you were getting past the blood loss thing.”

“Weren’t you the one who said it would take time to recover from that?”

“I did. Still. Focus. Let’s practice channeling that renegade energy of yours.” Kung Lao clasped your forearm encouragingly and then walked back into the fight pit. You joined him, standing next to him. “Follow me. We’ll start with some tai chi since you seem to be all over the place.”

“Kind of like meditating, right? Gets you in touch with your energy.”

“Yeah, but I like this better. Plus, your head is somewhere else so I thought it might help you focus. Be present, Y/N.” He teased.

“I’m present, Kung Lao. Jeez.” You shook out your hands and feet and then took your position next to him. He led you through breathing exercises in various calming poses. He stopped several times to show you how he channeled the energy of not only his arcana, but that ran through him. He urged you to do the same, every so often, adjusting the position of your hands. You had never been good at tai chi. Meditation was much easier for you. Yet, you struggled more than you normally would have. Even the day before, you likely could have managed just fine.

Kung Lao walked behind you as you wobbled in position and he carefully took your hand in his, fingers, brushing down your arm to your elbow and adjusting your positioning. You turned to catch sight of him, but he was very much focused on his task. When he caught your gaze, he let go of your arm and stepped back but averted his eyes with a smile, subtle on his lips.

You exhaled deeply and focused on your energy, trying to will your arcana forth and ignore the lingering touch that Kung Lao had left behind. He was talking, coaching you on how to channel your energy but you’d tuned out the words and instead focused on the comfort of his voice. It was frustrating. The ink had come to you in rivers before and even when you were unconscious, it had come freely. Now you could barely get it to bubble above your fingers. Your fingertips turned black, but it took so much energy, you stumbled forward.

Kung Lao carefully helped you stand back upright and as he made to speak, you stepped away from him and walked until you could see over the edge of the arena. You had to breathe. The air was stifling. Folding your arms over your chest you stared into the ravine.

Kung Lao stood next to you, admiring the temple carved into the side of the mountains. Then he turned away from you and walked back into the pit. “Don’t do that, Y/N.” You turned to face him, and he went back to his tai chi. You admired his control and his knowledge.

“Do what?”

“Worry that you can’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m nervous, is all.”

“Well, get over it.” He stopped, bowed, and then walked back to join you, standing below you in the sand.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re strong, Y/N. You’re capable. I told you. I’m not going to watch you give up just because you’re scared of what comes next. Now, come down here and practice with me.” He offered you his hand and you stared at it. Sometimes he was completely foreign from the boy you’d known so long ago and sometimes he was right there, like you’d never lost him. You took his hand and stepped back into the pit. “I don’t think we should try sparring until we can get you out of this headspace.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was right. It was sweet that he believed in you so passionately, but it didn’t erase your nerves. You didn’t know each other very well but there was still this old, nostalgic connection you couldn’t shake. You trusted him without understanding why you did. If he believed in you then you could do it. Yet, when you closed your eyes, you heard Liu Kang telling Raiden that you’d attacked him. You hadn’t gotten to ask him what happened and if he was okay. He was probably fine. You couldn’t stop fixating on it.

Kung Lao was right. You had to let it go and focus. You followed his lead again. In comparison to the last time you’d fought, you were barely able to keep your balance, nonetheless focus on your energy and control it.

“Now, take that energy and manifest your arcana.” Kung Lao urged, walking around you to make sure that your posture was still correct. Then he took up the same stance next to you, legs spread wide, arm extended before you, the other curled inward. You closed your eyes and breathed into the stance, trying to take that energy you felt swirling all around you and will it into your arcana. No matter how you tried, it wouldn’t come. The willingness was replaced with nagging doubt. What if you couldn’t control it? What if you summoned it and lost control? “Nothing?” Kung Lao stood before you when you opened your eyes, watching you curiously. Your fingers were throbbing, and you broke the stance briefly before getting back into it.

“Can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Your posture is dreadful. You were so graceful the other day.”

“It’s almost like I went through something traumatic last night.” You broke your stance and were surprised that he laughed under his breath. “That’s not funny, Kung Lao.”

“I know it isn’t. It’s an excuse.” He shrugged, then took a step closer. You stepped back. “You can do this. I’m pushing you because I know that you can. This isn’t working so why don’t we try something else?” He walked across the pit and gestured to a stack of weights. “What’s holding you back?” You joined him and frowned at the weights. You were strong but your body was so sore that the idea of lifting them made you sad.

“I don’t know. I’m exhausted.”

“You were exhausted after we uncovered your arcana and still managed.”

“I did.” You wondered about that too. Ever since you’d had that vision, something had changed, something you couldn’t put your finger on and certainly that you couldn’t explain.

“When Liu first found his arcana, he struggled with keeping control of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s more similar to yours than mine is. Mine is a different kind of control.”

“And did you struggle with that?”

“Well, losing control of mine was a different animal.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“That wasn’t an answer. Now who’s being evasive?” You teased him and he laughed.

“Take the ten pounder, will you?” He grabbed the weight and handed it to you and then took the other one himself. “Liu had to focus on control to tame his arcana. I figure that something similar might help you.” He tossed the weight from hand to hand. It was easy to forget how strong he was when you were mostly teasing each other back and forth. It was impressive. You followed him and watched as he sat in the sand and then laid back. “The weight represents your arcana. It’s important to remember that you’re in control. It is an extension of you.”

You sat and watched him as he held the weight over his head and then slowly, one step at a time, he sat up and stood, the weight still above his head, arms strong and steady. “You control the weight. It’s harder than it looks.” He stood back up and watched as he walked a bit closer to you. “Your turn. Come on.”

You didn’t have much confidence that you would be able to do it as gracefully as he had but you would try. Kung Lao set his weight to the side and then knelt next to where you laid. You held the weight above your head and closed your eyes. It was an extension of you but as you made to sit up, you didn’t go anywhere. Instead, you laughed and opened your eyes. “Yeah, that is definitely not happening.” Your arms were resisting, and your side was too sore to rely on your core.

“Too sore?”

“Yeah.” Despite your objection and proclamation, you focused on the weight and though you were shaking and your body ached, you managed to sit up, still holding the weight above your head. Strength training wasn’t really your forte. What you were skilled in was more about maneuverability and balance. Even that didn’t seem to be cooperating with you today. You were grateful that while Kung Lao had initially come off abrasive and pushy, he was being understanding and patient with you.

“Good. Breathe. Take time to regain your control. It’s all about control.”

“Liu did this kind of thing?”

“The masters did it with him. I remember watching. He can do this in seconds with the bigger weights now.” Kung Lao smiled. “If he can do it then so can you. Ready to stand up?”

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m going to try but…” You struggled to find a way to get to your feet without letting go of the weight. Much to your surprise, Kung Lao scooted in the sand so he was behind you on one knee and slipped his arm around your middle, careful of how he held you. Then he urged you to lean back against his chest.

“Use me for balance. I won’t push you or help you, but you can lean back against me.” He whispered in your ear, face close to the crook of your neck but careful not to touch. Still, his energy was like lightning mingled with yours. “Relax. It’s about control.”

Easy for him to say. This was seven different kinds of torture. His arm around you, his breath on your neck, the weight held over your head making your arms tremble, your side stretching painfully. You were sure he wasn’t trying to torture you but boy, he was. You had to focus on the task. Carefully, placing your body weight back against Kung Lao who did exactly as he promised, you managed to push onto your knees, one at a time and then onto your feet. He moved with you and he urged his hands up to take the weight. Then he whispered in your ear and you could feel the smile on his lips. “Good.” His lips barely brushed against your ear and you shivered.

You had to stop overthinking. He was just helping you train. That was it. Your heart had to calm down. The tension with him was so different than it was with Liu Kang and even so, you felt guilty that it existed at all. Why? Fuck if you knew. Your brain was exhausted by it.

You practiced that a few more times until you could manage to get up on your own without Kung Lao’s arms wrapped around you. You worked extra hard to make it happen because the longer he had his arms wrapped around you, the less you had been able to focus on what you were actually trying to accomplish.

This was going to be the death of you.

If this was how you had to train? In close quarters with either Kung Lao or Liu Kang, then you stood no chance. Death by tension.

Or sensory overload.

Or embarrassment and guilt.

“How are your arms?”

“Sore.” You would keep trying but the afternoon was fading into evening and your energy was fading with it.

“Let’s see if we can get you to summon your arcana again.” Kung Lao folded his arms over his chest as he walked around you. “Stand up like we’re fighting.” He tapped your shoulder and then imitated one of the stances you’d used the day before. With a laugh, you shoved him, and he lost his balance and then caught himself and pretended to be wounded. “Don’t like being told what to do, do you?”

“I’m used to being the teacher. And I’m exhausted. I’m burnt out.”

“Well, let’s try this and then we can call it an evening.” He assured you and then stood in front of you. “Now, come on.” He gestured with his index finger and you laughed.

“You would be a terrible teacher.”

“Well, I was going to give you a sticker on your report card but now it’s going to be a frown face.”

“You’re not really instructing me and not listening and making bad jokes…”

“But I’m good at what I do, Y/N. You’re stalling.”

“…what if I can’t, Kung Lao?” You avoided his eyes and stepped back into your stance as he had asked you to do.

“You can.” Kung Lao was offering you confidence when you had lost yours. He was still that kid, deep down. The one who had always believed in you. Seeing that gave you a little bit of that confidence too. He was pushing you, but not in a way that you felt small or incapable. Quite the opposite. You’d expected practice with him to be abrasive and exhausting, but instead he had been confident and understanding. You closed your eyes and pictured the ink from the day before. You reached for the energy, but it seemed just out of reach. When you got close, it flitted just out of reach.

Your posture slipped as you focused and you yelped, losing your balance, nearly falling over. Kung Lao helped you upright, hand on your arm cautiously. Then he slipped behind you and rested his hand on your hip and helped you find your balance. You looked at him over your shoulder again and he offered you a confident nod. He then stepped back and copied your stance. “Don’t give up.”

You took comfort knowing that Kung Lao would catch you if you fell so you switched focus. Your fingertips burned and shook, and you watched as they turned black. Kung Lao’s eyes were on you and you suddenly lost focus and shook out of your stance. You bounced on your heels and started again, back in your stance. Kung Lao did the same, close enough that if you stepped wrong then you’d brush against him, but other than that he was careful not to touch you. Even so, the closeness was killing you. His presence radiated behind you, the strength of his form in comparison to yours was impeccable. You were faltering. Things that you’d been confident in were slipping from your grasp.

You were frustrated in a thousand different ways. Kung Lao, try as he might, was not helping the way he thought he was. Somehow this was still all Chen’s fault. You were trying very much not to let it get to you, but it seemed impossible.

“Come on, Y/N.” Kung Lao’s whisper was soft but husky behind you and you fought the chills again. “You’re sloppy.” His hand brushed around your shoulder to show where you were faltering. He then urged your arm back a bit, gently touching your elbow to do so. “Shoulders away from your ears. Come on.” You did as he instructed, and he leaned close to whisper in your ear. “…how does that feel?”

“Uh…” Your words were lost in a haze of confusion. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing now. Was it your arcana? You couldn’t remember.

“…is it?”

Focus. You exhaled and shifted, but each movement put you in danger of brushing against him. While your bodies didn’t touch, you caught the occasional phantom touch of his clothing, of his hands. “Like this.” You couldn’t focus, but you were good at what you did. You could do this. Those moments were a haze of desperation and confusion. You wanted to summon your arcana again, but you also wanted to do something to cut this tension but everything your mind came up with was incredibly inappropriate and followed by guilt.

“Y/N, I thought you were better at this.”

That had helped. It had been said in jest, but it had made you want to smack him rather than kiss him. Though, both seemed still like viable options. Kung Lao tried to help you adjust your stance, but you smacked his hand away and did it yourself. When you struggled, he grasped your wrist and tried to help you once more. Darkness surrounded your fingertips and you turned to face him, but it faded as quickly as it came. He didn’t step back, and you were so close to him that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. He dwarfed you then, his hair hanging in front of his face as he looked down at you.

“I know what I’m doing.” You scolded. He smiled down at your, stepping just so that the tip of his shoe touched against yours. He tilted closer to you and you held your breath. He was so close to you but not touching you at all. It was killing you. He was doing it on purpose. You could see the smirk now, the delight behind his dark eyes. He knew exactly what he brought to the table, apparently.

“Then act like it.” He dared you. You thought about proving it to him, but your head was spinning with the intoxicating air surrounding you. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing anymore.

“Then give me a chance to.”

He stepped away from you and you felt as though you could breathe for the first time in ages. You tied your hair back carefully and adjusted your stance.

“That’s much better.” He walked around you, observing your stance. “Now try your arcana. Maybe that’s too vague. Try to manifest something you’re familiar with. Something that you would use when practicing in the dojo.”

“I’m trying, Kung Lao.” You breathed a frustrated sigh. It was at least easier without him practically on top of you. Your fingers tingled and your arms arched with soreness, body exhausted. Still, grasping the air, you managed to summon something familiar in your palms. The hilt of mid-sized jian, double-edged thin blades! You’d practiced with them for years. There was no weight to the versions you’d created with ink but the familiar grip of them was comforting.

“Good!” You could feel the smile in his voice. He had his arms folded over his chest, a satisfied look on his face. You switched stances and twisted the swords in your grip but as you did, the ink dripped and lost its form. You focused on their form again and less on your posture. You had done these moves a thousand times to teach others. There was no reason you couldn’t do this. At least you felt more confident in yourself.

“Now, block me.” Kung Lao lowered his stance and as you switched your focus from the ink to him, you lost your grip on the swords and it faded. You cursed under your breath and Kung Lao laughed in surprise. Walking away from him, you pushed your hair that had come free back, held it there in frustration, and coughed. You were out of breath and exhausted. You needed rest. Your body was giving you all the signs to stop. It had been foolish to push this hard.

Much to your surprise, Kung Lao grasped your arm and whipped you around to face him. You lost your balance and grasped at his shirt to catch yourself.

“This isn’t a game, Y/N.”

“I know that, Kung Lao. I’m exhausted. You’re pushing me too hard.”

“I won’t let you give up.”

“I’m no giving up. I’m just exhausted! After the past few days, I’m burnt out, that’s all. I’m trying my best, but I need rest.”

“It’s not enough.” Kung Lao’s grip on your arm tightened and you tried to twist it free. “Fight the pain. Fight the exhaustion. When you think you’ve hit your bottom, pick yourself back up and fight.”

“I am! I’m doing my best, but I can’t focus.”

Kung Lao released you and you pulled your arm back with a snap as if to prove a point. He stepped back and you were surprised as he slipped into the familiar Wing Chun stance that you’d seen the day before. He knew you weren’t up for it and yet there he was. “I promised that I’d push you.”

“I can’t, Kung Lao.”

“Summon your arcana and fight me.”

You muttered more curse words beneath your breath and stepped back into your stance. Much easier than earlier, you managed to summon the swords you’d barely mustered earlier. They were still dripping and weak and your body was sore in ways that you hadn’t dreamt possible, but you’d done it. It was the best you’d done that day. The familiar form of the jian had really helped and while you were still exhausted, you were grateful that he had pushed you.

Kung Lao waited until he was sure you were ready, then flipped gracefully toward you. You backed away carefully, watching his movements. You ducked and slashed but Kung Lao dodged to the side and with a high kick, knocked the sword right out of your hand. It splattered on the sand in a spray of ink. You cursed and shook out your hand. It felt as though something had been ripped from the flesh of your hand rather than out of it. It was the strain and exhaustion, you were sure.

“Keep going, Y/N.”

“I’m trying,” you hissed under your breath, sweat dripping down your brow. You focused but the sword wouldn’t come back. Yelling in frustration, you struggled to summon the ink again but nothing came of it. As you slumped forward, out of breath, you were surprised to be grabbed roughly by your shoulder and shoved into the wall behind you. Eyes wide, you stared up at Kung Lao, only inches from you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You froze but no words came to you.

“What is stopping you? He repeated, hand relaxing on your shoulder. His eyes were daring you to fight him, to shove him, to summon your arcana and keep him from twisting you around so easily. You tried to summon it, tried to be as skilled and deft as you had been the other day but you didn’t have the strength. You really did need rest. His gaze softened and his eyes searched you and then returned to your eyes. “Y/N, you have to fight.”

Just because you couldn’t summon your arcana it didn’t mean that you were helpless. You’d fought him and Liu Kang fine before you’d managed it. You could do that now too. He was right. You were getting in your own way. This was Kung Lao, a boy you’d wrestled around with as kids. You could do this. You were good at what you did and so far, that day, you’d felt terrible at it.

Kung Lao was still close and breathing awfully heavily for a man who had extraordinarily little challenge that day. You grabbed his wrist, twisted his grip from your shoulder, ducked under his arm and elbowed him in the chest. Then you stepped further into his space and flipped him around and over your shoulder, ducking low and then stepping back. He twisted out of your grasp as you flipped him over and caught himself then gestured toward you with a proud smile.

“There you are.”

“Yeah.” You walked past him out of breath. That was it for you. You were done. You couldn’t do it anymore. Kung Lao grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. You whined in exhaustion.

“Good job.”

You shoved his hand off of you and he grabbed your wrist again as if to test you. “Kung Lao, it’s time to listen to me. I’m exhausted. You keep pushing and pushing. I’m not myself today. You recognize that.”

“It worked though, didn’t it? Being what you are now? Being here? Having that mark on your back? You have to always be ready. You’re safe here with me but eventually we won’t be safe anymore. If you have an off day? You’re dead. I’m not going to let that happen. I have to push you.” He looked to you seriously and relaxed his grip on you but didn’t let go. “So, loosen up. And be ready for anything.”

“I must be having a stroke. You just told me to prepare for death and also to loosen up in the same breath.”

He laughed.

“Yeah, it’s going to be dangerous but all the more reason to have fun. Our lives have the potential to be short. Learn to have some fun, Y/N.” He let go of your wrist but as he did, he still towered over you. You didn’t back away, wanting to challenge his position of power over you. He had a way with doing that, with making you feel submissive but in the same breath you wanted to give him a run for his money and push your boundaries. “I never expected you to be so tightly wound.”

“You pushed me too hard.”

“I promised to push you!” He laughed as if this were obvious and leaned closer to your height. You didn’t back down in spite of the sudden closeness. You shoved at his shoulder and laughed. He was ridiculous. “There you go. That’s better.”

“You’re a pain in my side, Lao. Literally.” You smiled even so.

“You trained, Y/N, so come have some fun with me.” He tapped his chest and you watched his hand. He had to stop saying things like that. Almost everything he said was a double entendre and he knew exactly what he was doing. You could tell by that familiar smirk. He wore his confidence on his sleeve. Even when he’d stopped teasing and gotten serious on you, which was something he had a tendence to do you noticed. He would create this intense tension between you and then he’d worsen it by lowering his voice and speaking sincerely and seriously. It was emotionally exhausted but also addictive and sexy.

“Fine, Kung Lao. Let’s have some fun.” You leaned a little closer to him. You couldn’t help but tease him back every so often. He was right. It was fun. And right now, it distracted you from the exhaustion. With a flick of your wrist, you managed to summon your ink sword. Not focusing on it had made it much easier. You kicked him back and away from you and twisted the blade in your grip. Even as you held onto your arcana, it felt different than when you’d first used it. It was as though you’d lost control over it.

It could have been the exhaustion. Your grip shook on the blade but you focused instead on your form and rushed toward him and lunged forward. Kung Lao ducked around the blade and you slashed, and he rolled out of the way. He knocked the sword up and you flipped back with it, faltered on your landing stance but then jabbed toward him again and again. He flipped backwards to avoid your attacks until you had him cornered. Then he kicked the blade and while it splashed ink, it didn’t fall. You followed the momentum of his kick and he ducked behind you. As you made to slash, he stepped around it and grasped the end of the blade. You hesitated for fear of cutting him and he tore it from your grasp. It splattered on the ground.

You stumbled and held your wrist in pain. It was as if you’d lost an extension of yourself. Kung Lao knocked you back and you stumbled into the wall. He pinned your shoulder against the wall but you grasped his arm to try and force him to stay further away from you, to give your room to escape. You struggled to push him back and he held you fast. At least he’d had to try a little harder that time.

You stopped but didn’t let go of his forearm. Then you caught your breath, not having realized how hard you’d been breathing throughout. Kung Lao did the same, though why the hell he was struggling to breathe you could only guess. When you’d last fought, he had barely broken a sweat and that had been a much more intense battle. Right now, you were sloppy and exhausted. Your ears were ringing as he searched your eyes. Then he stepped away from you and with a flick of his wrist the hat that he’d rested aside returned to his hand.

“Good. That’s all for today.”

“Oh, thank god.” You hunched over, resting your hands on your knees.

“Let’s grab a drink.”

“What?” You looked up at him in surprise.

“A drink. Let’s get one. I’ve got some wine stored away for a special occasion.”

“Wine?”

“You know, wine, spirits, liquor. Drinking. Having a little fun? Loosening up? That thing you need to do.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No, I actually have a reason.” You laughed but you were a little defensive. Drinking with Kung Lao or Liu Kang was one thousand percent off the table. That was a bad, bad idea. A mistake waiting to happen. Any chance of lowering your inhibitions was one you couldn’t take. “The blood loss thing and it being thin. Liquor is a stupid idea.”

“Well, I can’t fight with that.”

“What’s going on with you, Kung Lao?”

“What do you mean?”

You gestured to yourself, exhausted as you were and then gestured to him. He was weird today and you weren’t sure why. There had been several moments where you’d almost stopped to ask him what was going on in his head.

“Did you not have fun? I had fun. Especially those last few rounds there. Could get used to that.” He smirked and you rolled your eyes but laughed a little anyway.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun.”

He stepped closer to you again and you were instantly defensive, hands on your hips.

“Admit it, Y/N. I know you like to disagree with me for whatever reason, but you had fun. You have a good time when I’m around.”

“You’re just… being so…”

“Being what, Y/N? I’m being honest.” His tone shifted. There it was. Teasing you mercilessly so that your guard was way up and then knocking it down with sincerity. “You’ve gotten into your head, in your own way. I need you to tell yourself that this isn’t like when we were kids.” You didn’t know what to say. He took you off guard. As much as you expected these serious moments, they were still always enough to make you freeze. He was surprisingly insightful for all the joking that he did. “I had to push you. I’m sorry if it was too much. We’re learning our limits. Besides, it worked. You could barely function when we started. By the end you were fighting me back.”

Your hands were shaking, and you clenched them tightly to stop them. Was it exhaustion or Kung Lao? That was a fun new game you’d come up with in the last few hours. He took your hand, pressing his thumb to your palm to stop your trembling.

“We’re going to get it under control. It’ll be hard. It’ll be exhausting. But we’re going to do it. Together.”

“Together.” He had a way of making you defensive but in that moment, your defenses were down. It felt like, for the first time since he’d come back, that he was being truly sincere. He let go of your and then nodded behind him.

“I’m going to grab a drink. You should rest but… also think about what I said. And if you change your mind about a drink? Come find me.”

He left you alone in the fight pit. You leaned against the wall and let your head hang back, catching your breath. He’d left you with more to think about than he’d likely realized even if he had known exactly what he was doing.

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter Nine

Chapter Title: Paint It, Black 9/? Wattpad

You manage to catch a grand total of three fish. After that, you decide you've had enough. And yes: it has everything to do with the four hooks you had to dig out of your hand. Helping out camp is one thing. Actually putting in effort? That's another entirely.

By the time you hike up the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, the sun is starting to set. You look around. Hopefully, you can go straight to Pearson's wagon. The fish weigh heavily in your satchel—the one that Arthur gave you. That thought alone brings a blush to your cheeks, and you hurriedly give Pearson the fish to distract yourself from it.

"These'll do nicely, Y/N," he says. "Let's see, bluegill, pickerel, and..." He heaves out the largest one you caught. "A smallmouth bass."

You bite your lip, suddenly a little unsure. "They're okay?"

Pearson blinks, taken aback. "Well, sure. Why wouldn't they be?"

Because I caught them, you think. Instead of saying that, though, you shake your head and smile.

"No reason." You turn with a wave. "See ya, Pearson."

Whether he notices your obviously fake attempt at lightheartedness, you'll never know. Still, it's not like it matters. Pearson, you've decided, isn't the most observant of the bunch. But he does cook a damn good stew.

You find yourself drifting toward Arthur's tent. He isn't back from Valentine yet, though you think he'll be back soon, if the sun is any telltale sign. The wagon doubles as ammunition storage, and you figure you might as well take inventory. Being from modern times—modern jobs—has its perks, apparently.

Although you barely know the difference between rifle and pistol cartridges, you manage to count and organize everything. The wagon looks ten times better by the time you're done.

If only I could do that to the rest of camp, you think with a smirk. Maybe they wouldn't be outlaws if they knew how to take care of themselves.

You pick up a box of bullets. Revolver, you realize. They're not all that interesting, but they are bigger than you thought. Briefly, you wonder if you'll ever learn how to use a revolver. The one Arthur gave you back at Six Point Cabin still sits by your bedroll, practically untouched. You've thought about practicing. Hell, you've thought about a lot of things. But somehow, you just know that if you try anything by yourself, you'll wound up with another burnt hand.

You hold the bullets at arm's length. It's not that you're afraid to try. You're not really afraid of anything, save for the obvious. And yet with the way things have been going, you might as well play it safe.

"They ain't gonna bite you, you know."

Barely stifling a shriek, you whirl around. Of course—of course—, Arthur's standing behind you. There's an amused half of a smile on his face, and you feel your cheeks burning for the second time that evening.

"I know," you say. "I was hoping they would, though. I'm into that shit."

Sometimes, you wish you could control the things that come out of your mouth.

Arthur stares at you, clearly trying to process what you just said. You don't really want to explain yourself. Honestly, that's a conversation you never want to have.

"When did you get back?" You ask, changing the subject.

"About five minutes ago." Arthur reaches over and takes the box of bullets from you. "You thinkin' of practicing?"

A laugh escapes you, loud and a little too forced. "No, not in the slightest."

Arthur seems to know you're lying through your teeth. He gives you a look, then glances down at the ammo again. You can practically see the thoughts going through his mind. It's... slightly unnerving—and slightly adorable.

Actually? You need to stop. If Arthur finds out about your little crush on him, it's game over.

"C'mon," he eventually says, startling you out of your reverie. He pockets the ammo and motions toward your bedroll. "Grab that revolver an' meet be by Florence."

You must look a little uncertain, because Arthur smiles reassuringly and pats your shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll teach you how to use it."

In seconds, the nervousness you felt goes away. As Arthur heads for the hitching posts, you hurry to your bedroll and pick up the revolver. For the first time, you recognize the craftsmanship that went into it. Elegant engravings swirl around the barrel, and the grip is a lovely ivory with a carved butterfly. You don't know where Arthur got it. Then again, no sense in complaining. It's absolutely beautiful, and you'll take beauty over, well, nothing any day.

You walk over to the hitching posts. Arthur's already in the saddle, looking strong and sure atop Florence. He reaches over and effortlessly lifts you behind him. At first, you're slightly unsteady. You don't suppose you'll ever get used to horseback. But eventually, you settle into Florence's gait as Arthur sets a steady trot for the river.

"We've got about an hour of daylight left," he says. "Might as well make use of it."

"Uh huh," you say, unable to focus on anything but how warm he is. "Sure."

Florence misses a step, and you immediately cling to Arthur in a death-grip. He glances over his shoulder. You don't miss the amused look in his eyes, nor the slight curve of his lips, but you ignore it in favor of, you know, not dying.

For what seems like the millionth time, you marvel at the scenery around you. In the future, you don't really get a chance to sit back and admire natural beauty. There's not really much of it left. Sure, you could take a vacation to Yellowstone or Yosemite, but it's not quite the same. Too many cars, too much... future.

It doesn't take long for Florence to get to the river. Arthur steers him toward a fallen log. He dismounts quickly and expertly, while you do your best not to fall off without your anchor.

Despite everything, you pitch forward. Arthur reaches out and catches you before you can faceplant in the mud, and you hear him try to hold in his laughter. Your face heats up.

"Sorry," you say when you're steady on your feet. "Not really used to sidesaddle yet."

"Ain't gotta apologize," he says, hands still on your arms. He's smiling. "You'll get it."

You smile too, looking into the soft blue of his eyes. For a moment, you forget why you're by the river in the first place. But eventually, Arthur clears his throat and looks away, moving his hands from your arms as he walks to the fallen log.

"We'll start off pretty close," he tells you, "and then go from there."

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out some bottles. You think you recognize whiskey and rum. What surprises you is that they're full.

"Isn't that a waste of good alcohol?" You ask.

Arthur laughs as he sets the bottles on the log. "Was plannin' on giving these to Dutch, but I like this idea more. Been meanin' to teach you to shoot for a while."

Your brain shorts for a second. "Really?"

"Sure." He finishes setting up the targets and moves to stand by you. "Can't help us rescue Sean if you ain't had a little practice."

He stands by you after setting up six bottles, then shows you how to hold the revolver. Your grip is too tight at first, and Arthur waits patiently as you adjust it. Eventually, you manage to get it where it's comfortable.

"Like this?" You ask, looking to him for confirmation.

He nods. "Exactly."

Pulling out his own gun, he quickly shoots one of the bottles, absolutely obliterating it into nothing. You flinch a little at the sound. You've never really been a fan of loud noises, but you suppose you'll have to get used to them.

"Don't try to think about it too much," he tells you, "and be ready for the kick."

You hesitate for a second, then extend your arm so the revolver's pointing at one of the bottles. "How's this?"

Arthur inspects your stance, lips pressed together in thought. He moves closer and gently grips your arm to bend it slightly at the elbow.

"Relax, Y/N," he says. "It ain't gonna bite you."

You find yourself thinking only of how warm he is, how the slightest brush of his hand against your arm sends butterflies through your stomach. Forcing yourself to snap out of it, you nod your head almost mechanically.

"Okay," you tell him, adjusting your posture. "Like this?"

He steps back and gives you a onceover. "Better," he says with a smile. "Now let's see if you can hit anythin'."

Biting your lip, you pull the hammer back and squeeze the trigger. You can't help but jump slightly when the gun goes off, and the bullet goes awry. A splash and a fountain of water tells you it landed in the river.

"Oops," you manage.

Arthur, to give him credit, doesn't laugh. Instead, he corrects your stance again and puts his hand between your shoulders.

"Relax," he says smoothly. "First shot's always the worst."

"But it isn't my first," you protest. "I shot that O'Driscoll."

"Point blank." He presses his hand against your back ever-so-lightly, aligning your shoulders so you're not so tense. "Now try again."

You hope you're not blushing as much as you think you are. Taking a deep breath, you aim the revolver again and pull the trigger. The first bottle explodes in a flurry of shattered glass.

"I hit it!" You beam at Arthur triumphantly. "I actually hit it!"

He smiles at you, a soft grin you don't think you've seen on him before. After a moment, he motions for you to move on to the next bottle. It takes you another try to hit this one, but eventually, it joins its companion and shatters.

You keep practicing until finally—finally—you hit all the bottles. After that, Arthur looks at the almost-dark sky and tells you it's time to head back. You have to admit, you're a little disappointed. Well... until he says he'll take you out again tomorrow.

Back on Florence and trotting steadily toward camp, you manage to ride sidesaddle without wobbling too much. And as you climb the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, listening to Arthur hum contentedly to himself, you find yourself feeling more at home than you have in years.

Inspired Music: The Rolling Stones | Paint It Black 

[cal-kestis]

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

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

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest.  (Set after S2) Rating: M   Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi. 

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours. 

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin. 

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself. 

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance. 

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

— 

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body. 

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.” 

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

Taglist: @sarahjkl82-blog @pedro-pastel @mavendeb @tailormotelkamzoil @unexistant @karkii @hwjdykqueillmjwkqu @httpwale @chiara-cannot-sleep​ @niiight-dreamerrrr​

[moonlightflower21]

Since we're on the Raph train I was wondering (mafia or not) how would react to his S/O being shot whilst also being pregnant with his baby? You don't have to do this if you don't want to tho! ❤

i loved this ask! this is totally also based on my one of my fave series because i thought it fit well.

disclaimer: mentions of shooting and hospitals. angst with fluff. kinda long, sorry bout that.

"You're not alone Raph. I know-" "Just stop please just stop, I can't take yer false optimism. It's not helping me, just stop" Raph growled at April, twirling his sais in his hands. It was a habit for whenever he was scared or nervous and she could really see both as clear as day in his face. For possibly the first she can tell just how scared the brute is.

Normally he would be laughing in the face of danger but it seems now that he's cowering away. April understood the outburst, knowing she would be falling apart if she was in his shoes. She left him for some peace but his mind was a prison, trying to remember every detail of this horrific accident.

His hands tremble when he notices your blood spattered against them, taking him back to when you were shot. That particular moment is forever burnt into his head, his heart dropped all the way to the ground when he first saw you in that state. You both had just even talking, laughing until the shot was fired.

Your mouth parted, gasping for air frantic to stop the flow of blood but it was impossible. The bullet penetrated deep through the muscle, embedded within your stomach. But what the worst was is that you were pregnant, halfway through month five. He rushed you to the hospital which thankfully wasn't far. The doctors rushed forwards to help you, shouting for the needles and the IV drip to stabilise yours and the baby's heartbeat. But once they went to the surgery room, no doctors had confirmed anything either. It felt like hell waiting and waiting for a word of confirmation. Anything to tell him that you and the baby were okay.

His brothers were trying to track down the gunman along with Chief Vincent and her team but Leo refused for Raph to join, claiming that he was also a potential target. That it would be too much to take on. He blew up on him, of course but Leo was adamant, taking him off the case. That killed him even more.

Donatello held the warm cup between his hands, watching his brother through the glass. He was scowling, angry that Leo hadn't given him much information about the whole incident. And as much as he understood Raph's pain, he knew why Leo refused for him to take part.

Donnie took a deep breath entering the room, shooting a small smile at the terrapin. Raphael looked up, a deep frown on his face as he paced trying to think but coming to no avail. Hearing his brother come in, he paused and raised a brow. He wished it was April, providing any useful information to take down the killer. He knew how to analyse the humans, but his brothers were harder to get information out of. Raphs shoulders deflated when he realised it was Donnie instead. He didn't even bother to try and hide his discontent from him.

"Were you with April?" He asked roughly, looking at him if he were a complete stranger.

"Here, I brought you a green tea. It won't make you as jittery as coffee" Donatello handed the warm cup to Raph who held it but kept his focus solely upon the purple banded turtle.

"You came instead of April because you knew I'd be able to read her" He spoke almost hoarsely, trying to hold back all his fustrations but it was clear they were slowly being let free.

Donnie's tongue ran across his bottom lip, trying to think of something that could diffuse his tension. But there was nothing he could say that could alleviate the pain Raph was feeling. Dancing around the bush simply meant he would become infuriated which was the last thing anyone needed.

"That is correct" He began but Raph was quick to speak again.

"And Leo sent ya here to see if I'm stable" He scoffed. "He didn't say that but..." Donnie trailed off, a soft nod of agreement at the statement.

Raph shook his head, placing the cup on the table. "I don't get jittery" His brows furrowed, sighing impatiently.

"Usually you don't, but your carotid tells a different story. I've counted 10 heartbeats in the last 3 seconds, it's about 20 percent higher than usual when you're stress-"

"Don I know yer only trying to protect me, I get it, but knock it off! I just want to know what you've learned" Raph fought the urge to punch something, anything, desperate to know if you were okay. Desprate to kill the fucker who messed with you. Donnie cleared his throat, placing his hands in his pockets as his eyes focused on his older brother. He decided to take another approach, hopefully one that will allow Raph to see this in another light.

"When you first told me about Y/N, I'd never seen you like that. The decreased levels of central serotonin in your brain cause intrusive thinking. When I finally saw you guys together, that's when I knew for sure. Your pupils dilated, your posture changed, and I saw you involuntarily reach for her hand. Science confirmed it. You found the one. Do you believe that?" He asked, stepping closer to Raph. His older brother was never one for showing his true emotions, never one for crying or asking for help. But the unshed tears in his eyes, the pained expression tell another story. One that doesn't need a genius to see that it is killing him inside.

"Yes..." He whispered softly, the hardened stance slowly softening just a crack.

"Then believe this. Our team loves you, and we are not going to stop until we find whoever did this. But we can only do that with a completely dispassionate and unprejudiced point of view. Paternal instinct is a deadly bias that we just can't risk. It's for your protection, Raph. I swear" Donnie's eyes were warm, comforting. That even though he couldn't relate to this situation he understood the fear that coursed through the terrapins body. But no matter what happened, he wasn't there to go through the pain alone.

"I hate ya...." Raph rumbled, but he let out a small smile knowing he was grateful for his brother in times like these.

"Me too bro"

[fndmxreader]

fandom: harry potter. pairing:  snape x reader undertones.  summary:   a completely self indulgent series where the reader is a slytherin muggle born witch working alongside the teachers at hogwarts.    note: this is going to bounce around a lot when it comes to ships & stuff,  there isn’t going to be a formula to this but will still take situations from the movies.  pov:   she/her pronouns. 

there were several emotions that you were feeling right now  :  excitement,  a smudge of regret,  and the most prominent emotion, good old anxiety that wouldn’t budge no matter how much you practically skipped behind dumbledore in an attempt to shake it off :  who of which, at the moment,  was cracking jokes to try and ease your mood by pointing out where everything is and which classrooms were where.   considering you had left the school a mere five years ago,  the directions really weren’t needed,  after all it was hard to forget a place like hogwarts -  you still remember first walking through the doors,  still remember the sensation of the hat on your head as it proudly announced that you were slytherin.  some days were filled with nothing but torment from some pure bloods, but you still met some life long friends who you still spoke to, and the days were held closed to heart no matter what sort of thing you were subjected to. 

“ and now,  we slowly inch towards the forbidden door,  one you most certainly aren’t familiar with -  “  you can’t help the small giggle in response, eyes rolling as you found yourself in the same hallway as the staff room.  your arms folding tightly against your chest as nails dug into your arms lightly,  once again an attempt to fight off the ever growing feeling of wanting to puke on the floor. the fact that you haven’t is actually something you’re secretly celebrating.  

“ finally,  my long winded plan has worked.  i’m here only for this,  then i’m taking my leave”  dumbledore grinned, placing an arm over your shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze as you got closer towards the room.  damn, your palms were sweating,  not helping but shrinking into his side like a child.  this wasn’t like you,  but it had been a long time  -  even being back in the wizarding world was a strange sensation,  it had been a good couple of years outside of magic bars with childhood friends. 

“ relax,  y/n.  it’s wonderful to have you back,  i will admit, i was worried i’d said goodbye to you forever. “ the words warmed your heart,  a shyness emitting from your aura    “  you were my favourite slytherin,  after all.  you still are  - “ 

“ first,  of cause im your favourite slytherin,  i’m me ”  there’s the y/n everyone has grown to love,  you beamed brightly up at him,  eyes glowing a little   “ second,  i tried to stay away,  but the muggle world just isn’t for me anymore.  i still have friends there that i’ll visit,  but -  i dunno,  this turned into my home at some point  “  a shrug,  walking into the staff room,  tone kinda drawling off as you shrunk a little by dumbledores side.  

“ greetings,  everyone ! “  the headmaster announced,  leaving your side to get everyones attention;  leaving you stood there in the middle of the room feeling awkward and extremely exposed, the smile faltering a little but still tugging at the corner of lips,  eyes glancing across the room at the familiar faces,  and some... not so familiar.   there had been a small change in staffing,  you note,  but you relax the minute you see your old head of house,  professor snape;  familiarity washes over you as you offer him a smile,  no matter how grumpy he looks;  you knew he liked you   “  we have a new teaching assistant with us,   now some of you already know young y/n here,  some of you not -  but i know she’s going to make a fine addition to our staffing, her job will be to help whoever needs her at the time,  so i hope you start making dibs while her schedule is free -   “ 

“ the muggle world got sick of me, so i’m here to make myself you guys’ problem,  so i really wouldn’t dibs if you want to continue liking your jobs “ you finger gun at everyone,  amusement crossing faces across the room.  you hadn’t changed much,  gotten a little older perhaps,  mentality changed to some degree;  but still the awkward,  sharp tongued joker remained.  after poor ice breaker,  everyone practically dragged you from one side of the room to another,  questioning where you had been and what you had done,  you had no idea what you were worried about;  you knew the anxiety would peak back up in the classroom,  that was going to take a long time to get used to,  but when it came to feeling at home among not only your previous teachers,  but people who you will now know on a level to call them friends ?  the road ahead was exciting. 

“ y/n,  i didn’t expect to see you back here “  snape finally got hold of you after fifteen minutes or so of bonding with the rest of the staff, a faint blush covers your cheeks as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear,  rocking slightly on your heels. 

“ disappointed ? “ you joked,  head tilting at the tease that came effortlessly,  though at his face remained neutral.  as the quietness that you both shared began to grow longer and truthfully, a little painful,  you continued  “ me neither,  but i finished my muggle studies and i realised out there isn’t where i wanted to be. “ 

“ be that as it may,  i do recall you saying how teaching is the last thing on your list due to how annoying children were - “  

“ you,  of all people are not saying that to me ! “  it’s playful, tone spiking up as your can’t help the laugh that passes your lips.  you see the faint twitch of his lips at your response,  noticing clear as day the glimmer in his eyes  “ you are the last person to comment on the hatred of children,  because i recall roommates coming back from class whining about how their head hurt where you smacked it with the back of a text book !“ 

“ i always hit with paperbacks,  y/n.  and would i be correct in assuming you liked those people ? “  you knew right off the bat that he was being snarky,  tongue rolling across bottom lip as your eyes rolled once more. 

“ no you wouldn’t and that is beside the point here ! “ your foot playfully stomping on the floor at his attitude. meanwhile the other teachers were looking on in amusement,  shaking their heads and smiles spreading on faces at the bubbly change in the atmosphere that you brought. you really were a one in a million, and the teachers were happy to get to know you on a more personal level. 

also they noticed how snapes posture faltered into a more relaxed stance,  anything to make him like life a little more and not be such a stick in the mud like he usually is.  everyone was excited for the staffing change,  and dumbledore took all the credit. 

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC | Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter: Loki will do whatever it takes to find out what is wrong with Alexis. 

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis groaned as the medics lifted her onto the gurney, but she didn’t wake.

“Take care with her!” Loki snapped at them, rushing to Alexis’s side, grabbing her limp hand. “She is pregnant.”

The medics shared a glare fully prepared to inform him they knew how to do their job when Tony caught their eye and waved them off. Best not to make Loki any more angry than he was. At least not until they sorted Alexis.

“Of course, sir.” The taller of the two nodded at Loki. “We are heading down Dr. Cho. I assume you are riding down with us?”

Loki nodded and followed them to the elevator. The eyes of every Avengers followed the three of them along with the gurney and willed the elevator doors to ding close. The moment the doors closed, Tony spun around to face the room.

“Okay, everyone has exactly three seconds to explain WHAT THE HELL is going on?”

The room exploded into conversation as people pointed fingers and yelled accusations and theories. Steve, Tony and Bruce cornered Thor to pump him for the “full story.” Nat sat quietly off to the side, worried about Alexis. A loud whistle cut through the din. Everyone turned to face Clint.

“They’re in a relationship.” He stated with no facial expression.

Tony blinked at him. “Well, yeah, a weird baby daddy, cohabitating thing. We all—”

“No, I mean they are in a romantic relationship. They are sleeping together. If you ask me, they’re in love with each other.” Clint huffed. He stepped forward to come toe to toe with Tony. “They know about you and Banner’s bet.”

Bruce blushed and flailed. “There’s no bet. I don’t know what you are talki—”

“When are you going to learn? I hear everything that goes on around here?!” Clint slammed his hand against the sofa. “I was in the vent when you made the bet. We decided to teach the two of you a lesson.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Loki, and Alexis. They pretended like they were on the outs, breaking up to get even with you two meddling.” Clint crossed his arms.

“So is this fainting spell just part of an elaborate prank to get back at Tony and Bruce?” Steve piped up. “I should have done Loki would pull some sort of shit like that.”

“It’s no joke.” Thor finally joined the conversation. “I know my brother better than any of you. That was genuine fear in Loki’s eyes. Whatever is ailing Lady Alexis is no prank.”

Everyone stared at Thor in shock, confusion, and anxiety. Nat snapped out of her daze.

“I’m going down there.” She stomped off towards the elevator. Clint caught her elbow.

“Nat. Give them space. Give him space.”

Her mouth fell open. “But I can…” she protested.

“No, you can’t. There is nothing you can do down there but be in the way.” Clint continued.

“JARVIS!” Tony yelled into the air. “Send hourly updates on Dr. Randall to all the Avengers.”

“Yes, sir.” The clipped British accent responded.

“Thanks, Tony.” Nat gave the group a small smile.

Tony’s own brain was running fast, but he kept his worries to himself. He clapped his hands together.

“Alright with that sorted, they get on with the day. The world isn’t going to save itself.”

With hesitant motions, the rest of the team moved along. Clint disappeared to wherever he disappeared to. Bruce headed with Tony to the labs while Nat and Steve headed to the training facilities to work off some excess energy. Thor headed off to his quarters, too concerned over his brother and Alexis to get much else done.

-

Dr. Cho relegated Loki to a hard plastic chair off to the side as she examined Alexis. Loki paced instead. He could see everything that was happening through the clear glass panels separating the examination room. Things did not appear to be going well by the expression on Dr. Cho’s face. Three hours later, Dr. Cho came out to update Loki.

“There is nothing physically wrong I can find with her, Loki.” Cho sighed.

“And the baby?” Loki wrung his hands.

“Strong heartbeat, moving around. Do you want to know the sex? I did an ultrasound.”

Loki’s brows rose. He hadn’t thought about knowing the sex of the baby. His eyes darted to Alexis’s lying on the hospital bed. Hooked up to tubes and machines, eyes closed. It was a punch to his gut.

“We haven’t discussed it. I will wait until she wakes up to decide, if that is alright with you.”

Helen nodded. “Of course, Loki. I am still waiting on a few lab results to come back, and then I am sending them off to a few specialists. I would suggest going back to your apartment where you can be more comfortable. I will make sure JARVIS alerts you of any changes in her condition.”

“If it is all the same, I will just stay here.” Loki widened his stance as if Dr. Cho would attempt to forcibly remove him from the medbay. If it were any other circumstances, she would point out the 180 turn of events since the last time Loki was here with Alexis.

“I can only offer you a hard plastic chair.” She gestured at the standard issue chairs throughout the rooms. “And strong coffee.”

Loki gave her a sad smile. “I have been in worse situations. With far less pleasant company.”

Dr. Cho smiled back and then nodded before walking away to analyze all of Alexis’s results. Loki pulled a chair close enough to Alexis’s bed to hold her hand and sat down as his fingers weaved in with hers.

“Please wake up, darling.” Loki pleaded. The only answer he got was the steady beep of the machines monitoring all of Alexis’s vitals.

-

“Brother…” Thor rocked Loki by the shoulder. Loki’s long frame crunched up on two hard plastic chairs. His arm tucked under his head to act as a pillow. Nothing about his posture looked comfortable. After several hours of no changes in Alexis’s condition, Loki dozed off.

“Brother… wake up.” Thor shook him more forcefully this time. Which rewarded him with Loki snatching his wrist with his quick reflexes.

“Must you continue to wake me, Brother? Leave me in peace.” Loki groaned as he unfolded himself, joints cracking and popping. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s almost midnight, Loki. You never came back. I came to check on you.”

Loki glanced out to the window to confirm that it was indeed the middle of the night. He gave Thor a wry smile. “Well, as you can see,” Loki gestured up and down his body. “I am alive and well, so leave me be.” He waved Thor away.

Thor sighed and spun a chair backwards to sit near Loki. “While you may be alive, you are clearly not well, Loki.” He spied his brother’s hand intertwined with Alexis’s. “Barton told us.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t lose her, Brother. I love her.” His voice hoarse and cracking. “And our child…” Loki’s head dropped to the bed.

Thor reached over to comfort Loki, not knowing exactly what to say. “Lady Alexis is strong. How else could she have endured all these weeks living with you?”

The two gods chuckled at Thor’s joke. “Very true. I have not been on my best behavior.” Loki added.

“And now?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“I have definitely not been on my best behavior.” Loki smirked.

“You were always one for mischief when it came to your lovers.”

Loki’s mood darkened, thinking back to Sigrun and his father. And the events leading him here. Alexis and his unborn child. He wondered where he would have ended up if he had agreed to the arranged marriage and Odin’s meddling. Loki imagined miserable in a completely different way than he was now.

“You were right, Brother.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Loki gave another thin smile. “About love being worth the trouble.”

Thor chuckled and smiled. “I have not always been the best at telling you, but I have only wanted the best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I am. I was. I am?” Loki questioned. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Thor stood and offered his hand. “Go upstairs, Loki. Eat and sleep in your bed. I will stay with Lady Alexis for the rest of the night.”

Loki’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Thor.”

The two embraced and Loki wearily rose and left the medbay to sleep and eat before the next day. Once he left, Thor settled his oversized body into one of the undersized chairs. He stared at Alexis’s still body, her breathing shallow and even. The only sound was the constant beeping of the machines.

“I imagine you to be some kind of witch.” Thor spoke to Alexis. “Because it would take powerful magic to tame the beast that is Loki’s heart.”

-

Three Weeks Later

Alexis was still in a coma, and Loki was no closer to any answers why.

“What do you mean there is nothing physically wrong with her?!” He bellowed at Dr. Cho. “She is in a coma!” Loki jabbed a finger at Alexis’s room.

Tony arranged to move her to a more private area of the medbay and set up a second small bed in the corner since Loki refused to leave. Meals appeared from thin air. Although he suspected Nat was to blame. Even Steve came down to offer what little comfort he could. Loki now stalked the floor. Tony moved all non-essential personnel to another part of the Tower after getting several HR complaints.

“I don’t know what else to tell you. Her vital signs are stable, as are the baby’s. She is just asleep. By all accounts, she should be awake.” Dr. Cho explained.

Loki flipped a table, sending his dinner flying around the room. Helen took several steps back.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Loki screamed.

Alexis’s machines rang an alarm, and the screens flashed. Helen rushed to the machines while Loki grabbed Alexis’s hand.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” Cho piped up while she checked some printouts.

“Apologies.” He said with an eye roll. “What happened?”

“Her vitals spiked and then dropped. Triggering the alarms.” Helen glanced over at him with a grim expression. “They are stabilizing.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

Dr. Cho sighed. “They are stabilizing at lower levels. Whatever is keeping her unconscious seems to be for lack of a better word… draining her.”

Loki stormed out the medbay without another word.

-

Thor was just getting ready to relax for a meal in his apartment when Loki burst through the door without bothering to knock.

“Do you mind, Loki?” Thor rose to face his brother. “I am about to eat.”

“I need to go to Asgard.”

Thor stared at Loki. “I don’t think that is a…” Thor then realized what happened. “What is going on with Lady Alexis?”

Loki collapsed onto the back of the couch. “In simple terms, she is dying. And no one can help her here. She needs our healers. I need to go to Asgard.”

“You realize Father is in Asgard.”

Loki gazed up at him, his eyes rimmed with red and sunken in surrounded by dark circles.

“I am well aware of the implications of my return. But if you were in my place, if your love was slowly dying from the inside out, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save her?”

Thor sighed. “We can leave within the hour. I will inform the rest of the team of our departure while you make arrangements for Alexis to travel.”

Loki nodded and Thor headed for the door. Loki grabbed his arm. “Thank you, Thor.”

Thor covered Loki’s hand with this own and squeezed. “I am sure the healers will be able to help.”

“I hope so.” Loki replied glumly. “Because I am out of options.”

-

They were greeted by not only Heimdall but Frigga as well when they stepped back onto Asgard.

“Loki!” Frigga rushed to his side. Alexis’s body slumped against his chest while Loki cradled her in his arms. She noticed the roundness of Alexis’s belly. “I see what the fuss is about now. Let us get her to the healers. We can catch up later. Thor, the Allfather requested your audience.”

Thor nodded and took off towards the palace as Loki and Frigga whisked Alexis to the healers.

-

Loki paced outside the doors of the healing chambers while Frigga sat with him, reading a book.

“You will wear the floor out.” she commented with a smirk.

“Just another thing for Odin to blame me for. The replacement of the palace floors.” Loki sneered.

Frigga ignored Loki and pressed on with other things. “She’s pretty. How did you meet?”

Loki spun around to face her. “Do you care? Does it matter?”

Frigga set her book down on the chair as she stood to face Loki. “It matters when she is carrying my grandchild.” Frigga reached up to cup Loki’s cheek. “It matters when she has also is carrying my son’s heart.”

Loki gazed at his mother with wet eyes. “I—”

The doors opened and Loki’s mask fell back into place.

“You can come in now.” The attendant announced. Loki pushed past her.

Alexis laid out on the stone slab. Three attendants hovered over her. One operated the Soul Forge while another took notes. A third injected something into Alexis’s arm.

“What are you giving her!? She is—”

“We are well aware of her condition.” The head healer spoke. “I must admit it stumped us at first. But once we calibrated the Soul Forge for Vanir physiology, it was clear what was going on.”

“Which is exactly what?” Loki blinked as his brain processed the rest of what was said. “Wait, Vanir?!”

Frigga’s eyes darted between her son and the healer, ready to step in if necessary. The healer, oblivious to what was going on, continued explaining.

“In the second trimester, Vanir babies’ magical abilities manifest, feeding off the mother’s energy. The injection masks the magic until birth. She will need to continue taking it once a week until she delivers.”

Loki stumbled backwards. “Will she—”

“Recover? There should be no lasting effects to her or the baby. Except maybe a wicked headache and increased appetite.”

Loki allowed a few tears to fall onto his cheeks. Frigga grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you.”

Frigga cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could have the room for a few moments?”

The attendants nodded. “Of course, my Queen.” Everyone shuffled out of the room with a rustle of fabric. Loki made no move until the heavy doors closed behind him with a thud. Loki collapsed against Frigga.

“I take from your response, you were unaware of Alexis’s lineage.”

Loki gulped. “She never mentioned it.” He kneeled besides Alexis, the color returned to her cheeks. “You are going to be fine, my love. We have much to discuss when you wake.” Alexis groaned. Loki kissed her cheek. “It’s time to wake up.”

Frigga smiled at the sight of her son so fully devoted to someone. And the prospect of a grandchild. Her first grandchild. She would be lying if she said Loki was her first guess of the son to give her a grandchild first.

Alexis’s eyes fluttered open. “Loki… where am I?”

Loki’s tears wetted her skin as he sobbed. “Home. My home.” He smiled at her. “I thought I had lost you.”

She blinked a few times to adjust to the light. “Home? The Tower?” She noticed they were in a massive room with stone walls. “Where are we?”

Loki helped her sit up. “On—”

The doors slammed open and Odin strolled in, followed closely by Thor. “—Asgard and you will be leaving presently.”

Loki stepped in front of Alexis. “She will do no such thing. She is sick.”

“She does not belong here, Loki. And neither do you.” Odin responded cooly.

Loki nodded. “Still as inflexible as always, Father.”

“Loki, this is your Father?” Alexis peeked from around him.

Odin’s eyes caught Alexis, and he froze, the blood draining from his face for a moment before the mask of indifference fell back into place. But Loki and Frigga caught it.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Father, what have you done?”

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I didn’t expect people to like this? Here’s chapter two!

Masterlist Chapter 1 [Chapter 2] Chapter 3

“Again.” Shiva’s commanding voice rang through the training room. “Straighten your hind leg to maintain your balance.”

Three year old Marinette obeyed, launching her small body into another series of attacks on the training dummy with her fists.

“Again. Your form was sloppy.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

The pattern continued until she was too exhausted to hold herself up and collapsed. Shiva tutted. “Still weak. I suppose we will have to end there for today. Dismissed.” 

Marinette painstakingly picked herself off the ground and made her way back to her tiny living quarters.

.o0o.

Marinette parried another strike from her trainer, unflinching as the blades clashed millimeters away from her face. Her five year old arms shook with the effort to hold the blade there, and she ducked and rolled when the strain became too much.

She turned just in time to meet another strike before knocking her trainer’s blade to the side and slashing with her own katana. They trade blows back and forth until she sees another woman with auburn hair enter the courtyard, followed by a boy that has her hair and facial features.

The moment of hesitation is enough. Her trainer’s katana slashes across her chest, tearing through her skin and flesh and definitely scraping a lung. The pain is something she has never felt before, and she had already gone through the first round of torture resistance.

It burned, and she couldn’t breathe. The last thing she sees before everything goes black is Lady Shiva’s frown, the boy’s look of mild curiosity, and the concern that flashed through the auburn-haired woman’s eyes before she stuffed it down.

.o0o.

Marinette woke in the sickly green waters of the Lazarus Pit with a new bloodthirsty voice in her head. The first healer that came to check on her was murdered with her bare hands. As was the second, and the third.

It took months to learn to control the voice, the urges to kill. When she realized she had taken another three lives, she cried, but only when she was alone. Crying is a weakness that she could not show.

She returns to her room after another day of training to find the auburn-haired woman from a few months ago sitting on her bed.

The woman introduces herself as Talia al Ghul, and tells Marinette that she is her mother.

Her grandfather is the Demon’s Head, and the boy she saw, her twin brother, Damian, is his heir.

Marinette asks why she is ranked so low if her brother is the Prince. Talia’s eyes harden.

“Ra’s is a fool. He believes that women are not worthy of power, and can do nothing to maintain it. But you will prove him wrong, daughter. I refuse to raise an unworthy child.”

Marinette trains harder after that.

.o0o.

But harder isn’t always enough.

The second time she died, it wasn’t because she was not a capable fighter.

The second round of torture resistance took place a year and a half after her first death. She withstood the pain, only letting out the tiniest whimper in the beginning, which earned her another ten lashes, but in the end, her body gave up from the injuries. 

She bled out, still bound in chains, and woke up in the Pit again, the murderous voice back with a new vengeance.

Marinette accidentally took another life, but she promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. She would gain control of this madness. She would.

She refused to think of what would happen if she didn’t.

.o0o.

When she turns nine, Lady Shiva deems her worthy enough to claim her spot as the Princess of the League, and so she moved into the larger quarters, meant for the family of the Demon’s Head.

Talia was proud, but she did not outwardly express it. Marinette read it in her body, the way she was trained to.

Her twin brother was… distant. He refused to accept a sibling, refused to accept that she can be the Princess while he is the Heir. He acted just like Ra’s, the man he will grow up to replace.

Marinette supposed they saw her as unworthy not only because of her gender, but because of her deaths. She thought that Damian might have died too, had the trainers not been too afraid to kill the Demon’s Heir. She doesn’t point it out. It wouldn’t do her any good.

One month after she moved in, Ra’s demanded that she spar Damian. Talia and Ra’s bore witness to the spar.

Damian drew his katana, scowling at her all the while. Marinette remained unfazed and took her own battle stance opposite him, feeling the comforting weight of her steel war fans in her hands.

They launched at each other at the same time, slashing and parrying and slicing and dodging. Damian gives her a shallow cut on her right cheekbone. Marinette retaliates with a slice on the forehead. The spar goes on for three hours before Ra’s ends it, having seen that there will be no winner.

Ra’s was hard to please. Marinette did pass his judgement for being worthy in battle, but he would never fully accept her the way he did his grandson. That was alright by her. Ra’s was not the kind of person she wished to have the opinion of anyway.

Damian was also a lot more willing to talk to her after that spar, and Marinette finally learned what it was like to have a companion her own age, even if he was a bit arrogant and rude at times.

.o0o.

Marinette flies awake with a start, and for a moment, she forgets where she is. Wayne Manor. Father. Safe.

“Good morning, ukhti.” Damian greets, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

Marinette snorts derisively, sliding easily off the top bunk and landing lightly on the floor. “Do I ever, akhi?”

Damian’s face softens. “It is still early. Would you like to spar to get your mind off things?”

“Of course.” Marinette gives her twin a rare smile. “We must change into more suitable clothes first though.”

Ten minutes later, the twins silently creep out of their room and start the hunt for the training room, exploring the Manor as they go. It takes half an hour to find the correct location. Marinette and Damian occupy opposite sides of the sparring mat as they start warming up.

Marinette relishes the pull of her muscles as she stretches, the feeling grounding her into reality. Once they finish, they settle into their fighting positions, each eyeing the other apprehensively.

Damian makes the first move, as the more aggressive of the two. Marinette swiftly dodges his fist and sends a quick kick to his chest. He catches her foot and uses her own momentum to throw her over his shoulder. Marinette twists as she falls, and hits the ground in a perfect three-point landing. She lunges again, and Damian charges forward to meet her in a whirl of fists and kicks, blocks and blows.

At some point, they notice Alfred enter the room, but he merely stands off to the side and watches, so they continue sparring. Not long after, he is followed by a lithe young woman with short black hair, a pale teen who has massive eye bags, and a familiar man with a white streak in his dark hair.

Cassandra Cain. Timothy Drake. Jason Todd. Batgirl, Robin, and Red Hood. Alfred clears his throat, and both of them part, barely even sweating.

“Is something the matter, Pennyworth?” Damian asks in a snobby tone that makes Marinette want to smack him over the head (didn’t his training ever cover socialization? Hers definitely did, but maybe that’s because she was a female.) so she does so. 

Being treated as a prince from birth certainly inflated his ego. Damian glares, but does not retaliate. Good. He knows he is being rude.

“I wished to inform you that breakfast is ready and the rest of the family wanted to come and meet the two of you.” Alfred says neutrally. 

Cassandra then gives them a friendly smile and a wave, while the boys stay where they are, calculating eyes roving over them. Marinette can’t really judge them for that- she has already scanned all of them for weaknesses too, though there weren’t many.

Damian sniffs. “I do not see why Father chooses to keep these imbeciles around now that he has a blood son and blood daughter.” Marinette smacks him on the head again, because his attitude is getting a little irritating.

“They are not here for you to demean, brother.” She hisses in Icelandic. “Father has deemed them family because they have proved themselves worthy. You well treat them with respect, or I will treat you the way you treat them.” Damian grumbles, but thankfully quiets.

Marinette quickly gives the others a small curtsy. “My apologies for my brother. He can be quite abrasive, but he is learning. It is an honor to meet those whom our father considers family.”

Cassandra responds first, patting each of them lightly on the shoulder, making sure to keep her posture relaxed and non-threatening. “Sister. Brother.”

Jason and Damian stare each other down, and Marinette internally sighs. Men and their need to have… what was that phrase I read online? The biggest penis energy? Jason breaks the silence. 

“Damian al Ghul. Ibn al Xu’ffasch. Grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, Heir to the Demon’s Head. Never knew you had a sister.”

Damian shifts protective towards Marinette. “I learned of her existence last year.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Timothy frowns. “Grandson of Ra’s al Ghul? As in the grandchildren of the man who is not only obsessed with Bruce, but also the head of the League of Assassins? These are assassin children?”

Cassandra frowns, hurt. She points to herself. “Assassin child.”

“I’ve been in the League too, Replacement.” Jason shrugs. 

“No, you don’t understand.” Timothy shakes his head. “These are Ra’s grandchildren, kids that Talia gave birth to after some questionable activities with Bruce. Who’s to say that Ra’s didn’t plant them here as moles? Why should we trust them?”

Marinette feels a pang of hurt against her will. “Ra’s al Ghul may have been my grandfather by blood, but he was never more than any other assassin in the League to me. He was the one who took me away from my brother at birth. He is the reason why I have been died twice and been revived both times by the Lazarus Pit. He is the reason why I only got to meet my twin last year, and you think I would work for him, act as a spy for him, when I finally escape the League to live with my father?”

“Whatever.” Timothy spits. “I still don’t trust you.” He pivots and walks out of the room.

Marinette reads a fear in his body language, but it isn’t fear of their skills, or fear that they might kill him. It’s a fear of being replaced, and suddenly, she understands.

“...You don’t plan on betraying us, right?” Jason asks suddenly.

Damian huffs. “Tt. Of course not, Todd. I wish to become Batman one day, and betraying Father’s cause would be extremely counterproductive to my efforts.”

Sometime during their encounter, Alfred had disappeared. Cassandra heads to the exit, and gestures for them to follow. “Come. Breakfast now.”

Timothy does not show while they eat, and neither does Father. Alfred nearly has an aneurysm when he learns that Marinette has never had chocolate (a side effect of being a low-ranked assassin) and immediately starts stuffing chocolate-covered pastries into her hands.

“I insist that you try one.” Alfred says. “You will find it quite delicious.” Marinette obediently takes a bite, and a delightfully rich flavor fills her mouth.

She has never known that food could taste so good, and says as much. Alfred’s pleased face, Damian’s small smile, and Cassandra’s grin make her feel warm inside. Evidently, there is a lot she doesn’t know about the world, but she is excited and willing to learn.

.o0o.

Marinette and Damian carry out their plan after the rest leave for patrol (sans Jason, who was still benched because of his ribs) and believe they are asleep.

They change into the darkest, most flexible clothing they can find in their room and silently slip out of the window after disabling all the alarms. Wayne Manor’s security measures are evaded with some effort, and they are out in the midst of Gotham City in almost no time at all.

 Ubu has not tried to hide at all. He is entertaining two women when they burst in, already having disabled the cameras around the area just in case.

“Leave, harlots.” Damian spits at the women, as Marinette charges the much larger man. Her steel fans glint in the light as she slashes.

Ubu does manage to escape the apartment, but the twins easily catch up to him even though he runs through the traffic. The drivers don’t seem very disturbed. It must be a normal occurrence in Gotham, to see a hulking man running from two children with swords and fans.

Damian tackles Ubu, but after a half-hearted attempt at interrogation, in which the man purposefully riles him up, he raises his sword, the angle indicating he intended to kill him.

“Akhi, no!” Marinette cries, and she sees a blur of blue and black as her brother is tackled, sword flying out of his grip. She snarls, flicking open her fans and ready to hurt whoever attacked her brother, but stops when she realizes who the man is. “Nightwing.”

Richard Grayson sighs. “The psychos keep getting younger.” 

Damian growls, launching himself at the larger man with a battle cry. The fight lasts about six minutes before Nightwing manages to tie her brother up, hanging from a streetlamp with a gag in his mouth. Marinette was trying to get them to stop all the while, to no avail, and she didn’t want to step in for fear of hurting either brother.

Nightwing turns to her. “Do I need to tie you up the hard way too?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Thank you for finally acknowledging my existence. If you had actually listened, Nightwing, you would know that your offer is not necessary. My name is Marinette. My twin is Damian, and we are Bruce Wayne’s biological children. Hello, older brother.”

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[omgreally]

The Apprentice Read on AO3

Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader Rating: E for Explicit, Of Course Wordcount: 5k+ Summary: Peli Motto took you off the streets of Tatooine to become one of the best apprentices she's ever had - but honestly, the DUM droids are setting the bar pretty low. Still, you work out well for the first few months until an armored Mandalorian stranger lands with a busted-up ship and a strange magic baby and, well, you're intrigued. Even though you know you shouldn't be. Peli's always teling you to keep away from anything hot but sometimes, to fix something, you have to stick your hand straight into the fire.

Chapter One  - The Arrival

“Hey, Peli! We got some hunk o’ junk requesting to land. Want me to tell him where to shove his rusty old comm signal?”

The older woman cranes over your shoulder as you swivel in the rickety chair in front of the array of control and communication panels. You’ve been working at Hangar Three-Five for a few months now, and you know it takes all sorts of ‘customers’ to keep a place like this running - but honestly. You’re surprised the wreck requesting the bay can even fly.

You’re even more surprised when Peli takes one look at the screen and shoves you out of the chair, hastily pressing the transmit button.

“Clearin’ you to land, Razor Crest,” she says hurriedly. “Sorry for the delay.” She takes her hand off the button and straightens to glare at you. “Never assume like that again, Girl,” she says,  using your least favourite nickname for you. “That hunk o’ junk just might be my favorite customer.”

You gape at her as you brush off your coveralls. “You serious, Peli? I mean - are you sure, ma’am? I couldn’t even see a transponder code from that...vessel.” You choose your words a bit more carefully now, reminded that while Peli has a heart of gold, she has the temper of a Tusken.

“I’ve been workin’ in this hangar since you were a babe sucklin’ at your momma, Girl,” Peli says, pointing a wrench at you. “You’d do well to listen to me more’n you do.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” you sigh, looking down at the ground.

“Now, go on to the market, why don’tcha, and pick us up somethin’ for dinner. You may have a head thick as bantha hide, Girl, but at least you’re better at negotiating than the Dums.” You wince. You know you’re just an apprentice, but damn if it doesn’t sting whenever Peli compares you to the droids.

It’s not that you don’t like them. They just...creep you out a little. Soulless little machines, scuttling around as if they’re alive when they’re just - not. Whoever invented droids was one sick carosi pup.

Peli hands you a pouch of credits - the amount of which is dwindling daily. You wonder if the engineer’s eagerness to house this beaten-up old scupper doesn’t have something to do with their lack of funds. You consider offering to forego your wages until things are better - Peli has shown you incredible kindness, taking you in off the street when your next best bet was working as a dancing girl in one of Mos Eisley’s less reputable cantinas. Who knew where you woul’dve ended up after that. You prefer this, even though it’s hard, physical work, and you’re often up to your elbows in engine grease and covered head to toe in grime and oil.

Who knew starships were so dirty.They make sense, though, and you quickly proved that you had an aptitude for it. For pulling things apart and putting them back together again, but working. You’ve fixed busted motivators and blown capacitors that even left Peli scratching her head. You suppose that, rather than sentimentality, is why she keeps you around.

Either way, your life is pretty comfortable, now. Boring, but comfortable.   You hope the credits situation isn’t going to change that.

How little you know.

---

You wander through the market, credits pouch too light in your pocket as you peruse the food stalls. You really don’t feel like dried krayt jerky a hundredth night in a row, so you’re glad Peli sent you out, but you are struggling to find something that is a) appealing and perhaps more importantly, b) affordable.

You end up in a heated argument - no, discussion - with a Toydarian over some deep-fried gorg before you give up, your temper and your impatience too piqued to settle on a decent price. You calm yourself with a trip past a stall selling all manner of imported cloth and fabrics: beautiful, delicate things, things you are not. A scarf made of deep blue silk that shimmers iridescent in the harsh sunlight catches your eye. You pause, running your fingers over it, your dirty, chipped nails a contrast to the smooth, satiny surface. 

“It would suit you, pretty girl,” says a deep, male voice. You look up into the eyes of the stallholder. He’s a surprisingly handsome man, tall, with dark skin and hair and muscles bulging from a vest that seems tactically selected to show off as much of his bare chest as possible. For someone selling fabric, he’s certainly not wearing a lot of it.

“Sorry,” you say, taking your hand back. “I haven’t got enough credits for something like that.” The ‘pretty girl’ rankled you. You’re aware, tangentially, that underneath the layers of grease and oil you have features that some might consider comely, even attractive, and your body was good enough to catch the attention of some of the seedier businessmen when you were on the street. But it is the assumption itself that you are nothing more than your face and your body that bothers you. 

“Suit yourself, gorgeous,” he calls after you as you walk away, back towards the smell of roasting meat. “I’ll be here if you change your mind!”

You grab a few deep-fried gorg from the Toydarian after all, a bottle of blue milk, and head back to the hangar in a thoughtful mood.

---

The ship has already landed by the time you get back.

It looks like it’s falling apart at the seams. In fact, you can spot several missing panels from the ground. Up close, you’re even more astonished that it managed to fly.

The ramp is stuck half-down, and you stand on your tiptoes to peer inside. It doesn’t look much better in there than on the outside. Dingy durasteel, crates all over the place, pathetic excuse for a hold, really. How can this be Peli’s ‘favourite customer’? It looks like it needs a complete teardown. Not even a rebuild, just...tear it down. It’s not even worthy to be a garbage hauler, it’s only suitable to be the garbage getting hauled. It-

“Like what you see?” 

You almost drop the bags of food and produce and manage to avoid most of it flying everywhere, save for a single pale blue pika fruit that escapes and rolls across the ground to land against the stranger’s boot. You scuttle forward to grab it, and your hand is intercepted by a gloved one, yellow fingers closing around the fruit and lifting it from your view.

You straighten and look up, up, up into the Beskar helm of a Mandalorian.

“Oh,” you say in a very small voice. Now you understand.

You’ve heard and seen tales of Mandalorians - quite a legendary one lived here for a time, not that long ago - and some of those tales were from Peli herself. She’d never mentioned that she knew one, though. 

This one is about the same as you imagine a Mandalorian to be. Armored from head to toe, no part of him visible, his eyes shielded by the inscrutable blackness of the T-shaped visor in his helm. 

He can probably see everything, though, from your heartbeat down to the anxious flush in your skin as he steps toward you and says “Here.” He slips the pika fruit back into your bag and you nod, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat.

“Thanks.”

You stand there awkwardly for a moment while he just stares at you, as if he’s a droid himself, scanning you up and down through that damn visor. You clear your throat and cock your hip, placing your hand on it and raising your eyebrows.

“Is this your ship”?” You tap your knuckles against the hull behind you, miraculously not making another panel or part fall off. “What did you do to it?

“What?” His stance changes a little; he stands up a little straighter, his shoulders set, his hands hanging down by his sides with a little more purpose than before. Posturing, you think, that’s all it is, although you’re now a little nervous as you answer.

Because he is broad. Broad and well-built, if the fit of the armor is anything to go by. He could crush your head like a pika fruit without even trying.

Still, it has to be said, for a ship like that...“It looks like it’s about to fall apart,” you say, trying for diplomatic, but by tempering your vehemence it just sounds like you’re complaining. 

The Mandalorian shrugs. “That’s why I brought it here.”

“Well, Peli is the best mechanic on Mos Eisley,” you capitulate, and you relax a little, enough to walk past him towards the control room. “I’m just surprised she’s not so picky with her clientele.”

“From what I hear, she can’t afford to be.” That stops you in your tracks. The Mandalorian has followed you, of course, and he’s right behind you as you enter the building and head to the kitchenette to put away dinner. 

“You shouldn’t listen to everything you hear, Mandalorian,” you say as you unpack the bag of measly meat, fruit and vegetables you managed to get. It goes all in the cooler for a later barbeque. That is one of the things you enjoy most about being here - sitting with Peli in front of a makeshift campfire, cooking and talking. Not about anything in particular, just...talking.

“Well, if I’m wrong, I can just take my ships and my credits elsewhere,” the Mandalorian says with a shrug. It’s then you notice that he has a pouch he’s holding up, and it hangs heavy and clinks promisingly when it moves. You lick your lips nervously, hoping you’re not about to fuck up some big deal Peli has struck with this bounty hunter warrior.

Hoping you’re not about to be shot by this bounty hunter warrior.

“For example, I know the upkeep costs around here have risen recently,” he says, letting the pouch sway back and forth, and your eyes follow it like hypnosis. “Thanks to Peli taking on an apprentice…”

You sigh. “How much?”

“Five thousand.”

You do some quick maths in your head. “Might not cover any major components that need replacing, but it’s a start. You’ll have a vacuum seal again at least.”

“Good.” The Mandalorian tosses you the pouch and you catch it with both hands. It feels heavier than five thousand, but you’ll give it to Peli first. Speaking of - where the hell is Peli?

“There, how does that feel? Look at you, who’s a handsome li’l womp rat? You are!” 

You have never heard Peli talk to anyone like that. You and the Mandalorian follow the sound of her voice out into the control room, and you find her cradling what looks like a small, wrinkled green baby, a creature with the face of a frog and ears of a bat, slightly damp and wrapped in what looks like-

“Is that - my shirt?” you ask, horrified. The creature blinks and coos at you.

“Had to give Grogu here a bath and I didn’t have any clean towels. So I borrowed your shirt. Look how cute he looks in it!” Peli tries to hand you the creature but you step out of the way. This is not how you saw your day going.

“Look, the Mandalorian here wants us to fix his ship,” you say. “He’s giving us five thousand.” You set the pouch down on the control panel. “I’m pretty sure it can be done, but if there are any busted capacitors or modulators that need fixing, that bill’s gonna go way up.”

“It’ll do,” Peli nods. “Meantime, I’ll look after this little guy. You even give him a bath last time I saw you? Don’t answer that, Mando.” Mando. So that’s what they call him. He doesn’t even have a name, just a shortening of  his title.

“Guess I’ll get to work on the ship,” you grumble, rolling your eyes as you head back out into the hot Tattooine suns.  Boring but comfortable. Yeah, right.

---

If this generates some interest I may continue to post chapters here! Otherwise, go ahead and read on AO3.