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xzhdjsj · 2 months

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Grant Returns and Unforgotten Letters

Zaros x Reader

You leave Serulla, only returning when danger threatens your kingdom

This fic is based on THIS brilliant theory by @astralbulldragon13. I simply couldn't get it out of my head and had to write about it I have to say I'm not very happy with the way this came out, but I spent too much time on it to not post it😭

Also, this is really long (almost 3.5k words) idk how it happened🤡 when I started writing it, I just couldn't stop. Plz let me know if I made any mistakes (probably butchered some names loll)

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"There, you win. Your son is now the Eminence, but know this, if you try to rule my kingdom vicariously through your Zaros, or control his new life in any way, there is no where you could go, no hole you can hide in, that I won’t find you."

The realisation dawned on you, way before the trials began. You weren’t interested in the throne; that wasn’t where your heart lies. That position was polished and refined for your brother, but guilt has its ways of twisting one's mind and kept you fighting for a life that was stolen from him, replacing a prodigy child that was stolen from your mother.

Zaros' insults and demeaning remarks only contributed to your mindset, though that didn’t make them any less hurtful. How could they not be? Especially when coming from someone you admired and cherished. They were fuel to the fire, a constant reminder of how unfit you are.

It was hard to imagine yourself as a good ruler anyways. Sure, you were knowledgeable, but what good is education with no real experience or empathy for the struggles of your people? Not to mention being cloaked by a porcelain mask 24/7, designed and altered to meet the needs of the people around you.

Zaros, on the other hand, was different. His pernicious attitude cracked the corners of your mask, forcing raw emotions to erupt to daylight. It was a distasteful experience considering your position, but deep down you never felt more alive than when you could be yourself with him, throwing insults right back into his face. It forced the masked persona to face the real you and come to terms with what you wanted, before it was too late.

You wanted a life that was yours to live, a life where you could be yourself. Not one you are forced to live, or a person you are required to be. There were things you had to let go of and things you needed to learn.

By himself, Zaros would be a skillful leader capable of building a successful future for Serulla. He had the experience that you lacked, that alone could potentially secure Serulla a brighter future than you could ever offer. The only threat was his mother, Nira Atha’lin. She was obnoxious, quick to point out every miniscule flaw and mistake in your ways, if Zaros was unbearable, she was enough to push you to insanity. Her personality was sour and ugly, like biting into a mouldy rotting fruit. Her intentions are unclear, but it isn’t hard to see her abusing the authority of her son and the crown.

Though that didn’t matter, you trust Zaros, he would never put the wellbeing of Serulla at risk. He’s headstrong and stubborn. It’s no wonder you admire him, in some way or another he’s just like you.

He has become a decent acquaintance in your life. Looking back, he could have easily double-crossed you in the trials and spited his way to the top, but he didn’t. Every last minute of it was fair and just. Maybe that’s why you felt so strongly for him now.

Outside the hall, minutes away from a final decision, both Zaros and you stood. If you had something to do, now was the time to do it.

He reaches for the heavy gold handles of the door, but he doesn’t get to push it open.

"Zaros", you take his hand.

He ignores the door, turning to face you.

"If you are indeed the victor, which.... I have no doubt you are; I need you to promise me something."

His eyebrows perk upwards, and he steps closer, taking your hand fully in his.

"We don't know that yet. You gave me quite a challenge during the trials you know. Don't tell me you're giving up now?", signature smirk plastered to his face, though you no longer feel the need to punch it off.

“Please listen to me.”, you sigh, "I need you to promise me you'll never let Serulla suffer. I know I'm not capable of helping all the people who deserve our help, but you are. I’m certain of it, so promise me."

The seriousness in your eyes was enough to stifle his usual sarcasm.

"I... I promise." He barely mutters, no longer smiling. It’s an unusual sight, the kind that makes you feel nauseous. He's even more alarmed when you offer a pinkie to him, like you used to do years ago when you were just kids roaming the corridors and sneaking into the kitchen.

"Pinkie promise?" You smile.

He caught his own pinkie onto yours. "I promise, I'll do my best."

He knew what you were about to do. But he also knows how stubborn you are and there was no way he could stop you, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

After facing Nira that day, you smiled at him and whispered a gentle "Take care of yourself and my home for me". You swore that from that moment onwards, you’d never mask yourself again.

Those were your last words to him before you'd vanished, leaving behind only a letter. In which, you asked that he looked after your mother and detailed an apology as well as a segment of feelings you'd harboured for him. It was an intended goodbye before he forgets about you, lest you have a reason to return. You hoped you wouldn't.

Throughout your travels you faced many hardships, the expected reality of being a lone traveler. But you grew from those experiences. You learnt from the people around you and made friends.

You sharpened your survival skills as you traversed the lands, a melody of experiences of new cultures and flavours, from continents you'd only dreamt of, melted on your tongue. Those fleeting dreams were nothing compared to the reality you held in your own two hands. You learnt to appreciate life and how to trust.

The last place you ventured was the Northern Nation, though their reputation is scandalous, their culture is rich. What you weren’t expecting was to meet see a familiar face, a palace staff, an informant no less. Only now he worked for Nira, delivering letters to the most dangerous kingdom of all the nations and had informed you that you were banned from the home you grew up in.

After 8 years, it was time to turn back. It was time to head home.

There was a masquerade ball being held in Serulla at dawn, the perfect opportunity to tiptoe into the palace unnoticed. What was the plan? You weren’t entirely sure but one way or another you had to speak to Zaros. If you marched in like you own the place, you would be promptly kicked out a few feet upon entering the gate. It’s a good thing you knew your way around every crack and crevice like the back of your hand. It shouldn’t be too hard blending in once you’re inside. But first you needed clothes and a mask, nothing extravagant, just enough to blur into the masses.

Learning to walk silently made slipping in as easy as dreaming, before you could blink you were in the ballroom. Oh, did it feel nostalgic, you remember the times you were the main focus of these elaborate events. Now look at you, sneaking in and avoiding any attention whatsoever. You missed these walls, they look the exact same since you’ve left them, grand, luxurious and unchanged. You couldn’t help but take a minute to reminisce and admire.

“Can I ask for a dance later, mysterious stranger?” a young man snapped you out of your trance.

“I’m afraid not sir. I have prior arrangements for the evening”, you bow. “My sincerest apologies.”

What a nuisance, you thought, abruptly turning and leaving. You had to find Zaros. As King of Serulla he had to be here, his presence is of utmost importance and entirely compulsory for this kind of event. Perhaps he’d show up later in the evening, all you had to do was wait amongst the crowd. Maybe a drink would take the edge off while you do, maybe it would help you ignore the eyes you felt burning holes into your back.

Hours later the arrival of the king was finally announced, and there he was, fashionably late in all his blond glory. He’s just as captivating as you left him all those years ago, just as beautiful and refined. It was like staring at the sun, glowing so brightly it just might blind someone. Yes, you were staring, but so was everyone else. Who wouldn’t stare when graced with the presence of the King himself? His lips moved as he acknowledged his audience, but your mind was too preoccupied with gawking at him to hear a single word. You’re yanked back to reality when the crowd scatters at his dismissal, so you retreat to a space further away, where you could keep an eye on him as he conversed with guests. It would be unwise to approach him now, there’s too many eyes on him this early into the night. Once the crowd has had their fill of wine and was no longer capable of seeing any further than their nose, you’d seize the opportunity to steal him away.

Lay low, keep an eye on him. Two simple tasks to accomplish. But the fool you’d rejected earlier in the eventing, now a drunken fool, apparently doesn’t understand the meaning of two simple letters, no. You rejected him twice already but he keeps coming back.

“I’m not taking no for answer hic- you simple must dance with me”, before you could reject him again, he’s dragging you to the floor. If it weren’t for the fact that you didn’t want any attention tonight, his arm would’ve been broken on the spot.

You struggle in his grip as he swayed you, haphazardly and arrhythmic to the music, and FUCK you lost sight of Zaros. If only this imbecile would let go of you! And cease his gooselike movements!

“Unfortunately, good sir, they’re not available to dance with YOU this evening.”, you’re backed into a hard wall, a clothed wall? A familiar smelling wall. A speaking wall.

His sticky hands are gone from your body in an instant, he even backs away from you.

“You-your Majesty”, he stuttered.

“All of their dances are promised to me tonight. I’ll assume you weren’t aware and turn a blind eye just this once.”, the wall speaks again, replacing unpleasant hands with a gentle yet possessive grip. It's very obvious who this wall is.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be stealing them away now”, he doesn’t wait for a response, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You’re still facing away from him as he guides your body to the tune that swirls the room.

“Welcome back Earis” he whispers and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing.

“A bit of a lost cause on such title now, aren’t I?” you answer. “How did you know it was me?”, he moved your body effortlessly, like it was made specially to fit beneath his palms.

“How could I not? I could feel your eyes on me all night.” Following the music, he spins you around to finally face him. “Even if death took me, I’d still remember those eyes.”

You scoff, “How charming. But everyone’s eyes are on you tonight.”

“Hmm you think so? A shame, none are as captivating as yours.”

“I need to speak to you Zaros.”

“We’re speaking right now, are we not?”

Fuck, why does he always have to be so difficult?

“Not here. I need to speak to you in private.”

There was too much attention on him for you to speak freely, it’s a surprise guards haven’t escorted you out the room yet.

“Sounds alarming. And just when I thought you came back to see me.” he fakes a frown, and let’s go of your hand as he ends the dance. You curtsy, and he leans closer to whispers for you to follow him. He leaves first and you linger around the corners before disappearing yourself.

Eventually you’re back in the abandoned hallways of the palace, walking with Zaros.

“So why are you back?”

“I’ve made a recent discovery, and I was worried. I needed to talk to you about it.”

“Worried?”

“You’re aware of the notoriety of the Northern Nation, correct?”

“Who isn’t? Their name stains chapters of history text with the blood they’ve spilt.”

“Yes, that’s why it was a surprise when I found out your mother exchanges letters with their King and his court.”

He halts, “What? What are you talking about?”

You turn to him, removing the mask from your face. “While I stayed in the city of the Northern Nation, I recognised a familiar face. A Surullian informant. I’ve seen him work for my mother for years, naturally, I was confused by his presence there.”, you sigh. “I tried to get as much information as I could from him, but he knew nothing. He had simple instructions from your mother to deliver the letters to and from the Northern Kingdom. Unfortunately for me, he had already passed on the letters, so I did not get a look. He swore to never tell a soul of our encounter to avoid any further issues, but I also found out I'm blacklisted here.”

“What are you saying? Why would she even want to converse with the Northern Kingdom? An alliance with them is like an alliance with hyenas. They bring nothing but war and bloodshed. And what on Earth do you mean ‘blacklisted’?”, he shouts in frustration. “She’s my mother, I trust her. I find it all of this hard to believe.”

“Hah of course you don't believe me." you look around frantically. "Follow me.”

He stomped after you as you made your way for the nearest set of guards.

“Wait here, and watch.”

You walked up to them, as if to inquire something, only to be quickly apprehended.

“Let go of them immediately! What do you think you're doing?”, Zaros march in their direction.

“Apologies, your Majesty. We’re only following orders!”

“Whose orders?”, he yells.

“Lady Atha’lin, you Majesty!”, the fear is evident in their voices, and you give him a knowing look.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breathe. “You’re dismissed and inform every guard in this palace that no one is to lay a finger on them. Do you hear me?”, he says, curt and unforgiving, as they shuffle away clumsily.

“As I said, blacklisted. Do you believe me now mama’s boy?”

If looks could kill, you’d be dead in milliseconds the way he glared at you. He's angry as can be, it’s not every day the tables are turned.

“A shame, had I been kicked out at the gates, you’d be oblivious to your mommy’s devious little plans.” You push.

“Oh what do you care? You left Serulla for 8 years. You’re back to warn me once and suddenly you’re high and might?”

“Hah, I was not just here to warn you. No Zaros, my initial plan was to meet your mother directly.”, you roll your eyes.

“Allow me to refresh your memory, 8 years ago, before I left, I made a promise to Nira Atha’lin that if she threatened Serulla in any way I’d be back to drag to her to hell with me. For your sake, I wanted to meet you first. But know this Zaros, if you’re incapable of handling your mother, I am not. I have no qualms in removing her by force, with or without your permission.”

You went overboard, but it was too late to take it back. The anger in his eyes boils over, as does the internal turmoil, but he keeps silent. He paces back and forth, and it might be better if you left him alone with his thoughts for a while.

“I’ll leave you be for now, when you are ready to find me again, I’ll be in the garden.”, a vast contrast to the tone you had previously.

You leave Zaros to decipher his feelings alone, it would be better if you weren’t there. You were annoyed at him for doubting you, yet that was no way for you to speak to him, especially considering the amount of information to process in such short time. How did it even progress that quickly? Sometimes old habits are hard to kill. You needed to apologise to him later.

The garden is still as beautiful as it always was, flourishing healthily despite your mother’s absence. You had heard of it, the news circulated Serulla and its neighbouring nations with the passing wind. The Queen was no more, and her child was absolutely vile for leaving her. People will always talk.

But it looks like Zaros kept his promise to take care of your home.

The garden was silence, as you stood before the two memorial tablets mounted there. One for your brother, another for your mother. You prayed that somewhere in her heart she’d forgiven you for leaving her alone. You wipe away the tears that warmed your cheek.

“She kept speaking highly of you, to the very end.”, his voice startles you, relaxed and calmer now.

“I don’t deserve it, I left her. But there was no point in returning then, if anything it made me not want to return at all.”, you replied, kissing the top of the stone with your mother’s name carved into it.

“I’m sorry.”, he sounded sincere, the most sincere you’ve ever heard him be.

“It’s not your fault, we all have to die one day, do we not?”

“No, for not stopping you from leaving.”

“What?”, confusion thickens your voice. “What are you talking about?”

“All these years you were gone, I couldn’t help but believe it was my fault. I felt guilty, like I pushed you out of your own home. Like this was never truly my place, but yours. I’d found you again after 8 years, only for you to slips through my fingers for another 8. I really am sorry.”

“Zaros.”, you stand directly in front of him. “That was not your fault. I chose to leave. I wanted to, I had to find myself. If anything, your stupid insults helped me, although they still hurt, don't get me wrong. Besides look at how well off Serulla is! You are more of a ruler than I ever would’ve been-”

“And I missed you.” He cuts you off and silence ensues, save for the soft howls of the wind. You didn’t expect him to confess that to you so openly and easily.

“I… I missed you too.” He takes a breath and smiles, not one of his devious smirks or teasing grins. A real genuine smile that once again showed a sincerity you were unfamiliar with. You sit with him in silence for a long time, admiring the stars and flowers. and you remembered a conversation you had a long time ago. He was right watching them in the moonlight was comforting. You could only hope he feels the same way right now.

“Remember how you told me to look at the flowers in the garden at night? It was so long ago; I almost don’t remember their name. What were they called again? Bitter bell something?”, you reminisced.

“Bitter bell dureni” (sorry ik I probably butchered that idk how to spell)

“Right, yes those. I got to see them tonight. They really are beautiful.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted.", he confessed. "I promised you I’d keep Serulla safe, and I intend to keep that promise, even if it means revoking all authorities from my mother.”

“I’d much rather not use violence too. I apologise for provoking you.”

“I suppose it was a taste of my own medicine”, he laughs and you join him. “Does this mean you’re leaving again?”

“What? Do you want me to leave that badly?”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“No, I plan on staying a while, as long as your guards keep their hands to themselves of course.”, he laughs again and you can see yourself getting addicted to it. He sounds serene.

“Then, it’s my honour to have you.”, he reaches for your hand. “Come, your old room has been vacant for 8 years. It’s about time someone used it.”

“You kept my room vacant?”

“I may have had a little hope you’d return some day. To Serulla. To me.”

It’s hard not to smile when he says such things.

You take his hand, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, and he averts his gaze, though not enough to hide the dusty pink shade of his skin.

“I have another question.”,

“Yes?”

“Did you really mean all those things you said in your letter?”

It’s silent again as you walk the familiar path to your room. You both knew the answer to that.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #zaros #zsakuva zaros #zaros x reader

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propertyofkylar · 6 months

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Normally I send Whitney asks (probably will send one later) but I need to give my baby Kylar some love. Poor thing needs a good home cooked meal, he needs fruits too bc he has scurvy from his awful diet.

every time you say kylar has scurvy it makes me CACKLE it's so fucking funny. because it's so true.

but you're right giving kylar a homecooked meal needs to be more than just the headcanons i wrote before it deserves a full fic so let's fucking GOOOO

m!kylar x gn!pc, no cws just wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff ^_^

"Sit down and be patient, Kylar."

Your boyfriend sulked, but sat down in the kitchen chair anyway. You paid no mind to the fact that he pulled the chair directly next to where you were standing.

"S-sorry," he mumbled. "It just smells so good!"

You rolled your eyes affectionately and placed a hand on his cheek. He immediately beamed and leaned into your touch.

Ever since you had started spending more time at Kylar's manor, the amount you worried about him had only increased. The boy was almost always alone, staring at his six computer screens and only ever seemed to be eating instant ramen or fried food he bought on the way home from school. It was a miracle he hadn't suffered some severe nutritional deficit yet - though while you were certainly no doctor, you were pretty sure he was anemic.

So you had promised him you would make him a homemade dinner, and he had reacted as you had anticipated: by crying and thanking you repeatedly.

Now, here you were, cooking in Kylar's kitchen. It was pretty fun, honestly. Not only did you get to spend more time with Kylar, you got to do something you rarely got to do in the orphanage. Here, there was no Bailey to yell at you.

You had opted to make Kylar a katsu curry. Something simple that you were sure he would like, and something you could pack with veggies to make sure he got plenty of vitamins. Of course, you were pretty sure Kylar would have eaten anything if you were the one making it. But you figured you couldn't go wrong by appealing to his love of Japanese things.

"Do you want a taste?" You asked, dipping a spoon into the pot. Kylar eagerly nodded and jumped up. You guided the spoon to his mouth and he happily took it, grinning widely at you.

"It's good!" He said. "I knew my love would be a fabulous cook!"

You smiled at his over-exaggeration. "Okay, go grab a plate. It's ready."

He did as he was told - grabbing an extra plate for you as well - and you served up the dinner.

The two of you took a seat at the table, but the way Kylar was practically bouncing in his chair made you stop before you could begin eating.

"What's going on?" You gestured over to him. His excitement was palpable.

"My love made me dinner! We're eating it together! It's like we're already married..." Kylar sighed dreamily, gazing down at the plate.

You shook your head, but you were smiling, too. "Come on. You gotta eat before it gets cold, or you won't get any dessert," you teased.

He nodded seriously and starting digging in, a little too enthusiastically. "It's so good!" He choked out between bites.

"Kylar!" He paused and looked up at you. "Slow down. I don't want you to choke."

Kylar nodded again, making sure to slow down. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It really is that good..."

You took a bite of your own, pleasantly surprised at the taste. "Huh. I guess you're right."

"Thank you," Kylar said, staring at you lovingly. "My love is so good to me!"

"Then I'll keep cooking for you. God only knows what vitamin deficiencies you have. You probably have scurvy," you joked. But what Kylar had said before was ringing in your mind. Being married to Kylar...it might be pretty nice, actually. You had never been able to think about a real future, one where you weren't trapped under Bailey's thumb. Maybe one day you would be able to actually live here with Kylar and you could cook for him every night without worrying about where your next payment was going to come from.

Kylar noticed you zoning out. "What are you thinking about?" He asked curiously.

"How much I love you," you replied, and were pleased at how his face instantly flushed bright red. It made you laugh. "But really, I'm glad you like my food. I had a lot of fun making it and getting to spend time with you."

Kylar smiled, but seemed flustered still. "T-then...I'll be in charge of dessert..." his hand came to rest on your thigh and started to move up.

"Let's finish eating first," you said, and Kylar drew his hand back, looking disappointed.

"R-right..." he mumbled, going back to his plate.

You laughed again and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "I'm looking forward to it."

#dol #degrees of lewdity #kylar the loner #dol kylar #kylar x reader #writing #the world needs more kylar fluff. ignore the fact that he is an absolute creep and LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!

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contentloadingandstuff · 7 months

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Yae Miko, Ningguang and Yelan comforting Male!Reader after a nightmare!

A/N: That's right - you lived to see me post something. Enjoy!

CW: Description of the nightmare - images of destruction and raiding, non-canon monsters.

The scent of smoke reaches your nose. It's dark all around you. And hot, so hot. You feel around, trying to map out your surroundings. You touch a table, and soon move deeper towards the familiar wall of your house, and soon reach the front door. Though the door is stuck, a strong bash is enough to swing it open. Darkness greets you, but you run out into void regardless.

You turn, and witness your house, your home, your livelihood burning.

Fire already settled comfortably across the entire roof, the beautiful woodwork now a blazing ruin. The heat drips from the top, having long set fire to the walls and foundations as well. The facade of your house, once clean and pristine, is now covered in dark, oily soot. Even the flowers weren't spared - now, the only proof of their existence being a pile of dirt and pottery, broken by the hellish temperatures.

This isn't happening. This isn't…

Just then you turn around to face the inferno behind you.

The city is burning. Not a single building isn't damaged or alight with roaring fire. Debris litters the streets - scattered fruits, burning wood, torn lanterns and broken vessels add to the chaos. The figures you spot on the orange backdrop both make your blood boil and send shivers down your spine. Hulking figures drag themselves through the cobbled alleys, crude two handed axes in the iron grip of their rotting hands. The shoulder guards shine a blue hue upon your eyes, their faces blurred and unfocused. They go door to door, breaking in those yet unharmed. The cut off screams sounding out from the homes they enter make your fists clench.

You turn your head and see them. They stand across the street on the widest point in a line formation, overlooking all exits and entrances of the area. Soundlessly they float above the rubble, the purple smoke filling their legless torsos casting ominous shadows on the cobblestone below. They clutch the black javelins in their skeletal hands, ready to strike at the slightest que.

It's unreal. The bodies. The screams. The monsters, crawling across the city. They walk on all fours, both dog and humanlike in appearance. Filled with crooked teeth, their elongated mouths drool repulsively as they move from body to body, looking for loot with their clawed, malformed hands.

Your eyes dart across the image in front of you. Dead, dead, so many dead. Mauled corpses litter the street, not one recognisable in the dim light of the fire. Your head boils with fear and rage, and on instinct you run forward. The heaviness of the shield on your left arm and feeling of rough leather of your sword hilt give you a sense of comfort.

A swing approaches you from behind. You turn and block the axe, retaliating with a chop to the side of your attacker's midsection. Whatever is attacking you, you can't tell. All you know, all you feel is you have to fight. Fight this. Protect your home. Protect her. You can't let them do any more evil.

You swing wildly, hitting at most blurry silhouettes of threats. They retaliate with swords, spears, axes, cleavers. They maul your body, but you don't feel pain. You feel nothing, yet you can tell your body is shutting down. You strike, again and again, despite your limbs losing strength, one by one. You fall.

For a brief moment, you see clearly.

You see her face, pale, bloodied, lifeless.

Opening your eyes, blurry with tears, you feel not the hard stone below you, but a soft mattress instead.

Yae Miko

It's not the first time. Miko knows what to do. As soon as she comes to her senses from the sudden awakening, she will take charge and calm you down.

"Shh. I'm here. You're okay. Here, hold my hand. It's warm, isn't it? Nice, soft and real. Breathe, my dear. You're safe."

Miko will pull you into herself tightly so you can feel her presence. She'll speak to you slowly and gently, keeping her voice calm and steady.

As much as she hates seeing you in pain Miko can't help but admit that it's heartwarming. Seeing how much genuine distress the vision of her getting hurt brings you makes her feel like the most loved being in Teyvat.

She has a habit of teasing, true, but your own struggles will never be treated lightheartedly. As your wife, she is there to support, not ridicule.

Yae Miko will be there to bring you back to reality and straight into her arms no matter when it occurs, nor what you saw. She will do it once, twice, thrice and how many more times you need it.

Ningguang

At first, she was quite surprised, woken up to you clutching her tightly, thanking the Archons she's alright.

Ningguang was fairly concerned at first - she doesn't usually see you this disturbed. Upon catching the fact that it's a nightmare, she immediately focused her attention on calming you down.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Just like that. You're doing great. I'm alright. There's no need to worry, darling. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever."

Even the greatest of the greatest have moments of weakness. And the courage to show vulnerability? It's a value on its own, Ningguang thinks.

Being able to comfort you in such a vulnerable moment is a true privilege, and she will show only the utmost care towards you.

Yelan

Her vigilant ears picked up your muttering quite a while before the nightmare woke you up. When it did, you found your hand in hers, Yelan's eyes resting kindly on yours.

"Don't worry. I'm here, and I've never been better. What you saw wasn't real. It was just a dream, sweetheart."

She held you as you cried into her shoulder, your head hidden in her gentle arms. With her assurances, you soon fell back into a comforting slumber.

When you wake up in the morning, and if you agree, Yelan will gladly hear more about the dream. It might uncover some problems she could help you with. The last thing she wants to see is you struggling.

In her line of work, death or abduction is a constant risk. It's no wonder the thoughts of something happening to her are there. Although she can't guarantee that something like that won't ever happen, she will promise to be careful.

She's certainly going to make up all the anxiety she caused with gentle kisses and comforting touches.

Thanks for reading!

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honeyedmiller · 8 months

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Close | Din Djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: so much fluff, like literally this whole thing is just pure tooth rotting fluff and din and so soft in this, helmet comes off, reader and din are in LOVE

word count: 5.1k

synopsis: the man in shining beskar armor is one of mystery, and you were determined to get close to him.

based off of the song “close” by nick jonas

not revised (go figure) so sorry if there’s mistakes.

divider by @saradika

“‘Cus space is just a word made up by someone who’s afraid to get too… close.”

He intrigued you from the moment you set your eyes on him. Tall, broad, glinting in beskar, and a complete mystery underneath the helmet.

You often passed him and his little green apprentice in the marketplace. It started off with you glancing at him. It then turned into small smiles on your end, and a curt nod on his.

The spring air was fresh the first time he spoke to you. You were picking out some fruits for your home, when you turned around and saw him standing behind you. You gasped softly, beaming up at him.

“Those are Grogu’s favorite,” The masked man said, tilting his visor down at the fruit you had in your hand. “I was going to get him some, too.” His modulated voice was deeper than you expected, but had a warm tone to it nonetheless.

“They’re my favorite, too.” You respond with a smile, splitting the fruit in half after quickly peeling it and handing it to the small creature.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” He starts, but you shake your head.

“I insist.” You grin as Grogu coos up at you, his ears perking up.

“He likes you.” The Mandalorian says, and you give him a small smile.

“Well it’s nice to officially meet you to, uh,” You pause, not knowing what to call the man.

“Mando.” He says, and you nod.

“Mando.” You repeat, holding out your hand. He looks down at it for a second, like he’s contemplating on shaking it or not. After a couple of beats, he extends his hand to shake yours.

“What’s your name?” He asks you, and you just grin up at him before slowly backing away from him.

You knew Mando obviously wasn’t his real name, so you decided to be a mystery to him all the same. You didn’t know much about Mandalorians, but you did know they had a creed they followed. It was strict and hid their identities, and you respected that. You just thought it’d be a bit fun to mess with the man in glinting beskar for awhile.

He knew it, too. He knew you were playing a little game, and honestly, he thought he’d hate it. He was a straight-to-the-point kind of man.

But he didn’t.

He saw it as a challenge. He asked people around to see if anyone knew your name, and no one did. Maybe you were just a private person. Which, in all honesty, you kind of were. You minded your own business on Nevarro. You were friendly, just not very talkative.

You on the other hand had went to the local library to find any books you could on Mandalorians. There weren’t many, but you did find one that explained some of their history and their language. Next time you saw Mando, you’d surprise him with your newfound learnings of his culture.

That wasn’t going to be for a few months, though. He ended up getting a job that sent him to the near other side of the galaxy.

He thought about you every single day. He didn’t know what it was about you that had you in his mind stuck like glue. Maybe it was the way you smiled up at him, how you were so friendly to his son, how you remained a mystery to him. Maker, it was just you in general. Your sweet voice, your kind eyes, your beautiful smile.

Mando felt strange about the way he perceived you. He barely even knew you and he was already thinking about you nearly every waking second of the day. He’d never felt this way with anyone, except for one other person.

Omera.

When he was on Sorgan, he almost thought about risking revealing his identity for her. He’d started to feel strongly about her, but he whisked those feelings away quickly.

He never knew how to connect with someone. His lifestyle always prevented him from settling down and allowing himself to actually get close to someone for once. He had a hard time expressing his feelings, and when they overcame him, he just shut down. He’d go into panic mode and close himself off completely so nobody would be able to experience the softer side of the man underneath all of the armor.

He couldn’t help but wonder from time-to-time what life would be like if he’d just settle down. Sure, he had a house to come back to now, but he had no home. Someone he could come back to after a long journey to ask him how it went, assure him everything will be okay, be there for him when he needed someone.

He craved that so badly, but he knew he just couldn’t get it.

The next time he saw you, it was the peak of summertime. He spotted you first. He was in the marketplace trying to restock on food for him and Grogu, when he saw you talking to the spice vendor. You had that same pretty, kind smile on your lips as you shook the vendor’s hand, putting your purchase in a bag you had slung over your shoulder.

You wore a black sleeveless shirt with a floor length green skirt. You looked even more beautiful than when he left.

You turned your body in his direction, saying your goodbye’s to the vendor as your eyes snapped to the familiar shine of beskar in front of you. You halted for a split second before approaching him slowly.

“Mando.” You greet, smiling up at him.

“Cyar’ika,” He nodded down at you, and your heart skipped a beat. Sweetheart. He’d called you sweetheart.

“It’s been awhile.”

He nodded.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mando.” You softly grabbed his bicep for a second, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. You let go of it quickly before walking off into the opposite direction, leaving each other to wonder about the other for the rest of the day.

That day, Din made it a point to stop by Greef Karga’s office.

“What can I do for you, Mando?”

“What can you tell me about this woman?” He pulls up a hologram photo of you from his glove, feeling nearly guilty about what he’s about to ask his old friend.

Karga quirks his brow at Din. “She’s not a bounty, is she?” He strokes his chin as his stance goes wide, gaze flickering between the hologram and Din’s visor.

“No, I just–” Din pauses, not even knowing what to say. “It’s to babysit Grogu. Need a sitter next time I go out to hunt a bounty.” Din lied, and Karga laughed knowing he was.

“Sure, Mando.” He chuckled, and Din’s face was hot under his helmet. Luckily, Karga didn’t press any further and gave him your name and where you lived. Din thanked the man and headed out for your house later on that evening.

You were hanging your freshly washed clothes up with clothespins, humming an unfamiliar tune. Din approached you carefully not wanting to startle you, but he did anyhow.

You jumped as you turned and saw him, putting a hand over your heart.

“Stars, Mando. You scared me.” You huffed, clutching your tunic against your chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright. What brings you on this side of town?” You hang up the tunic in your hand, turning to face him.

“Just… strolling through.” He shrugs, but he knew he couldn’t lie to you.

“Uh huh.” You grin, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I actually, uh, asked Greef where you lived.” He admitted, visor tilted down toward the dirt crunching underneath his boot as he scuffed his foot.

“Do I have an unknown bounty on my head?” You half joke, and Mando tilts his helmet.

“You do anything that could make you a bounty?” He retorts, and you laugh. Oh, how he liked that sound.

“I may be wanted for making the best pog soup in town,” You joke. “Wanna join me for some? It’s almost finished.”

“I can’t.” He shakes his head, and you give him a small, sad smile. You wish he would, but you respect him and his wishes.

“Sure. Would you like some to-go?” You ask, picking up the woven basket that previously contained your freshly washed clothes. You popped your hip out and held the basket to it, tilting your head at him questioningly.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not, Mando, I’m offering.” You softly chuckle in disbelief.

He wondered, for a second, how his real name would sound rolling off of your tongue. He bet it would sound like honey. Something sweet, something pure.

“Sure.” Was all he said, and you coaxed him to follow you into your home.

It was cozy and comfortable, walls decorated with artwork made my locals that they sold at the marketplace. The place was perfect for a small family, but since it was just you, you had more room than you knew what to do with.

You pulled out a container and ladled the soup into it, cautious not to burn the pads of your fingers. You packed the container nicely in a bag, handing it to Mando.

“Here you are.” You push the bag into his hands, and he looks down at it before presumably looking at you.

“Thank you, cyar’ika.” His voice is soft behind the modulator, his heart filling with that unfamiliar warmth once more.

“You have to let me know how it tastes. You know, once you try it.”

A small laugh is heard behind the modulator, and your heart swells at the sound.

“I will. I promise.”

Din went home that night, warming up the soup again after he put Grogu down for bed so he could eat in silence. He was used to it; it was comforting. But it also made his heart strings tug with the wish that he’d have someone to share a meal with. He was scared to join you for dinner, so he quickly said no. He was scared you’d turn around to try and look at his face; he was scared of you not liking what he had to say; he was scared you were going to find him mundane.

Even with all of the stories he had, he was afraid you wouldn’t find any of them interesting. He was terrified you wouldn’t be into him. So, he pushed and pushed and pushed himself away until he was so certain all of his feelings were detached from you.

But, when he took his first sip of your pog soup, he knew he was doomed. Maker, that was the best soup he’s ever had in his life. Usually, he’d scarf down his meals. It was a habit he was trying to unlearn. But with your soup, he savored the taste on his tongue and enjoyed each and every flavor it had to offer.

It easily became his favorite meal in the whole universe.

Weeks went by and you’d make him the soup, even when it was the peak of summer and sweat would glisten on your forehead. You did it for him, because he intrigued you, and you wanted to get to know him.

That opportunity finally came one night when he knocked on your door in the late hour. You were surprised to see him standing at your door with his son fast asleep in his arms.

“Hi.” You said softly, motioning for him to come in. He stepped inside, only allowing himself a few inches into your home.

“Sorry to come by so late,” He starts, “The water went out at my house, and, uh, I was wondering if I could borrow your shower.” He explained.

This was the first time you heard a more shy tone behind the modulator. It was sweet, and you could tell it must’ve taken him a lot of courage to even come here and ask you such a favor.

“Of course. Let me, um, get you a towel.” You walk over to the hall cabinet and take out a towel for him, going into the bathroom and hanging it neatly on the towel rack.

“Thank you.” You felt his visor linger on you for a little longer than you were used to. You looked down at your attire and finally noticed that you were wearing a sleep tunic that barely covered the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment, and to shift the awkward ambience, you held out your hands.

“I can watch him while you shower.” You gesture to Grogu, and Din hands him to you carefully. The little creature coos, nuzzling into you as a tiny hand clings onto your tunic. You smile down at him as you settle down on the couch in your living room, rocking him softly.

“Thank you.” The Mandalorian says, turning swiftly to the bathroom.

He didn’t take long, and you tried to not let your mind wander to what he looked like underneath his helmet. You tried to guess his features deliberately, weighing the options of dark or light eyes, hair, skin, everything. You bet he was gorgeous underneath the beskar. It was a shame no one got to see him, but you respected him and his privacy.

You wonder how many people have seen him with his helmet off. If anyone’s ever gotten to touch his face. Oh, that man was probably so touch deprived. The thought made your heart sink a bit.

Your thoughts dissipated into thin air when the bathroom door opened, steam coming out of the room as he stepped out in his flight suit. The only piece of armor he had on was his helmet. You frowned softly in the darkness, thinking that must be insanely uncomfortable for his wet hair to be sticking to his helmet like that.

“Here,” You stood up, careful not to wake the baby. You gestured down to a basket that was empty, and motioned the Mandalorian to put his armor in there. You took a piece of armor for him and gently set it in the basket, and he followed suit with the rest of it. “I can wear a blindfold, Mando.” You told him. He looks at you, tilting his visor.

“I know other people can’t see you. I presume Grogu here already has, but, I can wear a blindfold so your hair can dry properly. That helmet must be awfully heavy.” You explain, and he thinks about it for a moment.

“Okay.” Was all he said, and you smile as you head into your bedroom and set Grogu down on your bed before rummaging through your clothes for a blindfold. You found one tucked away in a corner of a drawer, and you held it out to him.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you put it on. You know, so you don’t think I’m trying to get a peak at you or anything.” You smile softly at him, and Din’s heart clenches. You respected him and his creed, and he was so thankful of that. You drop the satin material in his bare hands, which you noticed were tan. That was just one piece of the puzzle that is this man before you.

You turn on your heel so you’re facing away from him, and he takes the material and wraps it gently around your head to cover your eyes. His fingers accidentally brushed your neck as he pulled back after tying the blindfold onto you.

Goosebumps raised onto your skin, and he noticed. Even in the dark and with the tint of his visor, he noticed. He felt it, too.

He wasn’t a man of many words. That was something you both knew. But in that moment, he wanted to tell you you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in the galaxy. He wanted to tell you everything there was to know and take you to every single planet that he think you’d like.

But, as always, he was at a loss for words. Too many thoughts and emotions trying to claw their way out of him, and he wouldn’t let it surface. He wouldn’t let himself fall for someone as beautiful and smart and kind as you. He just couldn’t.

You felt yourself being spun around as Din waved his hand over your face. “Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” He held up four, right in front of your face.

You shook your head. Everything was pitch black.

“Good.” Was all he said, before you heard a hissing sound of pressure being released.

“You can stay in here awhile and, I don’t know, talk if you’d like. If not I set out a blanket and pillow for you on the couch out there.” You pointed in the wrong direction of the living room, and Din’s lips curled up in the slightest.

“What would we talk about?” Din’s unmodulated voice rang through your ears, and you gasped. His voice was beautiful. Almost shy sounding, but deep and smooth.

You shrug your shoulders. “Whatever you want to talk about. I don’t get company, ever, so… it’s up to you. Or we can just go to bed and we don’t have to talk at all.”

“I can… tell you about some stories of my adventures across the galaxy.” He offers, and you grin toward the sound of his voice.

“I’d love that.”

And so he does. For the next couple of hours, you sit on your bed with your arms enveloping your knees to your chest as you listen to him talk about these intense days hunting a bounty, battling Moff Gideon, running into Jedi, the fact that he gave Grogu to Luke Skywalker, how he won the darksaber and gave it rightfully and respectfully to Lady Kryze, and how the Mandalorians retook their home planet.

He even went as far as telling you that he wasn’t originally born a Mandalorian, that they saved him after a droid killed his biological parents, which is why he absolutely despises the bots. Well, besides IG-11 and R5-D4.

You soaked in every single detail he chose to give you, finding himself loosening up over time while he talked to you. He found you very easy to talk to, and he could tell you were attentive as you followed along with his stories.

“I’ve never talked this much to anyone, ever.” Din chuckles, sighing softly.

“Really? I could listen to you go on for days. You’re an amazing story teller, Mando.” You smile softly, and his heart skips a beat.

He contemplated on telling you his real name, too. After all, you two’ve been acquainted long enough. He knew your first name so it was only fair that he told you his.

“It’s Din.” He says in a near whisper. He saw your brows thread together in confusion, so he elaborated.

“My name is Din.” He says, and he saw your body go rigid.

Your heart melted at the fact that he was willing to give up a part of his identity to you. That he trusted you enough to even tell you everything he’s said thus far, including his actual name.

“Din.” You repeat, and him hearing you say his name felt so right. Like it was a secret of yours to keep.

“Just… do me a favor, please. Don’t repeat my name to anybody, and only use it when it’s just us two together.” He gnawed on his bottom lip as anxiousness overtook his body. He was never vulnerable with people like this, and not having any of his armor on in a place that wasn’t his home furthered his anxiety.

You reached out in front of you, successfully finding his warm hand as you gave it a soft squeeze before pulling away. “Of course, Din. You have my word.”

After that night, you two seemed to get closer. People noticed and talked, but you didn’t really pay any mind. Neither did Din. There were many more nights of him coming over to your place to talk and eat delicious meals with you, which he finally allowed himself to do. You ate with your backs to each other as you talked about your days, another brief mission Din went on, and how Grogu is finally getting along with the kids of Nevarro City.

It wasn’t until the fall time that you realized you were starting to fall for the man in shining armor. It’s ironic, really. The one person you’d told yourself was off limits, you found thinking of nearly every minute of the day. The one that you were sure of just being strictly friends with.

You were falling in love, and you were falling hard.

There were some days you felt you couldn’t even face Din, because you genuinely feared total and complete rejection. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t have something to cover your face to hide your feelings or the soft sparkle in your eye every time you looked at him.

Whatever affections or strange feelings Din had for Omera a few years ago, he had for you much stronger. He found himself wanting to be the source of your beautiful smile and laugh. He wanted to be near you as much as he could, and the times that he couldn’t, he found himself spending every second thinking of you.

Some might say it was an unhealthy obsession at that point, but truthfully, you both were just lovestruck fools. You didn’t need to see Din’s face to know that he was a loyal, trustworthy, honorable man. He had a heart of gold that he only reserved for you and his son.

He never thought that with his old lifestyle he’d be able to settle down somewhere. Now that he’s here in Nevarro with his son, he wanted a family. Not that Grogu wasn’t his family, of course, but he wanted to settle down. Start some family roots here. Find a wife, have a (human) child, grow old with his family here.

He saw that life with you.

The times he thought about it in depth, he truly thought he might’ve actually been going crazy, but he didn’t care. He was so content with just him and Grogu in his cozy little home, but ever since he finally allowed himself to grow close to you, he feels as if the house isn’t a home without you in it.

Come winter time, those feelings from you both never dissipated. If anything, they grew stronger.

It was a busy day at the market one particular chilly day. Vendors were selling caf and pastries, which you gladly indulged in. You were looking at a new painting to buy for your house when you heard your name being called. You whirled around to come face-to- well, helmet, with Din.

You smiled up at him.

“Mando, you’re back!” You cheer, going to give him a hug, but you stopped short. You suddenly remembered you were in a very public place, where wandering eyes could clearly see you both.

Din felt your hesitation and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest plate. The metal was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. You relaxed in the familiar embrace (you two may’ve cuddled from time-to-time when he came over to talk with you), looking up at his visor.

“Wanted to surprise you at your house, but you weren’t there. Figured you’d be here instead.” He explained, and you grinned up at him.

“Was a short trip, hm?” You asked, walking with him through the market. He kept his hand loosely wrapped around your hip as you walked.

“I needed to go back to Mandalore for something.”

“What was it?” Curiosity overtook you, and he looked down at you.

“Not here, cyar’ika. Let’s go back to your house.”

You both made your way back to the warmth of your home, shucking off your three top layers so you were left in just a long sleeve and pants. You kicked off your boots before you made your way to the couch, sitting down as you waited for Din. He sat down next to you after checking to see Grogu was fast asleep in his pod.

“I went to Mandalore to ask the Armorer for something. Something I want you to have, something very significant and dear to me. But I want you to know this first,” He begins, leather-bound hands grabbing your own. “Cyar’ika, you’ve been nothing but a light in my life. I spend every day thinking of you and how much you mean to me and Grogu. You’re brilliant, kind, brave, beautiful, and so many more things that I couldn’t even begin to cover. You’ve made me fall in love with you the past near year that I’ve gotten the privilege to know you. You’ve got me, cyar’ika, and nothing would make me happier if you’d become my riduur, my wife, my partner for life.”

Tears are flowing out of your eyes now, and a happy sob escapes your throat. He untangles one of his hands from yours to take something out of a pocket he has, and he presents you a shiny necklace with Din and Grogu’s signet as the pendant. A Mudhorn.

Your free hand flies over your mouth as you cry, looking down at the beautiful necklace and back up to Din’s visor.

“Din.” You choke out a whisper, moving toward him to embrace him in a hug. He hugs you back tightly, resting his helmet against your forehead. You take both sides of his helmet and lean back, sniffling as you smile in pure adoration.

“I would love to join your clan, Din. Become your riduur. Be your wife. Partner for eternity. I love you.”

“Cyar’ika.” Din’s modulator barely caught onto his whisper. You two held each other like that for awhile, your sniffles finally dying down.

“You know, Mandalorians have an oath we follow our whole lives after we’ve been sworn into the creed,” Din starts, breaking the comfortable silence. He pulls back from you and brushes your hair out of your face. “Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead. Loyalty is life, for without one's clan one has no purpose. Death is life, one should die as they have lived.”

“That’s beautiful, Din.” You whisper, hands moving back down to your lap. He takes off his gloves and grabs your hands into his once more.

“Mandalorians also don’t do wedding ceremonies. We just say a short vow together, and that’s it. Once we’re married, you get to see my face.” Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds rapidly.

You completely forgot about ever wanting to see him, let alone being allowed to see him. The thought of him showing his face to you made you both nervous. He was worried what you’d think, and you were happy you could finally put a face to the man you’re deeply in love with.

“So, we can just say the vows right now, and that’s it? We’re married?” He gives you a short nod, and you mirror his actions. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s get married.” You smile at him, giving his hands a squeeze. He chuckles softly, wanting nothing more than to kiss you right in this very moment.

“Okay. We need to say them at the same time, so I’ll say them to you and then we’ll say them together,” He instructs, and you nod to signal you were ready.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. Got it?” He asks gently, rubbing his thumbs over the top of your hands.

You nod with glossy eyes and a drumming heart.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You both say synchronously, and a tear falls from your cheek once more.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” Din says, unclasping the necklace so he can put it around your neck. “My riduur. I’ll love you forever.”

“I love you, Din.”

“Are you ready to see me now?” His voice wavers a bit, and you can tell he’s nervous.

You’re his wife and you’re part of his clan now and he wants to spend the rest of his life loving you so tenderly and sweetly as you deserve, and yet, the nerves coursing through his body at the thought of revealing himself to you are in full force.

“Whenever you’re ready, riduur.” Your voice is sweet and patient. Even if he wasn’t ready to show his face to you now, you’d be completely okay with it. You fell in love with him for his loyalty, honesty, kind heart, and protective nature.

Even so, he removed both of his hands from yours before moving them up to his helmet, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting the heap of beskar up and over his head. He set his helmet down on the ground, eyes moving back to your face.

You were in complete awe with what you saw before you. He was simply the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tan skin, brown eyes you could easily get lost in, strong nose, pink lips, and some scruffy facial hair along his jaw with a mustache to match. His brown curls sat messily atop his head, and you just couldn’t stop staring.

Before he could speak out of nervousness, you moved both of your hands and held the sides of his face gently. He closed his eyes in pure bliss, never being touched by another like that in his life. His eyes slowly blinked back open to look at you, brow creasing as he waited for you to say something.

“Meshla,” You whispered, and he inhaled sharply. He had no idea where or how you learned a word of Mando’a, but hearing you speak the language of his people made his heart swell with absolute pride. “You’re so beautiful, Din.” You lightly trace the tips of your index finger over the curves of his face, resting your hand on his cheek once more.

You swept your thumb over his cheekbone, moving closer to him to press a kiss onto his forehead and his nose. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes, rubbing your nose against his gently.

“I love you, my riduur.” He whispered, and you smiled as you leaned in a little more.

“I love you too, Din.” And finally, your lips connected. The kiss was soft and sweet, but passionate and full of promise and want and need.

Falling for and marrying the beautiful woman from the market in less than a year was not on Din’s agenda, for his fear of getting too intimate to someone overtook his whole being. But, stars, he was so glad he took that leap of faith.

And, maker above, was he ever so eternally grateful that the person he chose was you.

Someone who made him unafraid.

Someone who allowed him to get close.

tag list: @cool-iguana ; @party-hearses ; @amanitacowboy ; @angel-in-beskar ; @pamasaur

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagines #din djarin imagine #din djarin fluff #din djarin one shot #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian one shot #the mandalorian imagine #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader

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mamamittens · 1 year

Text

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 9)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew & Reader-insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior, kidnapping (again), and vague descriptions of grievous injury (need I specify whom at this point?). Slight angst. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary. Do not tolerate this behavior in real life from anyone (especially backstabbing, definitely don't tolerate that and get medical assistance as soon as possible).

What you've all been waiting for (fearfully even) is here. The beginning of the end. The same story but... different now. For the better? We'll have to find out, won't we?

Word Count: 1,788

Apparently, Marco had promised Twin-Blade a party when he returned. And as you’ve seen several times by now—before discretely sneaking back to your room to avoid the shenanigans—Whitebeard Pirates don’t need an excuse to throw a party. Once the supplies were safely stored, Twin-Blade took center stage with a bundle in his arms.

You stared at it with something approaching horror, the pit of your stomach rotting from underneath you. You’ve felt a lot of different fruits before, brushing by them as you worked. But you’d never felt one like this. A little too alive and seemingly aware of your presence in a way you didn’t care for. Miraculously less than you cared for being on a pirate ship. It felt greedy like a spoiled child asking for more sweets with sticky fingers and sugar-stained lips. Like it would take and take and take everything you are if you weren’t careful.

Maybe devil fruits always felt this… intense? When it hadn’t been eaten yet? Just a bundle of raw power and potential.

Regardless, you didn’t like it.

Twin-Blade beamed, sneaking glances at you with his expression faltering.

“O-Oyaji! We were challenged on the way back by pirates. And guess what lovely prize they had?” Twin-Blade removed the fruit from the bag. Massive, even in his large hand, and purple with pointy spikes. The whole deck gasped in shock. Devil fruit users weren’t exactly rare on the Grand Line, but finding a fruit itself was a matter of sheer luck. Twin-Blade glanced at you again only to see your pinched expression. “What is it?”

You wrinkled your nose.

“…nothin’. Just feels… weird.” You shrugged, trying to push aside the sticky, reaching sensation of the devil fruit. Twin-Blade looked intrigued.

“Oh!?” He scrambled over to you, ignoring your flinch as the fruit got too close to you. “What do you feel? Can you tell what it does?”

So close to the fruit you noticed a new sensation. An almost magnetic pull. Not a compulsion to eat or touch it, but a literal draw. Like there was a rope around you gently tugging you closer. You shuddered, hating how it started to feel hard to breath near it.

“Dark. Grabbing. I-I don’t know. Feels weird. Please go away.” You huffed. Twin-Blade paused, looking at your face before frowning.

“Sorry. Got too excited. You don’t look so good, are you alright?” Twin-Blade moved the fruit away from your face and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. You swatted at him with a scowl.

“I’m fine! Stop that!” You hissed.

“Hey, Thatch, are you going to drink some of this booze or are you offering another mug to your loving brothers?” Ace declared, raising two mugs high as food was brought out from below deck to feed the rowdy crowd under the growing stars.

Twin-Blade jolted from his thoughts, immediately incensed.

“Oh, hell no! Gimme that!” Twin-Blade ran to claim his drink. You sighed with relief before quietly heading back below deck. A large hand lowered down in front of you. You looked up to see Whitebeard leaning over with a concerned expression.

“Are you alright, my child?” You huffed, attention torn between the Yonko and the devil fruit somewhere behind you.

“Yeah. Just headed to bed. Night.” You said with clipped words, veering around him hand, shuddering at the gentle pulse of the greedy devil fruit behind you.

Whitebeard’s eyes fixed on you as you walked below deck, dodging party goers and cooks bringing more food and booze up.

--*--

Thatch raised his mug up high with a cheerful laugh, accepting the teasing questions about his new prize. Ace kept glancing back every so often with a frown before drunken cried brought him back.

“What’s the matter, Ace?” Thatch asked, leaning against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. Ace gave him a sideways glance.

“Nothing… I guess I’m just worried about them.” Ace tipped his head to the side, indicating the entrance to below deck. “They don’t really stay for parties but they seemed really eager to leave this time.” Thatch grimaced.

“Yeah. I think the devil fruit was messing with them.” Thatch huffed, irritated that his plan to drag you from your shell backfired so spectacularly. “What the hell does ‘dark’ and ‘grabbing’ even mean?”

Ace shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. They don’t usually talk about their devil fruit with anyone.” Ace explained. “But maybe you could ask? Couldn’t hurt at least. Maybe not with the fruit—”

“Zehahaha~! Got yourself quite the prize, eh commander?” Teach plopped down next to him suddenly with a cheerful grin and red face. He leaned over to ‘whisper’. “So… are ya going to eat it?”

Thatch sighed.

“…I don’t know. I don’t even know what it does. What if it’s really lame? I only get one shot, you know!” Thatch grumbled. “And your newest sibling seems more on edge than usual.”

Teach smacked his back hard with an uproarious laugh.

“ZEHAHAHA~! You’ll figure it out! Maybe they just need a bit to sort themselves out?” Teach suggested. Thatch smiled, feeling a little reassured at the possibility. Night had long since fallen and the party was still in full swing. They should be asleep by now.

“Ah~ I wish I could talk to them.” Thatch sighed wistfully.

“Well why don’t you?” Thatch looked at Teach in surprise.

“They’re probably asleep…?” Teach grinned.

“Well, it can’t hurt to check! And hey, I don’t think they ate anything, either!” Thatch bolted up.

“Ahck! What! I told them to eat while I was gone!” Thatch whined, his face hot as he swayed on his feet. Teach laughed at his misery, standing up to help steady him.

“Let’s make a food run and see if they’re still up, commander. Who knows, maybe they’ll be in a mood to talk after a bit of food?” Teach suggested reasonably.

Thatch, even a bit tipsy, could see no fault in the logic. Or possibly because he was tipsy? No matter, he was going to do the best damn food run of his life.

He needed to talk to you!

Thatch waved to Ace and, with Teach’s help, stumbled up to hopefully get food good enough to tempt you into speaking to him.

The whole time Teach was laughing and joking, teasing Thatch for getting so damn tipsy—which he honestly deserved, he underestimated the strength of the booze, which is a terribly rookie mistake to make as a Whitebeard Pirate.

“What’s the bag for?” Thatch frowned, rummaging in the fridge to make a quick snack. Teach chuckled, loading up the bag.

“What? Do you think you could carry food and walk in a straight line?” Teach asked.

“Ah. Good idea, Teach, eheh, I’d probably drop it on the floor and waste it all!” Thatch cackled, shaking his head as he grabbed a couple bottles of juice. He was probably grabbing too much food, but he wasn’t sure if Teach would be sticking around for the conversation and as a D, Teach ate a lot.

Teach gave Thatch a slightly odd smile, chuckling under his breath as he finished loading up the goodies.

By the time they made it to the hallway with your room, Thatch was now a lot more sober, aided by two whole glasses of water. He didn’t want to make a total ass of himself by being too tipsy to make any sense.

The door was, unexpectedly, locked. So Marco or someone else had already came by to check on you. Which meant you had to be asleep now. Thatch had a key, sure, but now he wasn’t so sure he should actually wake you up.

He paused in front of the door, looking at the key.

There was a soft, sharp sound behind him.

Like a knife hissing as it was pulled from a scabbard.

The hot, burning pain took his breath away and made his knees go weak.

He collapsed on the floor instantly, thinking hazily that he was having a stroke or something equally terrible.

He gasped, shuddering with agony as he was moved. Teach standing over him as he gently took something from his jacket.

Thatch couldn’t focus. His thoughts circling round and around again.

Teach was holding the devil fruit.

Teach had the key.

Teach had the devil fruit and the key.

He was stepping over Thatch into the room and Thatch found his heart racing under protest. Only capable of gasping weakly as his body refused to cooperate.

His eyes slid shut for only a moment. Briefly lifting up as Teach stepped over him again, locking the door and dropping the key on Thatch’s chest. A second bag slung over his shoulder.

“Zehahaha—nothing personal, commander.” Teach smiled sincerely before walking away.

What?

Thatch closed his eyes again and waited for the world to make sense.

It only grew colder, his erratic thoughts growing increasingly distant and unreal.

He thought there was danger, but where? He was a little cold, sure, but he was fine otherwise… right?

“THATCH!” Hot hands cradled his face, something like molten liquid dripping down his face.

Reluctantly, Thatch opened his eyes, the world growing soft and faint. Someone was crying over him. Probably because he was so damn handsome, heh. Tan skin and freckles all over. Silver eyes like a blade—he’s bleeding out, isn’t he? Seas, he’s not ready to die—overflowing with tears.

“MARCO! QUICK! SOMEONE GET MARCO!” The young man lightly smacked Thatch’s face. “H-Hang in there, Thatch! Y-You’re going to be fine! I promise!” He promised desperately.

But something was bothering Thatch. More than the chill in his bones and strong enough to pierce through the cotton in his head, numbing his tongue and fingers.

He didn’t know why, but your name was the last thing that left his lips.

Where did you go?

“THATCH!”

--*--

You shuddered awake hazily to the rocking of a boat. Your neck bruised and ropes wrapped around your body. The sea waves lapped away near your head.

You could see the rising sun on the horizon and a distant island when you turned your head. Something soft bracing your bruised neck from the wood of the row boat.

“…Mmm?” You hummed, head swaying as you laid back down.

“Hmm, go back to sleep. We’ve got a ways yet before shore and between the two of us, I’m definitely the better rower. Don’t worry—" You closed your eyes reluctantly and began to drift off. “—I’ll get a decent boat to sail properly with, zehahaha!”

You fell back asleep with the distorted sense that something was wrong.

Dark shadows practically wrapped around your ankles as you fell into darkness again.

#one piece yandere #platonic yandere #yandere whitebeard crew #reader insert #oh sweet child of mine #accidentally but #yandere blackbeard #sort of?#not committed to it but it's hardly the worst thing he's done #especially now #get well soon thatch bby #*in the aaaarrrmms of the aanngeelllss fly awaaaaayyyy from here~*

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lamemaster · 11 months

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Elves Reaction to a Mythical S/O

Request: I saw the “ Feel free to request “ in the bio and I wanted to ask if you could write something like a Mermaid!Reader Or Fairy!Reader headcanons with Maedhros Celegorm Caranthir Glorfindel and Ecthelion? I would appreciate it <3

Characters: Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir, Glorfindel, Ecthellion

AN: Took some creative liberty with some of these but I hope you still like them. Also, the way I got carried away with Celegorm is not real. I hope you like it and thanks for requesting this! (Divider by @cafekitsune)

Celegorm- Celegorm lay wounded, his lifeblood seeping into the quiet forests of Beleriand. Beside him, Dior's lifeless form grew cold, devoid of the light that once animated it. As he awaited his inevitable end, Celegorm allowed himself a moment to embrace the surroundings. The scent of damp earth, the gentle rustle of leaves in the air, and the murmurs of the horrified trees—all of it reached his senses, and even in his pain, he found solace in these simple pleasures. He dared not contemplate his fate, for whatever awaited him was yet unknown. Suddenly, a subtle thrum of activity surrounded him, a buzz that reverberated through the forest. Even the trees whispered a name he couldn't grasp. And then he smelled it—the sweet, cloying scent of decay. It was reminiscent of rotting grapes, withering to produce wine, or overripe fruits dissolving into the soil. "Oh, look what they left us this time—one still alive," your voice chimed like a symphony of bells in Celegorm's pain-addled mind. From his blurred vision, Celegorm observed as flowers bloomed beneath your every step. And then, you stopped right in front of him. "Help," he managed to croak, and you laughed. Mirroring your laughter, Celegorm felt a surge of mirth course through him, even as his blood continued to flow excessively. "Ah, my pet," you crouched down, and Celegorm instinctively leaned into your touch as your fingers grazed his cheek. "Should I truly save you?" You tilted your head innocently, your silver-hued skin shimmering in the dappled sunlight. A crown adorned with sapphires rested upon your head, complementing the brilliance of your sparkling eyes. "Think carefully," you whispered with a playful smile on your lips, and Celegorm became captivated by their allure. "A bargain with the fae is no trivial matter." As a sharp pain invaded his mind and body, Celegorm's gaze lost focus. Your talons, sharp and unyielding, grasped his wound, prying it open further. Despite the agony coursing through him, Celegorm found himself nodding, his voice barely a plea, "Please…". “Alright, then elf,” in seconds the wound that you had pried open closes and Celegorm stares in disbelief as his skin stitches itself back together under your touch. By the time you are done, there rests a brand where Dior’s sword had once impaled him. Your brand on him.

Ecthellion- Long ago, in the Ages of the Trees, Ecthelion had felt the weight of the ocean, a burden he carries with him even now. However, it is not the brine of the ocean that floods his lungs, but the water of his own fountain, leaving him gasping for breath. The misery he experiences now seems more profound than the incident of his childhood. Back then, he held onto hope that someone would come to his rescue, and indeed, you had come. Through the darkness, you swam with your shimmering green tail, and in your arms, you cradled a young Ecthelion. That single act had been enough to ignite his fascination with Alqualondë, drawing him to its shores in search of glimpses of you, the mermaid familiar with the Teleri's realm. Admiration had blossomed into love as Ecthelion fell for his savior. But now… hope has faded. Ecthelion finds it harder to believe in the possibility of a rescue as he drowns in the shallow waters, mere feet from the depths of the ocean. The day he departed the bloodied shores, he shattered any chance of your care. He knows you would not spare a thought for one who sided with the kinslayers. “I wish I had left you…I wish I hadn’t saved you,” the echoes of your final words haunt his ears, replaying over and over as he envisions your tear-stricken figure on the ravaged shores. Even as he draws in the water, he feels his own tears mingling with it, his heart heavy with regret.

Caranthir- Caranthir sighed in frustration as the thread snapped once again, the fifth time within the last two minutes. "Will you please stop already?" he exclaimed, giving up on the futile game of searching for the elusive cause of his thread's constant breaking. Finally, he looked up towards the branch where you sat, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. "Oh, me?" you replied, feigning an expression of shock, vigorously shaking your head. "How could I have possibly done anything from wayyyy up here?" Your playful act may have fooled others, but Caranthir, after years of knowing you, remained unconvinced. Caranthir's frustration simmered as he contemplated your mischievous presence on the branch above. His impulse to chuck a rock at you was quickly suppressed, knowing it wouldn't deter your playful nature. But you weren't oblivious to his internal struggle. With a dramatic flourish, you folded your wings, mocking innocence evident in your eyes. "Oh, look at you," you taunted, your voice carrying a blend of seriousness and amusement. "What did a poor, dainty little fairy do to you? I hope all your needles break and all your threads end up in a tangle." Despite the biting nature of your words, a glimmer of mirth danced in your gaze. Tired of your antics, Caranthir abandoned his position and began to make his way back. But before he could take more than a couple of steps, he felt a familiar weight land upon his back. Your arms encircled him, and your head rested gently on his shoulder. His hands instinctively moved to support your legs, preventing any chance of you slipping. "Forgive me," you whispered softly, your fingers idly playing with his braids. Caranthir didn't utter a single word in response, but the way he his hands securely supported your legs on each side spoke volumes.

Maedhros- Maedhros found himself engulfed in a sea of grief, his heart heavy as he watched his father burn the ships that were meant to aid their kin. The weight of witnessing his father's gradual descent into darkness, coupled with the burden of blood and oath, had taken its toll on Maedhros. The shores were ablaze with the burning remnants of the ships, and amidst the chaos, he discovered you. Your countenance was hidden beneath the veil of long, flowing hair, but one striking feature remained exposed—a majestic teal tail that identified you as a creature of the sea. Lying on the shore, your body bore the scars of burns, rendering you unconscious and vulnerable. Drawn by an invisible force, Maedhros knelt beside you, gently parting the strands of hair that obscured your face. In that moment, he couldn't discern whether it was love or lust that gripped his heart, but he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from you. As he pulled you from the water, your tail transformed into naked legs, signifying a profound change and a bridge between worlds. Draping his cloak over your form, Maedhros carried you to the sanctuary of his tent. With tender and feather-soft touches, he applied a healing paste to your wounds, his eyes fixated on your closed eyes. In that intimate exchange, he felt an indescribable connection. You belonged to him, bound together in mind, heart, and soul, intertwining with his own unguarded being. When the following morning arrived, you awakened, your memories of the past washed away like wet ink fading on a page. A new dawn emerged, and the eldest Feanorian rejoiced. For in your rebirth, he saw an opportunity to offer himself to you completely. The sea had dared to separate him from his home, his mother, his people and so he took away something precious from it. Something he keeps a secret even as he hangs from the cliff of Thangodrim. You are to him as the Silmarils were to Feanor. Even in death, Maedhros' spirit would follow you as you traversed the world, your past forgotten in the depths of ages long gone. You were his eternal companion, a tether to a forgotten era, forever intertwined in the tapestry of destiny.

Glorfindel- "Do you truly think Asfaloth's bells are better than mine?" you ask, your figure delicately balanced on the balcony as you fix a piercing glare upon Glorfindel. He finds himself in a predicament he never anticipated, caught off guard by your sudden confrontation. "It's not a matter of comparison, really," the Balrog slayer tries to deflect, hoping to avoid further conflict. However, you refuse to let him off the hook so easily. "Oh, really? Because if I recall correctly, your past romantic odes were filled with praise for the sweet chimes of my own bells, not those on Asfaloth," you remark, plucking at the tinkling bells adorning your anklet to emphasize your point. "These bells carry the essence of my magic, and yet, you hesitated. You faltered at Elohir's foolish question." Glorfindel winces, inwardly cursing Elrond's son for inadvertently causing this current predicament. Stepping closer to you, he channels his sweetest voice, accompanied by a subtle loosening of the top buttons of his shirt. "Melda," Glorfindel begins, his voice tender and sincere, "there is truly no comparison. Even Asfaloth's bells were born out of the days when I pined for you." He gazes into your eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you instinctively reach out and fiddle with the buttons of his shirt." Is that true?" you inquire, a hint of vulnerability lacing your voice. Glorfindel nods, relief washing over him. Crisis Averted for now. He would make sure to apologize to Asfaloth tomorrow.

#silmarillion x reader #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion #noldor elves #tolkien #middle earth #romance #silmarillion headcanons #maedhros x reader #maedhros #celegorm x reader #Ecthelion x reader #glorfindel x reader #caranthir x reader

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sailoryooons · 1 year

Text

Obsidian | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You remember everything. The first time you radiated at garnet, feeling the power of the jewel rushing through you. Remember the energy pulsing at your command. And you certainly remember the face of the man who ruined your life. Then there’s Min Yoongi, the Chaotic who is the key to your revenge.

☾ Word Count: 10,012

☾ Genre: Urban fantasy, criminal/syndicate, strangers to lovers, angst, eventual smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Graphic depiction of death and body dismemberment, a lot of blood, Yoongi is brutally wounded/gutted, near-death experience, traumatic loss of parents, mention of suicide (not actual, but metaphorical), this is pretty blood and gory but not gratuitous? Death of a koi fish rip Agust the I.

☾ Published: April 22, 2023

☾ A/N: Don’t ask me to explain myself. I have no idea what I’m doing and my Aries moon is in full control of me and working me like a robot. This is a series or something I don’t know. I have no plans and no thoughts, just brain rot. Inspired by Jade City by Fonda Lee, the movie Colombiana, the movie Scarface and by my fuck it we ball attitude about writing what I want when I think of it. Also please note that the order of first and last names will be done in Western fashion in this, as this story does not exist anywhere real-world-adjacent and thus, will be first name > last name.❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

An emerald Radiant walks into the bar and makes a mess. It sounds like a punchline, but you never hear the end of the joke. Only the hook and the line. No sinker.

Before he arrives and messes everything up is important, though.

Market Town is a mess. Each side of the road has storefronts with open doors, neon and holographic signage blinking on and off with the shitty pulse from the electricity grid. In front of them on the side walks and spilling into the street are the stall vendors, ever-changing and ever-moving sales carts, tables, boxes and people hawking their wares, fruits and trinkets at the hundreds of people who writhe through the market.

It smells terrible. You keep to yourself, all the stink of bodies and rotting fruit and the sizzling fat of meat making your head dizzy no matter which way you navigate. Market Town stretches an entire district, street after street of stores and people and things and it feels like it never ends, the stench of humanity clinging to you like a second skin.

Water crashes down on a man selling lab-grade jewels to a wary-looking mother and daughter. They flinch away from the seller as he sputters and screams, soaked in sweat and whatever liquid has been tossed out an apartment window from above. He cranes his neck up to locate whoever tossed the water - or more likely, piss - out of the window, but he has hundreds of options to choose from from the apartment building that towers behind him. You grimace and step further into the middle of the street. Most of the apartments in Market Town have years worth of failing plumbing, and you have no desire to be showered with piss and shit.

It’s too early in the evening for the lights of the neon advertisements glittering in the air above your head to cast a blinding light on your eyes. Their glow is not yet painted on the surge of people coming and going, but you know by sundown Market Town will be a watercolor of holographic and neon advertisements courtesy of Roanoke Insurance, Jend Cosmetics, and Jura Jura Coffee: Best Brew In Diade.

At least Market Town has sensible advertisements. It isn’t the vibrant horror of naked figures bent over, or the bloody holograph of a man having his brains blown out. Crimson District has no shortage of unique and salacious advertising and the money its businesses generate make the lights and the glow much harder to ignore, even in the daylight. It’s part of why you prefer to scrounge around Market Town like a mangrove rat.

Well, and it’s what you can afford.

Namjoon’s work stall floats around Market Town. Usually, you can find him tucked between Margot’s fruit stand and Len’s divination table. Namjoon likes to nibble on Margot’s sweet strawberries in exchange for fixing the till on Margot’s stand, and Len is an okay stall neighbor when he isn’t so drunk that he’s trying to convince you that the end is near and the world will be swallowed in garnet and obsidian.

That sounds lovely, you always tell him.

Prepare for the end, Len always answers.

The sweet smell of tangerines reaches you through the sizzling smell of frying meat a few stalls over. It’s better than the rank stink of flowers wafting from a stall a few carts over, your head dizzy with the fragrance as you approach Namjoon, Margot and Len.

Margot’s fruit always smells better than any other food set out across tables and bins on the street. You’re pretty sure it has to do with the pretty, green citrine jewel that he keeps tucked away and out of sight and away from any wandering eyes.

You can’t blame him. Even though citrine isn’t high on the Jewel Caste, Market Town is primarily made up of Nulls. They certainly can’t radiate with jewels, but they sell them at a high price to those desperate enough to feel the power of a Radiant. Some even promise to sell jewels that make Radiants Caste Drop to a new, darker and more powerful color.

Only an untrained Radiant would think a Caste Drop is possible through a rock. It’s stupid, really. Anyone who wears or buys jewels openly in Market Town is asking to be robbed and gutted. You’ve even seen as light as a diamond caste get murdered here.

A kindly young man stands in front of Namjoon’s stand. It’s really just a wooden table with a bunch of trinkets, clocks with too many dials, little holographic action figures jumping into different poses, and other wares that run on technology or small engineering. Namjoon prides himself on being the best tinkerer, though you’re willing to bet he’s a lot smarter than that.

Namjoon himself isn’t much older than the man at his table, gesturing to a watch as Namjoon leans over it. Namjoon’s brown hair has grown long, shoved back by a black, cotton strip he has tied around his head to keep it out of the way. He’s dressed in a dirty shirt and canvas overalls, a little bit of grease on his arms. His glasses slide down his nose, lenses fogged with the humidity that collects in Market Town and makes it rot.

A fly buzzes toward you from Margot’s stand. He has his back turned to you, placing little white pricing stickers on his green melons. He's a little portly and very short - especially when Namjoon stands and shakes his customer’s hand. Namjoon is taller than most people, and much broader, his shoulders wide and arms thick, suggesting that he did something else before he became a tinkerer in Market Town.

You don’t know what, though. You can sense the peridot he has hidden in the soles of his boots and the fingertips of his work gloves, giving him power to radiate as he works on his little devices and mending broken objects for people. But you’ve never asked.

Asking questions is the first step to murder in these parts.

When his customer leaves, Namjoon turns to you and blinks his brown eyes at you owlishly, magnetized by his prescription lenses. He’s handsome - a little too handsome by Market Town standards - and he smiles at you, a dimple popping up in his cheek.

“I finally fixed this device for you,” Namjoon says by way of greeting. He digs around in his overall pockets and produces a tiny, silver device that looks like a bullet. “The little battery inside was fried. I put in a new one and replaced the copper plating on the starter. Your wires were totally corroded and-”

“How much?” you ask, a little exasperated. Namjoon will go on forever if you let him, and you need to get to Montana. “I only asked for the battery to be looked at, Joon.”

“No cost. It was a fun little device to look at. Kind of dangerous, though, no?”

“You can’t not charge me. I told you to stop giving people their shit for free.”

His cheeks turn cherry as he scratches the back of his neck. “Fine, what about five nil?” You toss the coins on the table and he passes you the device. “It’s a mini shatterwave, right? The high-pitched frequency scatters the frequency of Radiants?”

You give him an annoyed look. “Yes.”

“Who made it? It’s a fascinating device.”

Instead of answering Namjoon’s question, you pocket the little bullet and toss another five nil on the table. “For silence,” you tell him firmly.

He wants to ask another question. You can see it in his face. Namjoon is always asking you questions about the things you bring to him and ask him for. It isn’t his job to ask questions, especially as freely as he asks them. But Namjoon operates like someone who has no idea that he’s tucked away in the most dangerous market in the Crown Cities.

Nothing Namjoon does is that of someone low born. He’s too polite, gives out too many handouts, and lets his curiosity get the best of him. Lets his clients become friends. You’re fond of him as much as someone of your position is allowed to be - maybe even a little more - but Namjoon is a danger to himself, no matter how often you keep steering him back in the right direction.

“You!” Len leans over Namjoon’s table, his glassy green eyes wide, pupils dilated. His hair is white as salt and sticks up in multiple directions, looking as though he may have been electrocuted and never recovered. He points one knobby finger at you. “The world will end in garnet and obsidian.”

“That sounds lovely, Len.”

You predict the next words. Have heard him say it dozens of times. “Obsidian.”

Len surprises you. That has yet to be a response in your little game of prophecy, and you open your mouth to indulge and ask him what he means when something tingles at the back of your neck.

You pause and glance to the side where Margot is dealing with a customer arguing about the price of squash. A soft breeze rustles the canvas topper to Margot’s stand, carrying the scent of tangerine with it. Something is buzzing at the back of your neck, and your gaze slowly drifts from Margot to a man passing by the cart.

This is someone who blends in. His clothes are plain: his pants are ripped at the knees and scuffed at the bottom, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest in places where he’s sweating through. He has a floral shirt pulled over, open and fluttering in the balmy breezy of the market.

Nothing about him is remarkable, except that he’s beautiful. Perhaps not on the first glance, but when you blink and focus, it feels like you’re seeing him for the first time. You have no idea how upon first glance you thought he could ever blend in.

He has a round face, glowing and pale like the moon. Inky hair that is a little bit dirty, a few wavy pieces falling over cat-sharp eyes. He smirks as he walks, and though he isn’t looking at you, he seems smug about something. You’re not sure what, but as he passes you, you feel that tingle again.

Your eyes dart to all of the places you look for jewels first. Hands, ears, neck, and wrists. Nothing, there’s no jewel on him. You can’t sense a frequency about him that makes sense - he doesn’t fit anywhere on the caste that makes sense to you, but it’s definitely a Radiant-adjacent sensation. He’s on the caste, but you don’t know where.

Most Radiants feel like a dull buzz. When they have jewels, it’s more like an itch that you want to scratch. There is always an attraction for a Radiant to use jewels, even if they don’t belong to them. This feeling isn’t that, it’s more invasive and sharp, not like anything you’ve felt from diamond caste to onyx caste.

When he gets a few yards away, the feeling begins to fade. You start to turn away but he tosses something up and the air and catches it. You narrow your eyes and he does it again, realizing he’s tossing a tangerine up and down.

A tangerine that he stole.

“Hey!” you bark at him, making several people turn in your direction, including Namjoon and Margot. The man doesn’t pause, tossing his tangerine in the air again. “Hey motherfucker! You have to pay for that tangerine!”

That catches his attention. He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, eyes round and mouth parted in surprise. A few people turn to look at where you’re shouting, but you mostly go ignored. Thieves are common here and most people don’t bother to yell at them anymore.

The man pauses for a moment. His gaze darts between you, Margot who is coming around his cart behind you with a knife, and the ripe little tangerine in his hand. He looks at you again, dark eyes glittering. For a second, the two of you are connected, strung together by an unlikely moment between strangers. Then he does the damndest thing: he grins.

And then he’s running down the street, floral shirt snapping in the wind as he dashes headfirst into the crowd.

Like the idiot you are, you take off after him. Suddenly, you are the number one security measure of Margot’s fruit stand, a man who has never given you a fucking discount in your life. You have no idea why you’re running after this tangerine thief, but you feel energy surge through you as you do, dodging people and bodies and things as you tear after him.

The tangerine thief is quick on his feet but you’re fast too, the emerald jewel hidden in your boot sending energy through you. You only radiate a little - not enough to draw too much attention, but enough to not lose sight of his red shirt flapping as he takes a corner and leaps over a stall.

He’s a Radiant, you realize. You suspected when you felt him walk behind you, but the ease at which he vaults a market stall much taller than him gives it away. He isn’t worried about hiding his status from you, which can mean a couple of things.

You don’t consider any of them, going around the stall instead of over. The emerald in your shoe is more than enough to send you several meters in the air, but you like to play your cards close. Don’t like to flash power unless you absolutely have to.

In a market full of Nulls, you prefer to blend in. Unjeweled is safer, especially in Market Town full of thieves and cut throats for naive or unsuspecting Radiants.

Just as you catch sight of your thief again, there’s a loud snap in the market. You look up, seeing a two story stall made from dry-rotted driftwood splinter. There’s a single second where you’re watching the top of the stall holding fresh rain water and it’s crashing down onto the market floor.

Screams ring out as alarmed market goers are startled by the sudden deluge. You just barely throw up a shield of concentrated energy. Water splits once it hits you, a river breaking around a boulder. Chaos ensues, the stall owner screaming her head off and wailing about the precious rainwater she collected to bless with her divine spiritual energy and sell, while shoppers and other stall owners alike are furious about their now soaking persons and wares.

Dropping your shield, you shoulder through the crowd. Now the smell of garbage is wet and pungent, clinging to bodies as you shove through the mess, looking for any sign of the pretty boy and his stolen tangerine.

It’s a mass of colors and people, lanes between stalls and the crowd opening and closing. The movement of Market Town flexes like a living thing, shifting and writhing, a hungry serpent sliding through the streets.

“Fuck,” you growl. It was a well placed distraction and perfect aim, using his power to snap the beam of the stand.

With a sigh, you look down at your watch and curse. You’re going to be late to work. Again. All because you chased down a thief for a fruit salesman that doesn’t even like you.

But that tingle. That sense of awareness that pricked the back of your neck, sharp and lethal. You think about it as you speed walk to the outskirts of Market Town where the edge of the Night Sphinx territory borders the loosely carved strip of streets that belong to the Green Dragons.

The lane of pockmarked pavement between the left and right sides of the street is the only place in Diade where two families of the Armory share such close property. Though the Salib and Park families are friendly enough, it still doesn’t do well to mix too much among Armory families outside of official business.

As soon as you hit the corner, you keep your eye on the other side of the street. It’s lined with clubs and bars and gambling dens that belong to the Night Sphinx organization. A few patrons loiter on the street, but it’s mostly members with sphinx tattoos, brooches or emblems stitched to their clothing to state their association.

The sun is sinking toward its final goodbye, rays of gold light cut in half by the towering buildings of Civ just a few miles away. It’s a beautiful sight, a shot straight down to the lower elevation of the giant buildings turned burnish gold by the sunset.

Even from a distance, the commercial district of the city is imposing, its steel teeth biting upward at a colored sky. You wonder what it must be like to live in that world. To work or live in one of the Civ towers. You imagine you’d have your own little office with a desk and a private window to look out at the world. So high up near the clouds, a god of civilization.

A group of Green Dragons pour out of the door of Montana and onto the sidewalk. It draws your attention away from the shining, ever-golden Civ to the flickering neon sign above a banged-up metal door. It looks like the lock is busted again and you make a note to tell Burro. Not that he’ll get it fixed. It’s not worth the nil to fix anything in Montana, including the mangrove rat infestation brought in by one of the liquor shipments from Blows.

Inside the bar is no better. Sticky floors, wobbling tables with chipped wood and scratched lacquer coating, a single bar with broken stools pulled up to the edge. There are a few holoscreens flickering above the colorful bottles that line the bar, sometimes interrupted by Jungkook’s tattooed hand reaching for bottles.

Montana is rarely busy. It’s a new acquisition fronted by the Green Dragons, though the building isn’t new and neither is the bar. It had been closed for almost fifteen years, a rotted hole of a used-to-be-bar until Jimin opened it up again. He doesn’t intend for it to be a popular place to drink as much as he needs it for Green Dragons operations, but he fixed it up a bit.

As you round the bar to throw your shit in the office, a mangrove rat scurries by your feet, making you screech and jump. Jungkook lifts his head, round eyes sweeping back and forth for danger, hands cocked and fists half-clenched. He catches sight of the rat scurrying into one of the holes in the side of the wall and scowls before nodding in greeting.

So maybe Jimin hadn’t fixed up the bar that much.

If Jungkook is irritated by your tardiness, he doesn’t say anything. You’re just as pleased as you are displeased to discover that Burro isn’t in the bar at all. You suspect he’s down the block wasted in the Green Garter. Instead of asking, you immediately get to helping Jungkook maintain the system behind the bar, which is mostly cleaning vigorously at all times to fight the grime that seems to inch up on the place every hour.

Working with Jungkook is your favorite. He’s a quiet kid with a guarded expression and soft eyes. You don’t ask him much about how he got here or why. Jimin seems to show him the same reverence as when he first found you, so it’s safe to assume that Jungkook is a stray like you.

Even without jewels, Jungkook is tall and broad, his arms thick and strong enough to lift kegs one-armed over his shoulder. You’ve seen him go from quiet and unassuming behind the bar to throwing a jeweled Radiant across the street. You know he has your back. Despite the fact that his eyes sometimes drift to where your emerald is hidden. It’s the only evidence that you have that he’s frequency sensitive, like you.

Jungkook’s energy vibrates somewhere on the light colors. Maybe jade or rose, it’s hard to place him because he wears no jewels.

The sound of some sporting event on the holoscreen buzzes behind you. The murmur of voices is soothing as you work, scrubbing a stain on the bartop you don’t remember being there yesterday. A quick sweep tells you that it’s the usual crowd this evening: Daro who is a smoky jewel sitting at a booth with Rollins and Gia, both emeralds; twins Rin and Maki sitting at the bar with their sharp, matching gazes vibrating at amethyst, and Bolero who doesn’t run with the Green Dragons but has become a regular, the only Null in the building.

Bolero signals for another drink, grey eyes following you. He’s dancer-thin and his face is sharp like a hawk, grey eyes even sharper. He’s always in a long, red trench coat no matter how boiling hot it is. You think you’re going to see him keel over and have a heatstroke one day, but he never does. Just strolls in, pushing his long, dark hair out of his face before sitting down wordlessly at the bar.

You pour him a whiskey neat and slide it over to him. He hums a thank you and turns his attention back to the screen flickering behind you. Bolero never talks, but you don’t mind him. The Radiants ignore him, though they hadn’t at first. You still see Rollins sporting a ropey scar on his hand from learning how much bullying Bolero would take.

Apparently, it was very little.

Most places would have had the Null killed and dragged out for the city sanitation to collect in their once-a-week pickups. To Radiants, anyone who doesn’t have power, who can’t radiate on the same frequency as a jewel, is beneath them. Powerless. Ant, meet boot.

Radiants, you’ve learned, are certainly powerful but not quite intelligent.

“Where’s the asshole?” you ask Jungkook as you close the dishwasher with your hip. Three hours in and no Burro in sight. Not that you’re complaining, but as the manager, he’s usually expected to be around in the event that someone important drops by for business.

Jungkook shrugs, dubious. “How should I know?”

“He can’t keep leaving you alone.”

“I’m not a kid.” You give him a look and his cheeks go pink. “I’m twenty-two, you know?”

“A child. A mere infant. Baby.”

“Ugh.”

“Anway,” you clarify, throwing a rag over your shoulder. “It’s not right. If someone comes in here for Green Dragons shit and Burro isn’t around, you’re gonna be fucked.”

“I can service them just fine.”

“Yeah? Where’s the stash?”

Jungkook smirks and leans against the bar. He’s dressed in dirty pants and a t-shirt he’s patched holes on several times already. His arms flex as he crosses them, cocking his head to the side. His hair is so much longer than it used to be - now it’s wavy and falling into his eyes, sticking to the sweaty skin of his forehead. You want to offer him a haircut, but you don’t want to baby him further.

“It’s in the grate underneath the desk in Burro’s office.”

“Great, and then they’ll flay you alive for not answering in their weird little code phrase.” Jungkook’s smirk falls off his face and you shake your head. “Exactly. Just because you know things doesn’t mean you know all of them, Jungkook.”

“Whatever.”

Jungkook pushes off of the counter and distracts himself by sullenly adjusting the bottles on the bar. You snort and turn back to trying to pry the sparking plug of the freezer out from the outlet to move power sources. Eventually, you feel Jungkook’s presence at your side, making you crane your neck up to look at him.

“So what is the code phrase?” he asks, pout prominent. You roll your eyes and straighten just as the door opens to the bar.

The door swings open with such force that it smacks the wall behind it, doorknob cracking. It draws the attention of the bar, everyone turning in their seats to see the man standing at the entrance. He’s mid-size with wild, blue hair and there’s a messy tattoo of a black cat on his arm. Your eyes narrow and the bar stills at the violent entrance of a Night Sphinx member in front of you, panting and staring directly at Bolero, the only person not looking at the door.

“Can I help you?” you ask, looking back and forth between them.

The Night Sphinx is angry and his energy snaps around him, a crackle in the air. You don’t have to sense the emeralds on him to know where he’s at on the Jewel Caste. He has a single ring on his finger and two modest earrings, not polished jewels but still emeralds all the same.

For a second, the man doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Bolero in a red rage, face purpling with the way he’s panting, fists clenched at his sides. You think he might just pass out, but then he’s pointing a finger at the Null sitting at your bar, sipping whiskey.

“You motherfucker!” His voice is garbled and slurred with liquor. “You fucked my wife!”

“Oh for jewels sake,” Maki grunts, turning away and sharing a roll of her eyes with her twin. “Take him outside and kick his ass then. He’s a Null.”

If being sold out by Maki bothers Bolero, he doesn’t show it. He simply sits there in his heavy trench coat, eyes fixed on the game on the holoscreen. This seems to enrage the man at the door even further. He ignores Maki’s advice and storms into the bar, gathering energy as he goes. The chairs and tables he walks by rattle and slide away from him, the pulse of energy flowing through him as he radiates disturbing them.

No one in the bar moves. Jungkook is transfixed and confused, eyes wide. The Green Dragons in the bar watch with mild interest. Bolero isn’t one of them, and the bar isn’t important enough to pick a fight with one of Salib's men over a Null.

But you’re not looking forward to the cleanup, and you don’t want to explain to Jimin how you did nothing while some Night Sphinx came in and fucked up a patron.

As your hand slides to the small, bullet-shaped device Namjoon fixed for you, Bolero moves. It’s almost too fast to follow the fluid way he stands and spins from the chair. His foot slips under the stool, using the toe of his boot to hook it behind the stool’s leg and he kicks.

The stool flies at the Radiant. He’s a little drunk and slow, but he’s still a Radiant and he reacts with enough clarity to pulse with the jewels on his hand and earrings once, sending a shield of energy around him. The stool shatters against the invisible wall, leaving the intruder unharmed.

Bolero is still fast for a Null though, already flipping a round table over to duck behind it as the Night Sphinx sends a green bolt of energy right at Bolero. It hits the table and singes it, cracking it in half. It’s loud as thunder, your yell going ignored as the two of them wreck the left side of the bar.

This is the ignorance of the Radiants. They don’t care about how destructive they are, storming into places and letting others take damage as they make demands and use force when they want.

Grabbing the scatterwave in your pocket. Bolero is dodging and waving blasts of energy from the man who chases him around the bar, blowing tables and chairs to bits. The other members of the Green Dragons have moved out of the warpath, collected near a booth on the far end of the bar, watching and jeering as Bolero doges a slice of concentrated energy that would have taken his head off.

“Fuckers,” you mutter.

Palming the device you press the top of the scatterwave. The device is small but it lets out a high-pitched sound when activated, sharp enough to disrupt frequencies within a small radius. Its target is the darker colors on the caste, its high frequency enough of a distraction and disruption for Radiants that it makes it harder to radiate.

The reaction is instantaneous. You feel nausea roll through your stomach and your world spins. It’s an earth-shattering noise, your ears vibrating with the force of the whistle. Your vision is blurry but you stumble toward where the two men are fighting, the Radiant bent over with his hands on his ears screaming from the force of the shatterwave.

Bolero is unaffected. He has no frequency to scatter and he takes the shot, leaping at the struggling Radiant with a snarl on his face.

“Not in here!” you screech. “He’s a Salib, you cannot kill him in Park territory. Go somewhere else! Bolero, please!”

Bolero looks at you once, grey eyes full of fire. He has the intruder by the shirt collar, fisted tight as the man continues to thrash against the sound of your device. You think for a split second that Bolero is going to drag him out of the bar and do what you ask. He turns to look at the door, considering it.

He decides not to. A knife appears in his hand and you yell as he stabs downward. You can’t hear the fleshy sound as Bolero sinks the blade in over the wailing of the device in your hand. He hits right between the ribs and up, a solid jab directly to the heart. The Radiant jerks in Bolero’s arms, his death twitch violent as he fists Bolero’s shirt, eyes wide, face aghast. Then he goes limp, sagging as a ragged breath leaves him.

No one moves. Bolero holds the dead man in his arms, panting and looking down at him. They are so close, Bolero’s face right over the man’s and if you didn’t know any better, you might think they were lovers. Bolero slowly crouches down, suddenly gentle as he lays the dead body on the ground, hands hovering over him.

You press the top of the shatterwave and it goes silent as it can with the high-pitched ring in your ears as you try to recover. You’re a little unsteady on your feet, pressing your hand against the bartop to keep your balance. A sharp pain behind your eyes signals an oncoming headache.

“What the fuck?” your voice sounds foreign and strained in the ringing quiet. “Are you fucking serious?”

Bolero rises, pulling the bloody knife with him. He wipes it on his pants and flips it in his fingers artfully. Familiar with blades, you note. He half turns to you and glances around the destroyed section of Monatna before he looks back at you and shrugs.

“Maybe you didn’t notice, but he was trying to kill me.”

“I don’t give a fuck. You kill people outside of this bar. You aren’t permitted to kill here.”

“Montana doesn’t protect its patrons?”

“Montana protects Green Dragons,” you clarify with a hiss.

You feel your fingers twitch. The familiar urge to radiate rises. It’s a natural instinct, to want to reach for the power that is right there on the edge of your mind all the time. You feel the emerald in your shoe. You imagine it beckons you, wiggling its fingers, begging to be used.

You ignore it, pointing a finger at Bolero. “You fucked up and you know it. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a dead Night Sphynix?”

“Tell the Salib’s he attacked first.”

“You’re a Null asshole, it doesn’t matter that he attacked you first. You’re not fucking one of us.”

Something passes over Bolero’s face when you say it. Offense, you think. It’s there and gone so fast that you think you imagine it. You only feel a little guilty that he thinks you mean not a Radiant. You really mean not one of the Green Dragons but it doesn’t matter, in the end.

He pulls his phone out. “My boss will pay for the damage and deal with the Salibs.”

“Unless your boss is Jimin fucking Park, that doesn’t really matter.”

Bolero holds the phone up to his ear. You watch as he smirks a bit, shrugging. “Nah, but don’t worry about it.”

“Oh I’m fucking worried about it,” you snarl. Jungkook is watching wordlessly, mouth parted slightly. “Call Jimin,” you bark at him, making him flinch. You immediately soften your voice. “Sorry, just - call Jimin.”

With a bow of his head, Jungkook grabs the phone and dials.

Jungkook starts murmuring quietly when Jimin - or an assistant, more like - answers the phone while you let yourself into the back and lock the backdoor for security before returning to the front. Bolero is sitting at the bar waiting, the dead Night Sphinx behind him. Red is beginning to pool around him, almost black against the dirty floor of the bar.

Heading to the door, you throw Gia a look. “Watch the bar,” you grunt. “Unlike you did when that fuck stick walked in here and ripped the place apart.”

She looks down her nose at you, eyes narrowed. Gia is terrifyingly beautiful, standing nearly a foot taller than you and built with wiry muscle. Her silky, black hair is braided out of her face, elegant and carved like one of the glass angels sold in the art district. Her eyes are the same color as her jewels, a stunning emerald that flashes in annoyance at your command.

Gia nods once instead of arguing. The other Green Dragons behind her have the decency to look ashamed. While they aren’t heavies dedicated to protecting the Park family assets, they are low-level lackeys who could have prevented half the bar from being blown to bits by a Radiant. Especially the two amethyst caste twins who look at the wall blankly realizing what's going to happen now.

Instead of stopping the Night Sphinx, they all stood there with drunk stares and half-tilted grins. Jimin won’t like it and they know it. It doesn’t matter that Montana isn’t an integral operation to the Green Dragons. It’s about pride and respect. The fact that a drunk, emerald caste man under the flag of the Salib family stumbled into Jimin’s bar, destroyed the place and then was killed by a Null is going to set Jimin off.

So you find a target to direct his anger at.

Burro is slouched down on a leather couch at the Green Garter, exactly where you expect him. He doesn’t see you coming, the scattered green and white lights from the stage refracting and splitting into dozens of beams shining in his eyes as he stares at the topless woman on stage. There’s hardly anyone in the club and only a few people look startled when you grab him by the collar and yank him from the booth.

Security at the door and near the strange straighten up. The girl on stage keeps moving, lithe movements carrying her away from where you lift Burro up, fingers digging into his shirt enough to rip. He smells like grain alcohol and sweat, the stubble on his face indicating that he may have slept in the club.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Come on,” you snarl at him, shooting daggers as one of the security guards steps in your direction. You let yourself radiate just a little, enough to give out a steady hum that even the lightest on the Jewel Caste can feel the sensation of an emerald jewel. He backs off immediately despite the fact that you can see and sense the amethyst pieces drilled into his pale knuckles.

But there are two things that stop him: emerald is close enough to amethyst that a good Radiant can fuck up someone who is only a little darker than them on the Caste, and you’re a Radiant under the protection of the Park family, specifically Jimin, who owns the club.

As much as it annoys the man whose job is to protect the dancers and the patrons, if you want to beat the shit out of Burro on the shitty green carpet in front of everyone, he has to allow it. You’re one of Jimin’s favorite little Radiants and everyone knows it, especially on this strip of road.

No one stops you as you drag Burro out of the bar. His feet slide on the stained carpet, trying to find purchase as he yanks at your hand, shouting obscenities at you with his reeking breath. Your grip is iron, and you throw him as hard as you can once you’re back onto the sidewalk. He hits the ground hard, shoulder cracking against the street.

Burro yells and rolls over, curling into himself. You fight the urge to kick him a few times, your wrath waiting like a coiled snake to strike out and punish him for being such a burden to deal with. You leave him in a fetal position, storming back into the bar to throw a couple of nill on the table for the drinks and a heavy sum more on the stage for the girl’s trouble. She winks at you, pretty enough to make you flush and spin on your heel to get back outside where Burro is still laying on the ground.

Most of the time, you don’t bother. Burro is technically your manager and your superior. He’s an asshole and a waste of the Green Dragon's salary, which is why Jimin stuck him behind the bar, a punishment as much as a favor to Burro’s father who is a mid-ranking heavy in the Park family’s retinue. It’s as good as his son is willing to get for an emerald caste who is lazy and spends most of his days gambling, ogling at naked bodies, or wasted in a booth with Rollins.

Even so, most days you let him yell at you. Throw curses your way. Drone about how shitty of a bartender you are - which is true - like a gnat that won’t leave. He’s harmless on good days, annoying on bad days, and he’s too afraid to retaliate in rare moments like this when you shove him into his ill-fitting role.

“Get up,” you spit at him. You have the urge to crush his fingers that are spread out on the sidewalk. You think the loud crunch beneath your boot might be satisfying. You don’t, though. “Bolero just killed a Night Sphinx in the bar.”

“Swhwat?”

You growl as he slurs, slowly pushing himself to his feet. You think he might have been handsome once. He has the making for it, but his days knocking back grain alcohol have weathered him. You see the early signs of Alloy addiction all over his face, scabs picked raw, leaving behind dark scarring, the track marks in his arms when he wears short sleeves.

Raucous noise reaches you from a group of Night Sphinxes watching your exchange. Their laughter and whistles echo across the street, backed by the loud hum of shitty neon and the now very bright and flickering holographic display ads spinning in windows. This is a nice show for them, you’re sure. Everyone on this edge of Market Town has seen Burro get his shit kicked, though usually not by you.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing yourself.” You start marching back to Montana. “You’re needed at the bar. You know, the place you manage.”

He mutters something behind you as he manages to get to his feet, tilted and tripping. You don’t catch what he says, eyes fixed on the sleek car that sits parked right in front of the door at Montana.

The road here isn’t really built for cars. It’s full of cracked faultlines and potholes, but Jimin has opted for a sharp-looking SUV with green LEDs running down the side and a little metal dragon on the grill. Not his personal car, but a business class that is no doubt reinforced with bulletproof windows and shatterwave tech.

There are four men standing around the car, dressed in pressed suits, each with a dragon brooch pinned to the front. They nod when you walk by and you keep your eyes low, feeling the different colors as you pass by: amethyst, sapphire, emerald. They have jewels drilled into their knuckles and some of their teeth, earrings of polished stone, and necklaces set with their respective caste colors.

Walking around with that much power is safe enough for them, but it makes your skin itch. Thinking of all that energy just waiting to be tapped into, waiting for them to radiate. The urge to reach for the power just a few feet away lessens as you walk inside of Montana.

Inside is a vision. Jimin’s loyal group of Green Dragons sit together in a booth, silent and heads down. Maki glances up for a split second as you come through the door, anger twitching on her face before she looks back down at the table in resolute silence, her curtain of black hair hiding her scowl.

Good. She could have used her fucking amethyst to wipe the now dead man from the map and not suffered a consequence under Jimin’s protection. And yet there you are, walking slowly toward the scene of the crime.

Jungkook is standing behind the bar chewing on his lip, hands linked behind his back as he watches the two men in front of him conversing. Bolero smokes a cigarette on the same stool he was on earlier, eyes fixated on the holo once again. The dead man is still very dead, Jimin’s men spread out around the bar to assess the damage.

Jimin is one of the two men speaking at the bar in front of Jungkook. Jimin’s dressed sharply in black dress pants and a matching black, tailored jacket with emerald buttons and a beautiful dragon broach set with emeralds and jade. His arms are crossed as he listens passively, dark hair slicked back. There’s a single dangling earring in one ear, a teardrop diamond at the end.

Jimin Park is one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. He reminds you of a dangerous jungle cat. His eyes are sharp, shadowed by a full-fan of dark lashes, cheeks round and soft in contrast to his elegant jawline. He smiles at something the man he’s talking to says, full lips rosebud pink.

Your eyes drift to the man talking to Jimin and before you can think twice about interrupting them, you’re yelling, “You!”

Both of the men jerk their heads in your direction. Jimin’s brows shoot up and he shakes his head as if to ask what the fuck? But you’re too distracted by the other man, who grins at you as soon as he realizes who you are, adjusting his floral shirt as he turns to face you head on.

You get a better look at him now and you’re angry to discover that he is still just as stunning as he was in the middle of the Market Town stalls. His hair is pushed back out of his face more, eyes twinkling as they drag up and down your frame. He wiggles his fingers at you in a wave.

“You can’t just steal tangerines!” you bark at him suddenly.

“What?” Jimin asks. He frowns and looks between the two of you. “I’m sorry, do you know one another?” The man says ‘no’ at the exact same time you say ‘sort of’ which makes Jimin’s jaw tick, patience waning. “Well? Which is it?”

“Seen her once,” the man admits. “But I don’t know her. She chased me through the streets of Market Town today like a lunatic. I think she took one look at me and fell in love.”

Your jaw drops. “You stole fruit from Margot’s fruit stand motherfucker! It had nothing to do with your good looks.”

“So you admit I’m good-looking!”

A failed attempt at a response comes sputtering out of you. You stop and start your sentences multiple times, trying to come up with a wicked riposte to his ridiculous insinuation that you think he’s attractive. Which you do, especially when he gives you a full, shit-eating gummy grin.

“Enough,” Jimin snaps in your direction. “Wait with Jungkook, I’ll deal with you later. And don’t interrupt me again, got it?”

You bow deeply at the command. You feel hot all over, an unpleasant mix of shame and something else that you can’t place for “Yes sir. I apologize for my outburst.”

Jimin turns away from you and back to the tangerine thief, leaving you to rush behind the bar to stand next to Jungkook while you stare at the two of them.

You have no idea who this man is. You’ve never seen him in the bar with Bolero, though it’s possible he’s come in when you’re not working. It isn’t likely, since there’s only one additional bartender besides you and Jungkook, but you can’t possibly imagine how this man is important enough to look Jimin in the eye when he speaks.

Jungkook gives you a head tilt and doe eyes. You shake your head, opting instead to study the object of your irritation rather than explaining. He doesn’t ask any questions but you can see the way he shifts back and forth, unsure of where to focus his energy.

As one of the family members in the city’s Armory, Jimin is one of the highest-ranking citizens in Diade. Though the Green Dragons are on the bottom of the totem in the Armory, Jimin ranks higher than most of the city by being the son of his family’s leader.

The man speaking to Jimin looks at him directly in the eyes as an equal. He is a hairsbreadth taller, but his gaze and tone are steady and respectful. There is no air of superiority between the two of them, making you wonder where exactly this smug man falls on the spectrum of city authority.

Each face of the Armory is familiar to you: the Parks, the Manobals, the Salibs, the Achilleos’ and the Kims. This man belongs to none of them and yet Jimin listens to him calmly, nodding his head at whatever the man is saying. Jimin’s arms are looped behind his back and he is poised as ever, even making a joke or two as they exchange words in hushed tones.

In Diade, the ruling family syndicates are the ultimate power. Jimin’s family owns the territory to the southeast, the Salib’s directly to the north, the Manobals to the west. You stick to Park territory only, always mindful of where each Armory boundary lies.

Despite Jimin’s favoritism, you’re not a high-ranking member of the Park family’s Green Dragons. Jimin thinks you’re useful enough though, and has a soft heart for strays. Jungkook is proof enough of that as you are, two little sources of information and loyalty in his personal pocket.

You work for Jimin, not his mother.

The respect that Jimin shows the tangerine thief leads to a few possibilities of who he could be. Under the rule of the Armory, there are other smaller and less organized gangs. The Circles are not particularly powerful and still concede to the Armory, but they range from loose bands of idiots and thieves to highly organized factions. There are dozens of Circles in the city, but only a few are powerful enough to earn a smile from Jimin Park, the prince of the Green Dragons.

Chewing your lip, your mind runs through a list of possible Circles this man could rank high enough in to matter. White Fang has always worked with the Green Dragons well. Their members can sometimes be found hanging out in Montana with tight if not overly polite smiles while they conduct business. While White Fang answers to all of the families of the Armory as a collective governing body, they are particularly fond of the Parks.

There is little chance that the tangerine thief belongs to the Midnight Sun. As the largest and most powerful Circle, they are only allied to the Kim family. Dangerous for any Circle to declare allyship to only a single governing body, but the Kim family sits at the top of the food chain. Being protected by Yujun and his son Seokjin have its strengths.

Your vision blurs when you think of the Kim family. Seokjin’s beautiful smile, the way his inky eyes glitter. He remains the most eternal person you’ve ever laid eyes on, and one of the most charming. Funny, smooth talking, intelligent.

But Seokjin is a snake. A beautiful thing that can fool you into a false sense of security before striking and sinking his fangs in deep.

Nausea unfurls in your stomach at the thought of him. You blink a few times, willing away the memories of him and his high-pitched laughter and anything else to do with him. Jimin shakes the man’s hand in front of you. It draws your attention to where their hands meet. Jimin’s hand is small and delicate in the large hand of the tangerine thief. A man who was raised with privilege and a man you suspect made his own.

“I’ll be back,” Jimin calls. You realize he’s talking to you and you bow. He turns his attention to the group of his gang members sitting at the table, waiting for their punishment. He whistles at them, calling them like dogs. “With me.”

You can’t help but feel a little smug as they jump up, tangled over one another to get out of the booth as fast as possible to follow Jimin toward the front door. None of them look at you or Jungkook, chins tucked to their chest and eyes on the floor. At least they’re good dogs who know when they’re going to be punished.

“Hello again.”

The tangerine thief is leaning on the bar. Up close, he smells like sandalwood and a hint of sea salt. It isn’t unpleasant, but you grimace all the same. There are bracelets on his wrist, but no jewels. The prickling, needle-like sensation comes back, right at the back of your neck.

“Jungkook, can you start cleaning up?” You ask. He nods and dashes away, giving the stranger a single nervous glance as he joins the security members of Jimin’s team cleaning up.

They pick up the body and carry him through the bag on Jungkook’s guidance, dripping blood the entire way. Bolero doesn’t even glance as they pass him, still transfixed by the holoscreen.

“Why did you use a shatterwave?”

Your eyes drift back to the man in front of you. Up close, you notice that his skin is flawless. He has a shine and glow to him of a healthy Radiant, and yet you’re not sure how to place him on the caste. You know he’s a radiant from his escape methods in Market Town, but you’ve never had this much trouble placing someone on the caste. “What?”

“The shatterwave. Had to hurt you too, I imagine.”

“Well no one else was going to do anything,” you answer, skirting his assertion that you’re a Radiant. “It didn’t hurt that bad. I’m a Light Radiant.”

He raises his brows. “Oh, you’re a liar.”

“About some things, sure. I can’t take on an emerald caste, though. So I used a shatterwave.”

“There’s an emerald in your boot.”

You grit your teeth. He doesn’t make sense. The needling feeling only increases as he cocks his head, scanning you from head to toe. His pout turns into a smirk and there’s something heated in his gaze that makes you squirm as you shift back and forth on your feet, trying to place him.

Sensing jewel frequencies outside of the jewel you radiate most with is difficult. Energy is a fickle thing, and though you can feel the buzz of every color of jewel around you, most Radiants can’t. They can only sense what jewel they vibrate on the same frequency as, though trained Radiants can sense their assigned jewel and lighter.

This puts the tangerine thief at emerald or darker. If he can sense the emerald in your shoe, it means he can use it. Unless he is a rare case like you and Jungkook, who are frequency sensitive. But he doesn’t feel like emerald and he doesn’t feel like he sits darker at garnet and onyx.

You shiver remembering what onyx feels like, an oppressive and demanding thing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I lied,” you offer. You can keep skirting the topic of the emerald in your shoe, but he already knows it's there.

He chuckles. It’s raspy and soft as a whisper. There’s no doubt he’s used to the effect he has on people. It reminds you a little of Seokjin and you feel skittish.

“No, I’m sure you are quite the liar.” He leans in a little bit. “I’m Agust, by the way.”

Schooling your features is hard. Out of all of the Circles that crossed your mind that he could belong to, you never considered Black Lotus. It makes sense, you suppose, that Bolero belongs to the Black Lotus. It’s one of the few Circles in the city that not only accept Nulls in their ranks, but encourage it. A little oasis for Radiants and Nulls alike to claw their way to the top from the bottom of the barrel.

My boss will pay for the damage and deal with the Salibs. You think of Bolero’s comment, realizing why he was so confident. His boss is the leader of the Black Lotus, a chaotic thorn in the Armory’s side who walks around the Crown Cities undermining authority where he can.

Agust smiles, pride bleeding through when you recognize his name. He’s a little notorious for the destruction of three Circles associated with the Kim family and for donating thousands of nil to squatters in Blows. A violent killer with a soft spot for charity. Strange, and not quite as heroic as some seem to think it is.

Instead of saying anything, you busy yourself with folding rags, feeling the way of his gaze. Agust is pretty with a soft edge to his face and a charming grin. There’s a confidence about him that draws the eye, and yet he can blend in just like he did at Margot’s fruit stand. He is both sides of the moon, light and dark, switching whenever it suits him.

Again, he reminds you of Seokjin and your heart squeezes as you take a step away from him.

“Well, I hope you have a great evening, Agust.” It's dismal. Polite, but an end to the conversation nevertheless.

He isn’t swayed. “What, no name?”

“Do you need it?”

“I’d like it. Is it as pretty as you are?”

“Your flattery isn’t welcome here.”

“Then what is?”

You glare. “The money for Margot’s tangerine.”

Agust chuckles again and shrugs. You expect him to walk away or volley back with a riposte but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the nil that Margot is owed and sets them on the counter, the silver coins clinking against the wood. He leans against the bar again, hand cupping his chin as he looks up at you.

“This cover me?”

You swipe the coins off the bar and sniff. “I suppose.”

“I like you. How about I call you Montana, hmm? Since you won’t give me a name, I’ll make one for you.”

Instead of looking at him directly, you busy yourself with moving around the syrup bottles in their plastic bin. “You don’t have to call me anything.”

“Or Garnet?”

For a second, you stare at your hands before slowly dragging your gaze to him where he watches you, feline-eyes glittering. That pinprick feeling returns sharper than ever. You’re a mouse caught under the watchful gaze of a hungry cat.

There are only a handful of people in the world that knows you sit on the second darkest color of the Jewel Caste. One of them is outside giving his gang members the lashing of a lifetime, one of them is sitting in a luxurious home in Aria and the other is no doubt watching cameras on the casino floor of Kaiju.

Sweat gathers on the back of your neck. You think about the first time you radiated at garnet, the power so raw and rich that you were almost drunk on it. You were just a kid, untrained in how to syphon energy that volatile. You’d become sick right after, taking too much too fast and completely unaware of how to channel all that energy.

The Kim’s had helped you find a way. And then used it to their advantage, a little girl with no one else to count on with all that power just waiting to be directed.

You refused to ever be used for your place on the Jewel Caste ever again.

“Say it again,” you murmur, voice low. Your hands open and close and you feel the emerald surge in your boot. Agust is either onyx or frequency sensitive, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve gone head to head with darker than you before. “I dare you.”

To your surprise, his smile is sad this time. There’s a moment you think you see understanding. Compassion. Something soft. Then it’s gone and he gives you a brief nod before pushing away from the bar, running a hand through his hair. You don’t move, muscles locked and primed to lash out, to grind him to dust if you have to. You don’t have a garnet, but you don’t need it. You can do just as much damage with an emerald, regardless of whatever color he is.

“Put the claws away, your secret is safe with me.” He nods to the pool of blood on the floor. “You have my apologies for the mess. Black Lotus will handle the fallout. Tell Bolero if any of those Night Sphinx fucks give you any trouble. You have my word I’ll pay my debt.”

“What debt?”

He jerks his thumb at Bolero. “You saved his worthless ass.” You don’t disagree but you say nothing. He lingers for a second, looking you up and down. Something passes his face that makes your heart speed up a little. “I mean it. Call if you need.”

“I won't.”

He grins. “Bye, Montana.”

When Agust turns to leave, Bolero gets up and goes with him. When the door shuts, it’s just you and the sound of Jungkook and Jimin’s men putting the bar back together.

No one can hear how loud your heart thunders.

THE JEWEL CASTE (from least to most powerful)

Light Caste

Diamond Citrine Aquamarine Jade Rose

Mid Caste

Peridot Topaz Turquoise Ruby Smokey

Dark Caste

Emerald Amethyst Sapphire Garnet Onyx

THE CHAOTIC CASTE (in general, from least to most powerful)

Opal Quartz Tourmaline Carnelian Obsidian

GLOSSARY

Alloy - A drug that allows radiants to lift frequency for a temporary amount of time and meld with a jewel they cannot normally radiate with. Caste Drop - When someone drops a color on the Jewel Caste and vibrates at a higher frequency Circle - Lower gangs who are not in the Armory Dark Radiant - Those who vibrate at the low-colors and high frequencies Jewel Caste - The order of least to most powerful vibrational jewel frequencies Light Radiant - Those who vibrate at the lighter colors and lower frequencies Mid Radiant - Those who vibrate at the mid-colors and medium frequencies Null - Those who don’t vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and cannot radiate Radiant - Those who vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and thus can radiate Shatterwave - A type of device that lets out high-frequency sounds to shatter Radiant frequencies in a certain radius Unjeweled - A radiant who doesn’t have any jewels on them to help radiate

#yoongi smut #suga smut #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #mafia yoongi #minors do not interact #minors dni

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dylan-o-yumm · 10 months

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Little Moments (Part 2)

It's finally here! Im so sorry for the wait but you have all been very lovely and patient, I hope you enjoy the second and final part of Little Moments. Feedback is ALWAYS welcome! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46338547/chapters/122848546

Warnings: Talk of trauma and PTSD, talk of break-in’s, reader is done with Leon’s shit, SMUT, unprotected sex, cream pie, kitchen sex

Word Count: 9k

Part 1, Part 2

“I don’t think I’m ready to share everything…”

“That’s okay, dear. Just say whatever you’re willing to say. This is a place to share and cast judgment aside. You’re safe here.” An elderly woman smiled at you comfortingly, her wrinkled hands shaking as they held onto her cane. Her eyes weren’t the only ones on you, there were men and women all sitting in a circle, every one of you sitting on a cold grey chair.

You were in a rather spacious room, it was well lit and the children’s drawings taped to the walls brought a comforting vibe to the space. However, the air conditioning made the room a few degrees too cold, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin as you hugged yourself and looked at a spot on the floor as everyone else’s eyes remained on you.

You swallowed your nerves and cleared your throat.

“I went on a vacation to Spain a few months ago,” you started, releasing a shaky breath and rubbing your arm to rid your skin of the little bumps. “On my second day there, I was kidnapped. I was… held hostage in this small house that reeked of rotting… fruit.” That was a lie, it smelled of rotting flesh but you couldn’t say that to a bunch of small town people who were comfortable living in ignorance. You couldn’t blame them for living that way though. Ignorance is bliss.

“I managed to escape after three days, and hid inside a barn for about… just over twenty-four hours I think. There were people everywhere, but I stayed hidden because I was so scared of what they would do to me if they found me,” you stared through the floor now, becoming distant as the memories plagued your mind.

You couldn’t share too much. Perhaps you had already shared too much. People couldn’t know about all the horrors, the monsters, the infections, the mutations. But did that mean you had to bottle everything up for the rest of your life and slowly turn yourself crazy? Wondering if what happened back then was actually real or if you just made it all up in your head. Having no outlet…

“Whatever… Long story short, I obviously survived and got out of there…” you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale otherwise. You didn’t want to speak any more about what you went through, all these people needed to know was that you had a traumatic vacation. They couldn’t know about Ashley or Leon or Ada. You got as much off of your chest as need be, and now you could openly talk about your feelings, right? — Which is what you had come here for.

“I still feel like I’m there, though.”

No one interrupted you, giving you the floor to say whatever you needed or wanted. That was what this place was for, to open up about things you couldn’t open up about to family or friends. Other people who understood what it might feel like. Maybe not fighting against monsters and mutated people, but they knew the struggles that came afterwards. The trauma, the PTSD. All the people sitting in a circle with you had trauma of their own, and they were all dealing with it somehow.

They were brave for being here and opening up. So why didn’t you feel brave?

“I'm constantly on edge. I'm scared of the dark again, to the point where I need to turn on all the lights in my home- so I'm pretty sure I’m building up one hell of an electricity bill…” you scoffed lightly but no one else found it humorous. Some people slowly nodded along, knowing almost exactly how you felt.

“Whenever I do manage to sleep — which is very rare these days— I have these horrible nightmares where I’ll wake up screaming and thrashing in my bed… I’ve actually worried my neighbors a few times,” you remember the first time it happened. Police had knocked on your door and asked if you were okay. They then came into your home and searched around, no matter how many times you said you were fine and no one else was in the house with you. Having the police check the house however, did bring some comfort.

A few nights later it happened again, but instead of the police, it was your neighbor. They asked if you were okay and you apologized profusely for waking them up a second time. They seemed nice and understanding enough. Until the fifth time when they knocked on your door and tiredly begged you to get help.

Today was your first day out of the house in weeks.

Your eyes stung with tears yet to be shed.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind… I don’t want to live like this. I just want to know when it’ll get better.” A broken, half amused, wet sob escaped past your lips which brought you back to the room you were in. Everyone’s eyes on you started to feel so much heavier and unsettling. You couldn’t help but shrink back into your seat and avoid eye contact with every one of them.

“It does get better. The healing process is different for everyone, dear,” the old woman spoke up again, her smile was sad but comforting. You wanted a hug from her. You were able to meet her gaze for a short moment before looking at, and keeping your eyes fixed on the bottom of her cane. “I hope you’re very proud of yourself for all that you have survived. I know we are all proud of you… isn’t that right, everyone?”

The people around you murmured soft encouragements and nodded in agreement.

—————————————————————

You were emotionally drained on your walk back home, being so lost in your own head that you barely remembered walking at all. First you were at group therapy, and suddenly you were back home, standing in your driveway. You had headphones in your ears but there was no music playing, no podcast, just the sound of silence — blocking out noise of cars passing by or people chatting or birds chirping. Nice and quiet.

You liked the quiet when you weren’t inside your home. When you were inside your home the silence gave you time to think, to be alone with your thoughts. You didn’t like being inside your home anymore. It was too isolating. You didn’t like being alone, you didn’t like being so on edge all the time, thinking there were monsters hiding in every shadow. Yet when you were inside your home, it was hard to leave it.

You stood on your driveway, staring at your home. You were stalling, you didn’t want to go inside just yet. You wanted to stand out in the sun for a moment longer, and feel safe a moment longer. It was an odd sensation to feel safe on the street, but not inside your own home. Maybe something to do with enclosed spaces?

Thankfully you remained outside for a moment longer, or you would have missed the shadow of, what seemed to be, a person walking past your kitchen window. It was brief and you wanted to play it off as your mind just playing tricks on you. Maybe a bird flew past and you mistook it for something else? Maybe the curtains on your kitchen window caught the wind? But no… the uneasy feeling in your stomach was enough to know…

To know that someone was inside your house.

Or… something was inside your house.

Your blood ran cold and your heart started beating rapidly inside your chest— if you were to look down you would have seen the thump thump thump of it hitting against your chest hard and frightfully. You needed to go inside and neutralize the threat, that’s what Leon would do, and that’s what you needed to do. The thought of calling the police hadn’t even entered your mind but you didn’t want to wait around for them anyway. Who knew what that thing was doing in your house. How long they had been inside there for.

Had they been in there before you left for group therapy?

That thought terrified you.

What if they had been hiding somewhere while you were inside? Watching you while you watched tv, while you slept, while you ate and showered. While you were vulnerable... Surely you would have known right? You would have heard something, smelled something. If it were a monster, you would most likely be dead by now.

You needed to stop thinking about ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and actually do something. You needed to take back your home.

You crouched down and grabbed the closest item to you, which was a solar powered garden light that was stabbed into the dirt — pointy and sharp, a good enough weapon to stab monsters with. Now you just had to sneak inside somehow without getting caught. To be light on your feet and keep your shaky breaths subtle and, preferably, silent.

Thankfully the front door was unlocked, so opening the door quietly only took patience and a steady hand. You were concerned however, because you really thought you had locked the door on your way out. How did this intruder get inside your home? The thought that they had been inside your house all along really started to weigh on you and stress you out even more than you already were.

Slowly and gently opening the front door, you left it open behind you as you carefully stepped inside the house. You raised your arm, pointing the end of the garden lamp up and ready to strike or stab whatever was inside your home, whatever was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t put up a fight… To be honest you didn't know until this very moment that you would put up a fight. You figured you were the cower and hide type, but perhaps the horrors of Spain prepared you for moments like these.

One foot in front of the other, you made your way down the hall and away from the entrance of your house, staying on your tippy toes and being cautious of your weight placement. All it took was one wrong step and your position would be discovered by the enemy. And it just so happened to be your luck that, even though your steps were light and careful, one wrong step on one particularly loose floorboard had you almost crying as panic came over you.

You winced and moved your foot off of the squeaky floorboard, knowing not to step there again. However you didn't know if you had already been found, you couldn't see or hear anyone so maybe you were in luck? Or maybe there was a deaf monster lurking about. You remember Leon telling you about Lickers and the Garradors who were blind but had sharp hearing skills. Maybe there were some monsters that couldn't hear well but could… see through walls or smell you from a mile away?

No.

You still had the element of surprise to your advantage, you just needed to be more careful.

It only took you a few more careful steps until you were in the kitchen, which is where you saw the intruder through the window. You held your weapon tightly in both your hands now, preparing to strike down or lunge forward into a body that could and would probably kill you. But not before you put a couple holes in them.

The floorboards creaked again, but this time, not under your weight.

You yelled and swung your weapon as a figure made its way into your peripherals. You aimed to plunge the sharp spike into the skull of your intruder, however, your arms were unable to come all the way down, something blocking you from eliminating the threat. Your wrists were caught in a strong grip. A strong hand, a male hand, holding you tight and bruising your skin.

The hand pinched and twisted, angling your hands at an awkward angle. You held onto your weapon for dear life but the hand simply twisted your wrists even more until you were forced to drop it and wince in pain. The weapon clattered to the floor noisily and you gasped as you tried to twist your hands back the right way. You needed to get out of this and fight and scream and make a scene so that hopefully your neighbors would call the police. But right before your lips parted, a scream building up in your belly, your eyes met his…

“I knew you were here but I couldn’t pinpoint where. Keeping the front door open was a smart move — the sound from outside muffled your noises,” Leon quipped, his eyes squinting slightly as he cracked his neck.

You were completely stunned. Calmer now that you weren’t fearing for your life, but stunned nonetheless. What the hell was Leon doing in your house? How did he get into your house? He probably knew how to lockpick but all you had seen him do was kick down doors with his own damn feet. And you don’t remember seeing any boot prints on your door.

“You didn’t want to call out to me and let me know you were here?! I was just at a fucking PTSD therapy circle thing! Now is not the time to be scaring me like this!” You yanked your hands out of his grip and angrily took a step back away from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though he didn’t sound disingenuous. It had been a few months since you had last seen Leon. His hair was still straight and styled in a way that shaped his face nicely, his eyes were the same deep blue you loved to swim in, his brow was a little more tense than you remembered. However the main difference was the slight prickly stubble on his face. It made him look more mature, more jagged, more hardened.

You huffed, hands on your hips, glaring at him. You gave yourself a moment to calm your racing heart, to get out of your fight or flight mode.

“Why are you here? I thought I’d never see you again,” you couldn’t help your snippy and impatient tone. You had said goodbye to Leon, you had prepared to never see him again, to move on and find someone new. You had almost stopped thinking about him and pining over him and now here he was standing in your kitchen? Uninvited?

“I just… had to make sure you were okay,” He answered a little bashfully, forcing himself to hold eye contact with you but you could tell he was a little nervous and maybe even embarrassed.

“Why would I not be okay?”

“Well, you live alone for starters,” he stated bluntly and gestured loosely around the room as if to say ‘I don’t see anyone else here to keep an eye on you.’

“Thanks. I'm aware,” you sassed, rolling your eyes as if he were just rubbing it in your face that you were single and living alone. Did he live with someone? He was single… right? He wouldn’t have kissed you back at the hotel if he had someone at home waiting for him. Leon was a loyal guy, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

Why did you care though? You had your chance and he was the one that walked away from you. You didn’t think you did anything wrong to make him walk away, so maybe he just wasn’t into you like that. Maybe you were a lousy kisser and he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Maybe he was holding out for Ada.

“You’re not happy to see me,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.

“You shouldn’t be here, Leon!” You snapped, your eyebrows raising into your hairline, pleading with him to understand where you were coming from — how confused you were and how painful this would turn out to be. You had just gotten over him, and now he was back? Which could only mean you would have to get over him all over again. “When you dropped me back off here all those months ago, and you turned around and left, that was meant to be the last time I saw you!”

“I thought you’d be happy? Especially after how we left things at the—“

“Don’t even get me started on the hotel room incident.” You quickly cut him off, hands on your hips and a sour expression on your face. He looked so innocently confused, maybe even a little hurt. His eyes weren’t very expressive, he was rather good at hiding his emotions, though if you looked close enough, you could see right through him.

“That makes it sound like it was an accident,” his brows pinched together and you hated that you thought he looked cute.

“Wasn’t it?” You shrugged, having an expectant look on your face. You wouldn’t be disappointed again, you couldn’t be. It was too hard getting over him the first time, you couldn’t do it again. Not now, not when you had finally started trying to do better for yourself.

Leon was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know.” He finally answered, quiet and dejected.

It hurt.

Knowing that he might say it was a mistake, might consider it to be a mistake. It wasn’t like you two slept together, it was just some kissing, and hugging… and sleeping, but no sex. It was a gentle, tender moment between two lost souls who just survived something that might as well have been out of a horror film. You needed Leon at that moment and you thought he needed you too, but maybe it really was just a big mistake— something that would only hurt your feelings again and again and again.

At least with Leon, he knew your pain and you knew his. Maybe not all of it, but you were bonded through trauma. It wasn’t like you could date any random person and expect them to deal with all your baggage that you carried off that damn island with you. Leon at least had the same type of baggage as you so there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, something that no one else could have with you.

But you couldn’t fool yourself. It wasn’t meant to be, and even Leon knew that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced down the burning sensation that lingered behind your eyes, threatening to bring the tears. You would be an immovable rock, staring down Leon Kennedy where he stood.

“Why are you here, Leon?” You asked once again... slower and quieter, but more firmly this time. He would not feel welcome here and you would make sure of it. It was for your own good.

“I kept having this dream— nightmare.” He forced the words out like he was ashamed to admit he had any nightmares at all, but you’d be more concerned if he didn’t, given his line of work. You can’t see all that horrible shit and then come out perfectly fine on the other side. You weren’t okay and you had experienced, maybe a quarter, of what Leon himself had gone through. “You were all alone here, and… I had to make sure you were okay.” He continued.

“A nightmare?” You asked skeptically, wondering why that meant he would want to come here. So you continued, “about me?”

He nodded his head. “You were hurt. Needed me,” he stood stiffly, trying to remain cool, calm and collected, but whatever he dreamt about had clearly shaken him. You could see the nightmare playing behind his eyes, the way his eyes felt muted and dulled, and his features slackened as if just the memory alone took all the energy from him.

Whatever he had dreamt about you, it was enough to make him worried. So worried that he would drop everything and come all the way here, on his day off, just to see you. So worried that he couldn’t even tell you the details of said nightmare. He knew it was just a nightmare and that you were safe… He wasn’t here for you, he was here for himself. To ease his own fears. At least you knew he cared for you somewhat.

You decided not to press him about what happened in said nightmare, you weren’t sure you wanted to know anyway.

“How’d you get inside?”

“I remembered where you kept your spare key,” he responded, a little life coming back to his face, obviously glad for the topic change. And his answer relieved you, knowing that there wasn’t a smashed window somewhere or a faulty lock on one of your doors. You thought about moving the spare key from under the doormat but then, how would Leon find his way back inside then? That was, if he was even planning on coming back.

Did you want him to come back?

Him being here was already confusing your mind and your heart.

“How did you get here?” You continued questioning him.

“I rode here. Motorbike,” he gestured outside with a faint tilt of his head. You looked out the kitchen window and sure enough, there on the side of the street curb was a sleek, black motorcycle with a black helmet dangling off the handlebar. You scoffed at the thought of him riding all the way over to your home on a motorbike — however then you realized you didn’t even know where he lived, so maybe he was rather close by and the ride was shorter than you were expecting? You just assumed Leon was too far out of your grasp, physically and emotionally.

“Is that meant to impress me? Mr. Leon Kennedy rides a motorbike?” You turned back to him and cocked an eyebrow. He was subtle in the way he was smirking, his eyes constantly on you and watching your reaction, even when you turned to take one last glance at the bike sitting on your curb.

“Is it working?”

“No.” Yes.

“Then no.”

You huffed, looking down at your shoes for a moment to take your eyes off of his gorgeous blue ones. You really had a weakness for them, if anyone could resist their charm, you’d think them psychopathic.

“Did you check in on Ashley too?” You asked, feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of him going to check in on her before he came to check on you, but you didn’t let it show on your face.

“Ashley has bodyguards.” So that was a no, you gathered. He only came here to check in on you? No one else?

“Is that why you’re here…? To be my bodyguard?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head, trying to maintain your minimal patience attitude.

“No. I wish I could, but I can’t.” He scoffed and your heart cracked a little, not because you wanted a bodyguard but because his words echoed in your head. They had been echoing in your head for the last few months.

“There it is again. ‘I can’t.’” You scoffed back at him.

“Again? What do you mean?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

“Back at the hotel. While Ashley was showering. You know, before the incident. You told me you can’t… Can't what, Leon?” You reminded him, staring deep into his soul and knowing you were making him uncomfortable by putting him on the spot, but you didn’t care. He made you uncomfortable by breaking into your house unannounced, so if he wanted to do that, you would pay him back by grilling him for the answers to the question that you had been pondering for months now.

He sighed and his posture sagged, your words immediately took ten years off of his life. He had an answer but he didn’t know how to say it, it was complicated— everything about his life was complicated.

You stood there staring at him for a few long seconds before he finally spoke up.

“You know what.” He told you in a quiet but stern voice.

“I wanna hear you say it.” You quickly retorted. Because after all these months of pondering, you had a good idea of what he had meant back then. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, Leon was a selfless guy. And he had been acting selfless for as long as you’d known him, except for today. It wasn’t very selfless of him to come see you.

So he didn’t say anything, he didn’t respond to you, but he didn't have to.

You signed.

“It’s my choice, you know.” You folded your arms over your chest and told him blatantly how it was.

“Don’t these things usually need two people to be in agreement?” He sassed.

“It is my choice,” you stopped him from talking, not wanting to hear his witty remarks and cheesy one liners. “If I want to sit and worry for weeks or months while you’re away on a mission, that’s my choice. If I want to put my life in danger just because I want to be around you more, that is my choice.” You explained angrily, wanting him to either get it through his thick skull or to leave your home.

He huffed a short, heavy breath, resting his hands on the kitchen counter as he leaned forward and dropped his head down, his chin almost touching his chest. “You don’t even know me.” He sounded sad, and you realized that he probably felt like a lot of people didn't really know him. He was never in one place for too long, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to have friends outside of work, only because his life was his work. No one knew Leon personally.

“I know enough.”

“No. You don’t. I'm just some guy who saved your ass. Ever heard of trauma bonding? It’s when you-“

“I know what trauma bonding is!” You quickly cut him off, knowing that what he was saying could potentially be true – you did experience a lot of trauma alongside him. But it felt like more than just a trauma bond… Though how could you ever truly know? “I haven't known you for a long time but I don’t need to… You’re gentle and kind. You made Ashley and I feel so safe. You put our safety above all else.”

“It was my job-“

“I saw the way you spoke to Ashley after she attacked you. When she was scared of hurting you again. I saw how much you hated seeing her in pain when we were in Luis’ lab, how you held her hand through it all, even though you were seconds away from being infected yourself… Forget the fact that you saved our lives. I’m focused on the little moments. The moments where you weren't just doing your job.”

“I can’t…” he refused to meet your gaze but you didn’t give him the chance to shut down. Not yet. You stepped closer to him.

“When Luis died. You lit a cigarette for him. You comforted him in his last moments even though he was a pain in the ass… You also ended Krauser’s suffering. You didn’t care about how it would affect you, you just knew that you had to be the one to do it. And even though he kidnapped Ashley and he tried to kill us multiple times… I believe you when you say he was a good man. Because I trust you, Leon.”

He was still quiet, refusing to look at you but you could see his face, see the way he took in your words and the way his body relaxed slightly. Maybe it was all obvious to you, how good he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to hear it.

“I’m never going to have a decent night's sleep again because of all the shit I've seen, but if you told me you needed me to go back to that village for whatever reason. I would do it in a heartbeat. I would do it… all over again. I’d do it for you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” he whispered, finally looking up to give you a shy glance through his hair.

“That’s all you got from my speech?” You cocked your hip and frowned.

“No. I just… I don’t want you getting hurt.” He turned his body to you completely now, one hand resting on the countertop while the other hung by his side, itching to reach out and grab you. You stepped to him again, holding eye contact even when you could tell he was feeling flustered and embarrassed. Your chest was close to pressing against his.

“It’s my choice. Hurt me.” You whispered back.

His eyes remained on yours, you could see every emotion running through his mind, every thought, every feeling. He was fighting with himself for the first second — trying to convince himself out of whatever it was you were trying to get him to do. Trying to convince himself that he should just leave your home, he checked in on you just like he intended to, you were fine and safe. He could leave now.

However, his mind wasn’t as strong as his heart was.

Like two lions lunging at one another, you and Leon pounced at the same time. His hands grabbed your face and your hands buried themselves in his dirty blond hair as your faces squished together. Teeth clacking against teeth, nose pressing against nose, trying to bury your way into each other's skin.

His lips were on yours but the both of you were pressing so hard into each other, you could only feel your top lip being sandwiched in between your gums and his lips. So hard that your lips swelled almost immediately, as did his. Not that you had a chance to look in a mirror or even part from him long enough to see just how swollen his lips were, as you were too busy pushing him back into the kitchen counter while toeing your shoes and socks off.

His back bumped into the counter and something clattered onto the ground, you didn’t take a moment to care what it was, even if it was your most prized possession, you couldn’t care at that moment. Leon’s hands remained on your face, holding you softly and sweetly no matter how hard his lips pressed against yours, but you wanted him to touch you elsewhere.

Instead of using your words, your hands slid out from his hair and down his neck, over his pectorals and down to the hem of his shirt. You kissed him a moment longer before slowly pulling it up, holding your lips against his for as long as you possibly could until the hem of his shirt had been lifted up to his chin, which meant you had to pull away to take it off.

Finally now you could get a look at his puffy lips, his flushed face, his lust-filled eyes. The both of you panting heavily to catch your breath as you lifted his shirt off of him and discarded it on the floor. Your hands immediately touched his warm skin, feeling the curves and definition of his abs. He was hairless, smooth and a little shiny from the thin layer of sweat he was building up, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of the v-line dipping into his jeans.

Leon’s hands came back to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and brushing your hair behind your ear. Your eyes were torn off of his body and pulled back up to meet his gaze. Panting softly now, having filled your lungs with enough air, you reached up and took his left hand in your right. His eyes watched his hand as you moved it off of your face and down past your neck. Your eyes however, remained on his.

His hand flattened out once you guided him to your chest, though where you wanted him to tear your clothes off or grope you mercilessly… he instead paused for a moment to feel your racing heartbeat. His lips parted and he breathed out softly but just heavily enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

“Leon?”

“Are you sure about this?”

You huffed, tilting your head to the side disappointedly. His self doubt was not going to ruin this moment. You took his hand, peeling it off of your chest and bringing his open palm to your lips where you gave him a soft yet lingering kiss. His eyes softened at the gesture and you could make out a hint of a smile on his face before you then guided his hand back down to your chest, over your right breast.

His hand slowly closed around the clothed mound and squeezed softly. “I guess that answers that question.”

You smiled, a soft chuckle coming out your nose before your hand stopped guiding him and instead went back to burying itself in his soft hair. His face remained quite red as he watched what his own hand was doing, massaging and rubbing your breast with soft, gentle fingers. You couldn’t help but find it so endearing, the fact that you told him to hurt you and yet his touch had never been gentler.

“Are you a virgin?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, a teasing smirk unable to while itself off your lips.

“What? No. I just… We’re in the kitchen, I’m not sure w-“ you cut him off instantly with a scoff, smacking his hand away from you playfully and turning your back to him. He was worried that he had offended you or hurt you somehow, but he watched as you jumped up onto the kitchen counter, sitting down with your legs spread the perfect amount for him to come stand in between.

He didn’t move just yet as he continued watching you. Your hands grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it up and over your head, tossing it on top of Leon’s shirt that was also discarded on the floor. The sunset behind you, streaming in through the open window, surrounded you and made your body glow. Leon finally moved forward and took his place between your open legs.

“I don’t have to tell you what to do, do I?” You teased him a little more and his eyes had never looked so young and innocent. It was incredibly hard to believe that this man had killed a whole village full of zombies. Yet here he was, pressing against you, his jeans tight and his zipper digging into his groin painfully. He shook his head no, to answer your rhetorical question, but his hands finally started moving again.

Starting on your thighs, his hands slid upwards, his thumbs coming incredibly close to where you throbbed and craved his touch. But his hands followed the round of your hips and settled on the waistband of your pants. His forehead rested against yours as he looked down, watching as he tugged the fabric down.

“Lift your hips,” he told you and you obeyed, leaning back on your hands and raising your pelvis as Leon slid your pants down your thighs. They stopped around your ankles but Leon didn’t want to bend down and leave your space for even a moment. So you watched and gasped as his boot came down between your ankles and stomped the material down in one swift motion, having them off your body and on the floor in an instant, but something about the action made your body even more tingly.

Left in nothing but your panties and your bra, Leon looked down at you and admired your body while your hands grabbed at his belt and loosened his pants. Once he was free enough that the zipper was no longer digging into him, he stopped you from what you were doing and suddenly captured both your wrists in his firm grip.

“Leon? I’m sorry, am I moving too fast or something?” You worried yourself for a moment but Leon settled your fears with his lips on yours. His kisses were remaining hard and rough, but everything else about him was gentle and loving. Your eyes fluttered shut and his grasp on your wrists lessened a little, but he pushed forward with his lips until you were about to fall backwards out the window, only he released your hands in time for you to place them behind your back and save yourself.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, and you realised he had just done that on purpose. He wanted you to lean back and take what he gave you, he wanted your hands behind your back and no longer focusing on him. He wanted you to relax and enjoy yourself.

His hand started on your stomach, thumb stroking your skin and following the dip of your navel. You watched his hand, lips parted and a soft gasp escaped your mouth. He was barely touching you but he had already set your skin ablaze.

Your heart started pounding faster and faster as Leon’s hand lowered down to your panties, sliding over the top of the fabric and settling between your thighs. The subtle touch over your clit had you jolting and bucking your hips, desperate for more of his touch.

His eyes met yours for a short moment, making sure you were okay, before his fingers slipped your panties to the side and started stroking your wet folds with his knuckle.

Your head tilted back and you sighed, turning into liquid under his touch. He watched you with hungry eyes, continuing to stroke your slick folds until his finger was covered in your fluids, lubricating him enough for the tip of his finger to dance around your hole. You bit your lip and lifted your head back up to watch as he, ever so slowly, sunk the tip of his index finger inside your tight walls.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned breathily as you spread your legs open even wider. Leon slid his finger in until the heel of his palm was flush against your clit, curling his index finger to find the soft and spongy spot inside you that had your toes curling. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, keeping his finger inside while doing a come hither motion, making you wetter and wetter until a second digit prodded at your hole.

“You feel good,” he whispered breathily while watching his own fingers slide inside you and coax out your arousal, completely transfixed on the sight while you laid back and enjoyed what he was doing to you.

“It’ll feel better when you use your dick—“

“Shhh… we’re going slow. I’m gonna make sure you’re ready first… I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, leaning in and pressing his nose to the space just below your ear, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and body wash as he closed his eyes and melted into you. His lips were next to touch your skin, leaving soft open mouthed kisses against your neck while he continued to finger you nice and slowly.

His breath was warm against your skin, and his lips were soft like pillows. He had you shuddering and whimpering when he added his tongue into the mix. He started out with gentle kisses where the tip of his tongue lightly teased your skin, moving around to find the part of your neck that had you giving him the best reactions. Once your breathing got heavier, he flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up to your ear before nibbling your earlobe into his mouth and sucking softly.

You couldn’t help but dig your heels into the counter to pull your body onto Leon’s fingers more, doing your best to grind against his palm as you got completely lost in your pleasure. Your walls fluttered around his two fingers as he thrusted them into you and curled them just right, you wanted more though. You wanted him to roughly fuck you with his fingers, to plunge as many fingers as he wanted into you while the sound of squelching filled the room. But he was so gentle instead, so soft and sweet.

His free hand that had been gripping your waist moved around to the small of your back. He trailed his palm up your spine slowly until his fingers skilfully unclasped your bra in one swift movement. He quickly tore the fabric off of your chest, freeing you from your bra so your breasts were on full display for him. That was a little rougher than he had previously been and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your cunt clamp down hard on his fingers.

Leon pulled back from his assault on your neck and ear to get a nice long look at you, admiring your breasts and pert nipples. “Fuck,” he sighed and you blushed under his gaze, but he soon had you moaning and panting once again as his head dived down to press kisses along the curve of your breasts before latching his mouth onto your right nipple.

And it was then that he finally started fingering you with a bit more force and speed. With his tongue swirling around your hardened nub and his fingers fucking into your tightness, you held back a squeal as your legs instinctively shut and clamped around his arm. He didn’t care much however, as he was strong enough to continue the work with his fingers, speeding up more and more and more until you had to squeeze your eyes shut and your whole body tensed up.

“Leo-fuck! Slow d-down! Fuck fuck fuck!” Your whole body curled up as Leon continued finger fucking you at such speeds your mind had completely gone blank. Your hands left the kitchen counter and had wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing his face to be trapped against your breasts. He growled against your skin and you fought the urge to kick your legs and accidentally hurt him as a wave of boiling hot pleasure waved over your whole body. Starting at your stomach and then spreading outwards to the rest of your limbs.

You came with a grunt, almost sounding angry because how dare he be so fucking good at that. How dare he make you feel so fucking good before you had even dared to touch him, before you had even seen his body. You came and he still had his pants on. How dare he!

Though you didn’t have much time to calm down from your first orgasm or to even cuss him out for his stupidly skilled fingers, before he was slipping his fingers out of you and fumbling with his belt to lower his pants.

He let out a choked sigh as he revealed himself, the cool air kissing the hot, angry skin of his cock as it sprung free and slapped against his lower stomach. The tip just reached his belly button and smeared a little mess of precum across his navel which almost had you salivating and spreading your legs even wider like a needy pornstar.

You watched as he grabbed himself, using his wet fingers — wet with your cum, to lubricate himself. You could watch his hands move and stroke himself for years, he was clearly a little shy doing so in front of you, but you were far too excited to feel him inside of you that you had no room for embarrassment at the moment.

“You comfy there?” He asked, one hand stroking his cock while the other reached out and squeezed your inner thigh.

“Yes. I mean no, but if you make me wait any longer we’re going to have a problem,” you huff desperately, and he either didn't much care for your comfort or he saw the way your cunt was throbbing and weeping, begging to be stuffed, because he didn’t bother suggesting you move to a more comfortable spot. Instead he fought a smirk and cocked his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lining himself up with your needy hole, he rubbed against you a little, feeling the tip of his cock catch on your opening. His hands then took your hips and he pulled you onto him instead of pushing himself into you.

He stretched you open nice and slowly, pulling silent moans from you as your lips fell open and your head tilted back. He wasn’t too thick that it hurt— or maybe he had just prepared you really well, which of course he did. He definitely wasn’t thin either though. The more he slid inside you, the more full you felt, like he was morphing your insides to the exact shape of him.

Your elbows, which were propping you up on the counter were sore and red and your tailbone could have been better, but that was all a problem for later. Right now, Leon was reaching balls deep inside you and his needy, shy expression as he held in his desperation to moan aloud, was far more enticing to pay attention to than any kind of pain your body was in.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him trapped deep inside you for the time being. You could feel him pulsing, feel him twitching. Though he could also definitely feel you pulsing and twitching too, as your walls gripped him and begged him not to leave. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, not as he brought his lips to the curve of your collarbone and left featherlight kisses on your skin.

Slowly, he pulled out. And slowly, he pushed back in.

Though with each new thrust, he gained a little more speed and force. Each clap of skin against skin became louder and quicker in succession. Like a round of applause slowly ramping up after a moving performance. He soon found his preferred pace and stuck with it, needing to pull back from your collarbone so he could get a good look at your face to make sure you were enjoying yourself.

Your eyes were mostly black, no colour in them as your pupils had blown wide in lust. You always thought that you’d be more excited watching what was going on, getting to look down and watch as Leon impales you on his cock, or watch the way the muscles in his arms contract and shift as he grips you and guides your hips. However, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his. And he seemed to have the same problem.

Locked in a stare, you could see every emotion he was feeling, as he could see every emotion you were feeling. You could see how his eyebrows crinkled slightly, how his lips refused to touch as little moans and whimpers escaped him. But you could also see how he looked at you, how you knew he never ever wanted to hurt you. How he was scared to lose you.

His eyes had never been so expressive.

You lifted yourself up enough to shake your arms out a little, having lost feeling in them since resting on them. But the moment they came down on Leon’s shoulders, he was all you could feel. And thankfully, he seemed to read your mind as his hands scooped you off of the counter and held you against his body. You could feel more of him, get more contact this way. You could feel his warmth and smell his musk. He could hold you like this.

However, he was a few steps ahead of you. Holding you snuggly so as not to hurt you as he lowered you down onto the kitchen floor, he hoisted one of your legs up, high up so that when he slid back into you, you’d feel every inch, every vein, every twitch and muscle spasm.

You cried out, arching your back both from the feeling of him massaging your insides and the cool tiles of the kitchen floor pressing against your skin. You gripped at his back and shoulders desperately while he panted and whimpered into your neck. You could tell he was clenching his jaw when you heard him moan softly. Knowing your body made him feel so good made you feel even better.

“I’m so close, Leon. Don’t stop,” you whisper to him and he makes sure to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. He massages your insides and the tip of his cock continues to brush against your g-spot, and not that you need any added pleasure to help you reach the finish line, but his pelvis rubbing against yours and just barely creating friction for your clit makes it all the better.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he grunts back, his hands in your hair, gripping and caressing your locks. He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to cum but the surprise is what sends you over the edge.

He moans quietly but that only makes him sound more delicious as his hips stutter and his balls tighten. You feel each pump of his cock as thick ropes of cum paint your insides, leaving you feeling even more full and warm than before, which you didn’t know was even possible. He doesn’t stop moving though, knowing he came before you did, he doesn’t give up. But you’re cumming right there a second after him anyway.

You held your breath as electricity spread throughout your body. Your thighs tense and stiff as they twitched and shook, your backside clenched, your lips parted wide as you moaned loudly. You couldn’t see anything but white light as Leon continued thrusting slowly, rocking his hips against yours. He was watching your expressions closely, listening to the beautiful sounds you made. He wanted to see you like this again and again and again.

Your eyes closed and you let out a shaky breath finally, getting your breathing back to normal as the energy in your body slowly fizzled out. The pleasure felt like it lasted hours before it finally began to lessen, leaving you a puddle on your kitchen floor as Leon held you in his arms. The ground was cold and unpleasant but you wanted to stay here forever. With Leon.

“Oh my god…” you breathed out, reopening your eyes to look up at the man who just turned you into putty.

“Not God. That was all me,” Leon quipped lamely with a wink, which, to your annoyance, had you smiling widely and chuckling at his dumb joke. He wasn’t usually cocky and full of himself like that, but hearing him say something so corny made you somehow fall for him even more. Or maybe you were just biased after that amazing orgasm.

You rolled your eyes and playfully swatted his upper arm, to which he smiled back at you, clearly proud of himself as he rolled off of you and slipped out of you. You sighed at the feeling of being empty now and brought your knees together, feeling your mixed climaxes oozing out of you and down your backside where it inevitably dirtied the kitchen floor. Leon rolled over onto the floor beside you, his hand finding yours and softly intertwining your fingers together.

“Haven’t done that in a long while,” he breathed out as you both looked up at the ceiling. “Glad it was with you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words but you also felt a pit growing in your stomach. Was this just a casual one time thing for him? Were you just the closest person around for him to stick his dick in?

No. You saw the look in his eyes while he was with you. That was more than just casual sex that he could have had with anyone. He wanted it to be you, and you wanted it to be him. You weren’t sure if you believed in fate but this felt like it needed to happen. Not one moment felt like a mistake.

Was this love?

Love is complicated and messy but also beautiful, warm and safe. And you never felt safer than when Leon was by your side. Leon himself was complicated and messy, you knew it would be a long twisted road to get to your destination with him. There were no detours, no straight roads to where you wanted to go, but you were okay with that. It made the end goal more rewarding.

What was the end goal though? Getting married? Having kids? Sharing a house together? Apparently you weren’t even sure about the destination. But that didn’t matter.

“Will you stay?” You asked softly, staring at the ceiling, holding your breath as you waited for his reply. This would determine everything, wouldn’t it?

“If that’s what you want.” Leon nodded, turning his gaze to your face, he admired you for a brief moment before you turned to look at him as well. You brought your interlocked hands to your chest, pressing the back of his palm against where your heart would be.

“Are you dumb? Of course I want you to stay.” You frowned softly and squeezed his hand desperately, as if you were determined to never let him go. Like concrete welding you together forever.

He remained facing you but his eyes lowered to your intertwined hands, watching while he felt your heart beating against the back of his hand. How fast, how strong, how scared it was.

“I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep. My job, it will always be an issue. No matter what kind of relationship you want to have with me… But I will try. I’ll try my best to be here for you.” He was determined. And that was all you could ask for.

“For us,” you smiled softly, rolling onto your side to get closer to him. Your lips found his and you kissed as the sun set. Hours ticked by spent in each other's embrace, holding one another, sharing the same space, loving each other.

Love is messy and complicated. But the little moments like these make it all worth it.

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Passenger / Chapter 1

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter One: Vermont

[ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Series Summary: In her time tramping across the United States, Charlie Wanderlust has found life on the road to be challenging, but rewarding. When she makes enemies with a powerful figure, a bounty is put out for her capture. Din Djarin, a long-haul trucker and occasional bounty hunter, takes the job as a means to gain financial stability. Their paths cross, and as a result, the winding route of their lives are forever altered.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 3.3k+

Content / Warnings: modern-day au, alternating pov, second person pov, slow burn, vagabond ofc, dog grogu, enemies to lovers, bounty hunting, violence, swearing, truckers

Notes: Heeeeyyyy buddy. Rated explicit because the whole series is just gonna go under that umbrella, I don't care to get into nitty-gritty of rating systems with each chapter lmfao but it will eventually be explicit. I made a Spotify playlist for the series and cross-posted on AO3 (un: glitter_deity), links to both are on the masterlist! OK BIG KISSES HAVE FUN!

Charlie’s Rules for Living on the Road, RULE #3: Keep your wits about you.

The tiny bar you’re in is shabby and crowded. All-American beer signs reflect red white and blue off the nicked-up mahogany bar top that’s so sticky and rich it reminds you of maple syrup. Fitting, considering you’re in Vermont, of all places.

It reeks of expired hand sanitizer. A strange combination of rubbing alcohol and rotting fruit that your nose doesn’t really know how to sort, but you just know you hate it. Thought it would be worth gagging through, but apparently not.

Despite how crowded the small dance floor was during your set, the tips were a fucking joke. Sixteen dollars.

Anyway, Rule #3.

The Paul Bunyan-esque bartender who agreed to let you play for tips must recognize that his patrons are cheapskates, because he approaches you from behind the bar and says, “Tough luck. Want me to make you a drink?”

“I’ll take some water.”

“Can make something harder if ya want. On the house,” he offers, pressing his wide palms against the bar.

“How about,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, then tilt your head at the hard plastic menu display standing erect between his splayed hands, “some mozzarella sticks?”

He raises a thick reddish-brown eyebrow at you, “Sure.”

A satisfied smile spreads across your face and you lean against the bar, propping your chin up on your fist, “You’re a lifesaver. What’s your name?”

“Jim,” he scoops ice into a tall glass and sprays water into it.

A man wearing tawny carhartt overalls and a blaze orange stocking cap approaches the bar. Jim tosses a cardboard coaster in front of you and sets your water glass down, then ambles over to take his order. He tends to a few more customers and you surreptitiously size up their wallets.

Once the demand for his attention wanes, Jim slides a parchment paper-lined basket of sizzling mozzarella sticks across the bar to you.

“You’re a fucking saint, Jim, thank you,” you crack one open, revealing the gooey, cream-colored innards. Steam bursts from the chasm and scalds your fingertips.

When you hiss and drop it, Jim chuckles, “Careful, they’re hot.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you tease, flashing a playful smile.

He pulls up the sleeves of his heavyweight green and black flannel, “So what’s your deal, where you from?”

“I’m from everywhere, and nowhere,” you sigh, then meet his unamused dark eyes and explain, “Kind of a roamer. I’ve been tramping around the country for a while.”

“All by yourself?” Jim raises his eyebrows, and when you nod he frowns, “Ain’t that kinda dangerous?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Get to meet all kinds of people, see all kinds of places. Always an adventure. It’s real living.”

“And how long you been doin’ this?”

“A few years now,” you answer, poking at the busted mozzarella stick to test its warmth, “Are you from the area?”

“Born ‘n’ raised,” he looks around the bar, surveying the faces he must have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“Do you like it?” you pinch off a piece of the fried food and pop it into your mouth.

“Ain’t too bad,” he shrugs, “It’s familiar, ya know. It’s my home.”

You hum in acknowledgment as you swallow your food, then press your elbows into the bar and lean forward, “Ever think of leaving it all behind? Seeing what’s out there?”

Jim shakes his head and chuckles, “No ma’am, that’s not for me.”

“Why not?”

“You’re just a curious thing, ain’t ya?”

Before you can retort, Jim is flagged down by another thirsty patron. You scarf down the greasy, scorching hot mozzarella sticks as he makes more drinks, then you push the bar stool out and call over to him, “Hey, can I leave my stuff here while I use the bathroom?”

He glances up at you and nods in the affirmative.

On your way back to the bar after your bathroom break, you stroll by a stack of heavy winter jackets sitting unattended at a table. It’s been on your radar since a group of four tossed them down about an hour ago. Since then, the jackets have only been revisited when their owners found their beer pitcher dry and in need of a refill. You couldn’t help but notice the sea of green inside one woman’s wallet before she returned it to its (terrible) hiding place.

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

You squint up at a sign on the wall while your hand plunges into the pile of jackets. Your fingers brush up against the metal clasp of a wallet. You unfasten it and feel around for two bills, slipping them up your sleeve before walking away.

Adrenaline thuds through your heart, flooding your body with a weightless, buzzing energy. No matter how many times you’ve stolen, it’s still a rush.

When you return to your seat, you heave your rucksack over your shoulders, then your guitar strap, adjusting it until the guitar is safely fastened at your back.

“Taking off?” Jim asks as he clears your empty food basket from the bar.

“I suppose,” you meet his gaze and flash him a cordial smile, “Gonna see if I can find a place to set up camp.”

“You’re not sleeping outside, are ya?” he frowns, “Gonna drop below freezing overnight.”

You shrug, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aww hell, I can’t let you do that,” he protests, then ushers you closer, “Tell ya what—There’s an empty apartment upstairs, why don’t you sleep up there? No furniture, but I figure you have a sleeping bag or something, yeah?”

You search his face, trying to read his intentions and determine whether or not this is a safe offer to take.

He must recognize your hesitation, because he adds, “I’ll give you the key, you can deadbolt it from the inside. Just leave it unlocked in the morning, ok?”

“Really?” your eyebrows press together, “That would be… fucking amazing, actually.”

He tugs a key ring from his front pocket and wrestles one of the keys off, then slides it across the bar to you, “First unit around the corner. Don’t make me regret it, ya hear?”

Din slides his pen into the logbook’s spiraled spine and tosses it onto the empty passenger’s seat. He taps the tablet mounted on his dash and pulls up the load board, surveying available pickups in the area.

After factoring in fuel prices and time on the road, he determines that none of them have a particularly high net gain. Not enough to take his 1999 Peterbilt 379 in for the repairs it so desperately needs, anyway.

With a dissatisfied sigh, he pulls the cell phone from his pocket and dials Karga.

“Din, my old friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man’s jovial voice booms through the speaker.

“Do you have anything in New England?”

Karga hums to himself. Din hears a few computer mouse clicks and the rapid clack clack clack of a keyboard, then Karga responds, “Let’s see here, I have a few bail jumpers, nonviolent offenses, in Maine, New Hampshire…”

“How much?”

“Five thousand for Maine, ten thousand for New Hampshire.”

“Anything bigger?”

More humming, some clicks, then, “Ah! Look here, there’s a private bounty, last seen along I-89 in Vermont. Deliver dead or alive to Portland.”

“Portland, Maine?”

“Oregon.”

“That’s too far.”

“It pays one-hundred fifty thousand.”

Din raises his eyebrows. He’s silent as he considers this. His truck is in a tenuous state, but if he can make it there, he could get every repair needed. Hell, he could buy a whole new truck and still have excess money to donate to The Academy.

“I’ll take it.”

After hanging up, Din gets a new email notification on the mounted tablet. He leans forward and opens the message from Karga listing the details of the bounty.

Name: Charlie Wanderlust DOB: Unknown, assumed to be aged mid-to-late twenties Race: White Sex: Female Height: Estimated between 5’0” and 5’4” Weight: Estimated between 130 and 160 lbs Hair color: Blonde Eye color: Brown Last known location: Near Williston, VT, Travel Plaza of I-89 10/14. Prior possible sightings: near Londonderry, NH, RMZ Truck Stop off I-93 10/12; near Newburgh, NY, Pilot Travel Center off I-84 10/8.

Included are blurry CCTV stills of a petite woman, dressed head-to-toe in black, face mostly concealed by a bandana, stringy white blonde hair spilling down her back from beneath a beanie. The stills appear to be taken in some kind of warehouse, and show the subject pointing a handgun directly at a man whose hands are raised behind his head.

Another collection of photos, much clearer than the shoddy CCTV stills, show the target on her tiptoes, talking to a trucker through his rolled-down window. The snapshots depict them trading a plastic baggie and cash. A bloated dark green rucksack hangs off her back, and an acoustic guitar strap spans her chest, leaving the instrument hanging upside down, flush against one side of the sack.

Din observes her profile and notes the pointed chin and hooked nose as distinguishing features that will make her easy to spot. He surmises that she’s using an alias, because there’s no way that’s a real name. Her posture and trigger discipline in the CCTV stills tells him that she boasts familiarity with gun safety, and is probably armed. She’s backpacking, likely hitching rides with, and selling drugs to, truckers.

When he pulls up a map on the tablet’s screen and traces the path between the sighting locations, he notices she’s trending north. Probably trying to cross the Canadian border, considering most bounty hunters won’t find the difficulties that would come with re-entering the United States worth it. Try explaining to the border patrol why a pretty blonde woman is being held against her will. That will go well.

He zooms in on truck stops and gas stations further along I-89. The stretch of road he wants to search is approximately 200 miles away. It will take 3 hours to get there, maybe less. She doesn’t seem to be moving at a particularly fast rate, but her trajectory indicates she’s close to Canada. Probably only needs to hitch one or two more rides to get to the border.

Din glances over his shoulder into the sleeper cab, at the wrinkly, white, satellite-eared French bulldog sitting at attention on his bed, “What do you think? Should we go catch a bad guy?”

The dog tilts his head in response.

“Come on, boy,” Din pats the passenger’s seat, then the dog hops off the bed in favor of the front seat.

At 7 AM, just as you’re rolling your sleeping bag up, a knock sounds at the door, then the doorknob jiggles.

You jump to your feet and approach the noise, hollering, “Yeah?”

“It’s Jim.”

You unlock the door and swing it open to find the lumberjack bartender standing there with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He’s wearing a new flavor of flannel long sleeve, this one checkered black and red, tucked into his dark blue jeans. His reddish brown hair is damp and slicked back, pale skin tinged pink by the cool air. Or rosacea. Or both.

“Good morning,” you greet and step back to let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thuds of his heavy leather boots echo across the barebones efficiency apartment.

“I got you a coffee,” he says and sets one of the cups on the kitchen counter.

“Thank you so much, Jim,” you smile and meet his eyes. In the bright light of morning, they gleam a rich golden brown that feels warm and inviting. You drop your gaze and tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind your ear, then clear your throat before returning to your sleeping bag.

As you roll it up, he tells you, “Figured I’d stop by and make sure everything went ok last night. You takin’ off this morning, then?”

“That’s what it looks like,” you tie your sleeping bag tight with practiced efficiency, shove it into your pack, then zip it closed while muttering, “On the road again.”

“Need anything else before ya go?”

This man’s kindness and generosity is almost overwhelming. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smitten with you. A concept that curdles your heartstrings.

“Um… well,” you sigh and raise your eyes to meet his, “If you’re offering, I could use a ride to the truck stop off I-89.”

“Sure thing,” he grins, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, “Ready to go now, or you wanna get some breakfast first?”

“I’m ready,” you stand with a grunt and pull on your coat. He watches you do this, and when you glance up at him, he looks away and strokes his bushy beard, then takes a sip of coffee.

Jim insists on carrying your bag out to his black pickup truck. You follow behind him, coffee in one hand, neck of your guitar in the other. The ride to Jolley Truck Stop is accompanied by a Sunday morning country music segment dedicated to Christian songs of the genre. The trees are all ripe with autumn colors, their leaves a gorgeous array of reds and oranges.

“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” you comment as you watch the scenery go by, “Look at that foliage.”

Jim chuckles, “We have a name for the types of folks comin’ around here to look at the trees in fall.”

“What’s that?”

“Leaf lickers.”

You swing your head over to look at Jim, who’s sporting an amused grin, then start laughing, “Leaf? Lickers?”

He snorts and nods, “Yes ma’am.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you shake your head and look out the window again, “Have any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”

“Church, then a Patriots game,” he answers, “Where do you think the day’ll take you, Miss Charlie?”

“Hopefully to Canada,” you murmur, “But we’ll see. Rule number six of living on the road: Embrace change.”

“Good rule to live by,” Jim responds, flicking on his blinker to turn into the truck stop, “I’ll have to try that out for myself.”

“You should, Jim,” you cast a warm smile his way, “Really, I mean it. There’s more to life than Milton. I think you’d like it out there.”

When his truck comes to a stop, he shifts into park, keeping an eye on you as you open the passenger’s side door and hop out.

You grab your rucksack and guitar, then tell him, “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish you the best of luck on all your future journeys, Jim.”

“It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he nods and gives you a wistful smile.

With this, you slam the door shut and approach the sidewalk next to the truck stop, then take a moment to organize your belongings. After verifying you have all the things you need in the most accessible locations, you secure your rucksack and guitar on your back. Jim’s truck rumbles in idle for a while, but you don’t turn around until you hear him pull away.

RULE #9: Do not get attached.

Din is 5 miles out from the last place on his list, Jolleys Truck Stop, when the CB radio crackles to life.

A voice cuts through, “Anyone see that blondie wandering around at Jolleys? Rusty Crawler, Over.”

“With the guitar? Interstate Blackbeard, Over.”

Din’s heart skips and his spine straightens.

“Aye-firmative, Blackbeard. She a lot lizard er what?”

“Negative, Rusty, she has party favors.”

He picks up his mic and asks, “Do you have eyes on her, Rusty Crawler? 38-91, over.”

“Do I ever, 38-91, wheeew,” the man jests.

Din looks over at the dog, who was jolted awake by the radio. He starts panting, his buggy black eyes darting around the cab, little nub of a tail wiggling with excitement.

“Are you ready?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question to his companion.

“Boof.”

“Good,” Din chuckles in response, then turns his eyes back to the road.

You knock on the red Freightliner’s window and squint up at the driver as he rolls his window down, “Hey there. Are you looking for a west coast turnaround?”

He grins and shakes his head, “No, darlin’, but I reckon I’m lookin for a friend if you’re offerin’ your company.”

“Not on the table, I’m afraid,” you crinkle your nose and wave, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Same goes for you, pretty girl,” he hollers at your back as you walk further down the row of idling rigs. An intuitive shiver runs down your spine; you suspect the man’s foul vibes are at fault.

There’s a newcomer in the lineup: an old, silver Peterbilt, shiny with chrome details. The driver is wearing a black baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but seems to be looking in your direction, so you wave.

He waves back.

As you draw near, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out of the cab. He’s broad-shouldered and tall. The sleeves of his black crewneck sweater pull taut around his chest and biceps. His posture is impeccable, his steps metered, and you’re immediately struck by the assertive energy radiating off him in waves.

Another shiver creeps along your backbone. And it’s just an off kind of feeling that gives you pause, but you stop in your tracks.

RULE #2: Listen to your gut.

He puts one palm up towards you in a gesture of peace and says, “Charlie Wanderlust—”

“How do you know my name?”

Your eyes flick to your distorted reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. The hair back of your neck stands at attention. You take a cautious backwards step.

“I can bring you in warm,” he slides a gloved hand to the back of his cargo pants, “or I can bring you in cold.”

Static booms in your chest. Your stomach plummets to the asphalt beneath your feet, and you scoff, “Fuck you, man, what the fuck are you talking about?”

He tilts his head, as if to mock your feigned ignorance.

A dog barks.

It pulls his attention away for just a second, but it’s long enough for you to turn and bolt in the opposite direction.

All you can hear is your ragged breath and blood whooshing behind your ears and boots pounding against the pavement.

Not just your boots.

His, too.

They get closer with every beat.

A tug on your rucksack makes your heart gallop. You yelp and duck between two semi-trucks, pushing yourself as hard and fast as your legs can go. You reach the end of the rumbling trailer corridor and glance over your shoulder, only to find he’s not there.

That moment is enough to blind you.

It’s like you hit a wall, he’s just that fucking solid.

You bounce off of him, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s slamming your face against a trailer door. His thick fingers tangle in your hair and close into a fist.

“Fuck, that fucking hurts! What the fuck is your problem?!” you wail, thrashing in resistance as he rips off your guitar and tosses it to the ground with a twangy thunk that breaks your heart.

“Hey!” you bellow, “Be fucking careful with that!”

The man strips your rucksack off next, dropping it at your feet. He grabs one wrist, pinching a handcuff around it, then the other.

“Stay there,” he pants, then picks all your worldly possessions off the ground and slings them onto his shoulders.

He yanks the chain of the handcuffs, sending you stumbling back a few steps. You steady yourself, only for him to push you forward and throw you off balance again. Your vision goes red with anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit through gritted teeth, “Fucking asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just presses his hand between your shoulder blades and prods you onward.

Rage bubbles between the layers of your skin. Every single insult in the book simmers at the back of your throat, but all that comes out is a strained growl.

Then you put one foot in front of the other and let him lead you to your fate.

[ Next Chapter ]

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