#and don’t say rent or I will skin you alive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rubyreduji · 8 months

Note

🧸 first of all, HAPPY RUBYREDUJI DAY??!’ kkbbj?!?!!? secondly, i would like to request an nsfw drabble~ for dino or hoshi with a breeding kink (because im 100% sure these 2 have one) and them being really obsessive in a sense like “you’re mine” typa thing!! like having a quickie after a member’s birthday and you’re just fucking in the car with your formal wear riding dino’s cock, would love how you could write this 👁️ thank you jj if you do my request! 🥰 have a good day hehe

— join the sleepover!! 🧸️

summary: chan loves his friends, he does not love when his friends are all over his girlfriend

tags: smut (minors dni!) warnings: explicit unprotected sex, car sex, rough sex, dom!chan, possession/jealousy, breeding kink, choking wc: 2.1k an: not affiliated w/ misamo but still stream do not touch. i tried to make chan be possessive without being like overly toxic jdfskla i hope it worked

You look good tonight. Too good.

It’s been driving Chan crazy since you two left the house; your figure wrapped in your short, tight satin dress, the maroon color popping against your skin. If it was up to Chan he wouldn’t have even let you leave the bedroom.

Alas, you two had plans and you wouldn't allow Chan to skip his hyung’s birthday party, especially when the hyung is Seungcheol. So here you two are, in the middle of a rented out venue, celebrating Seungcheol’s birthday.

The issue with having you as girlfriend is that all of the boys adore you and Chan…well Chan is unfortunately a very jealous person.

His eye twitches as he watches you serve the cake to the boys, each of them shooting you big smiles, their hands lingering on yours a little too long as they take the plate from you. Twelve touchy men who are not Chan, having their hands all over someone who should be for Chan only…he’s not sure he’ll make it out of the night alive.

“Babe you want some?” Chan’s forced out of his fuming to see you staring at him, holding out a piece of cake. Chan smirks and stands, taking the plate and wrapping an arm around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah sure, thanks babe,” Chan says. You send your boyfriend a confused look but ignore him, brushing him off to dish out the rest of the cake.

“You know,” Joshua says as he stands up as well, “you really don’t have to be doing that. Here let me.” Joshua’s hand clasps around your wrist, sliding down to your hand to take the knife from you. He rests a hand on your back, his body a little too much in your personal space.

“Oh no Josh, I’m fine!” You assure him but Joshua persists.

“C’mon, let me do the rest. You just sit down and keep looking pretty okay,” Joshua tells you with a wink.

You roll your eyes as you sit down, but Chan doesn’t miss the slight grin on your face and his eyes narrow at the man now serving the cake. Joshua either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

The rest of the night Chan can barely rest, too busy shooing his friends away from his girlfriend. Everytime Chan is able to turn one hyung away, a new one is all over you, and everytime Chan pushes them away, you give him a strange look.

By the time the night is winding down, Chan is all fired up. His final breaking point is seeing Seungcheol hug you goodbye, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he does so. Chan’s eyes burn into your back, glaring at where Seungcheol’s hands rest in the small of your back.

As soon as Chan bids the eldest man goodbye, he quickly ushers you to the car where you look at him with exasperation.

“What has been wrong with you this whole night?” You ask.

“You! No, I’m sorry, not you. Well yes you, because you look so good in that dress and it’s driving me crazy, but everyone else! That’s what’s been wrong with me.”

“You have an issue…with your friends?”

Chan groans. He doesn’t understand how you don’t get it. “I have an issue with their hands all over you. You’re mine, they can get their own girlfriends.”

Chan knows he sounds childish, but he can’t help it. Not when he can’t get the image of Vernon’s hand on your arm or Soonyoung’s thigh brushing up against yours out of his mind.

“Chan,” you start, but Chan cuts you off.

“Do you know how good you look? I’ve been dying to ravish you since the moment you stepped out of the bedroom. And everyone’s had their hands all over you. Everyone but me. Isn’t that unfair, baby?” Chan’s body leans in closer to you as he talks, his voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

Without waiting for an answer, Chan starts to press kisses to your neck, each one lingering a little longer than the last. If you were to push Chan away right now and tell him to stop, he would start the car and drive you two back to your place no problem, but from the shuddered breath you take, Chan doesn’t think that’ll be the case. All it takes is for you to tilt your neck slightly to give Chan more access and he’s pouncing on you.

Chan doesn’t waste a moment connecting your lips, kissing you deeply. His hand slides over your clavicle, restings against your bare skin as his thumb grazes against your neck. You kiss him fiercely, a desperation hidden under it.

“Chan-” you gasp out, pulling away from your boyfriend. “I need you now, I can’t wait.”

Chan groans slightly, his cock stirring in his dress pants. A small part of him feels victorious as he reaches over to push your car seat back, giving him space to crawl over to the passenger side and lean your seat back. He gets to have you like this, needy and impatient in the venue’s parking lot, while the rest of his friends have to go home, alone.

Chan places a knee on the seat to brace himself as he leans down to kiss you harder, a hand cupped around the back of your neck, his fingertips playing at the hair on your nape. Your own hands fumble at his neck, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as well as you can with minimal focus. Your hips squirm in your seat until they connect with Chan’s knee, and you grind down, finally getting some relief to your aching core.

You start to whine as Chan trails his kisses down your throat and to your chest, his mouth on the top of the curve of your breast.

“Such a pretty girl,” Chan coos in between kisses. “In this sexy little dress, teasing me all night. Nobody could keep their hands off you, let alone their eyes.” Chan reaches up to push the thin straps of your dress down your arms, pushing the top of your dress down until your boobs are left bare.

Chan’s mouth is hot as he wraps his lips around your nipple, his tongue darting out to flick at the bud. Your body shivers, your back arching up slightly at the contact. Your hands fly up to grip at Chan’s strong shoulders, your fingers bunching up his dress shirt. Your hips grind down harder as you cry out.

“You’re so sensitive baby,” Chan mumbles against your skin. “Are you that worked up?”

“Yes,” you whine. “I need you so bad. Stop teasing me Channie.”

Chan chuckles, pressing a kiss to the bottom of your jaw, before reaching down to unzip his pants. He pulls his cock out of his boxers, not bothering to fully take his pants off. You’re clearly not in the mood to wait for him to do so, and Chan would be lying if he said he wasn’t also dying to get inside of you.

You stare up at your boyfriend with hooded eyes as Chan jerks his length to full mast. He then reaches down, pushing your legs further apart so he can brush his fingers up against your clit. Your breath shudders at the feather light touch and you push your hips forward in hopes to gain more friction.

“Look how desperate you are for my cock,” Chan smirks. “You’re soaked, baby.”

“Chan,” you whine.

Chan chuckles at you before pushing your panties to the side, not bothering to strip you either. He lines himself up, his tip sitting against your entrance.

“Chan just fuck me,” you beg.

“Not yet, baby. You gotta tell me what you know I wanna hear. Can’t you do that for me, doll?”

Chan is expecting some push back from you, but instead you quickly blurt out the words Chan’s been wanting to hear all night, “You’re the only one that matters. No one even exists when I have you. Don’t need anyone other than you and your cock, don’t want anyone other than you and your cock. I’m all yours.”

“Fuck, such a good girl,” Chan groans as he finally allows his hips to push forward, his cock sliding into your dripping pussy. You moan as you feel the stretch of your walls around his cock, your fingers once again gripping onto Chan.

Chan’s mind blanks out a moment, the pleasure of your warm, wet cunt squeezing him already too much for him to handle. With a deep breath Chan steadies himself and gets to work thrusting into you. Your legs clamp around his waist and he grips one of your thighs with a strong hand, holding you place as he slams into your cunt over and over again.

You reach up, tugging on Chan’s tie and pulling him down to connect your lips once more. Your lips pressed together drowns out your whimpers as Chan licks into your mouth, pushing his tongue into your mouth. The only sound filling up the car now being the wet squelch of Chan’s cock sliding in and out of your leaking cunt.

Chan pops his mouth off yours once more, moving his mouth to your neck where he starts to nip at your sensitive areas. “Fuck baby, your cunt is so tight. Squeezing the life out of me.”

“You feel,” you gasp in between your words, “so good Channie.”

Despite the dark night outside of the car, the street lights glowing through the fogged up windows gives Chan the perfect view of your fucked out face and the way your tits bounce with each thrust. You look fucking amazing, but Chan thinks you could look even better.

Without warning, Chan pulls out of you completely, and you let out a gasp that quickly turns into a whine. Chan pats your thigh, “Turn over.”

You quickly follow the command, turning over so your knees are braced on the seat and your face is pressed into the headrest, your hands clamped down on the shoulders of the seat. Chan hikes your dress up your back, revealing your pussy to him, and he lines himself up once more before slamming into you unceremoniously.

Your moans quickly resume as Chan plows into you, harder and faster this time. He grips your waist tightly, no doubt bruising you in the process. Chan’s tip hits against your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body, and he can feel the way your walls clench down on him. Chan can’t have you cumming just yet, though.

Your boyfriend reaches forward, his hand sliding over your throat as he leans down so his mouth is right next to your ear. “Can’t cum yet, doll. Not when you were being a bad girl tonight.”

“P-please,” you beg. “Let me cum. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Then you gotta say it baby. Let me hear it.” Chan’s fingers press a bit harder against your neck.

“Fuck,” you whine. “I’m yours. All yours and only yours and nobody else’s. Nobody else can touch me when I have you.”

Chan grins and picks up the brutal pace of his hips. “That’s fucking right. You’re mine. They can all flirt with you and do whatever they want, but at the end of the day it’s my cock you’re being ruined on.”

“C-can I cum, please?”

“Are you gonna let me finish inside of you? Give you all my cum so I can knock you up and they can all see who you really belong to? Who this cunt belongs to?”

“Yes, yes!” You cry out. “Cum in me. Claim my pussy as yours.”

Chan groans, your words going straight to his cock. “Shit baby girl, cum all over my cock.”

At Chan’s words your cunt squeezes tightly around him, your walls pulsing against his cock as you reach your high. The feeling sends Chan over the edge as well, spilling his seed into you. His hand drops down from your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, panting as his hips stutter inside you.

“Such a good girl,” Chan mutters. “Letting me breed her pretty pussy.”

When you two finally come down from your highs and Chan helps you clean up with some spare napkins in his glove box you two sit in the car, waiting for the windows to defog.

“I can’t believe we just fucked in this parking lot,” you mutter.

“You’re the one who begged me,” Chan says, not willing to take the blame for this one.

“Well it’s your fault for practically jumping me in a jealous fit of rage. You know the boys are only like that to rile you up,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” Chan admits, before smirking, “but are you really complaining about the outcome?” Chan’s eyes flick down to your lap, the knowledge that his cum is currently leaking out of your pussy into your panties present in both of your minds.

You blush and look away from him. “Just drive us home.”

Chan laughs, knowing that no, you’re not complaining at all.

taglist: @ckline35 @toruro @jeanjacketjesus @namjoonbaby @n4mj00nvq @0717luv @lovelyhan @ovai @wolfgurl2600-blog @scorpiobitch88 @im-gemmy @lllucere @tulipgarland4 @embrace-themagic @sulkygyu @leejihoonownsmyheart @synthetickitsune @yeosayang @miraclewoozi @d0nghyck @soonhoonietrash @violetvoo @yongi-lee @spilled-coffee-cup @morklee02 @silverrmistt @17kwans @candidupped @ressonancee @m1nghaos @1-800-jeonwonwoo @anothershorthuman @chwecardcaptor @jwnghyuns @flwrshwa @valentxi @heavenly-mobo @pandorashbox @enhacolor @starlight-night0 @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @miriamxsworld @just-here-to-read-01 @sunnyteume @debsworld23 @seuomo @tinkerbell460 @feat-sun @kihyukie12 @hyneyedfiz @blxckswxnxge @erwins-left-tittie

join my taglist: here!

#rubyreduji sleepover!!#lee chan #dino #dino smut #dino fanfic #dino x reader #svt dino #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #rru.fics #rru.request #rru.writes #★ mdni

783 notes · View notes

come-see-our-show · 4 months

Text

rent did not say

"how do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?"

and

"how can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray? what binds the fabric together when the raging, shifting winds of change keep ripping away?"

and

"i try to open up to what i do not know because reason says i should have died 3 years ago"

and

"will i lose my dignity? will someone care? will i wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"

and

"i think they meant it when they said you can't buy love / now i know you can rent it / a new lease you are, my love"

and

"i'd forgotten how to smile until your candle burned my skin"

and

"the opposite of war isn't peace / it's creation"

and

"it's time now to sing out / though the story never ends / let's celebrate, remember a year / in the life of friends"

and

"you're always preaching not to be numb / when that's how you thrive / you pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive / (perhaps it's because i'm the one of us to survive)"

and

“i don’t own emotion / i rent”

for you to disrespect her like this

#rent #rent musical #summer says stuff #mark cohen #roger davis #tom collins #angel dumott schunard

87 notes · View notes

thoughtswordsandnonsense · 5 months

Text

Throne Scene Pt 2

If you haven’t read/ finished Iron Flame, do not proceed. 18 + content minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Concept: There are about 30 minutes to kill before Violet leaves to go fight the Venin and she knows she needs to feel Xaden because this could be the last time she does. (This is before they go to the hill and she finds out about the second signet)

Side note: The Throne scene really does live rent free in my head. Sorry if this sucks this is my first time writing smut.

Violet’s POV:

Everything has descended into chaos, scribes, riders, teachers and griffon riders alike are running around preparing to leave and fight for the place most of us had fled from.

Marching the stairs I go on my hunt, I need him to know I love him, I need to feel safe for one more moment before I potentially never see him again.

Marching into the war room I see Xaden standing rigid, analyzing the map as he and Brennan talk in hushed tones. “Bonding over how much you both dislike that I’m leaving to fight for Basgiath?” Brennan turns and shakes his head, striding across the room and getting in my face. “You shouldn’t be going.” I roll my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not my keeper Brennan. Now, if all you’re going to try and do is try and talk me out of going save your breath and get out. I need to speak to Xaden.” Brennan glares at me but turns on his heel “I hope you make it out of this alive Violet.” He tosses over his shoulder as he walks out, slamming the door behind him.

“We need to be leaving soon,” Xaden says, finally turning to look at me. His onyx and gold-flecked eyes access me up and down as he sits half on the arm of the throne, deflating from his previously stressed stance. Crossing the room I wedge myself in between his thick warm thighs and grab his face, kissing him like my life depended on it. “I need you. Please.” I send to him and he groans into the kiss, one hand going up my back and into my hair, as he tilts his head to deepen our kiss. My hands reach up, one going to push off his jacket while the other cups his stubbled jaw, his usually clean-shaved face has taken a shadow as of the past few days.

“We don’t have enough time for everything I want to do to you.” His rough voice moans in my mind as I moan into him, his jacket falling into the seat of the throne. He stands abruptly, disconnecting our kiss as he stares down at me intensely, one of his large warm hands going to cup my face as I look up at him. “Let me have this, save the rest for when we get back.” I plead with him. “You’ll be the -” “Don’t finish that sentence Xaden Riorson, now can we continue?” I ask as he leans down to kiss me more tenderly, lips grazing mine as I rake my fingers through his black hair.

“I’ll never say no to you Violence.” His hands snake around to rest on my ass as I jump up, he holds me with ease as I wind my arms around his neck. Moving to kiss down his jaw and down his neck, he groans as his hands grip my ass more tightly as he moves to sit on the throne properly with me in his lap. I grind against his clothed cock as I move my lips away from his neck to look at him. His onyx pupils look even darker than usual as he tilts his head back and growls deeply. “Violet please.” He begs and I feel my face and chest blush, Xaden begs for no one. “I’ll beg for you every day for the rest of my life if it makes you happy. “ His voice sounds breathy in my head. His hands move from my ass to the underneath of my jacket, pushing at the shoulders to get it down, lurching forward, his lips connect to my neck as white-hot pleasure shoots through my body as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark, teeth grazing as he nips at me. His lips slide lower as my jacket slips down my arm, kissing from my neck to my shoulder, to the exposed skin of my inner arm as he takes my jacket off my wrists, drops it to the ground and pulls back. His tawny brown skin flushed as he smirked at me. “If I could leave my mark on you all the time I would.” Xaden’s voice drops into a husky tone as I smirk back at him. “What’s stopping you from doing just that, because I’m not saying no to that offer.”

His arms wrap around my waist and flip us around as he works my pants and underwear off, his broad body towering over me. In a few swift seconds, he’s got them exposed and the chill of the air hits my bare lower half. Flinging them carelessly across the room without breaking eye contact he grabs hold of my ankle and kisses it, leaving feather-light kisses up to my thighs and close to my exposed cunt. My head tilts back as his breath fans across me, my breath hitching as my hands move to grab the arms of the chair. “I need you this time. Not your tongue, as delightful as it may be. Please.” I beg.

“Since you asked me so nicely.” He pulls back as my legs rest against the throne and I reach forward to unzip his pants and work them over his hips and down his toned legs. He pushes them the rest of the way off and steps out, hands grabbing my hips and lifting me again as I wrap them around his waist. He sits with me hovering over the tip, his cock hard and dripping precum as he latches back onto my neck teasing my cunt by sliding his cock from my entrance to my clit and back, I fist the hair at the nape of his neck moaning. Pleasure all-consuming and he’s not even inside me yet. “Fuck, I’ve needed you. I’ll always need you, Violet.” He shifts and finally gives in as the tip of his thick rigid cock pushes into me and I move to sink down onto it, Xaden’s grip on my waist is tight enough to bruise, though I don’t really care. “So good for me, good girl. God, you’re so wet” He praises as I feel him finally sheathed all the way inside me, he makes me feel so fucking full. I bounce on his cock, somehow making it go deeper with every movement and his hips thrust to meet me halfway. I press my lips back to his, our gasps and skin slapping filling the room. “I’ve needed you.” He rolls his hips in a way that has my back arching, cold shadows skate across my skin as Xaden bounces me up and down his cock. The shadows split two ways and I feel one skating across my nipples, tugging on them as the other goes to my clit, cold pressure hits me and feels like rubbing and I shiver as Xaden pulls back from me. Watching as I writhe against him, one hand moving from my hip to play with one of my nipples, the shadow on that side relenting. The sensation of rubbing against my clit gets even stronger as I shoot pleading eyes at Xadens lust blown ones. “Please, Please, Xaden I need you. Please.” I’m close to completely unravelling as he thrusts into me even harder, his chest heaving. “Yes Violence, come undone for me.” I throw my head back as I shutter around him, white-hot bliss over taking my whole body as he continuously thrusts into me. Using only one hand on my hip to bounce me up and down while the other moves away from my breast, the cold shadow working on my other nipple ceases. “I’m yours, all yours in this life and if Malek grants me another then that one as well. There will only ever be you Violet. Whatever is left of my life, it’s yours.” ‘I love you, in this life and the next.” Even mentally my voice sounds strained with need. His thrusts get sloppier as he pulls me back into him, his scent surrounding me as his tongue grazes my lower lip and I open my mouth to let him in as he gently traces his tongue against mine. The pressure on my clit intensifies as I feel his cock twitch inside me, the feeling of my releasing barreling towards me again, faster and harder than the last as the coil in my abdomen starts to come undone. He shudders as we come undone together, disconnecting our lips as we lean our sweaty foreheads together, panting. Silence fills the room and for a heartbeat, there’s only him and I. Complete, together and safe.

“If you two are done we have a war to get to,” Ridoc shouts through the door as we startle apart, falling back, Xadens arms shoot out and grab my torso, pulling me back to his chest. “We’ll be out in a moment, jackass,” Xaden shouts back and Ridoc laughs. “Just be glad Rhiannon talked sense into Brennan from storming in there and trying to kill you when he clued into why there was suddenly a lightning storm.” I flush in embarrassment as I move to get up and off, some of Xaden’s cum dripping out and onto his lap, as I hop off. “Sorry!” I shout back and Ridoc laughs as we hear his steps go away from the door. Retrieving my clothes I hear Xaden shuffle and zip up his pants as I work on getting mine back on. Turning, I come face to face with his leather-clad chest as he holds out my jacket. I turn as he helps me get my arms into it and face him again as his hands move to zip it up. He places a tender kiss on my forehead before he steps back. Going back to the tense and rigid look he had when I had first come in, his hand reaching for mine and I lace our fingers together. “We’ll get through this,” I say and he nods, some black hair falling into his eyes. “We’ll get through this.” He says back as he leads the way out of the room with me by his side.

103 notes · View notes

jreads · 1 year

Text

Unexpected Constellations (Part 14)

Rating: No crazy stuff

Word Count: 6.8K

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Mentions of blood, Canon-level violence, Dark themes, Foul language, Din being a cutie

A/N: Sorry I pushed this back for so long! It was giving me such grief but I think I am okay with posting it now. I was overwhelmed with the love from the previous part and I am so so happy that everyone liked it. As it stands, this is the penultimate part! As always, comment on this post or the masterlist to get added to the taglist. So much love 🤍

Waking up next to him was bliss. Your body felt tired and achy and sore, but his head was resting on your chest, curls tickling your chin, body pressed possessively against your own. Breathing even. It was so new to see him like this, and it had quickly become one of your favourite things. You ran fingers through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp and his sleepy groan was so deep that it might have been a purr.

“You’re so beautiful.” It sort of slipped out. You were becoming loose lipped around him.

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.” Maker, and his voice. Rich like sweet candy.

He huffed into your skin, arms tightening around you like a band.

You stilled your fingers in his hair. “You don’t believe me?”

No answer. But he lifted his head, brows raising quizzically, eyes still heavy with sleep. It was impossible. Intolerable.

“I mean… Have you looked at yourself?”

Din answered too matter-of-factly. “Yes. In the fresher sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“I don’t look at my reflection a lot.”

“Why not?”

He seemed to get fed up with your line of questioning, collapsing back against you and nuzzling into your stomach to avoid an answer. But you weren’t letting it go so easily.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you’re biased.” He kissed your navel.

You tried to ignore the flutter that went through you. “I think you’re insufferable.”

He pressed you to the bed then, hovering over you just slightly. “I guess you’ll have to suffer then. You’re stuck with me now.”

Snarky, gorgeous, unbelievable. “Can’t imagine how I’m ever going to survive—”

“Shut up.” He captured your laugh in a kiss, slow and sensual and lazy, and you lost yourself in it. You let him guide your wrists above your head, where he pinned them with a broad palm. You let him trail the other hand down your side, over the curve of your waist.

You let him, you let him, you let him.

It took the both of you far too long to make it out of Boba’s guest suite. Din had even quipped about him starting to charge rent. But eventually, and quite unfortunately, you were reminded that a galaxy existed outside of each other, and that you needed to get back to it.

Din had only told you about the Imp that morning, reluctantly. And perhaps that was lucky, because if you had known earlier, there was little chance you would have been able to sleep let alone focus on anything else. Focus on Din.

But you knew now.

What Din had done wasn’t lost on you. He could have killed the man himself; he had had plenty of time while you were still unconscious. He could have drawn it out, made it bloody. You knew he enjoyed that sometimes… when given the right circumstances… when the victim was deserving. But he had captured him instead, left him alive. Not just so you could kill him yourself if you pleased, but because he knew you needed closure. Thus, the day’s responsibilities would be far from easy and would also take some time.

A quick comm chat with Peli had ended with the lady practically demanding that she take Grogu to a podrace, and that if you two were early to Mos Eisley this evening, you ‘would just have to park your asses down in the hangar and wait.’ It was so good to hear the child’s coos from the other end of the line, though it only eased your trepidation by a fraction.

“You don’t have to do this.” Din’s presence was unyielding behind you as you made your way down darkened sandstone steps. “Say the word, and I can—”

You silenced the rest of his sentence, stopping abruptly on the staircase and spinning on him. A step above, he towered over you. Ever the protector. “As much as I’m sure you’d love to…” You rose onto the tips of your toes and caressed the indents in his helmet. “…I have to handle this myself.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be here. If you need anything—” Before he could finish, another voice sounded from behind you.

“You’re awake. I was getting worried.”

It was enough to make you reconsider the rest of the descent into the Rancor’s cave. Truthfully, you might have preferred coming face-to-face with the Rancor instead. Powerless. You had to remind yourself. He has no power here. Over you. Over anything.

With a shaky breath, you reached the bottom of the pit, advancing on a menacing portcullis. Though he was silent, you knew Din followed.

He was grasping onto the gate bars with white knuckles. He looked a sight. Usually pristine Imperial uniform now torn and singed, he was covered in dirt and dried blood. A nasty gash had crusted over on the top of his head, staining his hair. You wondered who had done it. Your money was on Boba. If it had been Din, he wouldn’t have stopped there.

“Leaving you alone with two Mandalorians and a bounty hunter?” He scoffed, as if the idea were preposterous. “Their kind are ravagers. I’m relieved you’re alright.”

To act as if he was concerned about your well-being at all was almost insulting. What was worse was the assumption that the ones who had cared for you would have put you in harm’s way. A reversal of roles… a projection.

You tried to summon an air of phony assertiveness, though your hands were shaking. Fear? Anxiety? Rage? It was anyone’s guess. “Here’s how this is going to work. You don’t insult my friends. In fact, don’t speak unless you’re answering a question. Are we clear?”

He seemed to pay you no mind. “Look at you! So confident. Perhaps those years apart were a blessing in disguise.” He seemed comfortable, assured even, but his knuckles, blanched against the gate metal, gave him away.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you… what you did in that control room. It was amazing. Magnificent.”

The control room? When you knocked him out?

“I always knew you had it in you.” His eyes were glazing over with some sort of sick admiration. “Your master would be so proud.”

The control room. The water, the cables. The electricity. Oh. Stars. He thought you had summoned lightning.

“I don’t… I didn’t.” You suddenly felt the need to defend yourself. Not to him, but to the man behind you. The one you were trying to convince that you were good. The one you were trying to convince yourself that you were deserving of.

“You don’t need to be afraid.” His smile made you feel sick, whatever calm mask you had put in place quickly slipping. “This is what you were meant for. Don’t you see? Everything we—” He was quick to correct himself. “Everything they did was for this… And look how strong you are now.” Dirty fingers reached past the bars, grasping for you. You stumbled back into Din’s chest.

He ran a hand over you side, squeezing at your hip, barely a featherlight touch but grounding nonetheless. You breathed a few times, timing your inhales with the rise and fall of his chest.

However, the Imp was now surveying the Mandalorian with a repulsed expression. Looking from him to you… and back again. He sneered. “Wow, really?” He waited, as if for an answer. “You could conquer worlds, topple governments. The galaxy would bow at your feet.” That petulant entitlement had found its way back into his cadence. “Is this what you’d throw it all away for? A trivial romance?” Disgust dripped from his words. “You could be a god.”

When you broke his eye contact, he turned to Din instead. “And you could be rich.”

“I’m not interested in credits.” There was a sharp edge in his modulated voice, a promise of violence.

“No, I’m sure you’re not. It’s power you’re after.” The hatred between the two men hung so thick in the air that it was starting to suffocate. “What is it? Planning on using her to retake your home world?” Din stilled. “Who would dare to stand against you with a Sith at your side?”

“Enough.” Your tone was sharp, but not sharp enough.

“How long has it been since your people have even seen Mandalore? Set foot on the scorched soil? I wonder what they’ll find beneath its surface.” His tone was all too knowing. Din’s mind roared like a wildfire behind you.

“I said enough.” Your raised voice finally seemed to break their murderous concentration on one another. “You don’t get to ask questions. But you can answer mine.”

His energy changed immediately. “Anything you want to know. I’ve only ever been honest with you.” A flicker of a glare over your shoulder. “But your bodyguard will have to leave.”

You could feel Din reach for his blaster. No, not the blaster… that was on the other side of his hip.

You spun, a hand on his own to halt him. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” There was a beat of silence as he considered. Rage, violence, bloodlust. This wasn’t Din; there was nothing of the man you knew in him. This was The Mandalorian.

“You don’t open the gate; you stay away from the bars.” His voice was hushed, steady, lethal. “He tries anything, or you sense anything, you call for me.” You nodded. Still, he hesitated.

“I’ve got this.” You ran a thumb under the edge of his glove, over the soft skin of his inner wrist. Over the pulse point. It was jumping rapidly, a sign of him. “Go.”

With what you could tell was one more glance at the man behind you, he turned, footfalls heavy, and made his way back up the steps. Before he could disappear from sight, the man spoke.

“Good. Now we can stop pretending.” You knew Din had heard it. He was egging him on. Did he not understand that you were the only thing stopping Din from shoving the saber through his throat? Or maybe that was the whole point.

Without Din’s protective presence, you instantly felt more unpredictable. You needed a moment to calm, recenter yourself. You paced in a circle. However, the Imp had other plans.

“So, this is the company you’re keeping nowadays? Bounty hunters and criminals?”

Focus. Don’t get carried away.

“You understand it, right? They’re not on our level. Nowhere near it. Completely inferior. I suppose it’s my own fault for letting you go.”

Letting you go. As if you hadn’t tried to remove his head from his shoulders in your fight for an escape pod.

“Won’t you say something? As much as I’m glad you’re okay, I’m not overly fond of the hospitality here and would like for us to get going as soon as possible.”

What?

“You think I’m going anywhere with you?” You practically hissed it. Only once he smiled did you realize you had given him what he wanted… engagement.

His head tilted. “Aren’t you? What life do you have here, amongst the rabble?”

You have one. You have one. A place, a purpose.

“Don’t you remember?” You hate his smile. You could slice lines up his face, from the corners of his mouth to his hairline. “You were made to serve.”

There’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop the onslaught of memories, the mere utterance of those words enough to shake them loose. Even through the haze of repression.

You’re shaking, so weak that you can barely keep your head from drooping. Your hands are tied with binders to the ceiling, so high that you have to rise on your toes to release the strain from your shoulder. A rib might be broken, maybe two. Not that it mattered; the droid would patch you up anyway. It always did, after every round, over and over and over…

“Let me go.” It was a pathetic wheeze, croaky and quiet.

Two of the men leer. “Sorry? What was that?” One caresses your face before rearing back and throwing a fist. You’ve numbed to the pain a bit, but you still feel the sharp sting of your own teeth cutting into the inside of your cheek. You lose purchase on the floor and hang, the impact brutal on your shoulders.

“Please.” You would beg, on your knees if you needed to. “Please, let me go.”

He’s there. Lifting your head with an iron grip on your chin. “And where would you go, dear?”

You have no ship, you can’t fly, your knowledge of planets is minimal. You have nowhere to go.

“What life could you have outside of this?”

Your head is throbbing. You might pass out.

“This is your purpose. You were made to serve. Don’t ever forget that.”

Your vision goes black.

Perhaps it’s because you were squeezing your eyelids shut, trying so hard to block out the vivid recollection. You shook your head like a crazed person, grabbing at your scalp. Like you could feel the pain. The pounding ache of having been hit too many times. Oh maker, the pain.

Breathe. You’re out. Din’s just outside the stairwell. Listen. You can hear his heartbeat. He’s right there. Breathe with him.

He was solid as a stone when you sensed him, leaned against the wall. You wondered if he could hear—probably not. You could remember what it was like to kiss him, feel his skin against your own, his hair, trace the angles of his jaw. It was so recent, so fresh. Not like the other memories. You could forget the agony, replace it with pleasure. Softness and warm pressure.

Your eyes opened in their natural hue. The Imp was clapping, a slow, sharp staccato. “Impressive. Is that a Jedi technique? Does it help to play pretend?”

Get the info. Get it done and get out. You took another deep breath.

“You answer my questions, or I walk.”

He didn’t reply, just assessed you. It wasn’t a yes, but it also wasn’t a no. But you could feel that he wanted to answer—or rather, he wanted to talk—but either way, he didn’t want you to leave. It was beyond unsettling.

“Have you found him?” Please no, please no, please—

“So, you believe me now?”

“No. I just want to make sure Palpatine stays dead.”

His smile was absolutely vile. “There are more ways than one to ensure that that doesn’t happen.”

He could be lying. Trying to extend his relevance, his usefulness. Half truths. Half answers. Always cryptic. You were so tired of this. Of the worry, the fear, of looking behind you anytime the light dimmed and the dark intensified, just in case.

You stepped closer. “What do you know?”

There was a sparkle of crazed excitement in his eyes. “I know that it’s inevitable. There’s not a single thing you can do to stop it from happening. All you can do is be ready.”

“Ready for what?” But he was already on the uncontrolled ramble of a zealot.

“I’ve made you ready. I’ll be a hero. I’ll get what I was promised. We—”

“We what?” Every muscle in your body was tensing dangerously. Warning alarms. “What were you promised?”

“Look at you.” He was breathless. “You’re perfect. I crafted you—”

He believed it. All of it. It may be bullshit, but it was the truth from his tongue. There was a pain in your chest. You wouldn’t go back. Couldn’t. Because if he was right and Palpatine did come for you, you knew that Dinwouldn’t stand aside. Grogu wouldn’t. And you knew what he would do to them, what he would make you watch him do. Din was a powerful warrior, but he wouldn’t stand a chance against the Emperor. Palpatine would break him apart.

“What were you promised?” You didn’t notice the walls start to tremble. The loose sandstone start to fall in small puffs of dust.

“The Force. I was promised the Force.” His eyes were blown wide, rimmed with red. “We would be equals. We will be.”

Shaking. Your bones, your eyes, the very structure of the palace around you. “That’s not possible.”

“Times are changing. Why do you think Gideon wanted the child so badly?”

Grogu. Everything stilled. He looked triumphant.

“I could just kill you right now.”

“You won’t do that.” He reached an arm through the bars, as if he expected you to take his hand. “Because if you do, you prove me right. If you do, you become everything you insist you aren’t.”

That was it. That was all you could take. Because as you turned for the steps, blocking out the voice behind you, you knew that he had a point. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to take your time with it. Make it hurt. And what did that make you?

You made it to the top of the steps and turned the corner too sharply, bumping into a wall of beskar. He didn’t say a word, just held you. You couldn’t find the energy to hold him back. You were still seeing flashes of imagined images. His helmet, splattered with blood. The handsome head you were just starting to become familiar with severed from his broad shoulders. Grogu’s cry of anguish. There was something numbing about the information he had given, a sense of futility to every action you had taken and would take. What if none of it mattered?

“I’m going to get some air.” You pushed away from him, and he let you go.

He had seen you through many moods recently, but never such empty hopelessness. And he felt hollow himself, watching you walk away, because he had no idea what to say to make any of it better. Din could tell you what he believed, but this wasn’t up to him. There was, however, one thing he could do. Maybe it was petty and stupid, but Din descended the stone staircase with a muted smile on his face.

The Imp was facing the back wall of the Rancor pit, kicking at a pile of picked-clean bones in the corner. They might have been human; Din wasn’t sure. He must have heard the footfalls because he called out without turning: “Made up your mind that quickly?”

“Oh, my mind’s made up.” It was satisfying to catch him off guard. “My mind was made up the second she told me about you.”

“She told you, did she?” Din had no mind-reading abilities, but he could easily sense just how much this man despised him. And he had a nauseating hunch as to why. “What, exactly, did she tell you Mandalorian? I’m curious as to which parts she conveniently left out.” He pulled down the dirty collar of his uniform. “Did she tell you about this?”

You hadn’t. But he found himself smiling wider. The pale pink scar practically stretched from ear to ear. You had tried to slit his throat. Good girl.

“Did she tell you about how she slaughtered my men? How she left a trail of blood to the escape pod? She was still young then. She murdered them like animals. Did she tell you about that?”

Din crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He was actually quite enjoying this story.

“What about the choke? I doubt she’s learned to control it.” He cocked his head. “But, then again, maybe you’re into that sort of thing.”

Ah. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Din could tell he had struck a nerve. “It’s jealousy.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

He pushed off, stepped forward a touch, into the light of the opening above. “You wish you were me. You wish she saw you the way she sees me. As an ally, a protector…” A vein was starting to bulge in the Imp’s forhead. “…a lover.”

He threw a fist against the bars. “You’re fooling yourself, Mandalorian. You’re like a child holding a blaster. You have no idea how dangerous she is. She’s some pretty girl to you… a trophy.” He spat at Din’s feet. “You make me sick.”

Struck a nerve. He had to laugh, though it was humorless. He still believed in your superiority, truly; next to him you were practically royalty. But you had chosen him… and that was enough. His riduur.

He pondered for a moment, about telling the Imp of the vows you had made last night, the depth of them. If only just to piss him off. But it was none of his business. He didn’t need to prove himself. So instead, he said: “You’re going to die here. And maybe she won’t be the one to kill you, but if she doesn’t then I will. And if she doesn’t want me to, then Fett will, or Shand. You won’t leave this palace alive; you’ll bleed out in that cell. That’s a promise.”

“What’s your point, Mandalorian?”

“My point is that I suggest you make peace with the things you did to an innocent girl.” He turned to leave. “And I sincerely hope you don’t believe in the afterlife.”

It was a scorching day on Tatooine, but you had been lucky enough to catch an edge of the rounded palace walls that welcomed both shade and a light breeze. It was there that you had sat for the past hour, staring out over the dunes, lost in an endless free fall of thoughts.

Since the day you escaped and crashed onto Sorgan, you had taken part in a never-ceasing internal battle between light and dark. Trying to prove to yourself that you weren’t the culmination of your history. And this—the decision to kill him or leave him alive—it played directly into that conflict. He was right. But he had to die. And it was no one’s responsibility but your own.

You heard him coming, you always did. But Din still didn’t say a word, just sat cross-legged to your left. You were both silent for a long time, the hiss of shifting sand the only sound. But you eventually leaned closer, like magnets drawn together, until your head met his shoulder.

“He’s right, you know. About me.”

“Bantha shit.”

“Din…”

He straightened and you moved your head, already loathing the loss of contact. “No. Stop. You don’t get to do this now. I know you.”

“You know who I am since I met you, that’s different.” You pulled at your scalp in frustration. “Who I was before, the things that I did—”

“You did to survive. You didn’t have a choice. With me, you do.”

“So then what about the Weequay in Mos Eisley? The crystal, Din. And on the Razor Crest when I had that nightmare, and you woke me?”

“Stop it.” His tone was harsh in a way you hadn’t heard from him very often. “I have never…” He trailed off, voice straining. “I have never met anyone like you. Who acts for others, cares so strongly, even after what you’ve been through.” You can hear his shaky inhale. “Cyare, you’re a fucking miracle.”

You were trying so damn hard to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

“Killing him won’t change that. It won’t change a damn thing. Not to me.” He cupped your jaw, turning it to face him. “You’re still you. You always will be.” A light laugh. “Even with yellow eyes.”

You managed a smile through the few tears that had already fallen. He wiped at one with a gloved thumb.

“He might be right about some things, but the depth of your character is not one of them.”

That got your attention.

“What do you mean?” He didn’t reply. “Din. What did he say to you?”

He kept stroking a thumb absentmindedly over your cheekbone. When he finally spoke, it was only a breathy whisper. “You are. Above me. I don’t deserve to touch you; I don’t even deserve to breathe your air.” It felt like you were being gutted. “I don’t deserve to want you. He’s right about that.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “As if I could even help it.”

Oh, stars. What a fucking pair the two of you made, both so convinced you were unworthy of the other. It was almost hilarious. “This is stupid,” you said as if it was an epiphany. “That is so stupid.” You punched him, square on the breastplate. He barely even moved, but your hand hurt so badly that you had to shake it out.

That eclipsed your problems. Din Djarin, singlehandedly responsible for teaching you to trust again, for bringing you back from the brink maker knows how many times, for making you feel love and pleasure so strong it burned a hole in your chest. He thought himself unworthy of you.

“I’m going to kill him.” Din’s helmet cocked to one side at your quick change of heart. “And then I’m going to show you why that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

“I love you.” Those three words, the way they rolled off his tongue, crackled through the vocoder, they were so charged with emotion that they singed through you like a blaster bolt.

He stood and then offered a hand down. “Do you want me with you?” You took it, rising to your feet and brushing sand off of your trousers.

“Yes. Please.” Always.

He only nodded. Waited for you to make the first move. And when you finally stepped ahead of him, walking back to the mouth of the palace, he had a hand on the small of your back, as if he knew the depth of comfort that it offered.

You didn’t want to keep looking over your shoulder. Because you would. If you left him alive now, no matter where the three of you went in the galaxy, there would always be the possibility of him looming, of Palpatinelooming, just around the corner. And it wasn’t just about you. This was about keeping Grogu safe too. And you would do absolutely anything to protect him, even if it meant… whatever it meant.

The roughly hewn rock cavern was cool, mercifully. Though it did little to stifle the heat of your nerves, the sweat rolling between your shoulder blades. The clamminess of your hands. Din stayed a few paces behind.

“So, what’s it going to be?” His ability to remain unruffled in the face of possible death was almost admirable. You throat was too dry to reply, so you focused instead on the gate control panel. It rose up with an unpleasant screech. You could see him assessing your own features, Din’s stance. He didn’t believe you would do it, but he was smart enough to realise he wasn’t escaping.

“Really?” His eyebrows rose. “You’re going to make him do it for you? At least have the decency to kill me yourself.” A last ditch attempt. If only he knew that your mind was made up. You reached a hand behind you, not taking your eyes off the Imp. You weren’t taking any chances. Din understood; he always did.

But you had expected the blaster. A single shot to the head and it would be over. That wasn’t what Din handed you. The handle was smooth, heavier than you expected, all sharp angles and cool steel. Harsh? Maybe. But people had been known to survive a blaster bolt.

It ignited smoothly. You swung it low, experimental. The blade hummed in response.

And suddenly there was fear—real fear—in his eyes. And oh, how it made your blood sing.

“You won’t.” I sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He gaped at you, mouth opening and closing, searching desperately for words that might spare his worthless life. “He’ll come for you!”

You advanced, rolling the darksaber’s hilt in your grasp. Palms slick with sweat. “You’re delusional.” You wish you believed it more. There was no fanfare, no grand moment. You drove the darksaber through his chest without pause, without hesitation. And it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel evil. You were glad to see the light leave his eyes. But the words he uttered in his last breaths would stay with you for a long time, rousing you from nightmares for years to come.

“The master… needs an apprentice.”

You looked majestic holding the saber. It didn’t seem as heavy for you as it did for him, perhaps because you were already used to the weight of power. Din felt pride swell in his chest like a blooming flower.

The symbolism that the Imp had put upon his own death was bullshit, but he had known it would affect you, cloud your judgement. The truth? It was that he deserved to die, brutally, and that regardless of who made the killing blow, it was justified. Din only thought, fleetingly, that it was too easy. That he deserved a slower demise, more painful. That perhaps your actions had even been merciful. Maker knows that if Din had been the one to do it, his methods may have blanched even Fett’s already Sarlacc-bleached skin.

He had crumpled to the floor, the edges of his wound glowing slightly as the skin cauterized. You were heaving, lost in the moment of death. So he brought you back, and hand on your elbow snaking to your hand, helping you to extinguish the darksaber. You let it happen, leaned into his touch. Turned to him and smiled, because it was over, because this time he wasn’t coming back. He loved being the one to center you. That smile was haunted, tinged with some far-reaching darkness that he knew wouldn’t pass easily. But it wouldpass. With time.

“Let’s go get our kid.”

You nodded, and he watched the stiffness ease from your shoulders. You looked tired. So tired. Din pulled you into his chest.

“It’ll be okay.” He would burn the galaxy down to ensure it.

You went to take a shower. You had stumbled over your words, trying to explain why. Din had stopped you, knowing the reason innately, having experienced it himself. A need to wash the deed off, to clean the blood that hadn’t even stained your hands. He sought out Fett while you were gone, thanked him, refueled the Crest.

They were both quiet as they worked, a lack of words available to describe what they wished to say. Finally, Boba broke the silence.

“Take care of her. Protect her. She needs you. They both do.”

Din nodded in acknowledgement, not trusting himself to speak stably. Boba seemed to catch on quite easily, stopping his tinkering with one of the hull’s new outer panels.

“I know what it’s like… to feel like you don’t deserve happiness. After everything you’ve done.” Din stilled, hand hovering over the fuel tank lid. “Learn to be selfish sometimes, Djarin. It’s the one thing you’ll never regret.”

Fett didn’t wait for a reply, clapping him once on the back before moving to exit the hanger. “You’ve always got a landing pad with us. Don’t forget that.” His murmur of thanks came too late; Boba had already left.

The shower had only half helped, but seeing Din again, bent over and fussing with wiring, was much more effective.

“Need a hand?” He jumped a little; you must have been too quiet on approach. “Sorry.”

He rose to full height, and you shrunk under what you could tell was an assessing look, even with the helmet. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now.”

His head tilted. “Be honest with me, please.”

You sighed, because of course he could read you. “I’ll be okay.” He was too quiet, probably running through ideas of how to put a smile on your face. The idea of it was enough to do just that. You swore that you could see his stature loosen. “Let me help with the cables. Your hands are too big.” You swatted Din to the side, crouching over the panel he had been studying.

“The ramp’s been fussing. I came in too hard when I landed, probably shorted something. And the cockpit door doesn’t close. Um. It’s dented.” You knew why. But the information made you study him, looking up into the dark T of the visor. Fennec had told you briefly about how he had practically stormed the palace, leaving a trail of incapacitated Gamorreans in his wake in his rush to get to the throne room. ‘Panicked,’ Shand had said. You had never seen him panicked before, even when the kid had been taken. Always cool and calculated.

Wires momentarily forgotten, you rose steadily and circled your arms around his middle, cheek resting against that divot in his breastplate. He stiffened at the suddenness of your movement.

“Thank you. I haven’t said it… I don’t say it nearly enough.” His body felt nice in the circle of your arms, warm and sure and real. You could feel the shudder of his inhale as he hugged you back.

You had pushed your boundaries with him recently, physically. But this… the simplicity of being able to curl your arms around each other, share breath, feel his heartbeat on the other side of a beskar plate, and know what it meant; you wouldn’t trade it for a single thing.

And to think that you thought you might never experience this. Such an all-consuming type of love, a fierce protectiveness, a family.

Maybe the stories had been right; perhaps the stars did align sometimes.

Even with all the events of the day, Din and you were early to Mos Eisley. The suns were getting low, but only enough to cast that warm reddish glow upon the sand. You both sat on the ship’s extended ramp, looking out towards the street. It regaled you with memories of only a few days prior. And how impossible it seemed that so much had happened in such a short period of time.

Din had kissed you before opening the Crest, once… twice… more times than you could count. Your lips felt swollen, but you doubted you would ever get enough of him. The crowds were getting louder as spectators made their way back from the podracing track, their ruckus travelling into the landing bay and echoing off the walls. It was… nice. Really nice. One thing could make it perfect.

A shrill cry stood out over the commotion. One that you knew all too well. He tried his best to run towards you, short legs tripping over the long fabric of his cloak. You and Din met him halfway, scooping him up from the sand, dusting it off his clawed feet. Grogu cried out in joy, and you tried and failed to stop the wave of emotion before it crested. Because from him you felt such love that it bore a hole straight through your heart. Love and happiness and bone-crushing relief.

“He was worried about us,” you told Din, laughing through blurred vision. You were holding the child in your arms, and Din was holding you in his. Grogu messed with your earlobe with one clawed hand, and the fabric of Din’s cowl with the other.

So this was what home felt like.

“We’re good, Grogu. We’re okay.” Din was fussing with his ears, such a tender motion. “Hope you minded your manners, kid.”

Peli’s high pitched voice cut through the moment. “Well, what am I? Chopped liver?” All three of you looked up at the same time.

The tiny woman had both hands on her hips, a fond smirk across her lips. She closed the distance between you. “Kid’s an absolute joy. A menace… but a joy. You two sure you don’t have any more galaxy-wide adventures you need to take care of?”

Din squeezed your waist. “We’re on sabbatical. Extended leave.”

She nodded in appreciation. “Good. Take them both somewhere real nice then. Five-star resort, renowned chefs, the works.” She muttered under breath: “Maker knows you can afford it.”

Grogu cooed. You wondered if he was starting to recognize the word chef, given its association with his absolute favourite word, food.

“Something like that,” Din answered. You hadn’t really discussed you plans to follow this, your priority having been getting the kid back. It didn’t matter too much to you, not really, not as long as you had the two of them at your side.

He had already punched in the coordinates when you came up behind him, Grogu on your shoulder, your hand on his own.

“Can I ask something of you?” You were wearing the vambraces. He was momentarily speechless, forgetting you had just posed a question. They fit perfectly. He wondered, awestruck, just how the Armourer did it. She had once said that each piece speaks of its wearer as she strikes it into shape. He wondered if she saw you.

Beautiful. And all his.

“Din?”

“Anything you want.” His voice was breathy, caught off guard. Your bashful smile was heavenly. He wanted to kiss you… kiss the beskar… fuck you with nothing but the gauntlets on. Grogu squawked sharply at the both of you, as if to say ‘Get on with it.’

You laughed, before the smile faded into something more muted. Apprehension, curiosity.

“I want…” You fiddled with the tattered edge of his cape, toying with a hole in it, taking a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “I want to go see Skywalker.”

“I thought you might say that.” He noted your look of well-camouflaged surprise. “There’s a box for you in hull storage, when you’re ready.” He knew that you knew what was in it. He was going to get choked up if you kept looking at him like that. Din spun back around to face the dash. “I’ve got to redo my calculations now.”

“I’m sorry.” He had to smile at the dismayed tone of your voice.

He was quick to reassure. “Don’t be. It’s the right choice. I’m proud of you.” He let the words settle and it was quiet in the cockpit for a time, apart from Grogu’s occasional babble, which was starting to sound concerningly more like actual words. Maker, forbid.

As he circled Tatooine and emerged into the inky blackness of space, you asked: “Where were we going to go?”

He grinned under the helmet. “I’d rather keep that a surprise for now, if that’s alright with you?” You probably knew anyways; you could probably guess.

You slept with him.

Not like that; you were both a little apprehensive with Grogu only metres away. The pram was closed, as was the door to the cot, but it was still new. Simply sharing a bed with Din, however, was just as nice.

He snored—albeit lightly—but it made you smile. He had tugged the helmet off once the kid was asleep and had let you run your fingers through his tamped-down hair. He had said you were fussing. You had told him to shut it. So he had fallen asleep with his head on your lap, a broad hand curled over your knee. He had bent his spine at an impossible angle, but you could wake and shift him as soon as you put this damn datapad down.

You were looking up Luke Skywalker, ‘doing your homework,’ as Din had said earlier in a gruff and sleepy voice. However, it had only worsened your nervousness. He was a hero, known across the galaxy for his role in the defeat of the Empire… of the Emperor. He stood against everything you were taught, a figure of unyielding good in the face of what was once impending darkness. Practically a deity. Would he loathe you? Because you might remind him of his past, what he fought against, what he lost. Or would he be sympathetic? Vader was his father, after all. Would he understand corruption, a turn to the dark for survival, because there was no other choice? Would he see you as someone who could be redeemed?

You sighed, sweeping a hand across your face. Your vision was starting to go unfocused, eyelids getting heavy as you fought against your own fatigue.

“Put it down,” he mumbled, squeezing your knee. “I can hear you overthinking; it woke me up.”

That made you laugh. “No, it didn’t. Liar.”

Din grunted and rose on his elbows, plucking the tech from your hands and depositing it in the makeshift hammock above. He then grabbed you by the hips and dragged you down, until you were flat on your back. You yelped. “Sleep.” It was a command.

You couldn’t have resisted even if you wanted to. Because he had caged you into him, arms winding around your waist and tightening. You melted to fit his body.

“Love you.” It was barely intelligible, just a string of syllables muttered into your neck, but it was enough. More than enough. It was everything.

“I love you, Din,” you replied. He hummed in satisfaction.

You left your worries behind for another night.

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @aavengingbucky @prismaticpizza @blub-senpai @a-phan-of-youtube @jaguarthecat @lizajane3 @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @graciexmarvel @soobinsrose @simply-maggie @alwaysdjarin @minky77 @tinytinturtle @tae27 @groguspicklejar @slightlyuglierbeyonce-blog @willow-t @abbyhaslongshorts @andrewshotspot @racetrackheart @leithatnight @messageinadaisy @lostinsideourminds @wren-2-d @goth-cowgir1 @aphterthoughtt @sleeplessskeleton @teawrites01 @dashlilymark @imherefordeanandbones @sunshine96 @kalea-bane @http-onie @focusedarrow @tremendum

155 notes · View notes

rlch-marvln-whlch-marvln · 8 months

Text

More Broadway Songs that Remind me of Movies/Books/TV Shows

inspired by specific characters, scenes, vibes, or something in between

The Secret History

“Totally F*cked”— Spring Awakening

“Memory”— Cats

“Cell Block Tango”— Chicago

“Nature Boy”— Moulin Rouge

Too Late to Turn Back”— Bonnie and Clyde

“Someone Else’s Skin”— Catch Me if you Can

“Contact”— RENT

The Owl House

“Alyssa Greene”— The Prom

“Electricity”— Billy Elliot

“Human Stuff”— The Little Mermaid

“So Much Better”— Legally Blonde

“I Say No”— Heathers

“Giants in the Sky”— Into the Woods

“Raise You Up/Just Be”— Kinky Boots

“Naughty”— Matilda

“Good kid”— the Lightning Thief

Heartstopper

“Unruly Heart”— the Prom

“Changing my Major”— Fun Home

“Does Anybody Have a Map?”— Dear Evan Hansen

“Before the Breakdown”— We Are the Tigers

“I See Stars”— Mean Girls

“Green Green Dress”— Tick, Tick… Boom

Good Omens

“The Games I Play”— Falsettos

“When your Feet Don’t Touch the Ground”— Finding Neverland

“Don’t Break the Rules”— Catch me if You Can

“Being Alive”— Company

“Telephone Wire”— Fun Home

“Til him”— the Producers

“Therapy”— Tick, Tick… Boom

“Goodbye Until Tomorrow/ I Could Never Rescue You”— the Last Five Years

If We Were Villans

“Mattie’s Lament”— We Are The Tigers

“Backstage Romance”— Moulin Rouge

“I never miss my mark”— A Killer Party

“Costume party”— Come From Away

“God I hate Shakespeare”— Something Rotten!

“Your fault”— Into the Woods

#broadway #rent musical #good omens #musicals #falsettos #into the woods #the owl house #if we were villains #the secret history #we are the tigers #heartstopper #tick tick boom #the last five years #fun home #dear even hansen the musical #dear evan hansen

68 notes · View notes

webxgal · 2 months

Text

[Ⅶ] aegri somnia

a sick man's dreams.

You had a dream that night. There were many things wrong with it.

You were still the same age as you are now, sitting in the backseat of a car. Your head was pressed against the cool glass of the window, the sky washed in gold and beige. You instinctively reach for your camera, only to find it missing. Your parents sit on the front seats, saying nothing. They have the radio on, though, and the voice of some English singer fills the quiet ambience of the car. They were alive, you could see your father’s veiny hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. You can see your mother’s dyed hair, tied up messily and you can’t help but feel uncomfortable. She never tied up her hair. You say absolutely nothing to them, gazing out the window and listening to music none of you cared for.

You three make a pitstop. The rest stop is more old and country than you were used to, with only a singular picnic bench outside a diner. The setting didn’t look like it belonged to Japan and more like the ones you’ve seen in those old American films you used to rent out. Only one woman is sitting on the bench, cross-legged with her shoes missing. She’s wearing shorts and a navy tank top, a brimmed suncap on her head. She seemed like a foreigner, and when she looked up your suspicions were confirmed. Her skin is tan, with some obvious sun damage. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, split ends fraying in the breeze. She spies the both of you alone, with your father having gone to fill up the gas. You both must have looked lost, standing together in silence. You tried to remember if your interactions with your mother had always been like this; or if it’s something new that came with being seventeen and no longer in love with the idea of her.

The stranger waves at you both, friendly and a little awkward, and you spy a cat on her lap. Its fur was a dark slate grey, green eyes were beady and beautiful. A Russian Blue cat. It seemed to love the woman’s embrace, cuddled nicely into her toned arms. Your mother stands stationary, even when you go to sit at the picnic table, and you ignore her. The blonde woman greets you happily, never tells you her name, but treats you like you’re an old friend. You feel very endeared to her, and it hasn’t even been three minutes. She tells you she’s something of a nomad.

“Grew up in Canada. I started travelling after high school. I met my husband in Guatemala, and we started exploring together. Just came from Australia, that’s where all the sunburns came from. You can’t underestimate the heat there, that’s for sure!”

She speaks in quick Japanese, and her sentences are jumbled, messy, and unnatural. However, her tone is hearty and you liked listening to her. She doesn’t ask anything about you, and you don’t mind. At one point the cat eventually climbs into your arms, purring contently. You feel a sharp pain. The Russian Blue digs its tiny claws into the exposed skin of your arm. It’s not supposed to hurt much, but it does. You don’t say anything, continuing to listen to the older woman patiently without even as much as flinching. She stops mid-sentence into her time in Guangzhou just to gasp at the sight of your bleeding arm. She shooed away the cat without a second thought and cradled your arm gently, cooing at you comfortingly. The action felt almost motherly. You glance behind you, to your mother who stands like a statue. She only stares back at you blankly. She looks like a confused child, looking at something she doesn’t understand. You don’t get it. What is confusing about her child being hurt?

“Ayame?”

You still can’t tear your eyes away from your mother, as much as you want to. You wait for her to do something, but she stays frozen. You wonder why the nice foreign lady keeps calling you your mother’s name.

Your dream ends in a haze, but you’re startled by the firm knocking on your door. Takeba’s voice is muffled behind the slab of wood, but the urgency still rings clear. You mumble something to let her know to give you a second, but you don’t care if she hears you. You shrug on a cardigan hanging over your bedpost, clicking open the lock of your room. Takeba, donned in a cute pink sweater dress, stands outside your door and looks over your slovenly appearance that is a sharp contrast to her own, but quickly snaps out of it when you shoot her a miffed look.

“Good morn—er, afternoon,” She greets you, but she’s barely looking at you as she shifts her weight onto her other leg. “Kirijo-senpai asked me to check up on you. It’s noon.”

As if to cement her point, Takeba holds up her flip phone screen and the time is printed clearly on the top. You curse instinctively, running a hand through your unkempt hair.

“Sorry… it’s been a busy week,” And it’s not much of an excuse, but thankfully the brunette looks sympathetic as she nods in understanding. She reminds you that in the evening Ikutsuki will be paying a visit to give you an official induction into the team, and that already puts a damper on your mood. You still haven’t quite forgiven him for lying about his visit to you in the hospital, and instead sending the most intimidating girl you’ve ever known in his stead.

Takeba leaves you to your own devices, and you try to freshen up as best as possible with the oddly placed sink in your room. Even with cold water splashing on your face, your mind still fixates back on your incongruous dream. It was a peculiar experience, feeling the cool glass of the car window and the heat of the sun on your back, knowing the sensation belonged to you. Yet, it was undeniable that for that moment you weren’t you. The silky black tresses on your head weren’t yours, nor was the iron-pressed sailor uniform you wore. This was all your mother, and it made your skin crawl. Even five years after her being gone, your mother is still hauntingly alive and you can’t help the vexation it fills you with. The dead should stay dead.

In your haste, you miss the buzzing of your phone and only later will you come back to the notification, disappointed it’s not a concerned email from Yuko.

Don’t pick up: Missed call.

#persona 3 x reader #persona 3 #persona 3 reload #p3 x reader #p3 #persona 3 protagonist #minato arisato x reader #minato arisato #makoto yuki x reader #makoto yuki #persona 3 protagonist x reader #x reader #reader insert #webxgal writes #memento vivere

35 notes · View notes

andjsjfks · 9 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

here, have a snippet of a 5+1 Angel/David fic i've been working on, as a treat. I say Angel/David, it's going to be more Angel + the shaw pack, a little bit of pack family feels if you will.

“Our home insurance doesn’t cover rowdy pack members, unfortunately.” Angel laughs from their position against the doorway. “And weirdly enough I quite like our house, so no, no more solstices from here.”

They’d already brought this up with David, as the two lay in bed the night before, exhausted from the events of the day. Angel resting their head on Davids's chest, their body moving with his breathing and the constant noise in their head silenced by the sound of his heart. Despite everyone having settled down for the night, the house felt alive. The sound of the fridge door opening and closing could be heard from downstairs, no doubt a couple of the older pups deciding to raid their snack supply. Paired with the snores and shuffling coming from every sleeping surface available. Now their house was not small by any means, but all of their spare rooms had been filled, including the blow-up mattresses they’d stuck into a few of them. Whilst some weren’t happy with the prospect of doubling up, they had it a damn sight better than the members left to sleep on the downstairs sofas.

The sleeping arrangements weren’t perfect, but in the end, nobody seemed to care. Instead just enjoying the time spent together as a pack.

Angel loved it. Having everyone in the same place, housing them in a space that they’d worked so hard to make welcoming and safe. The feeling overwhelmed them on occasion, how strongly they wanted to ensure that each and every member of the pack was comfortable and happy whilst staying in their care. God only knows how David must feel, having his entire family under one roof.

Angel didn’t have a magical core, but still felt the effects of the solstice in their own way.

Despite this, they knew they couldn’t continue to hold the gathering in their shared home next year. Space was hard to come by even before the addition of Vincent and his partner, who currently have the pleasure of tripling up with Tank, Sam, Milo and Sneaks. Even David and Angel had opened up their bedroom to Asher and his mate, who were both knocked out on a blow-up mattress on the floor.

A small snore from Asher brought Angel out of their thoughts.

“Hey, Davey?” They whisper. His reply comes in the form of a deep hum, and a caress of their shoulder.

“We need a bigger place” David snorts. Peaking one eye open to look down at them from their place on his chest.

“Any bigger of a place and Asher will start calling me a McMansion owner” He moves his head to look down to the floor, at his Beta currently sprawled across the stomach of his mate. “And selfishly, I don’t want that to be a title that sticks”.

A soft laugh leaves their lips, arms tightened around David. “Either we get a bigger place, or we find somewhere else to host from,” they sigh. “The look Tank gave me when I told them they’d have to share with Milo is not something I wish to experience again. For the good of my health.”

“He is a snorer”

The two share a laugh, being mindful of their two pack mates sleeping but feet away from them.

“I understand though.” David continues on. “We’ve outgrown our home. Next year I’ll look into some local holiday spots and see if anything sticks out.”

That’s when Angel strikes mental gold.

“What about the cabins?” Lifting their chin to rest just above his heart, they continue. “Up in the mountains, surrounded by woods that’d be perfect for the pack run.” Their whispers sound excited, a smile growing as the idea blossoms. “We could rent out all the cabins, might be expensive on our end, but at least then everyone gets their own bed to sleep on.” A hand at Davids's waist slowly creeps upwards, tracing the soft skin of his sides and landing just below his collarbone.

“Best start saving now then” he whispers, his hand moving from the soft skin of their arm to the warmth of their cheek. Guiding their face to his for a short, soft kiss. Angel pulls away and nestles themselves into the crook of his neck, sighing at the feeling of warmth and protection this has always given them.

#god knows when im finishing this its turning into a big one #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted david #redacted angel #david shaw #redacted shaw pack #wip fic #redacted fic

67 notes · View notes

yowyowyaoi · 7 months

Text

Zetsu’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Nagato

You can’t keep eating them without checking to see if we’re using them first.

300 miles? Is that really the closest?!

I can put you with Tobi or Hidan. Take your pick.

Put the letters where they can find them, then stay somewhere hidden to see their reactions.

Keep an eye on them please. No explosions, no sacrifices. Nothing to draw attention.

I’ve been practicing every day. Legs feel stronger.

I’d only risk it if you also want to risk being placed in a gengetsu.

I’m sure I’ll be gone before her. All I ask is she be well taken care of. It’s all that matters.

No. Under no circumstances. I need them all ALIVE and able to work, please.

You can ask but she’ll probably hit you hard enough to REALLY split you in half.

From Kakuzu

Yes well your appetite is proving quite costly.

Find where he’s hiding and I’ll give you a third of his bounty.

I’m not so sure that “intelligence” is a quality I’d associate with any of them.

Actually if you could naturally produce that we could sell bottles and make some money 🤔

Much, much too expensive.

I don’t care if you eat him but wait until I get his heart out first.

I’d rather you ate me; my body won’t be on display for him to entertain Deidara with.

It’s complicated. And by complicated I mean I let a one time physical urge turn into a years-long relationship.

It’s the 1st. Rent and utilities are due.

If I didn’t we wouldn’t have *anything*. Be grateful.

I’m not sure if my threads would hold for plant-skin.

Stop losing them for God’s sake each one costs $50 in materials to make!!

I’ll take your word for it. That voice creeps me out.

From Konan

Please don’t ever do that again. Nagato almost had a heart attack. 😡

It’s funny in a shouldn’t be funny way.

Wait you’ve seen him without the mask 👀

No I don’t care if they’re annoying we don’t have the time to replace them now!!

Ask Sasori to take a look. He enjoys a challenge.

I don’t care how easy it was to get, I’m NOT cooking with that kind of “meat” 🤢

No offense but do you even have nails 🤔

I’d rather we didn’t need to pick up and move again unless absolutely necessary.

Since we were children 🥰

I’d kill anyone who tried. With my bare hands.

Kisame may be able to but the rest will need it cooked.

You’re THAT old?! 😵‍💫

Stick to guys. I will remain the only woman in this group.

Can’t you eat them? Aren’t you part Venus fly trap??

From Hidan

Freak.

Then stop watching, weirdo!

Because if you take the body before my praying is finished then the entire ritual is void!!

Not to be gay but yeah I see what he sees.

Then steal him some damn glasses next time!

But do plants even have dicks? Like is it green? Does it smell like grass? 🤔

He’s such a liar he wanted me since the day we met 😂

I saw you eyeing that cat and so did Itachi.

How do you say “Fuck you” in plant-speak?

They’re not “pink” they’re “rose”, heathen.

Ribs without sauce is like fucking without lube. Like what’s even the point?

If I could convert even one of those fucks I’d become a High Priest for Jashin.

Can’t. Kakuzu’s “withholding my paycheck” until I pay off that bounty of his that I killed. 🙄

So come with us. Everyone’s weird you’ll fit right in.

From Sasori

Elderberry, nightshade, and primrose. For now.

A mouse learns to fear other mice before it even thinks about predators.

Please stop that you gave him nightmares last time and I couldn’t work on my puppets for a whole week 😒

I don’t care as long as it has a big enough space for a lab.

Damn blue eyes trapped me for eternity.

An interesting experiment, certainly.

I have vague memories but that’s all.

You appear to be “friends” so talk to him and tell him to back off.

Who do you think I am? That freak Orochimaru?!

I don’t buy that stupid act for a second.

If I suggested aloe vera would you find that insulting?

You and I are the least bothersome in terms of eating. I don’t, and you hunt.

I’ll contribute when the expense is relative to me.

From Kisame

So far only Itachi knows about it but the water there is clear and beautiful.

Your way of thinking is truly fascinating.

Of course you’re welcome to join us but you’ve voiced objections before to both tea and sweets.

No, I’ll BURY him myself before I let you eat him.

Crab and shrimp. Especially crab.

I’m aware. His smell is getting weaker and his chakra is shaky.

I admire your patience for it but I don’t do so well in the sun for so long.

Again? Why?? Who attracted attention this time? 😒

I don’t but Samehada seems to.

The battlefield is empty. Care to join me at the buffet? 😋

Between the prayer rituals and the constant bombing I just can’t handle either of them.

Salt is for the weak. Pure fear flavors the meat better than any seasoning.

From Deidara

You can’t prove that was me, that could have been anyone!

If I’m successful there won’t BE anything left of me to eat so 🤷🏼

Idk you just look gray. Maybe stand in the sun for a while?

Ok we may eat more BUT his food costs more!

Wait is it real hair or like plant stuff 🤔

I didn’t this time he was dancing and he tripped on his cloak like an idiot.

Honestly not until I met Sasori lol

Omg where?! Riverbanks are always a goldmine of natural clay! 🤩

I get that but I’m just not interested, eternity is so boring.

Low key he goes into this voice sometimes that scares the piss out of me.

Bc it’s weird man it’d be like watching my mother shower or something 😖

Like usual he couldn’t shut up and almost got us killed on the spot 😡

Not unless you want to pick the lice out of my hair afterwards.

From Itachi

Not sure of the exact dynamics but I think it’s second or third cousins.

Maybe it’s best we all just live with our own partners. Too many in one area and eventually someone figures it out.

No he’s as gentle as possible. I just have sensitive skin.

Yes but cabbage is so versatile.

You saw him? Did he look well? 👀

The glasses help some but most everything is still a massive blur.

I tried. Nagato tried. He refuses to give up on the idea.

There is no “before” and there’s no “after0. There’s just NOW.

No I know he ate it because he had the jam smeared all over his collar.

22 doesn’t really interest me.

From Obito

The right arm still twitches if I try to lift too much.

Come on weren’t YOU happy when he died?!

He can’t turn me down forever. Just picture him with the Uchiha fan on his back 😍

Yeah well he’s still my little cousin and I still worry.

I think it scares him a little, he almost walked into a tree that first time I did it on accident.

It’s not excessive; the sugar is literally the only thing pushing me forward right now.

I would bet money that he’s the worst Sensei ever to those kids. No wonder Sasuke was so weak.

The constant money woes are so tedious.

Blind or not his reflexes are unmatched and he could still take me out in one move.

We should have put more emphasis on intelligent and less on “skills”.

You’ve gotta admit the explosions DO liven things up 🤷🏻

What if you ate him and he could still talk from inside of your stomach though? Is that a chance you want to take?

Bonus: From Madara

He stopped responding two years ago he acts like I’m dead.

What? That little shit. 😡

If the blonde is giving him too much of a distraction, dispose of him.

You don’t need to pre-chew my food I’m not a baby bird.

Have you seen my good blanket?

What happened to my slippers?

🍆 I want this. I’m craving this so bad. Please bring it to me.

Tell that boy to come back I need a good bath and a haircut.

Perhaps if you hadn’t recruited so many *brats* you wouldn’t be having such an issue.

Whatever you do, do NOT let them breed.

Did you remember where I stashed my last painting of Hashirama?

If I was younger I could have eliminated the entire group within seconds. They’d never even know what hit them.

Please procure a backscratcher and industrial grade toenail clippers.

Wait until he sleeps and move several large rocks into his room. I guarantee he’ll cry.

First that young lass, then the Hatake boy, now the blonde. He never learns his lesson does he?

What do you mean he cut it?? An Uchiha’s hair is his crown! Tell him to get back here NOW.

I should have chosen Fugaku’s son instead. Likely a lot less crying.

#texting #zetsu #Akatsuki Daily Texts Series #nagato uzumaki #konan #itachi uchiha #kisame hoshigaki #deidara #sasori #kakuzu #hidan #obito uchiha #madara uchiha

29 notes · View notes

haet-sal · 1 year

Text

Hug in A Letter // juhaknyeon x reader

Told in a series of letters. Haknyeon never thought he’d find the person that’s the sole reason he’s alive again, or that his life would continue… and yet, now he’s in university doing both those things.

Tags: ANGST, haknyeon x reader, FLUFF, lover from the past/meant to be type of romance, cold!reader, shy!hak

Warnings: scars on wrists and arms (cause unexplained), bullying, Y/n is a rigid bitch, miscommunication, love triangle but not really

W.c.:8.8k💗💞💗💗💞

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Y/n,

You probably don’t remember me, huh?

That’s a weird way to start a letter.

Why am I weird about this? It’s not like you’d ever read it…

Sorry, I’m not a letter guy. But I just had to talk to you and if it is in the form of unread ink then let it be. I just…

I never thought I’d see you again.

Really. You were an angel that appeared to me that winter day, purer than the snow around me, even when that dirty maroon blood was tainting it: you wiped the blood off my lips with the back of your hand, and when it stained your skin, I pulled away you said:

It’ll be okay.

That’s what you said.

Today you were with your friends when I saw you. We’re in the same year. Of course we’re in the same year. It’s not news to me. It’s just…

You joined the photography club. I realized it when you were behind me, signing up for the same thing. You wrote your name under mine, and for a minute I just gawked, before I told myself to keep walking. I don’t want you to hate me.

My father’s been telling me I need to socialize like a real college student, that if I keep acting like a loser that’s all I’ll ever be. He says I should stop acting so haunted by the past, because nothing can hurt me now, but I always feel like I’m still in that snow. Not that I’m doing this for him. I’m not even doing it to see you—I know you would never like me, of course I do. I’m just… Photography sounds fun. It’s something I used to enjoy, before I became The Monster That Fails to Enjoy Anything.

Legitimate title. My sister made it up on our family vacation.

I’m still recoiling from the whiplash of having you stand there, right in front of me, or well, behind me once I turned around, anyway.

I must have turned around with my head down for a long time, because when I looked up you were walking with your friend, ahead of me.

Already people were whispering things about you, things I knew and didn’t know, like: you’ve spent a good chunk of your life overseas (knew that), your brother Younghoon is a model (knew that), your family’s famous (which I knew, more or less).

The Photography club wanted to initiate us this very night, and just before I got into the hall they rented for this, I kind of wanted to back out. Just walk backwards, say sorry, no one would miss me anyway. I wanted to see you, y/n, but also… I didn’t…

I was just scared. You’d think I’d get over all these fears after everything that happened, but really I just became more and more of a clockwork robot broken by anxiety.

One of the initial seniors from the photography club convinced me to go.

“N-no,” I said, “I’m okay.” These days my voice doesn’t reach as loud, but I hoped it was loud enough to hear—only, of course, he doesn’t care what I want.

“Come on!” His name was Jaehyun. “It’s more fun the more people we have, you’ll have fun.” I guess I got the better end of it, because the female members he recruited and persuaded into attending the club night by several winks and… this weird flirty thing he does with his eyes that makes them fall all over him.

But he knew I was nervous, so he walked me into the club, and was also the one to offer me a seat next to him, in the front row in front of the stage.

I didn’t get to look back into the crowd to see if you were there, so I tried to concentrate on the group activities, which is something I should do if I’m trying to be normal, and there was:

President Choi Chanhee, who was actually a photography major already signed to some art gallery that wants to show his photos

Ahn Sohyun, the vice-president of the club, an impressive feat since she was only a year above us.

And the new freshmen introduced themselves one by one: me, Donghyuck, Kevin Moon, a girl named Rachel, Changmin… you.

You mumbled your name like you were embarrassed to be here but I heard it nonetheless, and when you were speaking I finally got a chance to look at you—not to be creepy, but… to make sure it was you.

I mean, of course it is. You look like you, and your name… I guess I was just never sure if you existed for real, like you’re someone I only see on TV, so whenever you’re in the same room with me, it’s just…

The freshmen started to dance and have snacks after that, classic initiation night, I guess. It’s the end of summer but still feels like the middle of it, and the night was hot and everyone’s already discarded their jackets in a pile.

I’m the only one still standing with my hoodie zipped all the way up.

At first I tried to look for you, but I quickly gave up. I don’t even know what I’d say to you. It would be weird if I just kept sitting when everyone was either drinking or eating or dancing, so I tried to walk around, keeping my eyes on the ground—it’s a habit I learned a long time ago, a habit I can’t unlearn because eye contact scares me—and then I spot you, you’re talking to Choi Chanhee, about his photos and his major. I don’t even know what your major is.

The party transformed completely into a dance thing, and everyone was now crowding around the stage, where they encouraged freshmen to get up and dance, one by one. You were spared the treatment, because everyone was rather afraid of you, or were in awe—either way, you didn’t need to subject yourself to embarrassment like that.

Someone pushed me into the stage lights, I guess it was my turn–and I just froze there, on stage, and everyone’s looking. I search for you but I can’t see through the blinding lights.

“Haknyeon’s cute,” someone says.

“Haknyeon-ah! Do you have abs?”

“Show us!”

I tried to get off the stage, but just like 5 years ago I’m pushed back, there’s no way to escape, and I’m back under the lights again, and everyone’s laughing—not at me, I know that, but there’s no way to control the rapid beating of my heart.

“You’re sweating.” Rachel reached over and pulled the zipper of my hoodie down, and then quickly, with action that shows she works the coat room at restaurants, slid the hoodie off my sleeves.

I should have worn a long sleeved shirt. But I like the one I had on then, you know? I like the color of it…

At home I just walk around with short sleeves, sometimes less—my scars don’t scare me, and I’ve been living with them for, like, 4 years? 5? It’s just a part of me now. All the itching and extra skin and discoloration, it’s a part of me now.

I guess when people see it it makes them want to touch and observe me like a lab rat.

But everybody in the room did that side-eyed glance at my scars, the kind where they’re apologetic about the curiosity, but they still stare—

And that’s when I realized all the attention was on me. Even you—you were watching me, too, except you didn’t have that friendly, initiation-night smile like everybody. You had a blank stare, dark eyes like doll’s eyes, so tough but stunning. And you looked like you were bored of me, which, I have to admit, I’m bored of myself too.

But everybody else certainly wasn’t bored. They were intrigued, disgusted, whatever else—by the scars on my arms. I gingerly put my hoodie back on, while you just looked away.

So you don’t remember me?

Rachel was the one that handed me the hoodie back—it wouldn’t help me now, but it would palliate the staring—and when I looked back at you, you’re talking to Chanhee again, although he looked distracted.

The party went on all night, and I had half a mind to just stay for half of it, and after the scar thing no one talked to me, anyway. There was free beer, though, so I drank a little. It would be weird if I walked out after that scene—but also no one was talking to me.

I lounged around for a bit in the room, but suddenly someone takes me by the arm, and I’m walking unwillingly out the hall.

It’s Ji Changmin, who is nice enough. He grins at me. “We needed some fresh air,” he says, “here, I bought you your own cold one.” It was a beer.

It was club night all over campus, so there were people from every club walking around us, as we sat on a bench behind the garden statue, shrouded in the dark.

“It’s alright,” Changmin told me. “It’s not on you that everyone is a freak.”

I don’t like that word, as much as I use it on me. Plus, the fact that they stare makes me the freak, not them.

“If they stare, it’s because they’re mannerless bastards. Not because of anything you did.”

We just sipped from our cans in turn, sometimes talking about our lives, as we introduced ourselves to the other. Changmin initially wanted to join the dance club, but apparently he was ‘overqualified’ and Chanhee, the president, asked him to join his club, ‘on knifepoint’, he says, “he was literally pointing a pair of scissors at me when he asked me to join.”

As we sat in the dark, people would pass by, sometimes talking about me.

“Did you see the scars on him?” comes a voice, and Changmin saw me cowering in my seat, although we were covered by the statue and they couldn’t see that I was sitting right there. He nodded at me to be quiet, it would be over, anyway. “He must be sick—do you think someone did it to him?”

“Maybe he did it himself. Look at the look in his eyes—crazy son of a bitch.” I held my breath until those people had passed by.

Changmin sighed at me. Clinked our beer cans together. “Here’s to this semester—at least you’re being talked about.”

We both walked back to our dorms later that night, but with a group from the club. I’m finally included in a group, again… it feels good. But I know you went back in that blue racecar-looking… thing… that’s way too cool to be called a car, and I know you have an apartment somewhere close but also expensive. Tonight, like always, that day flashes by in my eyes, and like always, I wonder, why me? Why did you save me? Were you just bored? Righteous? I can’t think of more reasons.

I don’t know how to sign this letter so I’ll just write:

From,

Haknyeon

Dear Y/N,

I guess you’re looking out for me, even till now. You’re really a nice person. I can’t even stop telling you how nice of a person you are, if only I could get the words out… if only we could talk.

Changmin is still the only person that talks to me. It’s great that we’re in the same major together, and although you’re not, your name is the only thing on everybody’s lips. It’s quite a major feat.

“Y/N spent half her life in America.”

“Y/N’s brother, Younghoon, is an international model.”

“Y/n’s a bitch.”

This statement broke through the gossip that started before the lecture, and I almost turned around to see the source of it, because who’s saying that—but I fought the urge, I was going to lay low, anyway, plus I can’t act like I know you, because I don’t.

“What do you mean, she’s a bitch?” someone asks. Thank God, I’m not the only one with questions.

“Did you see the way she didn’t talk to anybody except for the club president, Chanhee? She’s only interested in connections.”

“Of course, she’s raised like that… rich people have no manners.”

“She told me to shut up this morning—like, real mean, glaring, ‘shut the fuck up’. And she stared down everybody at my table—that qualifies as bitchy, doesn’t it?”

“Jeez, what were you saying?”

“I was just saying—” the guy’s voice drops to a lower octave, but the lecture hall was dead silent that I could hear: “—was just saying Juhaknyeon’s weird, that everyone saw his arms last night, and it’s covered in scars, just discussing it, civilly.”

“And she told you to shut up?!” someone asks in shock.

“She threw a coke can at me. ‘Shut the fuck up’ real messed up, angry voice.”

Someone laughs. “Does Y/N L/N like that guy? Like, for real? Because why else would she—”

“Who knows? But they filmed him taking his jacket off, didn’t you know?” someone says. “Everyone in the uni knows he’s a freak—no matter what Y/N has to say about it.”

I guess I’m screwed. I guess we’re both screwed. But… is it okay that I feel a little happy about this? I always knew I would have a hard time fitting in, but the fact that you’re trying to defend me makes me happy. That I’m kind of in this with you—you, and Changmin.

I guess it kind of makes me a loser if I keep thinking of you as a friend. We haven’t even talked.

Anyway, thank you.

From,

Haknyeon

Dear Y/N,

I don’t get it. Why are you doing this to me?

The more I think about it, the more it looks like it’s just a long-winded joke. Your brother or someone set you up to this. It’s surprising that you’re here, but more surprising that you act like you know me.

We don’t know each other. I keep telling myself that.

Today is club day, and they’re going to a village somewhere in the rural parts, apparently there’s a waterfall there. Chanhee funded the trip, but needs more people to sign up. I almost didn't go, no one asked me specifically, and Changmin’s not going, either. I wanted to lay low.

I thought you were going, but soon Sohyun and Rachel cornered you and asked if you would. You looked annoyed. You always do, but…

“Ask Haknyeon,” you told Rachel. “If he goes I’ll go too.” And then you slammed your locker shut.

Of course that day only ended with Rachel, Yunjin, Sakura, all the other boys and girls with a crush on you, cornering me and asking me to go on the trip.

It’s funny, because they never even considered me as part of the club, and now they’re begging me, “Haknyeon it’ll be so fun. You’re one of us!” It’s… hilarious. If only I still had a heart to laugh…

But all this socialization in my life trained me into being unable to say no as an answer… so of course I’m going, and I told them that. Rachel excitedly walked off to tell you—I don’t know what your face looked like when she told you.

Why would you do this to me? Why would you mention me by name and force me into that? It’s strange, Y/N, do you still see me as that boy in the snow? That I’m weak, that you could destroy me?

You could destroy me, I know that. But why would you want to? I thought you were nice to me.

I guess I’m going… on that bus with the rest of the club on that long winded road. To a motel surrounded by farms. I still don’t understand why you mentioned me, except if it were some sick joke.

I guess I’ll see you on the bus.

From,

Juhaknyeon

Dear Y/n,

Fuck. Did we just fight? What is this?

I’m writing this on my notes app in the back of the bus while that guy Donghyuck’s beside me, eyes closed, trying to sleep. I don’t even feel like this is secure enough of a position to write to you, because what if the words mirror off the window and everyone can see?

But I’m hiding and writing.

Why am I such an idiot? There’s no one I want to meet more than myself, so I could beat him up. I’d skin him from the inside out if I could, that bastard.

So today started with the bus ride—I mean, literally started, I wasn’t even awake until the bus started moving—and I was completely resigned to my fate, this would be three whole days of torture, living with people, riding a bus through roads that could make the strongest stomachs carsick… hotel food… the list goes on.

You enter the bus with a frown and your bag, and sit in a single seat at the front. I gawked at you for a second, before I realized that other people could see me looking and draw conclusions.

So I sat in a four-seater, don’t know how I ended up there—with Donghyuck and Rachel and Sakura.

“Does y/n like you?” Donghyuck asked somewhere along the ride, just when we were starting to doze off.

I just shifted in my seat, not making eye contact. I think someone needs to teach me the art of eye contact again, because now people’s gazes scare me, especially kids my age. It’s like they’re searching for a way to bring me down, they could get up at the next move and just—I feel safer with my eyes closed or on the ground. “No,” I answered. Well, it had been more like, n-n-n-no.

“I mean it just doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t even smile to anyone, but with you—” Donghyuck sucked in a breath. The others with him just nodded along. “She even told Sohyun she’s not going on this trip if you don’t come, isn’t that weird?”

“Maybe she didn’t want Hak to be left out?” suggests Rachel. “Because of freak-rumors and such?”

“You must think she’s an angel or something,” says Sakura. “Y/N’s so nice to you, isn’t she? She made sure you got on this trip.”

Just as I feared: food from unrated restaurants in the middle of nowhere. The bus stops for relief, and we eat, if Changmin were here maybe I would be more comfortable but I’m just sitting with Donghyuck and the girls, we ordered bibimbap, which even the four of us couldn’t finish.

You sat away from everybody, in a solitary table eating nothing. You bought a coke bottle, though, and kept drinking. I stared at you for a bit, which made Donghyuck nudge Sakura. “They’re in love,” he told her. “It’s some secret relationship.”

Our secret relationship came to this.

I cornered you beside the bus stop where you were washing your hands; everybody was still eating. You glared at me when I came near, so I knew I wasn’t welcome, but I was kind of mad at you, too, so:

“Why are you doing this to me?” was my first question. I didn’t mean for it to come out like a demanding challenge.

“Doing ‘this’ to ‘you’?”

“Why did you tell them you’d only go if I came?” You looked even more annoyed than before, so I go on: “is this… a joke? Did someone put you up to this? Are you trying to hurt—”

“Idiot,” you sneered under your breath. “Fucking idi—I didn’t want to come, as you can see, I didn’t think you would! I just said that so we could both stay home, but who fucked it up, Haknyeon, who?” You kicked at the wall in front of you angrily, and I stepped back a little, trying to give an angry person space. You just rolled your eyes, and then walked past me, colliding first into my shoulder deliberately.

When we all get back on the bus, you’re in your single-seat, sunglasses on, with a frown on your face. Someone asked you “who shit in your coffee?” and you snarled through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up.”

Now I’m here sitting beside Donghyuck. Did we fight? Do we even know each other well enough to fight?

I just don’t get it. I hate myself for fighting with you, I should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t know why I started it in the first place—it’s not like I’ll ever get real answers, anyway. I should have shut up, now I feel like I’ve lost your trust, and whatever you felt when you were protecting me, you wouldn’t do it again.

I really hate myself right now.

From,

Juhaknyeon

Dear Y/N,

You’re sleeping 4 feet away from me right now, which is, well, cool, but I’m gonna stay awake all night to make sure you’re safe. The latch to the door is broken for some reason, adding to my vigilance. Plus everyone in the club is horribly drunk, so I…

I’m gonna stay awake. Gives me more time to write this letter, anyway.

Just to recap because I feel like we might forget how we ended up here:

The bus ride was horrible. It’s more horrible that we’re gonna have to ride it all over again when we get back to the city later, it gave everyone motion sickness. No one’s prepared for the ride home.

But we saw the waterfalls! Well, the rest of us did, anyway. You stayed on the bus playing games on your phone. I snooped around and gawked a little–it’s one of those dashing games. I guess even that monotony is better than hanging out with the rest of us, huh.

Chanhee loves the waterfalls (read: took 19,686 pictures). Everyone did, actually. You can’t see anything from the bus, but inside there’s a stream and it’s really pretty. Everyone swam. Except me, I guess, you can probably guess why I didn’t.

And then we drove to the motel, where we were planning to get drunk for the whole night. I thought it’d make everything weird if I went, so I didn’t go. I just sat in the motel room, charging my phone. Thinking of writing you another letter, but I don’t even know what I’d say.

The guys went out to drink around 9. At 10, there’s a knock on the door—the latch is broken, so it just slides to the side.

Your head poked in. “Oh, you.”

I gawked at you wordlessly, pathetically actually. But you didn’t hate me so much. “Can I stay here for a bit? It’s scary in my room.”

I nodded, and you came in, immediately lying down on the mattress they laid down for us. “Aren’t you gonna get some shut-eye, too?” you asked me.

I just shook my head. We stayed there in silence for so long. I wanted to ask why you didn’t go to drink, but I couldn’t get it out, couldn’t get myself to speak to you. You let me do my thing, which was staring at my phone like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, when really all I wanted to do was stare at your face. Ask you questions. All about you, all about that day in the snow.

You spoke first, though. I never speak. “I’m sorry about earlier today.”

I wasn’t expecting an apology at all, so I’m surprised. “Huh?” finally, some sound from me.

“I was just… I didn’t eat anything, so I guess I was hangry. It’s fucked up. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

I shrugged. “Used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be used to people treating you like that.”

You looked at me in a special, peculiar way. Not hating but also not enjoying my company. You saw me scratching the tag on my back, it’s hot and I’m covered in sweat. And I’m still wearing a jacket over my shirt. “Take it off,” you say, “the motel heating is fucking off its rocks, it’s like 30 degrees in here.”

I just shook my head and mumbled it’s not hot at all, but…

You crawled over to me and swiped the sweat off my forehead. “It’s just the two of us here, Haknyeon.”

I gripped at my sleeves. “No…”

You gave up easily, thank God. You sat back on the mattress. “Fine, I guess. I’m sleepy.”

“Do you remember me?” I ask out of the blue, and it should have been quiet, I didn’t even mean it for you to hear, I was just wondering it to myself, it’s become a habit of speaking my thoughts out loud because usually no one’s around to hear…

“Do you know me?” you asked in return, louder than me this time.

I looked away. “No.” Which was true, I didn’t know you other than that day and chance sightings, and I’m not delusional enough to force a connection.

“I’m sleeping,” you say. “I trust you, so I’ll just sleep here. Is that okay?”

I said yeah, and then you’re curled up with a pillow. I dug up a fan from the closet and plugged it in facing you so you’d be a little cool. I’m still keeping my jacket on, though. It just gets weird if anyone sees it, even you, who knows how I got them.

Thank you for trusting me.

From,

Haknyeon

[continued on back page]

Okay, I just… I’m having flashbacks again, as bad as it is. You’re still asleep. I’m writing this in the small flashlight, in case turning the big lights on would wake you up. There’s been a few club people coming back to sleep, but I won’t let them in my room—not unless it’s a girl that I can trust around you anyway, but neither Rachel nor Sohyun are back.

5 years ago was the worst year of my life. I guess it was always like that since I was a kid, people didn’t seem to take my side in fights, or I was always under the upperhand… but it didn’t get as bad as freshman year of high school.

On the day you talked to me, it was snowing.

Winter may be the cruelest month to do these things in. One time I stood wearing a mere short-sleeved school shirt in ankle-high snow, with the boys all standing around me—my puffer jacket was clogging the toilet in a stall on the second floor—and they were saying “it’s not that cold,” all the while wearing 4 layers, the pure irony. And the snow fell all around us.

On the day you talked to me, they weren’t around. I was bleeding from my head, I swear the blood was frozen and congealed with my eyelashes, everything was just cold and painful, and I was wearing one jacket. Hands in my pockets. They’d intimidated me into kneeling in the snow, and demanded that I kneeled there until they came back. It was almost past lunch, and they would either actually come back to torment me more or just go back to their classes, mindless of me.

I tried to report them, a few times. I tried to get my parents to help me. It was always the same thing—even the bullies themselves wouldn’t come to the office with me, it would be the students’ representative, which happened to be your brother, Younghoon–he’d apologize, and do nothing. He just kept saying “we’re all friends. We just need to respect each other.” to me, as if I was the one needing to respect people.

You walked up to me, that day in the snow. It was lunch time, and everyone was eating inside, I know students stared but they never got closer. But you did.

“Get up,” was what you said. Just like now, today, you’re impossible to read. I thought you were angry at me—I’ve seen you before, I know you’re Younghoon’s sister, I know nobody could help me, so…

“Get up, let’s go to the hospital.”

I didn’t move. If anything, I kneeled firmer than before, sinking into the snow, head facing the ground. I’m meant to be sorry, although I don’t know for what.

“Get up!” you yelled at me. “If you won’t get up, you’re gonna get sicker.”

You kneeled down with me, and I opened my mouth, I said, “don’t,” the sound got away from us with the wind and you didn't hear it.

You wiped the blood off my brows. “It’ll be okay.” It was staining your hands, and then it fell onto the snow, maroon against pure white. I was the one dirtying it.

That’s when I looked up at you, finally, although I wasn’t supposed to. “Kneel with your head bowed” had been the order. But when I looked…

You looked angry. “Get up,” you said again, this time with your arm hooking with mine to pull me up. And yet, I planted myself on the ground, afraid they would hurt us both if you got me.

“Juhaknyeon, please.” You knew my name. That was the most surprising part of it. “Get up, come on.”

Tears and blood congealed and froze around my temples, I don’t know what I’m doing. Crying icicle tears and still planting my knees on the ground. I can’t get up, I can’t.

You gave up eventually, and I didn’t watch it happen—I kept my eyes on the ground. Praying for something. But when you came all my prayers were answered, and after that… they never bothered me again.

I don’t know what you did, but I know you did something. It was you. You did more than Younghoon ever could, you saved me.

I’m always going to see you as an angel, that day in the snow. I’m sorry my blood stained you, it was dirty. I’m trying to never bleed that way again. Thank you for then. I think you might be the sole reason I’m alive. Now I have to protect you, which is why I’m here staying up. In the moonlight, the outline of your nose is really pretty.

That’s creepy to say. I just wanted to compliment you, sorry.

Note to self: just so I remember to tell you: Rachel eventually came back to the bedrooms and I let her sleep in the same room with you, warning her that the latch to the door is broken. Writing this in my own room with Kevin and Chanhee. It smells like soju here it’s unbearable. I hope you’re sleeping well, though, good night.

—Hak

Dear Y/N,

Are we friends now? It feels like I need a bigger audacity to assume that. An audacity I don’t have.

I guess if the things that happened to me didn’t happen, I would be a happy person. Someone who easily makes friends, someone kind… As much as I wish I were that person, I also don’t want someone else to go through what I did. I guess I just think that I can take the worst of it. Anyway, today it really feels like the worst of it is over. Changmin texted me ‘hey loser, how was the trip’ and I wrote back. I finally have a friend… or friends, since the whole club is so nice to me.

I don’t know why, but they’re a little iffy about you. I find it weird they think badly about you, but when I try to defend you it just makes things worse. I would tell people that you helped me out back in high school, but… I don’t know if you’d like to let people know we’ve known each other that long.

Man, you can sleep. You sat on the bus with your head resting on the window, and just went to sleep. It’s not even like you’re part of the hangover crowd, which everybody is, because just look at Chanhee. I’ve never seen eyes that tired.

You pulled me in to sit with you, though, and like everything you do, I don’t understand it. I just sit quietly. Writing to Changmin on the phone, which I have all sounds off and set on vibrate mode, so it doesn’t disturb you. Everyone’s quiet, and the bus curtains are drawn.

Some time along the ride, your sleeping figure started to lean on me. You were asleep, I’m sure, and that moment was when I let myself dream…

In the universe where I was never hurt, I have an audacity big enough to believe I should be the one kissing your lips. I ask you out. You fall asleep on me, just like this. You put your hand in mine. You feel my forehead by pressing yours against it when I get sick. When I lean into you, you won’t pull away—because I’m not a loser with scars. Because I’m not me. And that’s the only way you’d ever like me.

I thought no one saw us, that we were shrouded on the dark bus… but I guess everyone saw. When we’re on campus again, Donghyuck and the others teased me about it, some of them clasping my arm in a side-hug.

“Juhaknyeon, what the hell did you do that the ice princess is all over you?”

I don’t know, either. I just don’t know why you would keep helping me all this time.

From,

Hak

Dear Y/N,

Okay, I feel like I need to apologize for my earlier wishful behavior that you were mine, because today you came to the club meeting with your boyfriend.

Of course you have a boyfriend. I shouldn’t be surprised. I guess it’s a good pairing, too, because Youngjae is bright, happy, so funny, and his family is just as affluent as yours. I guess he’s the exact type you should ever go for.

But anyway Youngjae arrived at our club meeting today all flashy, and Chanhee was over the moon because apparently they know each other. Youngjae’s parents own a gallery and everything, and they talked for a bit. You looked so happy and bright, bragging about your boyfriend. “This is Eric! He and I got close when I was studying in L.A.”

And Eric mingled with the club, everyone likes him. Some people thought we were a budding love triangle, though, if only they knew how we were really connected. They’d just feel bad for me, hoping on someone just because they saved my life once.

“Ayy,” someone went, whistling over the club sounds, “what about Juhaknyeon… he’s gonna be heart broken his princess has someone like Eric.”

“Are you jealous, Hak?”

I just shook my head.

But later when we’re partnering up for the club projects, you jumped over to my desk and said you wanted me as a partner. I guess you really do think of me as a friend—which I’m happy about! If nothing else at least we’re friends.

So now we’re partners in this project. Chanhee gifted me a camera to use for the club—he has many, he says. I would be bragging about it to you, but Eric’s around, and… I didn’t want to complicate things for you.

Eric tried to talk to me, though, which I found weird. He asked me about my major, how life is, and all that. Do you talk to him about me? I guess it’s only natural… But at the end of it, he told me, “I think you’re a good guy, Hak.” I guess that means he trusts me around you?

I kind of feel bad for wishing you were mine, because I don’t know, it just feels wrong now, and I’m sorry. Anyway, in other news, Sohyun asked me out today. She wanted to know straight up if we ‘wanted to try’ to date, and I said yes, I mean… just for the experience? Plus she’s always nice. I want to thank you for always being kind to me, though, because without you I wouldn’t have the confidence to go out with her.

I’ll try to actually talk to you sometime.

From,

Your Hak

Dear Y/N,

Eric was kind of aggressive towards me when I saw him at the end of all my classes, in the parking lot. I don’t even know why, because I just found out you two aren’t dating, so… why was he so mean, out of nowhere?

I guess I want to ask you but I don’t want to make you mad, either.

You looked actually happy when I met you for the project today. The whole catch is that we don’t have to do anything, really, for the club, our photos probably won’t even be selected for Chanhee’s project. But I tell you this and you said:

“No way! You like taking photos, so we’re gonna take your work to the gallery!”

You weren’t frowning or cursing when you said that, and you seem… not mad. Maybe I am a good influence around you, haha.

I should ask about you and Youngjae, I thought, so I did, “so you must be really glad Eric flew all the way here from L.A.? What are you guys doing?”

The same expression on your face that resembled gray clouds. “We’re just hanging out.”

Okay…

“So how long have you been dating?”

You gasped. “Wait you thought—”

I’m embarrassed for embarrassing you. “You’re not—?!”

“Eric’s a friend.” You frowned, looking down at the ground. You didn’t meet my eyes for a long time. “You thought we were dating? And you were happy about it?”

I don’t understand why you’d be upset that I’m happy for you… I didn’t say that, though. I just shrugged. “Sorry, it’s just—you two looked really close, and when you introduced him—”

“And you were happy I’m taken?” you shrugged my hand off you, and I didn’t put it on your shoulder a second time. “Anyway. We’ll take pictures good enough to get into Chanhee’s collection, alright?”

“I think we should make you the subject,” I told you. “You’re the prettiest thing anyone can photograph…” I trailed off. I wished I hadn’t said that, and anyway you barely heard me.

But you did hear me, though. You barked out a horrible laugh. “I guess now that you know I’m single, you can flirt all you want, huh?”

I tried to defend myself: “I wasn’t flirting, I was just saying you’re—”

You didn’t listen to me, you were playing with your camera.

You were in a good mood, up until lunch time. I sat with the photography club, and you mindlessly followed me there with your tray. The usual gossip ensued, but I wasn’t paying attention to it, I was just looking over at you. If you were eating well.

Sakura mentions my name and I suddenly get sucked back to reality. “So, Haknyeon and Sohyun are a thing now, right?”

“Holding hands~” Donghyuck teases, “there’s a photo of you two in the campus couples’ instagram.”

“Congratulations, you two…”

I looked away, unable to take the attention, and across from me Sohyun smiled. “Thanks, you guys…”

“Haknyeon and Sohyun?” I’ve never heard your voice so small, it made me cock my head to the side to watch you speak. You’re standing with your back turned to me. “They’re dating?”

“Holding hands,” says Rachel.

“Ah, Y/N’s sad~ She likes Haknyeon,” someone says.

You glared at Sohyun. “You think I don’t see right through you?” you hissed at her, and then you stood up, with a tray of half-eaten food, and walked off. I should have tried to stop you, because you never eat well, but Sohyun tried to talk to me now, and I can’t just shrug her off, we’re sort of an item now. I tried to text you, though, and you didn't reply. I’m still waiting on the text about the project.

Which brings me to my next recount: I don’t know what’s with it, but, like, Eric was kind of aggressive towards me when I saw him at the parking lot today. He bumped into my shoulder, actually rather harshly, and went: “next time think about what you’re doing.” What does he mean? I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, per se, at least to him…?

Anyway, I’m still waiting on your text. I’m thinking, I’ll really have you read all these letters, just so you can understand me better. I don’t like it when we fight.

Anyway, I’m sorry. If you’re in a bad mood you can come to me, though. :)

Your Haknyeon

Dear Y/N,

This is a joke. I might never forget this conversation, it’s riding my mind and I can’t—

Y/n, you’re lying, there’s no way that

This is killing me.

When you met me today you’re actually in a good mood. You don’t even always dress like this… colorful, like spring flowers. You look pretty.

Words just flow and flow out of you, and sometimes you’d ask me about Sohyun.

(“Did you go on a date with her?” “Yeah” *snort* “That’s great.”)

I asked you why you didn’t bring your camera, and you shrugged. “It was actually Eric’s. I don’t actually own a camera—I don’t like taking photos.”

“But the club—?”

“Listen,” you said, “I might have learned the basics on lighting and angles, but I have no interest in photography and my gallery on my phone is all empty—I don’t even have an instagram.”

“I don’t have insta either—Wait, you don’t like photos?” I asked. “Then why did you—come here? This far? Join the club?”

“You were in line,” you say. “In front of me. I saw you, so I… signed up right after you.”

“What?”

“I like you.”

I made a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a cry. I don’t ask ‘what’ again, even though we both know that’s what I’m thinking.

“Haknyeon,” you say, “no matter how anti-social everybody else in the world thinks I am, I still try to be your friend, don’t I? I’m the one making the first move everywhere with you—I ask you to sit next to me on the bus, I invite you to parties myself, I asked you to be my project partner.”

“Y-yeah,” I say slowly, camera dropping to hang on my neck heavily. Nervous, so I’m playing with my hands. “Um… why do you do that?”

“Because I like you,” you insist. I’m dumbfounded, but you look angry that I’m dumbfounded and don’t believe you.

“You like me?” I probe, “After you’ve seen me in the snow—after you saw me like that, all… hurt…”

“I've liked you since then,” you say. “Actually, even before that. Before we even met in the snow. I always knew who you were, and liked you.”

I just gawk wordlessly until it makes you roll your eyes.

“Well,” you say, sighing, “you have a girlfriend, so I’m confessing. I know nothing will come out of it.”

“You don’t know,” I said suddenly, before I could stop myself.

“Don’t know what?”

“My pain. You don’t know how bad it is, how painful it was, so… you can’t like me. Because you don’t know me.”

You scoffed. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t know anything, huh.”

But I was wrong, Y/N, which I just decided I am, after I’m in bed thinking about today. I was wrong. I mean, there’s no way you like me, maybe you’re confused—a 5-year-old confusion. But I was wrong to assume you had no pain in your life. The way you glared at me when I said it just says it all. I was wrong to say that… But I guess now I can't take what I said back.

From,

Hak

Dear Y/N,

I have a feeling I might need to talk to you instead of writing letters I’ll never send. Maybe this will be the last one.

I just needed to talk to you about Sohyun.

We’re not dating anymore. I don't know what you'll think, it’s not like you were betting on us failing, but… well, nothing could keep us together! Not when Sohyun only wanted me to one-up you, anyway—and, yes, I knew it all along. I just pretended to be an idiot for a bit. I thought…

Nevermind what I thought.

What were you thinking?

Sohyun and I met at the school cafe after dark. She was angry, and I swear something was off, and one of her acrylic nails was broken. She was fuming when she stormed towards me, it was almost scary. “I’m going to fucking kill Y/N L/n!”

I’m always a little guarded for you, so I ask what happened.

“She attacked me,” Sohyun insisted. “She yelled at me—oh, I am writing this on the college forum, let everybody know what a fucking freak that girl is—she gets everywhere because her family’s famous, she’s arrogant, you know—”

“What did you do?” I asked out of the blue, just because I wanted to know, but she changed her entire demeanor at me, like a bird with ruffled feathers. A fight.

“What?” she spoke with narrowed eyes (that was about the time I realized I fucked up), “What does it matter what I did? She came over to my table and yelled insults at me.”

“What did you do that made her mad?” I asked. It might have been the most engaged I’ve ever been in any conversation with Sohyun, and it pains me to admit it’s about you.

“I’m dating you, if someone attacks me this way, you’re supposed to protect me,” Sohyun says adamantly, wringing her wrists everywhere. I think she might be madder at me than at you. “What kind of boyfriend—do you know what I go through trying to support you, walking on eggshells about those ugly fucking scars all over you, everyone thinks I’m a saint, so you should also—”

“Okay,” I say.

“I’m just saying, I do it out of the goodness of my heart, Haknyeon. Not just being your friend, but also trying to be your girlfriend.”

“Well you don’t have to be either.”

She gasps. “I am not getting dumped by a—” She hurled insults at me, one after another, that I was barely even sorry for her anymore. At the end of it, I smiled. My first real smile in a while.

“Dump me, then. Whatever you feel fits. I’m going home.” It was the most damage I could do, with my character. Somebody else would have hurt her more. I slinged my bag over my shoulder, and walked out on her.

I think I might need to give up on the Photography Club. I made an enemy out of the vice president, after all. It’s funny, it genuinely brought me joy, but I don’t feel bad when I think about leaving.

Because you don’t like it there, either.

—Your Hak

You’re sitting on a bench outside of the dorms, even though you don’t live there. It wasn’t the first time. You know Haknyeon’s window has to be somewhere in the visible lighted up windows, and sometimes you walk by, just to see if it’s still lighted up, or if it’s off, he’s sleeping, or sitting in the dark. As creepy as that is. You’ve always been curious about him, ever since high school. After that day in the snow, you threatened his bullies. You had to move away to America after that, but you made Younghoon keep an eye on them, never hurt a hair on Haknyeon’s head ever again.

You liked him for so long, and you hoped, if you ever did meet again, you’d at least have the courage to say hi. But it really happened, and the first night you saw him again, you couldn’t gather the courage. Instead you talked to Chanhee, and everybody else, just anyone but him. You couldn’t gather the strength.

You only loved him in the only way you knew how: protecting him. Telling people off when they used him as a gossip tool. When Sohyun used him… you fought back. That’s how you ended up here, in front of his dorms, with a swollen eyelid.

It’s necessary to mention you’ve never been in a fight before.

“What are you doing here?”

That’s Haknyeon deep voice, which you recognized immediately. With a sigh, you turn around.

“It’s not so I can see you, trust me.”

Back to his withdrawn character, he balances himself on his heels, mumbling, “why fight?”

“I think you mean ‘why did you fight’?” He kept staring at the ground. “Your taste is girlfriends is horrible…” You tutted. But your eye was hurting. “Do you have an ice pack or something? My eye really hurts.” Which was half truth but half just wanting to spend time with him.

Haknyeon takes you to a convenience store in the corner of the building block, and basically nurses you, carefully pressing the ice pack to your eye.

“How could her nail just scratch you?”

“Ow,” you say, “be gentle.”

“By the way, you’re really bad at fighting.”

“I literally fought her for y—” you stop yourself. “I mean. I just… she’s annoying.”

“I never realized.”

“Yeah, your perfect little girlfriend, huh?” you scoffed.

Haknyeon smiled like he had a secret, as he hummed, pressing the pack to your eye. “It must really hurt…”

“I think you’re been in more pain than me.” It just slipped out of your mouth, so you backpedal. “I mean… fuck, what’s wrong with me?”

“So you do remember everything,” he concluded.

“I don’t forget anything about you, actually. Not since the day we met—but meeting you here was an accident, I thought I’d have to search through facebook or insta to get your contact back again.”

“Well, I don’t use instagram so you’re lucky we met here…” Haknyeon smiled, expression warm and the ice pack on your face lessening the swelling. “Do you really mean it, that you’ve liked me since high school?”

“Every day since I met you. It’s love at first sight.”

“You don’t look like the type to believe in it, funnily.” He looks up at you, grinning. He’s never looked at you this way before—his eyes had some wonder in them. Like the space between stars, dark under the streetlight shade. “I don’t have a girlfriend, if you were wondering.”

Doubtfully, you quirk an eyebrow at him. “For real?”

“I decided ice princesses are better than universal-nice girls.” Haknyeon grinned at you. “I’m not… I’m not saying I need an answer straight away, though. It’s fine if you’ve changed your mind—”

“Haknyeon,” you say, “I made up my mind 5 years ago, when I saw you in the snow.” You reach over and swipe at the hair on his forehead, just like you wiped the blood back then. “Is this okay?” you ask, inching closer towards him.

“It’s okay.” His eyes closed, as if he’s trying to feel the moment with every cell in his body, and you take the opportunity to kiss him, closed eyelids and soft lips.

When you pull away, you swear you’ve never seen Haknyeon so smiley. Which makes you gloat. “Let’s see Sohyun top that,” you hissed under your breath. Ha! You kissed your crush of 5 years.

And you would keep kissing him… and kissing him and kissing him. And he never pulls away from you, no matter how cold, annoying, or mean you get. Sometimes all three of it at once.

“You’re dating Juhaknyeon,” Donghyuck gushes. “I mean, I knew you liked him, but what’s all that with Eric, and Sohyun—”

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you answered, “ever since freshman year of high school.” And you don’t hold his hand but you look over at him, into his sparkling eyes.

“Wow,” says Donghyuck. “First love?”

“Wow,” says Chanhee, with more emphasis. “Our first photography club couple!”

Haknyeon’s slowly starting to wear short sleeves, now. Soon it’ll be spring, and you can see the cherry blossoms, in the warm weather… and he’ll take off his jacket for once. Scars do heal and fade, and after you’ve kissed his, he swears, they’re fading out more quickly than ever. Not that you needed them to fade: you loved him for the scars, not despite, and you like him, just like this.

For Chanhee’s project, Haknyeon submits just one entry: you, in the snow, wearing almost the same outfit when he met you. This time, the snow remains white, pure. He’s not bleeding anymore.

#the boyz scenarios #tbz imagines #the boyz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #Juhaknyeon x reader #juhaknyeon imagines #haknyeon x reader #haknyeon imagines #tbz scenarios

55 notes · View notes

the-sparrow-sings · 2 years

Note

REGARDING THE CORRUPTION POST-- YOU GET IT!!!!!! YES THAT'S EXACTLY IT

AHH THANK YOU FOR MESSAGING ME ABOUT IT!! I WAS GOING TO MAKE A POST DELVING DEEPER INTO IT BUT I GOT DISTRACTED

Okay so these are my tags for those who haven’t seen them on @floating-goblin-art ‘s beautiful post about Reaver hiding horns under his hat(link added for those who haven’t seen the art I’m referring to)

But yeah context given, I need to Brain Dump about this after doing a little more thinking, because it makes SENSE!!

There are a LOT of characters who should have more evidence of corruption in Fable 2 with how easy it is for Sparrow’s appearance to change (admittedly it’s hard to necessarily say who has hero blood, and it IS possible that the whole horns thing was meant to just be an Archon blood thing, but there are characters who we go up against that in my opinion most likely have Hero Blood—like Dash, the Bandit who claims to be “The Fastest Man Alive”, and the Cult Leader who you can kill to protect Oakfield)

However, if we assume that Morality in Fable (2, at least) is NOT judged by an otherworldly being, but the values of an individual and their lifestyle personally, it would make more sense that they don’t end up sprouting horns or glowing cracks in their skin even when the narrative clearly shows them as villainous. Sparrow on the other hand, we know grew up on stories of Heroism that Rose made up for them until her death, and that they FINISHED growing up under Theresa’s guidance and training for the explicit purpose of getting vengeance upon Lucian. The specific types of things that raise CORRUPTION(not Evil) in Fable 2 relate VERY well to the base of Sparrow as they’re shown in game and that fascinates me.

It’s been a while since I’ve played, but if I remember correctly the biggest “Corrupting” influences in Fable 2 are 1: Rich Foods and Alcohol, and 2: Raising Rent Prices. The rent prices specifically are a betrayal of who Sparrow was as a child—they grew up on the streets before Theresa took them in, to raise the rent and further impoverish families is not only a shitty thing to do, but it’s SPECIFICALLY shitty from the perspective of Sparrow’s childhood. The food is fascinating as well, because when I first played the game I thought “Well this is kind of fucked up” from the perspective of disordered eating, but I don’t think it’s ACTUALLY about the Food and Alcohol itself—this may be a reach, but I suspect that the reason cooked foods(and alcohol in general) raise corruption is that they represent slowing down to enjoy life, as opposed to remaining staunchly devoted to The Mission™️ and avenging Rose.

Theresa reminds us throughout the narrative that Sparrow has a PURPOSE. I suspect that betrayals of that purpose are what cause corruption, since I don’t think we get any corruption when we perform Evil acts in The Spire.

As far as Reaver goes, he as a character REPRESENTS the things that are Corruption for Sparrow, and yet he’s beautiful(narratively speaking, regardless of personal opinion, though I obviously agree. ALSO it’s fascinating that Sparrow gains Evil but no corruption for carrying out the sacrifice on the girl in the Shadow Court). This makes sense because Reaver himself feels no remorse for the drinking and the killing and the hedonistic enjoyment of his life—he feels guilt over Oakvale, but that was centuries ago, and he hadn’t known the cost when he made his deal. In truth, I actually think failing to ENJOY his long life would be corruption to Reaver, because if he’s not enjoying his life than everyone he ever knew in Oakvale died in vain.

That makes me think that in Fable 3 (which has no corruption mechanic, but I’m getting more into Lore territory than actual mechanics) Reaver HAS failed to enjoy himself. Reaver’s betrayed the man he’s spent CENTURIES as by trying to erase all history of his Piracy. This is my opinion, but Reaver in Fable 2 seemed much more ALIVE and overall pleased with life than he does in Fable 3. In Fable 2, we saw that most people Reaver rubbed shoulders with were other Pirate types and in general grittier people, where as in Fable 3 he’s surrounded by rich idiots (and also Balverines, but these Balverines are also very likely rich idiots)

This may just be the unrepentant Spreaver shipper in me—but I do feel as though it may have something to do with Sparrow’s death. I have a hard time wondering what else could have been significant enough to have him suddenly and brutally erase his history as Pirate King.

#asktag #fable 2 #fable2 #fable reaver #fable 3 #fable 2 reaver #fable 3 reaver

59 notes · View notes

mlobsters · 11 months

Text

supernatural s4e19 jump the shark (w. andrew dabb, daniel loflin)

episode should be titled 10 more reasons to hate john winchester

seinfeld s5e22 the opposite - dedee pfeiffer as victoria

another tiny role on seinfeld that i know well because i saw them all enough and at a time when my brain was better at recording things.

okay but also? i think i know her from cybill?? which i probably haven't thought of since the 90s. and sometimes i wonder how i originally knew actors like say, alicia witt and christine baranaski and something like this drags it up from the depths

cybill (1995-1998) dedee pfeiffer as rachel blanders

okay but back to dean getting shat on. dear old dad wanted to give one of his kids a normal life and take him to baseball games and go camping that didn't involve killing monsters. aw, that's nice. except for all the gross child neglect of his kids he was supposed to be fulltime sole caregiver of. granted he didn't get involved in this kid's life until sam was away at college so it's not like the nice things happened simultaneously to the neglect. still hate you, man. and the recap made sure to remind us of how john treated sam's going to college.

that look sam gave adam after dean loses paper scissors rock was cute. was feeling the sibling vibes.

also got me considering the logistics of man sized ventilation inside this random house.

sam giving this kid the dad and dean no friends no life routine is something. remember this little exchange at the gas pump:

s1e6 skin:

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

SAM: You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?

but also harkens back to when dean was just trying to keep everyone alive while the other two were hellbent on self destructive revenge. which dean has been selling sam is just like dad and that's why they don't get along since then, but i'm not quite sure i buy that.

from s1e22 devil's trap:

Sam: We want to kill this demon. You used to want that, too. Hell, I mean, you’re the one who came and got me at school! (Dean scoffs) You’re the one who dragged me back into this, Dean. I’m just trying to finish it!

Dean: Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I’m gonna be the one to bury you. You’re selfish, you know that? You don’t care about anything but revenge.

that line about being the one to bury you lives rent free in my head.

i mean, i get what he's putting down in regards to his revenge quests, but i don't think there's a lot of similarities outside that. maybe because i like sam and john was a child neglecting piece of garbage. that is definitely a big blinder for me 🥴

i'm sure people enjoyed all that uh, excessive wound fingering and such with sam.

but my issue is those very significant cuts through his forearms and he's all fine and dandy in the next scene. he'd have some wicked number of stitches. and i guess nothing major was cut. just fleshy bits that dean can sew back up? i know, medical accuracy is way way WAY down on the list. but when they focus on the volume of blood he's losing so rapidly, i can't help but start to think of the logistics! anyway, made me think about hannibal's big ass scars in a similar place from matthew brown.

okay but also the kid has a point, of the ghouls were only eating dead people, was it really that important to be killing them?

that turned out a lot more therapeutic than i expected. and somehow i didn't know that fate of adam so i was actually surprised. i always am glad for dean to be working through some of his dad issues. sam is full of questionable choices these days. i'll give it to him, the writers, whatever. he really does sell that he's earnestly truly trying to do the right thing. but everything is a flaming pile of shit anyway.

DEAN I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now.

SAM I'll take that as a compliment.

DEAN You take it any way you want.

i mean.

anyway. okay i liked this episode even though i'm nervously looking at the time with how close the end of the season is and here we are off killing some monsters like it's any other week. this felt like an earlier to mid season episode. quality dean and sam time, daddy issues on blast.

and forever grateful shoutout to supernaturalwiki.com, the documentation is immaculate, found the episode with the bury you line in it in under 5 minutes.

#supernatural #spn 4x19 #adam milligan #spnwatch #hiky #spnhiky #cybill #seinfeld #cybill shepherd #spn 1x06 #spn 1x22 #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting #andrew dabb #daniel loflin

11 notes · View notes

antisocialxconstruct · 1 year

Text

some GC writing I'd been on the fence about posting because [vague static sounds] but I think it provides some important context for the other thing I want to post... tomorrow, maybe. So:

5.3k, Maksim reacts poorly to Ilya saying extremely normal things (aka Maksim Experiences The Horrors). Nothing really to warn for here... some brief extremely oblique references to why Maksim has issues with physical intimacy.

This takes place after Ilya's "conversation", and before the interrogation.

---

The first time he told Ilya where his apartment was they laughed. "So do you ever eat," they had asked, "or do all your payouts go into the rent?"

And he had simply explained, "I got lucky. They were running a deal," and left out the skull-splitting migraine he nursed for two days after manufacturing that deal in the mind of the property manager.

Ilya still wrinkled their nose at the thought of whatever upper-crust snobs he must be surrounded by, and assured him (unprompted) that he would never have to worry about unannounced visits because they wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like that. So it's a relief to see them standing very much alive in the hallway, albeit bristling and out of place, but it is equally a curiosity. At least they kept their promise that it wouldn't be unannounced. [Where are you] had been an unexpected enough text to receive at two in the afternoon that he’d followed up immediately.

>[Home]

[Boring. Door #?]

And he’d told them, and half an hour later they were on his doorstep.

He wants to question them, or at least rib them a little for debasing themself enough to set foot in Oceanview, but this is an uncomfortable intersection of two very different sides of his life and he also wants them out of view of any prying neighbors. Before he says anything he steps back and beckons them in with a tilt of his head.

Ilya doesn’t immediately volunteer an explanation either, hovering only a few paces past the door as Maksim retreats back to the couch, where his manhunter lays field stripped and half cleaned on the coffee table. He spares them another glance as he sets about wiping down the frame, saying, “there’s no one you need to impress here.”

“This is so weird,” Ilya muses, turning in place to take in his living room before finally meandering closer to his place on the couch. “It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here.”

Maksim blinks, looking up at them again with a puzzled scowl. He sits back to gesture at himself, at the gun and the kit in front of him, a wordless statement of little more than I’m literally sitting here.

Ilya snorts. “You know what I mean. It’s… I don’t know, sterile?”

“It’s clean,” Maksim volleys back. “I don’t believe you came all the way here just to judge my decor.”

“No…” Ilya’s gaze begins to wander again, and now that Maksim is watching them more closely he suspects it’s not just the unfamiliar surroundings making them tense. There’s something in the way they’re holding themself, the way their eyes dart back to him and then flick away again… a question hanging in the air between them. Eventually, somewhere in their nervous inspection of his space, they find it. “Did anything… happen last night? I had the weirdest conversation at the bar, after the run, I haven’t been able to shake it.”

Maksim cants his head, giving them an analytical once-over. By now he knows what a noteworthy ‘conversation’ at the bar entails, but he also knows the extent of Ilya’s resilience. Still there’s an impressive bruise sprawled across one side of their jaw, fresh enough to stand out dark against their tan skin and telling the story of at least one blow that would have been heavy enough to lay out someone with even marginally less chrome. He drops his attention back down to his original task, turning his attention to the barrel and spring assembly as he says, “weird enough to send you home with quite a headache, I assume.”

Ilya manages a laugh and a nonchalant roll of their shoulders in spite of their obvious discomfort. “I mean it was nothing I couldn’t handle. One suit and some muscle, way too far from their own turf.”

“How far?” Maksim prompts, a smile flitting across his own features as he fits the manhunter’s slide back together. Ilya’s tension was starting to leak into the room, he’d rather keep them on a subject they’re comfortable with.

“Man, I don’t know,” they say, exhaling a sharp puff of air. “Sounded like UCAS somewhere… east coast, maybe?”

And the smile gets wicked away as a chill pours itself down Maksim’s spine. He doesn’t look up.

It could be a coincidence.

If it was, why would Ilya come to him with it? What are they angling at?

The manhunter comes back together with the soft scrape of metal on polymer. He steals another glance at them without moving his head, and both the initial unease and the subsequent brashness are gone, replaced by a look he can’t interpret in the brief moment he has to examine it.

It can’t be a coincidence. They know what they’re doing.

“I can’t imagine what they would be looking for in California,” he remarks.

“Actually the suit was asking about you.”

Maksim grits his teeth, hoping it doesn’t show on his face the way those six words just turned his stomach. The silence settles too fast and too heavy between them, punctuated only by a hollow click as Maksim points the newly reassembled pistol at the floor and pulls the trigger. Racks the slide, does it again.

Calm, controlled. Everything operating as it should.

It was only a matter of time until they tracked him down again, he knows that. It’s a bad sign that they’re close enough on his trail to know they could get to him through Ilya… They’ve never tried anything like that before, but then he never stayed in one place long enough to have contacts before. It’s a worse sign that Ilya is here now, holding this over him, waiting for… for what? For him to negotiate? To beg? There’s no reason to panic yet, though. He can salvage this. And if he can’t… He slots the magazine back into place, sets the manhunter down deliberately on the table in front of him, and finally looks up to meet Ilya's gaze.

“What did he offer you?”

Ilya's poker face is at least as good as his, but he catches the subtle hint, the furrowing of their brow as their gaze darts to the gun and then back to him. Not quite unease… confusion? This is a gambit they’ve seen before, they should understand what he’s signaling. I’m not escalating, but I’m prepared to. Their voice sounds uncharacteristically hesitant as they ask, "does that matter?"

Maksim takes in a slow breath through his nose, exhales as he rolls his eyes. "Of course it matters," he says, with all the patience he can muster. "You don't have to be coy about this, if I can beat whatever they're offering you I'd rather-"

“Maksim.” There’s something in Ilya’s voice that stops him short, some tone he doesn’t think he’s heard before. Not from them. They’re wearing the bemusement more openly now, but underneath it, he thinks there’s something else. “Did you think I was shopping for a better offer? I’m not just gonna sell you out like that.”

That’s not what he was expecting, and for what feels even to him like an uncomfortably long moment Maksim just stares. He figured there were only two ways this conversation could go, but they’re already off-script. Something… shifts, a thin fissure opening up between the calm and control he'd weighed himself down with. Some sort of unnamed discomfort bubbles up out of it and he tries to swallow it back. “Why…?” he asks, and he hates the way he can hear his own voice waver.

Ilya frowns, furrowing their brow and cocking their head at him like he’s speaking gibberish. “Because we’re a team…? I don’t… is this a problem?”

The discomfort continues to well up into Maksim’s chest despite his efforts to bury it, congealing into a sort of dread, a certainty that something is wrong. A problem. This is a problem. “Yes,” he blurts and winces, instantly regretting the honesty as his eyes fall searchingly to the floor as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. He feels sick, like the dread is going to spill over, viscous and far too real. Ilya’s chuckle in response is brief and uncertain, and when Maksim holds their gaze again, whatever they see in his expression evaporates that momentary attempt at mirth.

“Why? I’m… I don’t get it.”

No more than a second’s hesitation. He drops his hand back into his lap. “Because I-” but this time the answer breaks apart on Maksim’s lips in a burst of self doubt. Because I thought we both agreed that was the arrangement. Because it’s what I would do in your place. It’s this thought that ricochets back out of his subconscious, twisted into a question he doesn’t want to answer, and his next breath comes short and quick, accompanied by a sudden stab of fear.

Wouldn’t I?

It only takes that momentary uncertainty for the dam to break on the terrible reality of the situation, for all the other inevitable questions to come flooding in after it. Did the dynamic change? When? What signs did he miss? Where do they stand now? What is Ilya expecting of him? How has he failed them already? How does he get out of this?

A wave of lightheaded nausea crests over him and he leans forward, trying to ignore the sensation that he’s about to pitch himself off the couch onto the floor. The horror pooling in his chest is hardening, crystalizing, jagged against his ribs as it presses the air out of his lungs. Elbows braced on his knees and thumbs pressed to his temples, he stares hard down at the pistol in front of him. Not with any sort of intent, simply because it’s the easiest thing to focus on that isn’t Ilya. It’s the only thing in his immediate perception that seems stable. The next words he speaks come out small and strangled. “You need to… can you leave?”

He doesn't look up but he can hear Ilya take a step closer. "Look, if you just tell me what-"

"Ilya, can you just leave?" he says again, a little sharper, a little louder this time. He's well past the point of being able to construct a better counter-argument. He has to fight back the temptation to dig a telepathic hand into their brain and make them leave, whether they want to or not. If he didn’t already feel like he was going to be sick… Instead he appends the request with a single word. "Please?"

Maybe it's the fact that he’s begging that settles things. Maybe it's the way he keeps involuntarily flexing his claws, fingers laced together over his brow so he can feel the carbon fiber tips pricking against the backs of his hands. The silence stretches out into several long, uncomfortable seconds before he finally hears Ilya turn, retreat to the front door without a single word more, and step out. The door latches softly behind them and the only company Maksim has left is the sound of his own ragged breathing.

What is this…?

What this is, is bad. He’s been on the run for over two years, dodging repercussions for something he still firmly maintains he didn’t do but never managed to shake off anyway. Something that broke some part of him, permanently warped his relationship to his own body. He doesn’t even know for sure who’s coming after him, what kind of retribution they’re looking for, he only knows that they’re persistent. He can’t run any further west than San Francisco, and if they kept up with him through three different territories it won’t matter if he starts going north or south next. They’re close, practically breathing down his neck, and they’re playing by different rules now. Rules he doesn’t know and can’t defend against.

And right now he can’t worry about any of that.

Because right now the problem is Ilya.

This… this has happened before–the confidence, the certainty that he understood the parameters of a relationship and was working within them, and the gut-churning elevator drop of realizing all at once that he was wrong. When a girl in his teen social circle had declared to the rest of their friends that they were dating he’d gone along with it, did all the things he understood fell under the label of “boyfriend,” and six months later when she justified cheating on him on the basis that he didn’t take her out enough for it to be a “real” relationship, he conceded and assured her they didn’t need to be in a fake relationship either. When an artist in Rostov had become enamored with him, he’d agreed to steal away to the studio whenever he could to play the role of muse, and after a year and a half when the artist confessed he had never once felt that Maksim was truly “present” with him despite their time together, he apologized for wasting the man’s time and then stopped showing up. After the army he’d spent the better part of his travels across Europe in lockstep with a fellow hitchhiker, only for them to become irate at being rebuffed when they tried to act on the “signals'' Maksim hadn’t been aware he was sending. By then he had concluded that the only safe way to navigate any encounter was to project outward what he had always felt but internalized as an inappropriate response to new people–flat, passive disinterest. The last time a fellow runner had remarked on how much ze valued their friendship, and wondered if Maksim might ever want more out of it, he had been quick to clarify that he had never thought of them as friends.

It’s difficult to say how long he sits there, bent forward on the couch and floundering in the mire of his own thoughts, but by the time his heartbeat and breathing have leveled out and he feels like he can move without fainting, the afternoon light has fully given way to the soft rusty hues of a California evening.

He stands, unsteady at first, and shuffles away from the couch to stretch the tension out of his limbs. He needs to move, he needs to do anything else. After a bit of aimless pacing he finds himself in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for the unopened bottle of whiskey that a neighbor had presented as a housewarming gift, which then got shuffled away into a back corner because Maksim didn’t bother explaining to her that he doesn’t drink.

Anymore. He doesn’t drink anymore. But under the circumstances…

He uncovers it eventually, pours a couple fingers into the first glass he finds, downs it, coughs as it hits the back of his throat with a vengeance. It’s a blessing that he’s in the apartment alone, grimacing through the mid-tier burn of his first drink in two years. But it blankets his nerves enough to tamp down the burst of nervous energy, and the second shot softens the focus around the brittle edges of his thoughts just enough for him to be willing to face them again. He does the third pour the courtesy of actually sipping it as he sinks back into the pits of unwelcome self-reflection.

He always had a simple solution for this, for every fool who thought they were close when he thought he was being cold, every asshole who thought they were enemies when he thought he was being civil–disengage. Whatever the dynamic was, abandon it, let it dissolve, never think about it again. He’d never invested himself in any relationship–romantic, platonic, or work-related–so much that he wasn’t willing to end it at a moment’s notice, so if the other party didn’t like it, what did he care? He’d tried that once with Ilya already, pulled back and insisted that he had no interest in being friends, and it had rolled off their back and left them entirely unfazed. But they didn’t leave. So he had assumed they had an understanding. We’re not friends. This partnership ends as soon as one of us has better prospects. He doesn’t know when Ilya started thinking of them as a “team,” if that’s all they think, if it’s his fault again, but it should be grounds for a more final liquidation of the dynamic to avoid any further misunderstandings. And yet none of that aligns with his reaction tonight. It doesn’t explain the lingering dread, dripped down out of his ribcage to sit heavy in the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t explain why the idea of letting Ilya down, the possibility that they might want something he can’t give them, makes him feel ill.

It would be easy to remove them from his life if he really wanted to. It’s a big city, they never moved in the same circles anyway, if they stopped meeting on purpose he’d probably never see them again. He has enough credibility now that he could find another team, even if that meant finding another fixer. He’s not so loyal to Violet that he would miss em. It would be quick, it would be practically effortless… and when he tries to envision it, tries to formulate the final conversation with Ilya before they part ways for good, his chest constricts like someone’s got a vice grip around his heart.

Someone…

It doesn’t quite hit him like a lightning strike, like a tidal wave, like anything especially poetic.

Moreso it comes crashing down on him like the contents of a precariously packed closet, finally succumbing to the structural instability of removing a single item from the bottom, leaving him stunned and dismayed and with a clear, perfect view of the absolute mess laid out around him.

And it is a mess.

With a groan he leans forward to rest his elbows on the counter, runs a hand over his face, hangs his head and laces his fingers over the back of his neck. Then he quietly and very somberly tells the empty glass in front of him, “жизнь ебет меня.”

Because he doesn’t want to disengage. Whatever he and Ilya actually have, he doesn’t want it to dissolve. He just wants a name for it.

It still takes two days after the revelation before Maksim finds the nerve to contact Ilya again, and even then only through text.

>[Can we meet?]

The hour between when he sends it and when they respond feels like one of the greatest agonies of his life, no matter how many times he tells himself they could simply be busy.

[Are you sure?]

>[Yes]

He hesitates, types I owe you an explanation, deletes it. Too open ended, he doesn't know if they'll show up with questions he can't answer. He tries I'll tell you as much as I can, then It's important, scraps them both. Pointlessly ominous. What is he trying to say? What does he want them to think he's trying to say? Finally he settles.

>[Caporal, lunch?]

This time the answer comes quickly.

[I can be there at 1]

El Caporal Restaurant & Bar is one of the precious few middle grounds they were able to settle on in the time they’ve been working together. Its atmosphere is pragmatic and unassuming, far less trendy or quirky than most of the establishments in the Mission, and it’s close enough to the Haight-Ashbury slums that the staff aren’t likely to bat an eye at metahumans or anyone who comes off rougher than an ordinary wageslave, convenient for both of them especially when they’re together. As an added bonus the food is even half-decent, not that Maksim can find much of an appetite beneath his tangled nerves.

He gets to the restaurant just after 12. Enough time to linger at the front and strike up a conversation with the hostess, who’s just the right mixture of “bored on a slow day” and “afraid of looking like she’s slacking” to indulge him. Once he gets her laughing along with a joke at the expense of the management–”you can’t say that,” she giggles conspiratorially–he knows they’re on the same side, and moves on to his real intent.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says, winking playfully. “Listen I probably shouldn’t keep you, and I hate to be more trouble, but could I ask one last favor?”

“Sure, what do you need hun?” her posture shifts slightly, more attentive, ready to engage the customer service protocols.

“I need your patio, actually.” He looks past her, lifting his chin to indicate the double doors at the back. “I’m waiting for a f-. A friend,” he clears his throat, pressing on before she can notice the hesitation and before he can properly wonder why the label didn’t roll off his tongue like any other lie, “it would mean the world if we could just have some privacy to catch up, if you think that’s doable.” He keeps his tone and smile bland, taking care not to weave any sort of implication into his words. Let her decide if this is some sort of back-room deal or just two friends looking for a quiet reunion. El Caporal manages to be a passable location for either one.

“Oh!” The hostess steals a glance over her shoulder, then turns back to him. “Yeah… I think we can manage that,” she says with a wink of her own. “I doubt we’re going to see much of a crowd this afternoon anyway.”

He still ends up sitting alone outside for another twenty minutes, a cigarette in one hand and the steady drum of fingertips on the glass tabletop becoming a quiet metronome behind his thoughts as he stares blankly down at the menu. Most of that time has been spent half heartedly sipping sangria and fighting his own instinct to start writing an internal script for this conversation. With his luck, it’ll veer left a few minutes in and he’ll be completely out of his depth all over again, made all the worse for the inability to let go of what he had planned. Best to speak as freely as he can handle.

Best to speak from the heart.

He grimaces, immediately disliking the mawkishness of his own thoughts, but shakes it off just as quickly when he hears the double doors open. He straightens, meeting the hostess and Ilya with the same pleasant demeanor he’d entered with. “Ah there you are,” he laughs, fixing Ilya with a pointed look when he sees the uncertainty suddenly flit across their features. “I was starting to think you were lost.”

“Well… you know how it is,” Ilya offers, doing a quick inventory of the scene and catching on fast even if the code-switching isn’t as instantaneous for them. They’re on time, but it’s obvious he’s been waiting anyway. “Traffic’s a bitch.”

“Can I get either of you anything to start out?” the hostess chirps, all professional courtesy now.

Ilya takes another second to eye Maksim’s drink, then turns to her with a light smile of their own, not quite as plastic as Maksim’s feels but a level of politeness he knows they reserve for people they don’t actually want anything to do with. “Anything you’ve got on tap with a bite would be great,” they say, then break away to take their seat as she heads back inside.

There’s a graciously short span of uncomfortable silence before she returns, sets the glass down in front of them, and then picking up on the fact that neither of them has shown much interest in the lunch menu, bustles away again with some noncommittal pleasantries.

Finally, once he's reasonably confident they won't be bothered again for a while, Maksim exhales sharply and lets the facade slip away, rubbing his eyes with his palms until it brings little bursts of color to the surface of his vision.

"Well this is... more intimate than I was expecting," Ilya comments, and when Maksim opens his eyes again he can't tell from their expression whether it was a joke, an observation, or a complaint. Either way they look at least a bit like they're suddenly doubting they were allowed to say it at all.

"I just wanted privacy," he explains, maybe a little too quickly. Too eager to justify. Then, "you... I thought you deserve to know why you were attacked."

A sharp little smile does tug at the corner of Ilya’s mouth as they raise their drink to their lips. “‘Attacked’ is giving those goons a lot more credit than they deserve.”

Maksim takes a second to study their face again. The bruise their confrontation left behind has begun to fade, purple giving way to an uneven brown of healing tissue. Several conflicting thoughts pile to the front of his mind, it’s my fault that happened to you and why didn’t you just take the deal and they’re not going to get away with that. He pushes them all away and stubs out his cigarette, then leans back to fish the pack and lighter out his pocket. He so rarely chain smokes, but it’s apparently been a week of giving in to his worst impulses.

Finally he dives in, speaking through the first mouthful of smoke. “I know people talk… there was a botched run on a CAT warehouse in New York City a couple years ago, did you hear about it?”

Ilya doesn’t respond immediately, their expression becoming slightly pinched, and when they do speak there’s a note of what Maksim would hazard to call guilt underpinning the single word. “Yeah.”

He sighs again, but regards them with newfound curiosity. “You never brought it up.”

“I didn’t see a point,” Ilya shrugs. “All I ever heard were rumors from a lot of people who weren’t there and seemed to think they knew exactly what happened.”

Maksim nods slowly, trying to fit this neatly into his impressions of Ilya, of the terms of their relationship. “Well…” he pauses to take another drag. “Ironically, I was there and I’m not entirely sure what happened,” he says this with a light, apologetic smile, hoping to convey that it’s at least partly a joke and not just a tragic confession. “But I can tell you what I remember.”

“Hey, you really… you don’t have to-” Ilya starts, but Maksim holds a hand up to stop them.

“I just think you deserve some context,” he says. Then, with a last deep breath to steel himself, he presses on. “It really should have been a milk run. There were guards at the entrance but a warehouse is a warehouse… It was a tax shelter, full of worthless art, but apparently whoever it belonged to accidentally got their hands on something real… some catholic…” he rubs his eyes, makes a vague gesture with his hand. When the word doesn’t come to him he simply presses on. “Five runners seemed like overkill to get it but Alabast was paying well enough for a five-way split to be worth it, I guess they wanted it that badly.” He pauses again and frowns down at the table, taking a moment to reorganize his thoughts, weigh out which details Ilya actually needs and which ones would be wasting their time. “Of course I didn’t know we were working for Alabast until I was in Denver,” he muses, “I don’t know why I got into such a bad habit of never asking for details.”

Realizing he’s gotten ahead of himself, he closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake before meeting Ilya’s eyes again. “There was something else in that warehouse with us… or someone, I don’t… I never found out. But while the five of us were still trying to figure out their cataloging system, it got in-” the end of that sentence gets swallowed by a sudden shudder that runs up the length of Maksim’s spine, as if the temperature had suddenly plunged around them. He hunches forward onto the table, shoulders pulled in tight and defensive, screwing his eyes shut again as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He thought if he just said it, simple, matter of fact, that would strip away some of the power the memory still had over him. Instead it just feels like a hit-and-run.

“Maksim…” Ilya cuts in softly, but he waves their attempted reassurance away only to backtrack a moment later.

“No, you know, you’re right, this isn’t really important,” he concedes breathlessly, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the table as he wills himself to uncoil. “The point is, it went wrong, two people died, the three of us still alive had to scrub the run with nothing to show for it, and everyone blamed me. For a couple months after that I was traveling a lot for…” he glances at his hands, idly extends and retracts his claws. “Research. Visiting showrooms. Talking to surgeons. Talking to loan sharks.” He flashes Ilya another thin smile. Another joke. Sort of. “So I didn’t know how the rest of the team was dealing with the fallout, but I know when I got back into the city one of them wasn’t happy to see me and the other was telling me I needed to get back out. I thought I’d lay low in Chicago for a while until I could sort out what happened, but when I realized even that far out I was being followed, I…” he lets his head fall back slightly, rolling his eyes up toward the sky as he shakes his head again. “I panicked. And then ran a little further every time I got a sense someone was keeping track of me. I had some time in Denver after another surgery and had the sense to do some research, until that put a spotlight on me and I had to start moving again.” He sighs deeply, running a hand over his hair until it comes to rest at the back of his neck, one finger tapping idly against the tip of the reflex trigger where it peeks out from his shirt collar. “I really thought they’d give up before I hit the west coast…”

“But no such luck,” Ilya provides, maybe just to assure him that they’ve been keeping up.

“No,” Maksim confirms with a grimace.

“So Alabast…” Ilya says the name with a thoughtful intentionality, testing the sound of it, or possibly testing it against their own knowledge. “What do they even want? Why bother with you instead of just finding another team?”

Despite himself Maksim responds with a weak chuckle. “I wish I knew,” he says. “I haven’t exactly stopped to ask. I was hoping they gave you some idea.”

Ilya shakes their head, frowning. “The suit was pretty light on specifics. Conspicuously.”

“Of course.”

The conversation hangs there for a beat as Maksim grasps for a way to tie it off. A script really would have been helpful. He wasn’t going to ask for anything, he didn’t have any plans to put forward… he just needed an excuse to talk to Ilya again, pull them back in without having to address the real question simmering between them. The fact that they’ve let him talk this much is unexpected, he had been anticipating more questions, a demand to explain his behavior…

It’s Ilya who breaks the silence. “I know this wasn’t the point but, for the record I believe you.”

He blinks a couple times. The comment draws him back up out of his thoughts but leaves him wondering if he missed something. “What?”

“About the run…” Ilya continues, only to hesitate as another flash of uncertainty passes over their expression. Then with a quick inhale they add, “you don’t have to tell me exactly what happened. I believe it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh…” Maksim breathes, and internally he’s thinking you can’t keep saying things like that to me. You can’t keep acting like you get it, like none of this is a problem for you. What am I supposed to think? What he says is, “thanks.”

#shadowrun #ghost city #maksim girard #ilya kasharin #originally I'd wanted to spend more time on their early dynamic before getting this deep into like.... act 2 I guess lmao #but I do not control what the brain decides to focus on writing so 🤷‍♂️#we get the fraught and emotionally charged confessions NOW we get the character development and slow burn relationship progression LATER #rom fiction

15 notes · View notes