#but i felt there was something else niggling at my mind and i finally worked it out

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Not One of Many - Chapter Twenty Five.

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty  Twenty One  Twenty Two  Twenty Three  Twenty Four

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 2,991

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

Standing under the cool water of the shower, Alfie felt no better than he had prior to jogging around the coastline for an hour. He was prickled, Beth’s words still niggling at him with persistence. Guilty? For him doing everything she’d wanted of him? How the fuck could she feel that now, after the hoops he’d jumped through in order to be with her?  

He was a big fan of resolution, of doing the right thing to attain the best possible outcome, that for him meant facilitating the place for her in his life, the woman he realised he wanted above any others. And this was what he got for it? He’d sacrificed a lot because of his unyielding love for her, and yes, it came at the expense of others, something he had felt bad about too at the time. Those feelings had all been very much eclipsed by his happiness over the fact that he’d gotten what he wanted.  

Her. All he’d wanted was her, and now they were finally together, she had an issue with the steps he’d taken to clear the way.  

‘But does she, though? Or are you just being a boorish sod, as usual, mate?’

Was he? She had said it was how she felt, about her part, not anything he had done. But ultimately, it was because of something he’d done, in making himself available to be with her.  

And he was back to angry again.  

Once out and dressed, he was about to leave the room when she entered, unsure what the hell to say to her.  

Halting him, her hand gently grasped at his forearms. “Can we talk? Calmly, this time.”

His mouth twitched, lifting his chin in slight defiance. “Depends, don’t it? Because if it’s more of that bollocks from last night again, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well, I’ll have to bring some of it up if we’re going to work to a solution over it, but if that’s how you want to be then I suppose there’s nothing I can say, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

Her expression darkened, closing her eyes for a moment. “Fucking child, I’m going out.”  

“Yeah, you piss off. Go on.”  

Picking up her bag and slides, she marched out of there, muttering under her breath. “What was that?” he barked angrily after her.

“I said you were a fucking unreasonable arsehole who isn’t emotionally capable of listening to anyone else. Just adding a bit more onto my assertion that you’re a fucking child!”

He turned, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “Fuckin’ hell.”  

Yes. They were both very angry with one another. With this in mind, it was likely better that they spend a little time apart. Alfie headed out to try and relax in the sun with Marcus, Magda and Dennis having breakfast still, Beth and Della leaving to head down to the market in the next town over, the latter wanting to stock up so she could make dinner for everyone that night, giving Martina the night off.  

“So, tell me if it’s none of my business, but I heard raised voices last night,” Della broached as they hurtled along in the rented Jeep she drove, the air con on full blast.  

“No, it’s okay,” Beth began, sighing. “I could do with the perspective of a friend, to be honest. Mind if I unload?”  

Della beamed. True, they didn’t know each other well as yet, but it was lovely to hear her being referred to as a friend, even more so, one she wanted to confide in. “You go right on ahead, hun. My ears are yours.”

She duly explained it all, Della listening carefully as she drove, taking in both sides of the argument presented to her, before offering her immediate thoughts on the matter.

“Okay, so I hear you, I do, but see the thing is, sweetie, your feeling guilty is a direct reaction to something he did in order to be with you. That’s why he’s taking it personally, and I’m going to try not to take sides, but for that I don’t blame him. Equally, he can’t tell you what you’re entitled to feel either, though, and that is something Alfie has an issue with. He isn’t always the best at seeing things from someone else’s perspective, I’ve seen him and Marcus come to verbal blows about it in the past. He’s very domineering, Alfie, and it sometimes gets in the way of him truly listening to others. I understand why you must be frustrated,” she explained, turning right at the junction, leading them out onto a stretch of road that directly bordered the coast.

“How do I get through to him that it doesn’t affect how I feel about him, or what he did, though? We’re just going to keep going round in circles, otherwise. It’s my part in it that I feel guilty about,” she sighed, Della thinking for a few moments.

“That’s the thing though, Beth. You didn’t break up with anyone. He did.”  

It hit her then, like a weight to her chest, Della’s simple explanation making it very clear as to why he was taking her feelings of guilt extremely personally. “And if you feel like you don’t deserve this because of that, well, how else could it be? The only path that led to you and Alfie being together meant that he changed his life to compromise to the fact that you wouldn’t share him, because he loves you that much. You deserve this just as much as any of his exes did, if not more, because we all know, Beth, you’d still be with him even if he was just working behind a bar instead of owning a pile of them, wouldn’t you?”

Again, her words added up, made sense. “Hmm, I think I see it from his side a little better now.”

“I’m not saying your feelings are invalid at all, though,” Della was quick to point out. “He should listen to you as well and acknowledge it, try and reassure you rather than just barking at you how he thinks you should feel. I think you two having a few hours apart to cool down will do you the power of good.” Beth could only hope.

Once at the market, she lost herself in shopping, she and Della getting fresh squid and all the ingredients to make the garlic aioli that would go with it, a leg of lamb she intended to barbecue, and a hole selection of other nice edible goodies, the ladies stopping at a coffee shop a few roads away for a quick refuel of espressos and a slice of cake each. While they were enjoying their day, Alfie was trying to take his mind off of things, sitting inside to hide from the extreme heat for a little while, attempting to get invested in a book. No such luck.  

Sighing, he abandoned it, deciding to go back outside and sit in the shade, crossing the kitchen into the outdoor area, but rather than heading to the seats, walking over to the rail, where he could see Magda enjoying a cigarette

“I’m putting it out,” she spoke, picking up the ashtray and stubbing it quickly.  

“You didn’t have to,” he told her, clasping his hands together as he rested his forearms against the rail. “Appreciated all the same, though.”

“You alright, sunshine? I didn’t mean to, but I kinda overheard you and Beth having a barny last night,” she spoke, turning to him.  

“I dunno really, mate. She’s fuckin’ got it in her head that she don’t deserve all of this because it came at the expense of my exes, as you likely heard, but what the bleedin’ hell do I do about that?”

“Can I give you some advice?”

He sniffed, scratching his beard. “Yeah, I’d be open to that. No one knows that girl better than you do, after all.”

“Beth is always very aware of her own actions, from whether it was worrying over her professionalism while she knew she was falling in love with you, to being the reason you went from three girlfriends to one, she’s extremely focused on the part she plays and thus, very self-critical. She applies her own journalism standards to herself, doesn’t let herself get away with nothin’ without fully addressing every facet of it. It can be exhausting, watching her do it, but it’s just her, Alfie.  

“This isn’t anything you can do, or fix, or help. She just has to go through the little phase of adjustment and beating herself up over it, and then she’ll be fine. It’s a lot for a little Jewish girl from Golders Green to get used to, all of this! Beth is so pure of heart and all, so hence the guilt. She’s also prided herself on being very self-sufficient, and we both know well that she ain’t like the slew of women you’ve had in your past who gave up working to live the life of a pampered, rich man’s girlfriend.  

“I told her that she can’t expect you to not treat her in accordance of your lifestyle, reminded her that you had compromised with her and all, but that the middle ground weren’t ever gonna be completely even because what you earn is simply incomparable to her salary. But yeah, mate. All she needs is time, and maybe for you to hear her, rather than expecting her to be okay with it just because you tell her she can be. I know you control your businesses with an iron fist, Alfie, that’s partly why you’re so bloody proficient at what you do, but you can’t with Beth. She won’t have it. “

He let her words absorb for a few moments, looking out over the sparkling sea, the bright sunlight capping the soft ripples of the water, making the endless blue glitter. “She’s a good girl, is our Bethany. She’d love you just as much if you were, I dunno, Alfie Solomons the tire fitter, earning fifteen bob an hour down at the local garage.”

“I know, Mags. I bloody know, and that’s why for me, she’s someone I can see myself remaining with indefinitely. She’s the only woman I’ve met in recent years who I know would stick by me if I lost the lot tomorrow. That’s the kind of woman I want in my life forever. I do admit, patience ain’t my strong point, but I guess that going forward, I have to try with her instead of expecting everything to go my way,” he sighed, Magda lighting herself another cigarette and shifting away from him a bit, blowing the smoke well out of his vicinity.

“Just be the boss where she likes you being the boss, ay?”

He snorted a little, grinning. “You know about that, then?”

“Oh, darling. There ain’t a single thing I don’t know about how much of a bad lad you are with my little Bethany.” He laughed then, Magda chuckling raspily. “Go and make nice with her when she gets back, sit and listen to one another without shouting, and it’ll all be fine.”

“Thanks, Magda.”  

“You’re welcome, love.” He kissed her cheek, heading back to the seats and stretching out on one of the outdoor couches, chatting with Marcus as the latter relaxed at the side of the pool. As soon as he saw Beth arrive back after a further half an hour, he got up and went to her.  

He felt awkward as he approached, trying not to frown. “Can we have a chat, duchess?” His tone was neutral, he sounded calm, but still, as Beth nodded, following him inside the house to the quiet space of the lounge, she felt her heart hammering with nerves. “Right, I’ve had time to think, calm down a bit an’ all. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you, baby. I can be a right fuckin’ pig like that at times, and I’ll be the first to admit it.”

“No, I’m sorry, because what you said about my guilty feeling being something you took personally, you were right, and you had every right to as well. You changed your life for me, after all, and me saying I don’t feel like I deserve it, of course you’re going to feel pissed off at hearing that,” she was quick to interject with. “I do appreciate you telling me you should have listened, though. It’s honestly my stuff, not because of your choice. I think it’s just a lot colliding within, for me to suddenly have to get used to, even if everything is good and my life is incredible now.”

“Yeah, I was pissed off, so in turn I appreciate you acknowledging that. I think it comes with a really intense love, proper fuckin’ intense belters of fights, innit? I mean, I ain’t excusing being a twat to you, but yeah. We need to hear each other a bit better rather than shouting each other down.”

His words made sense to her, Beth stroking his arm, her hand finding his. He smiled, leaning to kiss her, picking her up and seating her onto his lap, enjoying their closeness reunited. “We do, you’re right. I think I’m good for words right now, though.”  

The kiss she gave him left him in no doubt, but still, he asked. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind instead?” One eyebrow arched upwards, Alfie chuckling, standing up to carry her to their bedroom.

As the late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, it caught the contours of her body after he’d undressed her, hands, gilding her curves, her skin lightly sun kissed, freckles popping up that he’d never noticed before, the view of that sublime, heavenly body exquisite from his place between her legs, tongue rolling over her clit until it swelled, watching her as she trembled.  

“You like that, darlin’? Fuck, look at that pretty little honey hole, getting so bloody wet. Mmmm, fuckin’ hell.” he rasped, burying his tongue inside her, Beth wailing as she clutched his head, her thighs writhing against his face.  

Replacing his tongue for fingers, he returned licks of ebullience to her bud, fingers trawling her insides, feeling her clamping on them, so velvety and slippery, his cock bobbing aggressively at his hip with the need to fill her. A few more licks, a couple of greedy sucks and he could wait no more, parting her legs and plunging inside her as he sat up, her sigh of satiation muted by his lips delivering hungry kisses.  

He drew back, viewing the way the satin slick of her cunt gleamed upon his cock, driving back in again, her body twitching in response. He kept it even paced for all of ten seconds, her cries demanding more from him, burying himself within her again and again rapidly as they lost any tentative grip on control, losing themselves to the throbbing heat of sinfully good afternoon sex.  

“Yeah, that’s what you needed weren’t it, love? To be fuckin’ speared on a big, fat cock, didn’t ya?”  

“Oh, god yes, that’s exactly what I wanted!” she cried, his teeth sharp at her nipples as he drove into her relentlessly, the bed shaking beneath them, the sound of him utterly pounding her slick echoing through the room. Her hands gripped the sheets, flying to his back and scraping as he railed her into the mattress, leaving a bite at the side of her neck as he groaned, his voice gone to gravel entirely.  

From both sides, it was that ‘I’m sorry we fought, and this is how much I love you’ wild, needy, primal sex, both pawing and clutching at one another, feral kisses exchanged, moans shared, their bodies beading with perspiration as they chased the blazing consummation of their undoing, both ascending sharply and shattering entirely, a mass of entangled sheets and entwined limbs in the aftermath. Stroked skin and soft kisses abounded, everything fervid now exchanged for gentle fluidity, lying there still fused, but in no rush to move.

After lying in their own little post-coital bubble for a time, they got up, showered and dressed, heading down to eat dinner with their friends, plans for the following day being made. Their destination was Ammoudi Bay for cliff diving, swimming in the crystal blue waters, and lunch. Well, except for one.

“I ain’t diving in off no cliff, fuck that right off, nah!” Magda announced, moving away from the table with her coffee to have a cigarette, shaking her head vehemently.  

“Oh, go on, baby,” Dennis encouraged, his wife resolute.

“Not a cat in hell’s chance, but I shall play photographer while you mad bastards all fling yourselves in.”

“You gonna be a daredevil with me, treacle?” Alfie asked of Beth, who didn’t even get a chance to reply.

“You should have seen her six years ago when we went to Acapulco. We pulled up at the top of the cliff, and she was out the car, flip flops flung, running past all these yank frat boy lads and jumped straight in from the thirty-footer! Adrenaline junkie, she is!”  

Alfie turned to her with pride. “I learn something new about the missus every day.” The missus. How bloody adorable that was for her to hear, him referring to her as that. She’d never heard of him refer to his exes in the same way. Taking a deep breath, she kissed him instead of letting the consuming feeling of guilt creep back, reminding herself that this life was something she did deserve. ‘You’re young, in love and happy, so just be happy.’

Happy was exactly what she was, feeling so much better for them to have had their air clearing talk, and the sweet and extremely hot physical make up that followed it. All was peaceful again, thank goodness. Exactly how it should have been.

#Alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons au #modern alfie solomons #tom hardy #tom hardy smut #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fic #tom hardy x ofc #tom hardy x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders au

[thatfuzzyfamiliarspace]

Had a decent morning. Got things done, was in on time for work. Have messaged friends. It’s been good. But I keep having these little troughs of low points. Random flashes of her. Thinking about trying to be little with Jordan. It’s really niggling at me.

I wish I could stop thinking about her. The annoying thing is I don’t always think about the bad stuff, it hurts more to think about all the good stuff. When she held my hand, when she’d cuddle up with me when it was just me and her watching tv at her flat. The way she’d talk about me. God it just kills me thinking about it all. All the great ways she made me feel and then how I hurt her. And never got to talk to her and make amends. It’s something I’ll never get closure on. He says I’ll learn to live with it. But I don’t want to keep missing her. I don’t want to keep thinking back to those 3 months. I want to forget it all.

And then the whole little side thing. I don’t even know how I’ll go about it. Do I continue to let small pieces show and see how he reacts ? It just freaks me out. Because of how he said stuff the other night. Calling me a fully grown woman. I don’t feel like one. At all. I don’t even feel like a woman let alone grown. The dismissal of that part of me, just brought back so much shit that I haven’t felt in so long. Like laying there in bed seeing the shadow shapes. I hadn’t thought about that in years. Then I just sat there and experienced it the exact same way as when I was younger. And then being in the frame of mind and feeling like that made me remember so so much. So much of how I felt low and shitty when I was a kid. I’d blocked so much of it out, but I was like it a lot. I wasn’t a happy kid. And now I finally feel safe with him, and I want him to give me what I never had when I was younger. But it just feels like he doesn’t want that. Thelo never made it a thing, he never had to talk to me about it, he just dealt with me and he never really fucked it up. That’s what’s so confusing for me. How can someone just accept something like that and live like it’s normal without any conversation or learning involved and someone else be so cautious and wary of it ? I feel shitty comparing, it’s not fair. But I can’t help it when it’s just so drastically different. Jordan says it’s normal to take time to learn someone. And I sorta understand, but usually it just feels more organic doing that. The way he words it, it just sounds so… orderly structured ?? Idk, maybe I’m just thinking in a dumbass way. I shouldn’t expect him to pick up on things quickly or whatever. I wanna be more fair to him. Like he said he’s balancing alot. I shouldn’t get hung up on one thing. No one has ever matched up to him in literally every other area. Maybe that’s why I’m so focused on this one thing, as it is just the one thing. I can’t fault him in any other way, and it’s not even a fault it’s just something I need to be more patient with.

It’s just so annoying when I finally feel okay and then these things just come into my head so intrusively. Like I’m so aware of them yet it doesn’t change how it makes me feel. Will talking about it more help ? Idk. I wanna go to therapy but looks like I’ll have to wait till next year now.

I’m a 7 rn, I’ve been a 7 most of the morning apart from when I get in my head about those things. But even now writing about it, I feel okay. I hope I can just stay up and ignore it for the rest of the day. Then maybe, later if I’m still feeling okay, I can try and talk about it. I mean it’s not manic Monday, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.. idk we’ll see.

[verycharismaticdragon]

forewarning: this post uses critical tone towards a certain scene in Word of Honor (specifically, ep.9’s “... that you’re actually crazy” scene). If you’re not in the mood for reading such thing, please be kind to yourself and scroll past this post. 

Ok, I think I worked out what bothered me the most about “I didn't realize that you’re actually crazy” scene in SHL – I mean, lots of things about it bother me, but I did know they’d bleach out the grey morality for c-nsorship reasons, so I should’ve been ready for some ridiculous righteousness coming from the mouth of mr.childmurder… but, ok, you see, the truly disturbing thing about this scene is how similar it feels to what happened between Zishu and Jiuxiao in the novels.

Novel Zhou Zishu has always shielded his too-honest, too-righteous shidi from the realities of what he does for the Crown Prince. But then Liang Jiuxiao finds out. Finds out that his shixiong, the person he admired deeply, the person he wanted to travel jianghu with, was the one who exterminated the whole family of a loyal official, including a four-year-old child they all knew and played with and loved. Understandably, Jiuxiao freaks out, and confronts Zhou Zishu – going as far as telling him that murderers should pay with their lives… To put it shortly, Liang Jiuxiao sees Zhou Zishu’s true face for the first time, and is horrified by it.

This is almost beat by beat what happened in SHL – Zhou Zishu sees the extent of hatred Wen Kexing (the person he wanted to travel jianghu with) is capable of, and rejects him over it. 

And even the fallout is similar – in the novel, Zhou Zishu internalizes what Jiuxiao said to the point that it largely informs his decision to use the nails; in the show, it is this rejection that leads to Wen Kexing trying to hide his identity as the Valley Master, and to him internalizing the idea that his life is worth less than Zishu’s.

And look, I think the show didn’t mention Jiuxiao confronting Zhou Zishu over the murder of the Jiang family (unless I missed something in conversation?), so maybe it didn’t happen in the show’s canon – but I certainly didn’t know that when watching the scene, so to see Zhou Zishu inflict on Wen Kexing exactly the kind of emotional damage that made novel Zishu want to stab himself full of nails and go die was… disturbing, to put it mildly.

Anyway, if the confrontation between ZZS and LJX didn’t happen, then... Okay, it’s impossible to tell if the similarity between scenes is coincidental or not, but there are a few other beats in show!wenzhou’s relationship that feel pulled out of qi ye (like, drugging your lover so they’d be safe while you go off to do something incredibly dangerous that will almost certainly kill you? not something novel wenzhou ever did or would do, but jing beiyuan sure did just that to wu xi), so I can’t help but feel like this one is too; and if it isn’t coincidental, if the Zishu and Jiuxiao’s story in Qi Ye was taken as inspiration for something between SHL’s wenzhou… that also feels deeply wrong, because the novel reiterates several times that relationship between Zishu and Jiuxiao and Zishu and Kexing are fundamentally different.

...But, of course, show’s wenzhou is also completely different from novel’s wenzhou. I guess in the grand scheme of things this scene might not even be the biggest divergence from their novel interactions, just the first glaringly obvious one, and maybe that’s part of the reason my brain got so caught up on it – either way, writing this helped me work out some of my feelings regarding it, so I’m going to cut off this stream of consciousness here. 

––––––

- TYK/SHL comparisons masterpost - - tyk meta masterpost -

#ofc the first thing that tripped me up in this scene was seeing zzs have /morals/ #and being disturbed by something wen kexing does (that isnt flirting) #because novel zzs is self-aware enough to know his crimes are... as bad or worse #but this is. probably c-nsorship. for my peace of mind im gonna tell myself its bcus of c-nsorship #but i felt there was something else niggling at my mind and i finally worked it out #wenzhou #zhou zishu #liang jiuxiao #wen kexing #qi ye #tian ya ke #word of honor #tian ya ke meta #word of honor meta #(btw did you know that in the novel zzs only calls wkx crazy over flirting with/liking him. never anything else.) #(its really wkx: i like you <3 zzs: sounds bad get well soon) #tyk shl comparisons

[gemma-collins-ily]

Hello, I wanted to ask for a request with Jesper? I wanted to see him being very protective of the reader. Maybe he saves her from a fight during a job or something (like, she can handle herself just fine but ended up getting trapped by a lot of guards idk) and he comes and shoots them at last minute and is very worried because she did got hurt. Then later she can be all like "it's nothing, I'm fine" but he insists on patching her up and caring for her wounds (maybe make it a soft moment with him being all gentle and lovey with her), kinda blaming himself for her getting hurt, and maybe then confessions are made? Thank you :D

Fools In Love

a/n - yessss more Jesper appreciation! He needs more credit! It sounds a bit creepy in the beginning I'm sorry 😭 Also Jesper and the pet name lovely ugh my heart! Thanks for the request xoxo💕♥️

Warnings: knives, blood, alcohol (used for cleaning of injuries), brief mentions of nausea and not sure what else!

Partners.

That's all you were. That's what Jesper kept telling himself, at least.

But it was so strange with you - he felt so strange with you. Like he should protect you, admire you, love you, care for you whenever he could.

He felt you should always be in his heart, and you were. Some part of him, yet every part of him, was saved for you.

On the days he was truly tired, had run errand after errand, participated in a heist, anything that exhausted him, he would save just a simple smile or two for you.

Because he felt he couldn't, and shouldn't, leave you without one. He needed you to be in his life and wanted you to need him too. He wanted you to rely on the him as he would you, and most importantly, deeply desired that you could love him the way he did you.

This was not in a warped version of reality, a figment of his mind and imagination as a sick, manipulative goal, he only wanted to be loved.

By someone. Alright, anyone. Any person. Admittedly, one specific person.

He wanted to be loved by you.

Jesper knew he did, in fact, love you. And when he realised, his heart had raced, Nina looking up in alarm before seeing the lovestruck bliss upon his face.

Jesper Fahey was in love with you.

And boy, was he in trouble now.

Chaos.

You were extremely similar to Jesper in that way: the way that meant it followed you wherever you went. There was no escaping the chaos, not when you were apparently born from the very depths of it yourself and had a friend quite the same.

A friend.

That's all you were.

It sent a pang of agony rippling through your chest, possibly enough to send you to your knees, but you swiftly shook the thought away.

Focus was what was needed.

Although, it seemed so tempting to think of him, to picture his face in your mind's eye one last time. One last time before you died.

Because it had been going well. But later, there was a high chance of fatality. But, you decided to do what you did best, instead of giving into the niggling voices that told you to remember every brush of the arm, every smile across a room, every chair he pulled out for you; instead, you decided to give into something else.

You decided, to give in to the chaos.

Your strategy was giving fairly good results, just as you had anticipated, considering it always did. Going with your gut seemed to be the best way of going about it, and it was.

Until it wasn't.

Since you were now improvising and no one appeared to be taking any notice of the shots fired, or grunts of pain heard, when even more men than previously swarmed the alley, you were taken aback.

You had not predicted how much effort the rival gang you were on a heist against would gamble on you, sending out what seemed to be the majority of their forces for just one person.

You supposed that meant whatever Kaz had up his sleeve would work fairly easily now though, the level of guard lowered and their numbers dilapidated.

He better thank me later.

Just as you flipped a man over your back, quickly and efficiently leaning down over him, your shadow looming as your hand reached for your knife that was meant to be in your belt.

"Looking for this?"

You gasped and your eyes boggled as your dagger, that the man beneath you had obviously stolen, plunged into your side, the hilt far from buried in your torso as you recovered from the shock as soon as you could find it in your abilities to.

Another knife was ripped out of a corpse beside you and burrowed in his chest, right above his heart, before he could register what was taking place.

You stood, groaning as you clasped the sore flesh surrounding your wound, not yet having pulled out the weapon to prevent further blood loss.

You spun to face the remaining gang members behind you, grimacing as you felt the bile slip upward in your throat, stubbornly rising no matter how many times you swallowed.

Now you had nothing. Nothing to defend yourself with and nothing to help you in this fight. Nothing and no one.

Dying alone was a nauseating fear, circling through your head and running rampage, sending you into a frenzied panic.

Your back hit the wall, the skin burning as it was grazed against the bricks and your heart racing as you failed to bend to the side, only a grunt sounding from your throat as your hand pressed further against your abdomen.

In that moment, you closed your eyes and prayed. Simply prayed to the Saints you had once ridiculed with Kaz, hoping there was a chance, if even just a miniscule one, that you could be saved.

And maybe Inej had been right all along, that you owed her an overdue apology, because maybe, just maybe, Saints did exist.

And perhaps, Jesper Fahey was yours.

He came barrelling around the corner, your eyes clenched tightly shut as you heard gunshots ring out, believing that moment could be your end, that heist your undoing.

But no, because when you peered through your lashes, swaying precariously on your feet, he was there.

You gaped in shock, confusion and finally, joy. You wanted to jump into his arms, tell him of your gratefulness, all because he hadn't left you alone.

Dying was no incredible feat: it happened in Ketterdam everyday, bodies piled in corners and rotting in the dank, narrow streets. To die with no one to close your eyes, only being forced to gaze glassily into the deep grey sky, or no friend to comfort you in your last seconds or less, even, seemed terrifying.

Although, now you wouldn't have to worry about that. Because he was here.

Jesper rushed to you, nimbly leaping over corpses and stepping around barrels or other obstructions, eyes full of concern that only grew when his line of sight landed upon your side.

You could only weakly smile as his arm was slung over your shoulders and his other was suddenly dipping below your upper leg.

"Jes, I don't need picking up!"

"Hmm... I beg to differ, darling. So do your knees apparently."

That was when you realised just how they had buckled and how much of your weight you were making him support. You sighed and gave a sheepish yet irked nod, giving consent to let him swoop you off your feet, and he did so without hesitance after he observed your approval.

He traipsed through the streets, using his knowledge of shady back alleys to keep away from crowds and even if he had swaggered down the main street, no one would have batted an eye.

Or offered help. Ketterdam was not the place for helpful neighbors or friendly coworkers, and often the inhabitants were cruel, selfish and overall generally appeared to be disappointed with their whole lives.

Go figure.

The capital of Kerch was not an actual hospitable place, but some little nooks and crannies could just squeeze you into a sort of community. You had once known a baker that had given you free whole loafs of bread, shaking you off when you tried to pay.

Your palm was still positioned flat over your wound, digging in uncomfortably and your fingers splayed slightly in the air. You didn't dare move it, not making a sound either, only letting soft whines out when Jesper shifted you in his arms, to which he would respond with an apologetic gaze, no words said.

The scratch was not life threateningly deep, just shocking, and well, frightening; it reminded you anything could happen, just one simple change of plan could kill you.

It mortalised you in a way, made you think of how easily it could all be over. Sometimes, galavanting off with the Crows, searching giddily for trinkets with Nina and Jes made you feel as though you could do anything, stay in that moment forever.

But you were human. And right then, you had a knife in your side. Maybe it would have been better to pull it out, considering now every jostle sourced from your friend's sharp steps, heels tapping forcefully on the stones, could possibly send the dagger closer to your ribcage or organs.

"Jes."

"Yes, love?"

"Pull it. Please."

It was a beg for help, and a desperate one after he had only glanced down at you as he continued walking when answering to his name.

He did as you asked, laying you down to the side for a moment. He always had, providing whatever you needed and doing what you thought was best when it came to you.

"Ready? It'll hurt, lovely."

"You're making me more stressed, just do it already!"

It was true. You had broken a sweat as he had been trying to prepare you, beads of perspiration forming on your hairline.

If you had expected another warning, he certainly surprised you by wrenching the mini sword out of your side without anything else said. You cried out, gasping like a fish out of water and feeling just so, the crusting of the aging blood aiding that.

"I know, I know. Just give me a sec, okay? It'll be fine."

Jesper continued to mutter reassurances as he wrapped your scarf around your lower back and torso. The hardest part was when you had to lift your hips and rotate your body slightly so his slender fingers could grasp the other end of the garment to tie it together fully.

"I know. It's okay, yeah? It's fine."

He was in now way immature but his voice was definitely becoming higher and squeakier in fear: the tell tale lurching of his stomach appeared as he accidentally took a glance at the deep crimson blossoming over the scarf and staining his hands, managing to seep into the creases of his palms, depositing itself under his previously pristine nails and cuticles.

You could tell he was worried as he picked you up once more, yelping out a 'sorry' when his wrist brushed your blazing, sensitive flesh.

It was a troublesome trip to return to the Slat, Jesper aggravating the cut when he shifted to prevent you from slipping downward.

Once you were there however, you were adamant you could treat your injuries yourself, only really having a few minor scrapes and bruises, especially a sort of natural eyeshadow in the form of a black eye that had not fully appeared, yet was still already prominent.

You practically tumbled out of Jesper's arms, limping up the stairs to your room while the Zemeni followed closely behind you, a hand on the small of your back to support you while you found your balance, ticklish tingles spreading from the spot his fingertips made contact with your shoulder blades.

"Jes, I really don't need help, like, at all. Just let me-"

You were cut off as he pulled the alcohol out of your grasp, grinning in that charming way only he could pull off, only serving to irritate you further as he winked.

"Sure you don't. It's just that I can help. And I will, alright? I don't care if you don't agree, it's happening."

With that, the scarf was gently pulled from your skin, a hiss drawn from you as the rag he had tipped the alcohol onto touched your side. You forced yourself to control a flinch, only shying away a little as his unoccupied hand came absentmindedly and immediately to your unharmed side, pushing you back to have the cloth back on your skin, scooting you along the desk you were perched on.

"Just a bit more. I promise, darling."

You nodded, gritting your teeth against the pain until it subsided, choosing to focus on the warm and calloused hand resting on your other side, not yet removed.

"Alright, now it's only the little things."

Your mouth opened to protest, explain you could easily do that yourself, but Jesper only tutted under his breath and used two fingers to close your jaw and tilt your head simultaneously to observe the shiner decorating your eye.

"None of that. Now, all we've got is this, which I can't do much about, and that nasty gash on your arm."

He didn't think about what he was doing, how casually and carefully he was caring for you, as though you were a china doll, porcelain and fractured, broken with any move that was not delicate.

You didn't think about how much you enjoyed someone looking after you for once, taking such a chunk of his time to simply stand between your legs and help.

Suddenly, as you pouted and your bottom lip was drawn between your teeth, withholding a groan while he cleansed your upper forearm, his thumb came up to untuck your lip, barely ghosting over it, although the feeling was still so delicious. Tantalising.

And his arm dropped, cloth soaked with a random drink dropping to the rug as his gaze stayed on your lips. And he leant in, as did you, finally sharing a sweet kiss, tender and loving, all things beautiful and wondrous.

His stare burned into the floor as it drew downward, a murmur heard drifting through the air a few seconds later, "You know, I was so worried about you?" You moved to speak before he hushed you, "No, just let me... I'm saying, I was more concerned than a friend probably should have been. Maybe, I mean I don't know. Actually nevermind..."

But he never had a chance to finish as his locks of chocolate brown were swept away from his forehead, a kiss planted there in replacement.

"I'd love to go out with you, Jes, love. Or, I mean, whatever you want to do..."

Chuckles filled the room pleasantly as you both laughed together, cheeks flushed and lips almost swollen, at your embarrassment and haplessness, plus the lack of tact.

You supposed you were just fools in love. And in that moment, you wanted to be suspended there, floating forever.

With him.

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey x y/n #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey fluff #jesper fahey fics #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fic #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine

[vimeddiart]

Strangers

Patron-voted fic of my D&D beeflings! Read the previous comic and the first comic for this series for context!

On AO3

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The zinging cadence of his hammer hitting a new blade usually tempers his fraught emotions and lessens their intensity. The rhythm and beat usually calms him, the heat of the furnace and the steady drip of sweat as well. Except his heart thunders on and his breathing remains irregular and his eyes sting—not from stray embers or errant drops of perspiration—and his agitation grows.

It grows so powerfully that he miscalculates and swings his hammer much too harshly, breaking the blade he was trying to fashion which frustrates him further and he throws down his tools with a clatter, pressing the gloved heels of his hands to his brow.

Lazlo.

Tuhka releases a trembling breath.

Barely a day had passed since he had regurgitated all of the regret and agony of his childhood friend’s death right into said friend’s face before gracelessly fleeing, the bitter taste of tears still on his tongue and Lazlo’s look of resounding disbelief haunting him even here in the safety of his forge.

It wasn’t fair.

Why must he have been forced to carry the burden of grief and guilt for so many years? All those moments of remembrance, thinking of a friend—the only one he ever had— ripped away from the world much too soon, endless nights of pain and suffering, wishing he’d been taken instead...and for what? Lazlo was alive. Had been for perhaps as long as Tuhka had grieved his loss.

How much hatred—or worse, indifference—must Lazlo have harboured to fail in seeking Tuhka out...to reassure him, to reunite with him, to talk with him. They had been family.

Tuhka wrenches off his gloves and tosses them to the side, stalking towards the entrance of his smithy for some air, unable to concentrate anymore on his craft. His hands shake when he grasps the wrought iron gate.

A sound distracts him for a moment, one that carries over on the salty evening breeze that cools the sweat of his brow. Gravel crushed underfoot. It’s gone in an instant and even with his sharp hearing, Tuhka strains to listen for something further, ears swivelling in the hopes to catch it.

It doesn’t take too much investigation to track down the source of the sound once he decides to; a dark figure perched somewhat dejectedly on a boulder that offsets a scenic cliffside path Tuhka often takes to clear his head.

“You didn’t waste your grief, if that’s what you’re bothered about,” the figure says.

Tuhka’s breath leaves him in a rush as he’s met with a familiar blue gaze. He feels pulled forward by some invisible thread and settles himself on the far edge of the same boulder, leaving a bit of distance between them.

Lazlo sighs, drops his head into his hands. “When you left that day and never came back, I...believed you’d abandoned me, that you’d made good on your promise—”

“That was a child’s threat, I never meant to—” Tuhka began, needing to explain despite the betrayal he felt, still very fresh, that had upended years of mourning.

The other tiefling shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face and letting them fall to his lap. “I made a terrible decision, I paid for it,” the spectral left hand twitches and Tuhka notices it properly for the first time, heart squeezing despite everything and mind filling with more questions, “and I...went away for a long time. I didn’t think to look for you...I thought you despised me.”

He releases a mirthless laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve found you anyway. I’d have been looking for someone...quite different.”

Tuhka swallows hard. “I’ve...probably grown a bit since you last saw me.”

This startles a small, but real, laugh out of Lazlo, even if it does sound a little wet.

After a pause, Tuhka gathers strength from the stars and attempts to keep his voice steady. “That day...I went back for you. I did. I wasn’t going to, I was about to start a new life away from those bloody mines and I was so angry with you that I hoped you would stew in them forever...but then I remembered you wanted to get out just as desperately as I did and we swore to do it together so I went back to fetch you.”

Tuhka didn’t dare raise his eyes to Lazlo’s face, staring intently at his own hands grasping his knees even though the image was beginning to waver and blur.

“It was snowing and freezing and I walked through it without stopping, thinking that I would see you soon and whisk us away to a better place, until I saw the smoke from over the hill and I knew you’d gone ahead with our plan without me,” Tuhka let out a shuddering breath, “they said you got crushed in the tunnel along with that bastard foreman. Don’t remember much of what happened after that...just that I’d gone to fetch you and came back empty-handed.”

Tears flowed freely, despite previously believing he had run out of tears to shed. From the corner of his eye he noticed Lazlo wipe his face with a pure, white square of cloth.

“Told you the truth though…” Tuhka continued, after a none-too-discreet sniff, “mourned you like a piece of me had died. Couldn’t think of much else for a good few years,” He runs a forearm over his face roughly and finally turns to Lazlo, raw and exposed, “I would’ve looked for you in a heartbeat if I’d known you were alive. I would’ve.”

Lazlo lets out a sound like an animal in pain, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks that he no longer tries to wipe away. “I didn’t know...I didn’t know— I mucked up my plan and ending up losing everything, I— I was trapped for years without knowing how much time passed, I was...I was isolated from the outside in a way you won’t be able to understand but you must believe me, I never wanted to lose you—”

That final crack in Lazlo’s voice is what forces Tuhka to move closer and wrap an arm around his shoulders, mumbling soothing words until the sobs that wrack Lazlo’s frame subside. It reminds him of when he was younger—and much smaller—when Lazlo would do the same for him after a tumble, a run in with the awful foreman, or when overcome with a sadness he couldn’t understand, much less explain. Lazlo would have been there to comfort him, always.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lazlo lets out a tremulous sigh. “...Tables have turned, hm?”

Tuhka makes a tentatively amused sound in response. There is a whirlwind of emotion to wade through, but he can take this moment just to experience how real and solid Lazlo is. That he’s back.

“A right pair of bellends we turned out to be,” he ends up saying.

“Quite.” Lazlo sniffs, but there’s a small, albeit watery, smile on his lips as he straightens out of Tuhka’s one-armed embrace, and Tuhka tries not to let the empty feeling that remains affect him too much.

Something that has been niggling in the back of Tuhka’s mind takes on more force and the reason finally dawns on him.

“You sound different.”

Lazlo finishes wiping his face with a fresh, white handkerchief and makes a noise, muffled by the fabric.

“Yes, ah...I trained out the accent I used to have and replaced it with a new one.”

Tuhka blinks. “What’s wrong with your old accent? That’s the accent I have! I got it from you!”

“I needed to, ah...move in higher circles of society and I couldn’t very well sound like a common miner, could I?”

Tuhka opens his mouth to argue, a nostalgia for their juvenile arguments filling him in a split second, but Lazlo interrupts, “You know, we don’t have to speak Common if you’d prefer.”

They fall back on Infernal so naturally that Tuhka has to swallow a lump in his throat and keep the waver out of his voice. He never thought he would have this again. He’s a little rusty and out of practice but that doesn’t seem to matter in the moment—it’s like they’re back in the mines, speaking their language out of earshot of the foreman, making plans for the future in a world that was all dreams.

Tuhka tells Lazlo how he adopted Ooria (and not the other way round as she claimed to recall) and how she had helped him find his true self. He tells him about his work, his smithy and how he made a home on this cliff by the ocean. He doesn’t talk about the painful things, like crying himself to sleep every night for years from missing him, or the search for his adoptive mother who was now lost.

Lazlo talks about— what Tuhka suspects is— superficial milestones, his expertise in identifying gemstones, the places he’s visited and the night skies he has lain under and commemorated on his skin. Tuhka notices the glittering constellations peeking out of Lazlo’s clothes and his heart thumps, wanting to ask what made them special enough to wear permanently but he stops himself...still feeling like a stranger. There’s an undercurrent of darkness in Lazlo’s vague statements, of secrets untold, and Tuhka is slightly surprised by a keen disappointment that bubbles within him at not being trusted with them.

There’s a lull in conversation, an impending finality that Tuhka does not appreciate. He refuses to remain a stranger as well, which prompts him to realise that he hasn’t even properly introduced himself yet.

Feeling bold, he holds a hand out in the human way. “Tuhka Turunen.”

Lazlo’s gaze lands on the proffered hand and then flickers up to Tuhka’s face, seeming to weigh his options. He breathes out a laugh and leans forward, ignoring the hand to press his forehead slowly but firmly against Tuhka’s in customary tiefling fashion. An echo of the greeting they shared when they first met as children.

“Lazarus Astrophel,” whispers the tiefling formerly known as Lazlo.

Tuhka smiles. “Nice to meet you, Lazarus.”

They part and Lazlo—Lazarus—clears his throat, “My close acquaintances sometimes call me Laz. You may do so, after all we’re—” a beat of hesitation, “—old friends.”

His vibrant blue eyes are on Tuhka, almost as if expecting him to disagree. Tuhka doesn’t.

“Laz,” he says, smiling, “lot less likely to get mixed up with that.”

The sea breeze sighs around them, ruffling hair and clothing. Tuhka watches as Lazarus gets to his feet.

“It’s late. I should be going.”

Panic flickers through Tuhka. “You’re leaving?”

“I have business in town for a day or two, I’m staying at an inn there...The King’s Cushion?”

Tuhka nods, recognising the name. He gets to his feet as well, unintentionally towering over Lazarus.

“Stars...I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” Lazarus grimaces.

“You’re welcome to visit,” Tuhka blurts out, trying to keep any semblance of desperation out of his voice and getting the impression that he failed, “you wanted to commission something, we can talk about that whenever you like.”

After a moment of confusion, Lazarus’ expression clears. “Ah, right, yes, that was what got us into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? Yes,” he smiles, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

This time when he leaves, it’s with a lot less anger than moments after their first confrontation only days ago, and with a promise to come back. They had once shared everything, even their deepest desires. Now, after fifteen years apart, they’ve become completely different people—the fact that Lazarus came here, willing to talk, making promises to return even if there’s a chance he may not keep them...it’s a start. And that will have to be enough for now.

Tuhka sits back down once Lazarus has vanished from sight down the path and gazes up at the same stars he had begged night after night to return his best friend to him.

He thanks them for listening.

#d&d #tuhka turunen #lazarus astrophel #ash & salt #mine #almost forgot to post this

[egyptsblackrose]

Dancing with Strangers

There will be one more part to this story after this then I think this story is complete. I have other projects in the works and other passions I want to devote some time to. Hope your all doing well and please enjoy.

No actual smut in this one, but reference to intimacy probably still 18+ though so minors please do not read

Part 4- https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/652018121062989824/dancing-with-strangers-more-filth-for-this-story

Part 5-

Your senses slowly brought you out of your peaceful, heavy slumber, though your mind was not ready to open your eyes just yet. First thing you felt was comfort, soft, warm, heavy sheets keeping you safe and cozy. When you focused more, however, you realised that part of your arm that was not in your little cocoon, was radiating the kind of heat only the sunlight could bring. So it was clearly day time, maybe even afternoon. No matter, you did’t have any classes today, that was why you agreed to going out to the clubs with your friends.

Your friends… You gasped and sat up with a jolt, only to groan and hiss. Rubbing your lower stomach and back.

Oh… right… you had gone home with not just one but TWO strangers and had a THREESOME!

Your cheeks set on fire as the events of last night played out in your head. The pleasure, the desire. More had happened after they had each taken a turn with you. Kakashi had been painfully hard again watching your brains get fucked out by Gojo, so you had rolled over and sucked him off lazily, taking your time to tease. That had lead to the boys getting revenge, Satoru holding your hands hostage as he fucked your mouth, while Hatake ravaged you again, harder and more forceful till you squirted for him as well.

Then you had been carried to the shower, Kakashi tenderly, lovingly holding you bridal style in the walk in shower as Gojo massaged your entire body with wonderful smelling shower gel. Only your moans had turned the men on again. Gojo took you this time, having you pressed against the wall with him on his knees, Hatake standing and receiving another blow job from you. Kakashi had to wash your face and hair when he tried to pull out too late, but you had been quick to defend him when Satoru’s teasing went too far.

By the time you were all dried, your legs had stopped working and you could barely keep your eyes open, the sun was peaking through the curtains gently to hint as the beginning of sunrise, and you all settled into bed. Never before had you been so comfortable, resting your head against someone’s chest while being spooned from behind, wearing a really comfy large hoodie and boxer shorts for bed while the two men only wore old shorts.

But glancing around at the bed, you found your companions gone and the bed cold. Nibbling on your bottom lip in thought, you quickly did a body check. Toes were wiggling; but it took effort and there was still a little pain, your stomach felt a little uncomfortable and sore but nothing you couldn’t handle. You smelled good- to your relief- though you needed to brush your teeth immediately. Your hair felt smooth and smelled great as well, your make up had clearly been removed, your cloths were at the end of the bed; freshly washed and folded.

You had clearly been well taken care of, their after care game was obviously on par with their A game. And yet the niggling doubt set into your mind.

Why take such good care of you and then leave you alone? And there was no sounds in the whole apartment from what you could hear. Had they left? There was no note from what you could see. Maybe they’d gone out or to work and hoped you’d be gone by the time they got back. Why else leave your cloths close by, in obvious view and clean to wear. This was their hint to get out. They’d had their fun, so had you, now it was time to leave.

The thought made you a lot sadder than you would like to admit. But then again, the two men were clearly experienced, your friends had even said so last night, that’s why they encouraged you to go through with it. You were not the first girl they did this too, and chances are you weren’t the last. How many other girls out there had woken up exactly like this? With a pout and painful groan, you slipped out of bed and started getting changed on wobbly legs.

This was for the best anyway, you told yourself. They were policemen, they were successful men, there was TWO of them. And you were just a Uni student, you weren’t even half way through your final year, you had yet to successfully land an interview. You didn’t even know if you wanted to stay in Japan after you graduated, if you wanted to graduate here or go back home to your family… There was still so much you needed to figure out, you were just beginning. And successful men like that would want a successful woman, or women rather.

Once presentable, borrowing some mouth wash from the bathroom seen as you did not have your own toothbrush, you took a few deep breaths to sike yourself up. The fact that not just one, but TWO god level men had chosen you to spend the night with them meant something, even if it was short lived. THEY had picked YOU, called you beautiful, whispered sweet nothings into your ear, taken care of you. And now it would be a nice memory, and you could wear this win like a badge of honour as you leave. Just think of how many women would kill to be you.

Opening the bedroom door, your heart sank a little more at not seeing even one of the handsome men. A little part of you had hoped that maybe they were up, and that little part of you made your eyes scan the living room and kitchen desperately for a note or a sign that you hadn’t been left behind. But all you found was a clock above the cooker that read 10:20 am.

Hu… earlier than you thought, but not an unpleasant surprise.

Thankfully the door was unlock-able from the inside, but you weren’t sure about the elevator, seen as they had used a key card to activate it last night. It seemed luck was on your side, however, because pressing the down button meant the elevator was automatically called to you, opened, and a frigging bell boy was waiting with a smile and a polite nod. How rich are these guys?!

“Ground floor Miss?” The young man asked. You nodded numbly, stepping in and moved to the back of the elevator. It seemed the new face could tell you didn’t want to talk, so the journey down was gratefully a silent one as you stared at the floor. How many young women has this man escorted down and out of the building for these two men?

You frowned at yourself. Why were you so hung up on that? You had no right to the answer and no right to even ask the question. They weren’t yours. You weren’t theirs. And it didn’t even matter. But you couldn’t free yourself from the feeling of being used.

Raising your head at the ding, as soon as the doors started opening you dashed out, wanting to quickly get away from this place and move on. The quicker this…mind blowing experience became a fond memory, the better.

Following your memory from last night of being in the taxi, you knew that you had passed your street on the way, and it didn’t seem like such a long ways away. You started walking without hesitation, head down as you messaged your friends that you were on the way home. They replied excitedly, clearly wanting to talk about the events of last night, but you quickly shut them down. Miku seemed to get the hint immediately that you weren’t feeling like yourself and something was wrong, promising movies and home made goodies from her mum who was visiting.

The thought made you smile. Miku and Sakura’s parents had basically adopted you as soon as you got back to Japan, all four insisting on introducing you to as many of their friends and neighbours as possible, promising you and your worried parents that they were only a call away. Miku’s mother was particularly affectionate, a little unusual for Japanese culture, but she often cured your home sickness with gentle hugs and head pats, pinching your cheeks and promising a nice warm home cooked meal and a few wise words. And such parental affections was too good to pass up right now.

Raising your head with slightly watery eyes, you quickened your pace. Only for your wrist to be grabbed in a unyielding hold.

“Y/N!”

“Beautiful?”

The voices made to freeze, eyes widening as you slowly turned and gasped. It was them.

“Kakashi? Gojo?” Your voice was nothing but a whisper from how surprised you were.

“Baby, why are you leaving already?” Hatake asked worriedly, frown in place.

Satoru wagged a disapproving figure at you. “I thought I said we were staying in bed today to have fun.”

“But…” Swallowing thickly, you turned more towards them, wide eyed and confused. “I woke up in bed alone, you were both gone, my cloths were clean and folded beside me…I thought you wanted to me to go…”

“What?!” Gojo yelled in an exaggerated tone, quickly moving to wrap his arms around you from behind and rubbing his face into your hair. “What a silly little head our beautiful girl has Kakashi!”

“Y/N…” Hatake soothed quickly, seeing you frown at Gojo. “Baby I wasn’t there when you woke up because I left to do a little shop of things me and Gojo were out of, and also pick you up a toothbrush for when you woke up. And our idiot here wasn’t with you because I sent him to pick up some breakfast for us all. You said at the club that your favourite thing to wake up to was _____, so we thought we’d treat you. We both went so we could be back as fast as possible, we didn’t think you would wake up so soon, let alone think we wanted you to go. So imagine our surprise when we pull into our usual parking spot across the street and see a figure and outfit all to familiar walking away from us? We were worried you decided that YOU wanted to go.”

The words sunk in slowly and made your eyes water more, especially when you heard Kakashi use the term ‘OUR idiot’ when referring to Gojo. He was including you in their bond. “So… you weren’t trying to give me the hint to leave so you wouldn’t have to see me?”

“Beautiful, are you stupid?” Kakashi sent a glare to Gojo, but the other white haired male continued. “Last night was amazing, and I said that this was the beginning. Do I seem the type to lie to you beautiful? I don’t just say that to anyone, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever said it before. Me and Kakashi want to do so much more to you, with you, and not just in the bedroom…and not just sexual things either.”

The clear implication and teasing was not lost on you, making your cheeks light up a rosy pink. Hatake chuckled sweetly, stroking your cheek as he stepped a little closer. “There’s that blush we love. Y/N, I won’t lie to you. We have had one night stands before, we have had times where we either take the girl home or ask her personally to leave, but neither me or Gojo want this to be one of those times. We don’t want a one night stand with you, your different, special. We actually like you, as a person, and we’d like to see if this…if WE could be something.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Where…where they SERIOUS? These beautiful, amazing men wanted you in their lives? “But why?”

Kakashi frowned. “Why?”

“Yeah. Why? Why me?”

Gojo chuckled, nuzzling your neck to draw your attention back to him. “Because Kakashi’s right, your different. Most women are flirty with us cause they want some fun. YOU were flirty with us cause WE were fun. You listened to us, you didn’t try to be something or someone your not, you were very real. And the real you is awesome. And we want to know that real you more.”

“Y/N,” Hatake’s hand, that was still on your wrist, moved down to take your hand, stroking the back of it soothingly. “Gojo and I have a strange relationship, we know that. We are more like brothers than friends, and there’s never been any attraction between us. But we have only ever had a functioning, healthy relationship when the two of us put in the effort. We are not perfect, but together we are. And for a long time we have looked for someone who can complete us, who can make us both happy. It’s too early to tell if that’s you, but surely even you had to feel how RIGHT everything felt last night.”

Flashes of charming smiles from the club took over your mind, how easy the flow of conversation was, how natural it felt to have both their hands on you. You had been saddened so much to think that something so good was already over. But here they were, telling you it didn’t have to be. Looking into those amazing dark grey and blue eyes of the two white haired men, you could see how they desperately did not want you to go.

“Ok… we can see where this goes. But, I want to try do this properly, and I want this to be open between the three of us.” Both men looked at each other in confusion, so you continued. “If something happened with just one of you while the other is away, I don’t want it causing fights, I also want to spend time with you, and not just doing…intimate stuff. Dates, together as a three or just as a duo, actually getting to know one another, honesty, proper communication. All of it.” You said firmly. “When I devote myself to a relationship, I do it whole heartedly, and I expect the same from my partner. Just because there’s two of you, doesn’t mean you can put in half the effort. I’m mostly looking at you Satoru.”

The blue eyed man gasped on horror, hand over his heart like it was clutching a fatal wound. “Beautiful, you think I wont treat you like a princess?”

“I don’t want to be treat like a princess.” You shot back firmly, but smiled softly. “I want you to treat me as your equal, like your friend, like your partner, because to me, that’s what a relationship is. I don’t want to be babied or spoilt, I just want to be treat fairly and honestly. And if I find out either of you cheated on me…just remember that BOTH my parents are amazing lawyers and I have another country I can easily move to.” The three of you laughed easily, smiling at each other with warm smiles as you each earliest that this was the start of something. Something beautiful.

Part 6- https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/655347185273241600/dancing-with-strangers-this-is-by-far-the-longest

#y/n #you #my own work #gojo #Satoru #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #Kakashi #Hatake #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi hakate #trader #selfinsert

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Wait For Me // D.M.

Request: hi! can you do a request where draco performed the obliviate curse on his gf before the war, then met her again post war when he became a healer? the storyline is up to you! by the way, i really really like your fics 🥺 - anon

A/N: This request let me explore all the things I love: angst, healer!draco, and redemption. Thank you for trusting me with this request, I love it so much. This was not also on my WIP lost but I had an idea and I ran with it. With some hope, my next few fics will be from that list!!

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares and injuries, some anxiety, short words and tempers, swearing. A HAPPY ENDING or at least the start of one.

Word count: 5.2k

1996:

“You know why I have to do this, right?” Draco whispers: worried that if he were to speak any louder his voice would give away how close he is to breaking.

You nod once. A solemn nod that juxtaposes the tears falling freely down your face. How could you be agreeing to this when it made you feel like your heart was being ripped out?

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, arms reaching for you, the urge to touch too strong to resist. “If they used you against me or if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

You hush him; not missing the irony of the situation. To be comforting him when you were going to have a large chunk of your memories taken from you, it was almost laughable.

The final few moments together are spent in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, getting as much of the other as possible before inevitably having to let go. You bury your face in his chest, almost refusing to let go of him as he unhooks your hands from around his waist.

The time has come; it’s come too soon.

You barely register Draco’s tears mixing with yours as he hauls you in for one last desperate kiss. His forehead remains pressed to yours as he whispers three words.

“Wait for me.”

Then everything goes blank. A flash of white and your life begins anew.

No memories of the last year of your life; no thoughts about the blonde haired teenager that had occupied your mind and stolen your heart.

There’s nothing.

Five years later:

The strong antiseptic smell has your nose crinkling in distaste. The overhead lights buzz as the bright light bounces off the overly clean floor; it makes your head hurt more. You place a tentative hand to the side of your head, frowning further when you feel the large bump growing there. Removing your hand, you sigh, remembering the tears of the pupil that had done this.

Not long after the war, a new decree was issued setting up centres of education for young witches and wizards that showed magical promise. They operated extremely similar to a muggle primary school; however these followed the curriculum created by the Ministry of Magic.

It was in one of these schools that you worked, choosing to train as a teacher after finishing your education.

A rogue ball is what had landed you in the emergency room of the only magical hospital in Britain. It had come out of nowhere; the children playing happily as the weather had improved over the course of the day.

Tapping your foot impatiently off the tiled floor, you had to admit to yourself it had been partly your fault for not seeing the ball before it knocked you on the side of the head and subsequently knocked you to the floor. The child, a young Hugo Ward, had felt terrible – sobs wracking his body as he apologised to you over and over again to the point where you had to reassure him you were fine.

An hour after the accident, it became evident that you were not fine. The dizziness and double vision being symptoms of something worse, your boss had sent you off to St. Mungo’s without room for argument, promising you she would cover your class for the rest of the day.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” calls the triage nurse. A blonde middle aged lady with bright eyes and a kind smile; she points in the direction of exam room two and you flash her a grateful smile.

The hospital bed is uncomfortable as you take a seat on top of the crinkly paper. The pounding in your head had not stopped since you arrived but the dizziness was calming somewhat, and for that, you were thankful. It happens as a flash; a memory washes over you of a large hospital wing, two rows of beds and an elderly lady with fierce determination written over her face.

A single blink and it disappears. The flashes hadn’t happened for a while; the aftermath of a memory charm inflicted upon in your Sixth Year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t known who had done it; they had found you wandering the halls of Hogwarts alone and confused before realising what had happened. You had recovered fairly quickly; the only aftermath being the flashes of what could be memories.

You sigh, sinking further into the gurney as you think of the pile of marking waiting for you at home. Even a sore head couldn’t put off the inevitable.

The Healer doesn’t look up as he enters, pulling the curtain closed behind him, “I’m Healer Malfoy, how can I help you today?”

You sit straighter as you take in the healer. Blonde hair down to the nape of his neck, tied back with what seems to be a leather cord. He hasn’t looked up at you yet, but from your spot, you could tell he was handsome. A strong jaw being home to a distracting mouth. You look away, admiring the rest of him before you could be caught staring at his lips.

Healer Malfoy’s face slackens for a second as his eyes rake over your face. He collects himself after a second, but still, you noticed. He clears his throat, looking down at the chart in his hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“You hurt your head at work?”

Again, you nod, “Twice over. A pupil threw a ball at my head by accident, but I knocked my head on the playground as I fell.”

Healer Malfoy places your chart on a nearby table, pulling latex gloves out of his pocket as he does so. He smiles at you, but there’s something guarded about the expression on his face that has question after question springing up in your overworked and pained mind.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Healer Malfoy asks routinely, silently gesturing to your head, asking for permission to feel the injury.

“No,” You answer, turning your head for him to feel the bump on the side of your head.

You hear his sharp inhale as he examines the large bump there. As if seeing you hurt physically hurt him too, yet how was that possible? Thinking through your admittedly fragmented memories, you cannot find a whisper of what the blonde haired man could have looked like younger. Something niggled in the back of your mind, a feeling, a hunch. You didn’t know what, but it got stronger every time you met the grey eyes of the handsome Healer Malfoy.

“This is going to sound odd but go with me on it please?” You say, voice lilting into a question at the end. The idea of not giving this man in front of you a choice simply abhorrent to you.

Healer Malfoy smiles: it’s polite and doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back from you, needing the distance but also done with the examination of your injury. “Okay, I’ll go with it,” He states warily.

Your hands clench into fists; overcome with the urge to try and coax a smile out of him. “I don’t know how else to say it. Do we know each other? You feel familiar to me, as if I know you from somewhere.”

Whatever smile was on Healer Malfoy’s face falls the instant the words leave your mouth. His entire demeanour changes – shoulders stiff, hands gripping your chart so tight it could snap in half. Unclenching his jaw, Healer Malfoy grits out, “No. We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure?” You press, deciding desperately that you needed to know the man standing in front of you.

“Very sure,” He murmurs, scribbling your discharge notes and handing them to you. “I would remember you if we had met before.”

The blank confession leaves you speechless. Blinking in what could only be described as shock, you take the outstretched papers.

“Your prescription is there too. You show no major signs of a concussion, just rest for tonight at least and watch out for anymore footballs,” Healer Malfoy starts, “Should you have any more problems, you know where to find us.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you hurriedly grab your bag from the gurney and leave the exam room, taking extra care to hide the dejected look on your face as you pass the handsome healer.

Draco watches you go. You all but sprint out of the hospital, almost desperate in your escape to get away from him and his short words.

The threat has been gone for years; vanquished not too long after the night Draco had taken your memories, after the night that continues to haunt his nightmares.

Draco Malfoy had faced the Dark Lord and lived – he has stared death in its sallow face and was not the first to look away. Yet, Draco was ever more terrified of what you would do should your memories ever return. Your rage was entirely more terrifying than staring into the soulless eyes of the man his parents so blindly followed.

Draco releases a breath as he spies your figure finally leaving the hospital. The released breath does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest; the tightness that had been there since that fateful night in the astronomy tower.

He’s had this argument with himself countless times, always the same words and the same fight. His own justification for why he did what he did; why he took your memories of your relationship and sent you away. Deep down, Draco knows that he should have communicated better. He knows that he should have sat you down and explained to you his worries and his fears. However, at barely seventeen years old, Draco was just getting used to the idea of love. He knew what was coming; he knew that there were dark times ahead and he was unfortunately aware of how you could be used against him should the time come.

He had a decision to make, so he did. Thinking back on it now, it had almost killed him. He had never experienced a pain like it. Draco had been hit with the Sectumsempra curse and the pain that followed was nothing compared to the pain he felt when erasing your memories.  

Draco turns away from the door. You’ve disappeared around the corner; your head bowed, and shoulders hunched. He has no reason to watch you now. He turns away from the door, wondering whether it was fate that had brought you back into his life after such an absence.

An absence he caused.

-------

You return to work the day after; feeling fine enough to stand in front of your class and deliver your lessons of literacy and maths but also of spellcasting and magical control for infants. You followed your lesson plans to the letter; resolutely refusing to stray from them should they let your mind wander to the handsome healer and his cold words.

The healer continues to play on your mind for the rest of the week: at work, at home. You would go over the brief conversation you had with him; wondering at which point his demeanour changed, that he became closed off and cold. He hadn’t been welcoming from the beginning, but by the end of it he had downright cold. It should have warned you off; it should have been warning enough to keep your distance and to do your best to ensure you never needed to return to the emergency room, yet there was something about him. There was something hidden within his grey eyes, a dark secret ravaging him from the inside out and you felt desperate to know what it was.

-------

As much as you adore your vocation, as much as you love coming into work and greeting the children with a smile, there was something sweet about sending them home to their parents. A sweet relief that loosens the weight on your chest somewhat.

A shock of blonde hair has you turning back to the school gates. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognise the handsome face of the healer that had treated you only a week ago. His face not one you felt like you could forget.

“Healer Malfoy?” You call out, confused at his presence.

He smiles bashfully, “Draco, please.”

“Draco,” You greet. “Do you often make home visits?” You tease, a smile crossing your face.

“Technically, I’m at your place of work so this would be a work visit,” Draco comments, laughing lightly, seeming to be in a much better mood than the last time you had met him.

Your smile grows larger at the sound of his laughter. “Okay… do you often make work visits?”

He shakes his head, “No. I do not.”

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are.”

“One, and one I thought of just now – I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the hospital the other day, I was rude, and it was out of line so I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I doubt that you get asked by many of your patients whether you know them.”

Draco smiles, “You’re right, I don’t, but nevertheless, I shouldn’t have been so rude, and I apologise.”

“Then I accept your apology, only if you accept mine.”

He goes to argue but stops himself at the last possible moment. You meet his gaze head on, watching the emotions pile up there. There’s something lingering in his grey eyes; something deeper as if he has more to apologise for but he isn’t ready to confess to what or why he even needs to say more.

“What was your second reason for being here?” You question, curiosity piqued but also wanting to move the conversation on, unable to look into his grey eyes any long for the fear that your heart may burst out of your chest.

Draco smiles, “I’m picking up my godson.”

“Your godson? Do I know who he is?”

“You might. Tobias Dawsey?”

Recognition flashes across your face as you picture the small brunette in your mind’s eye. “I do know him! I taught him last year,” You all but shout, “He’s your godson?”

Draco nods, “He is. I’ve worked with his mother from my very first day at St. Mungo’s, she asked me to be godfather when she found out she was pregnant with him.”

His words warm your heart; the care he has for his godson obvious in his voice. You go to say more, to try and coax more information out of him. Your need to know him almost choking you with its intensity, but for the life in you, you couldn’t figure out why you needed to know him. You move to speak, but you’re interrupted by the excited crow of a young child.

“Uncle Draco!” Tobias shouts, running up to his uncle on his little legs, his bookbag banging against them with every step.

“Hey kiddo,” Draco greets, picking up the child making grabby arms for him.

“Do you know Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Draco nods. “Miss (Y/L/N) came into work the other week,” He states, thankfully not exaggerating further.

Tobias frowns, turning his attention to you, concerned about his favourite teacher, “Are you okay though?”

You smile at the young brunette, “I’m all better. Your Uncle Draco fixed me up.”

Tobias nods seriously, “He’s the best Healer ever.”

You laugh; the love Tobias has for his godfather so clear within his voice, it only warms your heart further. “I have no doubt in that, Tobias. Off you go anyway, I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting home.”

Tobias and Draco wave at you as they leave the school grounds. The smile on your face doesn’t fade as you watch them walk away, the young boy chattering the ear off his devoted uncle.

Deep down, where you would only admit to yourself and no-one else, you hoped that you would get to see the handsome blonde healer again.

-------

Over the following weeks you spy Draco’s presence more by the school gates. Tobias clearly adores him, sprinting into his uncle’s arms the moment he sees him waiting for him. Crossing your arms across your chest, you comment, “You must be a very devoted godfather to volunteer to pick up Tobias this often.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly as if the task of reorganising his shifts was nothing of a chore, “I enjoy spending time with him and…”

“And?”

Draco ducks his head, feeling the familiar heat of blush creep up his neck, “I like talking to you.”

He feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. If he had an ounce of human decency within him, he would turn away from you the moment Tobias arrives. He would walk away from you, never to come back into your life again. What he did all those years ago was unforgivable despite having your permission. Draco knows he shouldn’t be back in your life, but now that he had seen you once or twice, he had to see you more.

He felt like an addict. He couldn’t leave you alone. Draco didn’t want to if he was honest with himself especially when you grin at him so widely his heart pounds in his chest.

You duck your head, your hair hiding your face. “I like talking to you too even if it is only at the school gate,” You shyly admit.

“Then we should change that,” Draco stutters out before he backs down. He wants to kick himself; he should turn away from you now and leave you alone for good, but that one selfish part of him that powers his heart tells him to stay put.

If possible, your smile grows larger, “Then we should change that.”

------

The friendship feels so natural once it starts; once the both of you get past the initial awkwardness that seemed to loiter from Draco’s cold words earlier in the year. It started with longer conversations at the school gate, but then he would come with Tobias’ mother and wait for you as Tobias would reluctantly leave with his mother. From there, it grew into a timid friendship that slowly grew more surer of itself as you invited Draco out for food or to museums or to spend the weekend with you, walking around the city when he wasn’t working.

However, as the friendship became more solid, you could not ignore the way your heart sped up with every smile and every laugh. You could not ignore the way your face heated each time he winked at you; a private joke shared between you. It didn’t feel like a passing fancy. It felt like something deeper, as if the feelings had been there before and had been dormant until now. You felt as if you were always meant to feel this way about Draco – the feelings tugging on memories you weren’t even sure were yours. Flashes of blonde hair and the powerful scent of jasmine all tied in with late nights in a tower you could barely recognise. Draco made you feel like the only person in the world; he was supportive and kind and funny. He was everything you could want and more – how could you not fall for him?

There was still the remaining secret though. It haunted him; his eyes clouded over whenever it was on his mind as if he was returning to the very memory itself. He would return shier, unsure of himself as if the friendship he had forged with you was about to implode and leave him shattered once more.

You ask him about it once. The two of you sat on your couch; you introducing Draco the wonders of muggle films and showing him your favourites when you catch him zone out. Your finger reaches out, pokes his cheek. “Where did you just go?” You question, a smile in your voice.

Draco reaches out, grabbing your finger, “Nowhere of importance.”

You frown, pulling your finger out of his grip, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?”

“Disappear on me. It’s like you have something big to tell me, but you just aren’t ready yet.”

Draco feels certain his heart stops in his chest. He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled; choked by the worry creeping up from his gut. Draco opens his mouth to reply but you beat him to it. “I’m not saying you have to tell me what it is now,” You start, “I just want you to know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Draco closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of your couch. You had so graciously opened your home to him, opened your life and offered friendship to him, and he felt awful. As he should, he thinks to himself. He had taken memories of importance from you, and here you sat, unaware of the crime and sitting with the criminal himself.

It felt like there was a countdown ticking over his head. It felt like he only had a certain amount of time until he had to come clean and he had to tell you about that night in the astronomy tower.

Yet for all that was in him, for all that created his moral compass, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you and ruin whatever was blossoming between the two of you. Draco supposes he is a coward. He probably is, he tells himself, but he cannot bring himself to care about his cowardice when you smile at him like he holds the sun and stars for you.

Does he regret that night? With everything within him. Would he do it again knowing the outcome? Of course he would. He would sacrifice himself  and his happiness a thousand times over to ensure your safety.

---------

Draco tells himself he’ll confess the next time he sees you which is both all too soon and not soon enough. His love for you had never faded; he hadn’t been the one to forget the short relationship you had. The intensity that accompanied teenage love and infatuation had never left the forefront of his mind. After all, how could they? Now that you were back in his life, he felt the teenager again – utterly drawn to you and unwilling to let you go.

He confesses late on a Tuesday night. The shift at St. Mungo’s had been long and arduous, but he got through it with the single thought of you. He knew that at the end of it, he would get to knock on your door. He only hoped that you wouldn’t turn him away once you found out the truth. Your hatred of him could never rival the hatred he feels for himself, but he finds himself hoping for your forgiveness.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco states, plain and simple.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before answering, “You can tell me anything.”

“You had a memory charm used on you in Sixth Year, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?” You demand. Despite the friendship grown between the both of you, you hadn’t told him that. You had given him bits and pieces, alluded to the fact that there were gaps in your memories, but you hadn’t told him the truth. Just like he hadn’t told you what made him disappear inside his mind like he so often does.

“I took your memories. It was me.” Draco confesses, his voice clear in the quiet room.

“What?” You shout, anger shooting through you.

“I took your memories. I used a memory charm on you in the middle of Sixth Year when things started to take a turn for the worst.”

“What gave you the right?” You cry, tears building out of upset and anger.

“You did,” Draco states plainly, “You didn’t want to at first, but you came round to my way of thinking when you saw how bad things were getting at home.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because once upon a time, you were in love with me.”

You shake your head, pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to get to grips with the piles of information only just dumped on you. Draco watches you pace; his grey eyes following each step intently as you work through everything in your head.

Worry shines bright in his eyes when you stop pacing. He goes to take a step towards you, but you step back. The small space between you feels like a great chasm, a gaping void that Draco is desperate to fill, to patch up.

“Tell me everything,” You state before adding on, “Please.”

Draco releases a shuddering breath before starting: “We were friends through school. I don’t remember how the friendship started, but it did and for years we were really good, close friends. Then along the way, the friendship changed. We fell in love, or whatever it is at sixteen/seventeen years old. We had less than a year together when things started to change; when whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return were strengthened by continued attacks on the Ministry.

“You argued with me for hours,” Draco pauses, laughing as he remembers what you clearly couldn’t, “I had never seen you so angry or so stubborn. You were adamant, you didn’t want to but then you went quiet and I knew you saw what I had seen. You agreed after a minutes silence; told me yes even though it broke the both of us to do so.

Draco’s grey eyes are lined with unshed tears as he murmurs, “I couldn’t let them have you. My family was working with the darkest wizard there had ever been in the last century, if he had gotten a whiff of what you meant to me, you would be used in ways that not even I could imagine. My aunt would have taken great pleasure in ensuring that you would be a bargaining chip for me to fulfil whatever mission they handed me. That was something I couldn’t allow.

“It broke me to do it. To watch your eyes go blank as the memories of what we shared disappeared. Selfishly, I asked you to wait for me, not knowing that they would be tied to you afterwards. I just… I couldn’t let you go. As a teenager and an adult. There’s no real excuse for what I did, but know it was out of love for you that I did it.”

Draco falls silent. His heavy words adding to the growing tension in the room. Draco’s mind runs a thousand miles a minute; his eyes don’t leave you as he watches you work through every emotion coursing through your body. He sees the anger, the sadness, the frustration, but he also sees the relief at having an answer for those gaps that you had only recently confessed to him.

You break the loaded silence, “I forgot the relationship, but on some level I don’t think I ever forgot you.”

“What?” Draco asks, the air rushing out of him in one fell swoop.

A smile creeps across your face; relishing somewhat at having caught him off-guard. “I have glimpses of what I always assumed was a past life. The memories were always fuzzy around the edges, but they were clear enough for me to catch glimpses of blonde hair or to spy the pattern of a ring much like the one on your signet ring.”

Draco remains silent; he doesn’t dare talk; he doesn’t dare breathe. Nothing prepares him for your next words.

“I waited for you… like you asked.”

Those words. Those foolish words that he had absolutely no right to whisper to you. Draco had been so overwhelmed in that moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the small kernel of hope that despite the strength of the memory charm, a part of you would remember him and would wait for him.

But you had.

You had waited for him. You barely knew who he was, but you had waited for him, hoping that one day he would cross your path.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, running a hand through his growing hair, starting to pace the length of your living room.

“When I woke after my memories had been taken, I clearly didn’t remember a single thing, but I had the echoes of three words ringing in my ears. A beg, a plea of someone – a boy asking for me to wait for them. I didn’t know completely who I was waiting for, I didn’t know it was you until I saw you at the hospital that first time and then again so soon after leaving. My memories haven’t returned, and I doubt they will, but I just know that it was you who I was waiting for.”

Draco falls silent, letting your words fall over him and sink into his skin, settling deep within his bones.

Years. It had been years since that night in the astronomy tower where he took your memories. It had been years since he felt the longing and love; there had been no-one lese and there would be no-one else. For Draco, there was only ever you… and you had waited.

You had waited for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, hands continuing to run through his hair in frustration as he paces the room. He faces you; grey eyes wild with emotion, “How are you not angry with me?”

“I am angry with you! I’m furious with you, Draco! You took my memories, but if you say I agreed to it, I’m just as angry with myself for allowing myself to forget you.”

“What do we do?” He asks, a hand running down his face as he tries to figure out the next step.

“Forgiveness,” You state simply, “We try to move on.”

Draco’s hands drop limply at his side as he gasps, “Forgiveness?”

“What happened after you erased my memories, Draco?”

“There was a war. I was on the wrong side,” is all he says. He isn’t ready to go into too much detail. That’s another story for another day.

“Was that what you were trying to protect me from? The wrong side?”

Draco nods wordlessly. He saw things going south so quickly but his parents hadn’t. They pushed and they pushed; inducting him into the same pureblood fanaticism they relished.  “How can you even think of forgiving me? I took your memories. I stole them from you, and you won’t ever get them back,” He argues, wanting to know whether you truly understood what you were doing by forgiving him.

“Let me ask you something, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you plan on leaving again?”

He shakes his head immediately. He doesn’t think he could leave you even if he tried.

You shrug your shoulders, “That’s how I can think of forgiving you.”

“I don’t understand,” He whispers; his own self-hatred confused by your words.

“The wizarding war was about to descend into war. We were confused, scared teenagers who didn’t see another option. You asked my permission, Draco, and I granted it clearly.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No buts. I said yes. I gave permission and we cannot change the past, Draco but we can control our future. It’s going to require work on both sides, but you can tell me about what I’m missing and at the same time we can forge something new.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile shyly, taking that all important step towards him, “Make some new memories with me, Draco.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey​ @kashishwrites​ @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @just-a-belgian-girl​ @aspiringsloth20​ @lahoete​ @minty-malfoy​ @fallinallinmendes​ @ravenclawbitch426​ @ochrythum​ @beiahadid​ @gryffindors-weasley​

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

[malachi-walker]

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

#answers #rhythm & blues #the catradora rockstar au #featuring adora's big gay realization #and also fantasy christmas

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Two)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 6.8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

 vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

 cyar’tomade - fans

   -

  “Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

  The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

  “...What are you talking about? Stop it...” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the Slave I was still docked. There was no way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

  “I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, right now . I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the really top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see everything . He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

  “Okay, okay… crik. Are you absolutely sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure . You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the Slave I on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

 “Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, the guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called Boba kriffing Fett your boyfriend and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t believe you sometimes…”

  You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having instantly settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later anyway. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

  “...And just where the frozz do you think you’re going wearing that ?” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding. 

  “ Out. ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

  “Out where ?”

  You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

  “Oh, stars … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s dangerous .” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word. 

  “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to see him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere man - but this truly wasn’t just a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than Boba Fett by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

  “Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! High-ranking Imps ! He kills people for money! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than mynocks in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

  “Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly begged your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

 “Dank farrik… you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...But okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He was one of Vader’s most loyal hunters, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many mercenaries attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

  You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

  “Good luck.”

  -

  You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

  The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was definitely going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from ancient myth, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never seek company with strange men.

  Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

  “Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

  “Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly. 

  The bartender had just set the triangular container full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic jizz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

  That’s when you heard the spurs.

  Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk.

  At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty cup so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

  And there he was.

  Boba Fett.  

  He was shorter than you expected.

  You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

  Stars, he was beautiful .

  Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if it had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of grain framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was dangerous . There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it. 

  Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him . You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ has he noticed me?’ - but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought. 

  You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skin-tight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. ‘ Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’

  “Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

  “...You sure about that, kid? You do know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another drink.

  You couldn’t even look as the liquor was brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

  Boba Fett was staring at you.

  Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, this was just like your daydream. As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, ‘ Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’

  Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. He was waiting for you to come over. You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

  You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were standing almost directly between when your long walk ended. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you stood before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for you to speak, for you to make the first move.

  “...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two have a rivalry and that you’ve been after him for ages now, and he’s here, and you’re here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide.

  “I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s consort were true. So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

  “...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. Stars , you were truly awful at small talk, especially with handsome men. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon a dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell your intentions, and your confidence and excitability wavered. 

  “So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. Now .”

  There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

  So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

  “I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

  Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath. 

  Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of cyar’tomade across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs. 

 What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager virgin. And such a pretty thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

  “ Well … aren’t you a bold one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the straw back and forth. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response. 

  “I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half of it in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the container back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a static edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

  “And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, vaar’ika ?”

  He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was teasing you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, ‘ Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you dare. ’ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came this close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment. 

  “I… I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

  Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

  “ I didn’t say no , little one . Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - reassuring . Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

 ‘He didn’t say no. It wasn’t possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’

  You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

  “Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. Please .” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or something . But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Shivers rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea. 

  “As you wish, nehutyc’ika. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

  You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. Boba Fett was a man of his word. 

  So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

#gn!mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fluff #obey me fanfic #obey me crack #mammon fluff #mammon crack #mammon fanfic

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 10 ~The Art of Non-Communication

WARNING: MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in The Mediation

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again.  That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ!  Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

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  Jamie was removed from the noise of Lallybroch's homely routine when he stepped inside the shower that barely allotted for his breadth and height. He stroked the erection he'd been sporting since he'd woken up from his dreams of Claire, his elbow occasionally hitting the wall. If he kept this pace up, there would be some damaged tiles to answer for by the time he finally climaxed.

Creamy pale skin and amber eyes seeped through his mind, and he stifled a groan, the throbbing flesh in his hand swelling to the point of anguish. It was the reason he'd escaped to the shower when his dad had woken him, the image of Claire still vivid and the need to spill urgent. But the act of pleasuring himself was tainted with guilt. It didn't feel right using the memory of them together to find completion when he'd left her on her own. Not only did it make him a sick lecherous human being, but his action defied all reason and logic. 

Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be depriving themselves if they had what he and Claire had, but instead, here he was, on self-imposed retreat, his hungry thoughts reliving that time she'd been on her knees taking his entire length in her sweet, sweet mouth. Depravity kicked in, and his body responded to the memory in a fast, fluid rush. Every moral compass he'd had, went from dried cement to loose sand, and nothing could contain the rampant desire to relieve the pressure between his legs. 

He propped his left hand on the wet wall and quickened the pace of his strokes, the tight fist travelling from the base of his hardness to the engorged tip. 

"Christ," he gritted, hoping he could finish without the repercussion of self-loathing and feeling like an unredeemable bastard. 

Ye left her! In tears!

It's for her own good. I'm taking steps to make myself better ...for her.

What if she gets sick and tired of waiting for ye to sort out yer issues?

No, no ...she understands. 

Ye havenae called her.

I'll see her after the therapy, for fuck sake.

Guilt made him want to dim the image of Claire sucking him, but the heavy sack hung between his thighs wouldn't be wheedled into emptying without envisioning her. 

He was so close. He replayed Claire's most recent voice message in his head, her voice husky and yearning. She must have been in bed wearing nothing but his shirt.  I love you, Jamie. I wish I could hold you right now and ease your pain.

"Ah, fuck!" Jamie groaned as convulsion racked his body. "Christ, Sassenach." His seed spurted from his cock in what felt like an endless surge of the tide. Back and forth until he was compelled to release his flesh to brace himself with both hands on the tiled surface while the remnant of his release washed down onto the shower floor.

The water had turned tepid by the time reality came streaming back in. Steeling himself, Jamie waited for the chitter-chatter in his head to start reprimanding, telling him what a sick bastard he was, but nothing came. It was quiet. Notably quiet, in fact, and the prolonged silence was too unusual for comfort and almost deafening. The voices had been his life long companion, and it seemed like someone had muted the noises. The only sound he heard was the sound of his breathing and the shower spray hitting the surfaces.

He almost jumped at the loud rapping on the door. "Jamie! Ye're gonnae be late for yer therapy appointment," Willie called out, impatience lacing his voice.

He blew out a breath. "Two minutes!" he shouted. Damn it!

"Two minutes," Willie repeated, and he strode off, the sound of his heavy footsteps making creaking sounds on the wooden floor.

Therapy! He wasn't looking forward to it, but if it would mean bringing him closer to living a normal life with Claire, he'd take his chances. He had his future waiting for him in his cottage, and God knew what was going through her mind with his prolonged absence. There's a possibility she could decide right there, and then, she'd had enough, and he could be returning to an empty home. Fuck that! No' gonnae happen.

Wrenching a curse from the depths of his soul, he grabbed a towel and dried himself in record time. No more messing about. It was time to regain back the rein to his life. After his therapy, he was returning back to his Sassenach.

..........

Jamie hadn't replied to Claire's multiple voice messages, so she'd stopped sending them, thinking he needed a break. If it hadn't been for Willie checking up on her, Rollo needing to be walked and her own work keeping her busy, she would have gone out of her mind. 

She found solace in knowing he was safe with his family and sorting out his issues and tried not to dwell on the theory that she might be the reason for his worsening condition; otherwise, it would mean giving up on them and walking out of his life for his own good. They'd both had a traumatic start to childhood. If anything, their shared experience should bring them together ...well, at least she was hoping that was the case.

As long as she was busy, she was absolutely fine. But it hurt being apart from Jamie. The minute she unwinded from her daytime activities, the feeling of abandonment crept in, and she felt lost and empty. An all-consuming gloom would lurk, overwhelming her, and tears would start to fall. It had been only two days since Jamie left, but she was already fearing she'd return to London without seeing him again. It's just not fair. It was as if the universe was conspiring to keep them apart, and if that was the case, they'd never really had a chance from the start. Such thoughts would lead to a part of her wishing they'd never met because it was like being shown what happiness with someone you love could be, only to be yanked back out of reach.

She glanced out the kitchen window and realised it had begun to rain, the grey skies echoing her sombre mood. Frustrated, she mentally shook herself. There were a lot of things to do, and her uncle would be arriving in a couple of days. She hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had happened with Jamie, but that was a worry she'd have to deal with later. Because of all days, Tom Christie had called earlier, arranging to meet with her this afternoon to further discuss his book's publication. She hadn't anticipated meeting up with him for another week or more. Maybe it was a good thing he'd decided to show up. It would certainly be a much-needed distraction from the growing worries she had of Jamie. But first, she needed to book a bed and breakfast room in the village centre, a request her uncle had explicitly stressed as he didn't want to stay in Jamie's cottage to watch them canoodle, as he'd gruffly pointed out. But Claire highly doubted there would be any danger of his uncle witnessing that anytime soon.

Grabbing her coat and bag, she headed out. She was just stepping across the threshold when she caught sight of Jamie's sister walking towards her. What is she doing here? The last time she'd seen Jenny was when they were first introduced, and back then, she hadn't failed to notice the lukewarm reception. She'd tried her best to dismiss it as overly protective sibling behaviour. But something had been niggling in her mind lately ever since Willie mentioned Jenny's meddling with Jamie's love life.

Bracing herself, she forced a smile. "Hi, I'm just on my way out. Does Jamie need some fresh shirts?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I can quickly grab some if that's what you came here for."

There was an awkward silence. "I ...ah, I'm here to see ye." Jenny held up a plastic container. "Oh, and ma made these ... it's rhubarb pie. And she's asking after ye."

"Oh, that's thoughtful. How are ..."

"Do ye have a moment?" Jenny interrupted out of the blue.

Claire paused. Though feeling like she was in this weird bubble filled with fog and not in the mood for small talk or niceties, she stepped back and waved Jamie's sister in. "Sure. I suppose I can spare a few minutes."

Jenny nodded gratefully and stepped inside the cottage. Claire watched her cross the room to place the rhubarb pie and her shoulder bag on the dining table. She started to wring her hands, possibly because she'd realised Claire wasn't going to initiate the talk. 

"Jamie is taking steps to get better," Jenny began, facing her.

"I know."

"Of course, you do."

Claire tamped down the urge to roll her eyes. "From what Jamie's told me, that's what he's been doing all his life, hasn't he?"

"Yes, that's true."

She sighed, impatience beginning to creep in. "Jenny, why are you really here? Please let's not pretend that you like me. You practically ignored me when we first met, and you've made no attempt whatsoever to get to know me. I am not expecting us to be the best of mates just because I'm with Jamie, but I do expect manners. So, I am asking very kindly if there's a reason for you taking over my precious time, please spit it out."

Jenny's eyebrows hit her hairline. "I ...uh ...I came because I wanted to see you. To check if ye're alright."

"Willie's been doing that but thank you anyway." She had no time for pussyfooting around. Pulling her coat tighter around her, she made a move to leave. "Well, I need to get going. Please thank your mum for me for the pie. I'll have it later with coffee when I return. And regards to your da as well." She pulled the door open.

"Wait ..."

"Yes?"

Jenny let out a rickety inhale. "I'm sorry, okay? I came to apologise. You're right. I was downright rude." Her lips barely moved when she said the words. It was as if it's taking a lot out of her to admit to her faults. "I have no right to meddle in my brother's affairs, moreso make ye feel unwelcome when ye're the one Jamie wants to be with." Her shoulders lost most of their tension, but the lines of her body were still strained tight. "I was worried about my brother making trips to London, and ye ken the reason why. I thought by not acknowledging ye, ye would eventually go away for good. I ken it was wrong. I shouldn't have behaved the way I did."

"But making me go away wouldn't have made a difference to his condition. Jamie would have continued to have those panic attacks."

"I ken," Jenny shrugged. "It was a dumb move, and I feel stupid for it. I realise that now. I dinnae ken what I was thinking. I'm so sorry, Claire. Can we start all over again and be friends?" 

Claire felt a spark of sympathy for Jenny. In that brief moment of admission, she'd kind of started to like the girl in front of her. Though she knew it would take a while before they could converse without feeling awkward, at least this was a start. Claire smiled genuinely for the first time. "Of course. I understand now why you felt the way you did." She glanced at her watch. "But in as much as I'd like to continue this bonding, I really need to go. I have a few errands to run. Shall we talk another time?"

"Oh aye, I completely forgot ye have someplace to go." She whipped around to grabbed her bag but knocked it to the floor instead, spilling its contents. "Ach, so clumsy of me," she muttered, getting onto her knees. "Ye go ahead, Claire. I have a spare key. I'll lock up once I'm done,

Claire immediately crouched down to help, grabbing feminine bits and bobs that were scattered on the rug. "Two pair of hands are always quicker getting the job done," she assured her.

"Aye, I guess so," Jenny mumbled as she skimmed the area with her eyes looking for anything she missed.

Claire scooped the loose pennies that had rolled off and slotted them into Jenny's bag. Then she picked up a slip of paper and was about to hand it to Jenny when she realised it was a newspaper clipping with her surname printed on it. Curious, Claire unfolded it and was surprised to see it was a small article from Oxford Mail about her family home, including a small line mentioning her as an heiress. Though she was aware of the article's existence, she was shocked to see it in Jenny's possession. What is Jenny doing with this?

Blood drained from her face when she recalled Willie's story about Jenny playing matchmaker between Geneva and Jamie. Didn't Willie say Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny's perfect solution to Lallybroch's financial problem? Claire skimmed the familiar article once more, the worth of her property jumping out of the paper: three million pounds. A sudden sharp pain slammed into her chest.

Claire held up the newspaper cutting to Jenny's face. "Why do you have this?" she whispered through numb lips.

Jenny's face was white as a sheet. "I ...it was given to me."

"Is this the reason why you're suddenly nice?"

"No!" Jenny licked her lips, thoughts racing behind her blue eyes. "I swear to God, I meant what I said earlier ...that I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with ..." She waved a hand towards the paper Claire was holding. "...that."

Claire scrambled to her feet. "You're sorry?" Her voice was high-pitched and unnatural, but she couldn't help it. There's a rumbling earthquake beginning to take place inside her. "When did you start feeling sorry, Jenny? After you read this?" She crumpled the piece of paper and threw it on the floor. "Did you really want to be my friend? Or was that all hogwash too?"

"Claire, please." Misery slashed across her face. "I realised my mistake when Jamie took off with his car the other night, and Willie spent hours looking for him. My parents, husband and I were up, and we were worried sick. My constant meddling has made him fled and taken him away from ye." She wrung her hands together. "I was a bloody idiot for thinking I was doing what's best for my brother when, in fact, I was making things worse. And Jamie's now miserable because he thinks it's all his fault when really, it's mine. Ye have to believe me when I say that piece of paper was given to me. I never sought it myself. It was handed to me."

"Good God, are you listening to yourself?" Her voice had been reduced to a whisper. All she could see was Jamie's guilt and tortured face that day when he'd told her about his fight with Jenny. His pained expression before he'd sped off to the night and her fear of the unknown. The many times he'd excused and apologised for his sister's behaviour because he thought Jenny was doing it out of love when Claire could clearly see it was all out of selfishness. "Let me get this straight ...you only recognised your mistake because you became worried sick after your brother took off. Are you even aware that you've been treating him like an imbecile all this while as if he can't decide for himself? This was never about him, Jenny, is it? You're only thinking about yourself. The other night scared the bejesus out of you because you knew well you were part of the reason he took off. Tell me this ...how does it feel like to be riddled with guilt now, huh? Try multiplying that guilt by a thousandfold and remind yourself that's what Jamie feels every day of his life. And if you think saying sorry will make things right again, you need your head thoroughly examined. Jamie loves you despite all your meddling, and you unashamedly continued to manipulate him. So excuse me if I have trouble believing a single word you're saying now. Because you know what the bloody hell this looks like? Your apologies to me sound like you're trying to manipulate me as well. And all because I happen to own an impressive three million pound property."

"No!" Jenny shook her head in despair. "Everything else is true ...but not that about yer property." There's a tremor in her voice and shame in her eyes. "I stopped by yesterday to apologise to ye, but ye werenae home, and when Mrs Fitz from across the road saw me, she handed me that newspaper clipping. I swear to God, Claire, I came to ye even before I knew ye had that property."

Claire couldn't stand there and listen anymore, not after what she'd gone through the last couple of days. She needed to let all her frustration out, or she'd implode. "I don't trust you, Jenny. If drivel could bounce, you'd be in the bloody orbit by now. Unfortunately, that won't happen, so I'm out of here. I can't stand being here any longer." The words exploded out of her and popped in the air like bright red fireworks. 

Jenny fell back a step and gasped. Claire was shocked too with the words that came out of her mouth. But she took that opportunity to rush out of the cottage, not caring if it was still raining, only focusing on getting as far away from Jenny as possible.

She'd just crossed the street when a vehicle screeched to a stop and reversed. Claire kept on walking, still reeling from her conversation with Jenny.

"Miss Beauchamp?"

She stopped and glanced into the Land Rover window that stopped by her side and noticed a familiar face. "Yes?"

The man tipped his baseball cap on his head and smiled. "It's me, Tom Christie."

"Oh ... it's you ... you're early!" was all she could say, too surprised for words.

"Actually, I'm on my way home to change clothes before our meeting. Do ye need a ride? I noticed ye dinnae have a brolly with ye, and it's raining."

Claire glanced back at the cottage and saw Jenny standing at the doorway, looking at her with that still ashen face. She'd heard rumours in the village about Tom being a ladies' man and knew what it would look like to Jenny if she got into the Land Rover with him. But she didn't give a flying fig. Let her gossip! Smiling, she nodded at Tom. "Yes, please. To the village centre if it's no trouble."

He grinned. "Nae bother at all. Hop in."

..........

"Remind me again why I'm here," Willie mumbled under his breath as they followed a young woman down a long hallway lined with modern paintings. "I thought I made it clear it should be Claire attending this therapy with ye. In case ye need reminding, I got our business to run."

Jamie sighed. "I'd rather ye're here. Ye ken my condition better than anyone."

"Is it Geneva ye're worried about?" his older brother asked in a low voice.

"God, no. I'd be more worried if Jenny came with me. Christ, she'd been pushing Geneva and me together for as long as I can remember. I ken the lass took a fancy in me, but that's all it ever was. I'm just concerned it's gonnae be weird since we ken each other."

Willie glanced at him with understanding. "There's nae avoiding it, lad. We live in a small village, and everyone knows everyone. It's the bane of living in such a place. We just have to make do with what we have."

"Aye, that's true."

The young woman in front of them turned. "The last one on the right," she smiled, pointing at the white door. Jamie wanted to say he knew his way around and that it was the same office as his former therapist but decided not to and returned her smile instead.

With Willie close behind him, he stepped forward and knocked lightly against the door. A feminine voice answered from the inside, "Come in."

Pushing the door open, they were greeted by a familiar, cosy space and Geneva, dressed in a black pantsuit with her hair done in a bun. She was sat in a dark leather armchair, looking them over with her transparent-rimmed glasses. If she was surprised to see Willie with him, she hid it well. 

"Mr Fraser, it's nice to see you again." Smiling warmly, she stood up and held out her hand for him. Taking it, she gave him a firm handshake before doing the same to Willie and motioning them towards the over-size beige leather sofa arranged in the middle of the room. "Please take a seat." Like a couple of schoolboys, they both did as they were told. 

"Before anything else," she began, looking at Jamie. "I have you here for one on one therapy. Is there a reason why you brought your brother with you?"

Jamie cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I, ah, wanted him here for moral support." 

"Fair enough. So what can I do for you?" She smiled, crossing her legs and reclining back into her armchair, a clipboard resting on her thigh.

Jamie anxiously glanced at Willie, but his brother only shrugged. "I dinnae ken where to start. Ever since yer predecessor left, I havenae been to therapy because I didnae feel comfortable seeing a therapist who knows me on a personal level. It kinda feels odd."

She steepled her fingers together, her blue eyes narrowing on him. "I understand this is out of your comfort zone and probably, for some, highly unusual. But I'd like to make it clear that I take my job seriously, and I hold myself to the highest professional standard. Whatever friendship I have with your sister will have no effect whatsoever on what would transpire within these walls. If you wish to proceed, please take a few deep breaths and just forget that you know me. In here, I am Dr Dunsany, and you are Mr Fraser."

Jamie considered her words as she waited patiently for his reply. After a minute of contemplation, he finally nodded and took a few cleansing breaths. "Fine."

She smiled. "So, first things first. What prompted you to finally see a therapist?"

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I'm in a serious relationship." Jamie thought he saw an ever so slight arching of her eyebrow but immediately dismissed it as his imagination. "And my condition and the panic attacks are hurting our relationship. I figured in order for us to move forward, I needed to take steps in getting better."

Geneva picked up her clipboard and started scribbling. "What do you believe your girlfriend thinks about your condition?"

Jamie smiled briefly at the thought of Claire. "Weel, she's very understanding and very patient, and she's taken my condition in a stride. Like the rest of my family, she thinks I'm suffering from suppressed guilt and emotions."

Geneva paused and closely appraised him. "Why do you think she thinks you have suppressed guilt and emotions?"

His heart began to increase its pace, and his throat tightened. "Because we were both there when her parents died. She was able to move on, but I couldnae," the words came out rapidly.

A whoosh of breath came from Willie.

"Why do you think she was able to move on and you couldn't?" she pushed, seemingly unaffected by Jamie's revelation.

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. "Because it's my fault that she grew up without a family."

He heard Willie's breath hitch, but Geneva ignored his brother.

"And why do you think it's your fault?"

His mouth became dry, and his tongue thick. "I didnae run fast enough to get help when their car crashed. If I had, she wouldnae be orphaned today. If I was stronger, I wouldnae have needed to run off and get my godfather, and I could have pulled the door open myself and saved her parents as well."

"You look like a strong man, Mr Fraser. Why do you think you needed to run and get help to pull the door open?"

"I wasnae big enough back then. I was only ten." He dropped his head into his hand. "And she was so wee ...crying for her ma. All I could do was hold her." 

He started to hyperventilate as the image of Harry staring at him through the window, sprung to life. It was the last image he saw before the car had exploded.

Sensing his discomfort, Geneva stood from her armchair and retrieved two bottles of mineral water from the mini-fridge, handing them each to the brothers. They both gratefully accepted, taking large gulps.

When he got his breathing back under control, she proceeded. "I understand now your frustration at not being big enough to carry the task out yourself and why you had to get your godfather." She scribbled a few more notes on her clipboard. "I'm going to go back to the question you haven't answered yet. Why do you think your girlfriend was able to move on from her parents' death?"

He squashed the empty bottle of mineral water. "She was too young then to understand any of it, just a wee bairn when it happened."

"And so were you."

"She was five, and I was ten. I was old enough to be able to do something about it, but I couldn't."

"Your godfather, who was old enough and stronger than you, was unable to do anything further. Do you think it was your godfather's fault?"

"No! Of course, not. He tried his best. We got her ...Claire, who's m-my girlfriend now, out first and my godfather made me take her to safety. But the car caught fire, and it exploded."

"So it's not your godfather's fault, and yet you think it was your fault."

"Yes!"

"Why would you think, after all the efforts you and your godfather have done to try and save your girlfriend's parents, it's still your fault?"

"It was the way he looked at me."

"Who looked at you?"

"Claire's father. Just before the car exploded."

"How did he look at you?"

"He was just staring at me."

"And you can't get that out of your head?"

"No."

A mild frown of concentration descended across Geneva's face as she flipped through the notes on her clipboard. She reached out for a manila folder on a coffee table by her side and browsed through it too. "This is a great start, Mr Fraser," she continued. "From what I've here in your history with your former therapist, this is the first time you've ever talked about an experience from your childhood. This is highly interesting. Care to tell me why you've never talked about this before."

"It's a memory that I've forgotten, and it's just resurfaced recently."

She arched an eyebrow. "How recently?"

"A few days ago."

"Can you remember what triggered the memories to come back?"

"The night I met my girlfriend's uncle on video chat."

"So, prior to that night, you had no recollection of the forgotten memory, is that correct?"

"Aye."

"Why do you think your girlfriend's uncle triggered all the memory to come back?"

His fingers began to pick at the water bottle label. "He looks exactly my girlfriend' father."

A long silence ensued.

Geneva placed the clipboard by her side and uncrossed her legs. "That will be all for today, Mr Fraser. We've covered enough to have something to work on."

Jamie's head shot up. "So that's it? That was quick," he pointed out, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, we're far from done, Mr Fraser, but you've revealed more than I anticipated, so I decided to stop while we're ahead. Thank you for answering all questions as openly as possible."

"So what's yer diagnosis?"

She tilted her head to the side. "I believe you have a lot of misplaced guilt about your past that may be hindering you from moving on. So ...what I would like you to do is ...I want you to think about how you want your future to look like. Think really hard and try to dig deep. Next time we catch up, we'll discuss everything in details." She stood up, and Jamie and Willie followed suit. "I'll see you next week. My assistant will write down the date of our next meeting. You can pick up your appointment card on the way out," she smiled, opening the door and ushering them out.

The brothers walked out quietly together, both lost in their own thoughts.

"That wasnae too bad, was it?" Willie asked as they stepped out of the building.

Jamie shook his head. "No, no' at all." His head was still buzzing from the session, so he didn't really have much opinion to offer.

"Perhaps next time, ye can bring Claire with ye."

At the mention of her name, he pulled out his phone from his back pocket. He'd silenced it all morning as he'd prepared himself for the therapy but was disappointed to see there was no new message from her. "She hasnae messaged."

"I'm no' surprised. You havenae been returning her calls. And ye have no excuse, lad, because I left ye a charger at Lallybroch."

Jamie followed his brother close behind as they made their way to the car. "How do ye know I've no' been returning her calls?"

"She told me."

"How is she?"

"Find out yersel'."

A familiar bright red Fiat slowed down next to them just as Jamie was about to get into the car, and Ian, their brother-in-law, poked his head out of the window. "Hey, lads, guess who I just saw back in town?"

The brothers looked at each other and shrugged. 

When Ian stalled, Willie blew out an impatient breath. 

"Out with it!" Willie grumbled. "I've been away from work for far too long already."

Ian grinned. "Yer pal Christie."

Jamie waved a hand in the air in dismissal and turned to open the car door, not particularly interested in hearing the latest coming and going in Broch Mordha. "I'm pretty sure the lassies will be thrilled he's back."

"Aye, ye're probably right, but I dinnae think ye'd be too pleased to hear if one particular lass is enjoying his company."

Jamie whipped around. "What do ye mean?" He sounded like someone just launched a flying rugby pass onto his stomach.

"Saw Claire and Tom through the window of Slater's Arms. Probably sitting down for late lunch."

His heart and brain must have swapped places because suddenly, his heart seemed twice as heavy, and his brain thumped against his skull. "M-my Claire?"

Willie tipped his head like he's on the brink of calling Ian an eejit. "Hold up, this could all be just an innocent thing. Wasnae Claire supposed to be meeting with someone from here for some book publication?"

"Nae way!" Ian shook his head. "Christie doesnae look like the type to string a sentence together, never mind write a book."

"Alright," Jamie breathed, propping his hands on the edge of the car's roof. His brain was barely functioning because it was knocking against his temple, making him see red. He'd completely underestimated his ability to let her go, thinking he was doing it for her own good. Claire hadn't called today because she thought he'd given up. Ah, shite! He felt he was going to be sick. "I need to go and see her. Now."

"Fuck!" Willie muttered. "I'm coming with ye." Then he bent down to Ian's eye level and pointed his index finger at his brother-in-law. "Next time, run this kind of info by me first."

Ian smirked. "Fine. But I'm coming too. I'm up for seeing a bit of nefariousness."

Jamie was already in the car, fastening his seat belt. "Let's go!" 

  Dear Readers,

Whew, that was a long chapter. I'm literally drained; nevertheless, I'm feeling a sense of satisfaction that I can post it today. My eyes are wonky, though, from editing, and I was about to go through it again when I thought, ah bugger it, I will do the grammar check tomorrow.

Before I say nighty-night, thanks for your feedback from the previous chapter, and I'm looking forward to what you think of this next one. I know it's slow going, but I really wanted to cover as many plot holes as possible. Slowly but surely, I'm getting there. Anyway, take care always and keep spreading kindness and love. Until the next update, much love! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon except for a few random points mentioned this time. It’s mainly fluff, lemon zest 🍋 and a bit of angst. There’s also some Billy POV in there. The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

A grin curved his lips upwards, “How d’you like your eggs in the mornin’, ma’am?”

“Over easy,” you grinned back. He tapped his shoulder a couple of times with the kitchen spoon, “Ummm.. how about scrambled? And then I’ll give you the “over easy” version afterwards.”

That damn smirk of his, you thought, it’s downright dangerous.

The two of you were sitting at your kitchen island, eating breakfast. The scrambled eggs were really tasty, you complimented him. He’d preened a little, “I’m quite a good cook, sweetheart,” he said, “learned how to look after myself quite early on in life.”

Suddenly he put his fork down, and looked over at you. His face was serious, and you saw some sadness in his eyes. “My mother abandoned me when I was a really young kid. She was a junkie, and couldn’t look after herself never mind me, so I suppose I should thank her. I’d probably be dead otherwise. Got put in a group home, stayed there until I aged out and went straight into the Marines. And got my degree on the government’s dime.”

Your hand moved to cover his, “Billy, you’ve done so well, and you’ve achieved it all on your own. I’m proud of you, and I hope you’re proud of yourself too.” He beamed at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, “Yeah... yeah, I am. Thanks, angel, I appreciate you sayin’ that. I wanted to tell you about it, wanted to be honest with you. In case when you saw the suits, the car, the penthouse and all, you thought I was some kind of privileged trust fund kid.”

He looked down, “There’s a stigma about growin’ up in the system, y’know? I wanted to get it out on the table so you know who I really am and where I came from.”

“I don’t care about that, Billy.” He nodded, thumb stroking your hand which was still on top of his. “I really hoped that you wouldn’t ... but I wanted to be sure, and I’m really glad you feel like that. Also I needed you to know that I’m bein’ honest with you.”

You thought you saw a closed-off look on his face for a moment, but then it was gone and he smiled over at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You had spent the rest of Sunday together, lazing around, watching various shows on Netflix before venturing out for a late lunch to a local diner. Billy had eventually headed home after another steamy session in the bedroom, regretful about not spending the night, sighing that he had a really early start in the morning, a ‘job’ he couldn’t tell you anything about.

He’d explained a bit more about his work earlier in the day while you were eating in the diner. How a lot of it was classified as it was military or political in nature, so he couldn’t go into detail. You’d nodded, and said you understood. But you’d asked some questions nevertheless; how many of the assignments did he go on himself, just how dangerous they were, had he or his men ever been injured.

You got the impression that, although he couldn’t tell you much about who was involved or why they needed protection details, he was pleased you were showing an interest in his work.

The two of you agreed that you’d meet up during the week, Billy saying he’d text you to confirm when and where as he wasn’t sure how long this job would last, maybe at least a couple of days.

He’d insisted on putting his numbers into your phone himself, so you’d unlocked it and handed it to him, wandering back to your bedroom to put some more clothes on. Shortly afterwards he’d kissed you long and hard and made his way downstairs to his car, and you’d watched from your balcony as he drove away. Then you’d laughed at yourself - you were acting like some medieval damsel watching her knight disappear off to war or something.

Sliding the glass door closed, you went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine. The apartment suddenly felt very empty without Billy in it. How quickly you’d got used to him being there.

You wandered across to the sofa with your newly-poured glass of wine, noticing your phone on the coffee table. Oh yeah, Billy had added his numbers. A sudden twinge of insecurity hit you. What if he hadn’t actually put his direct numbers in there, and just pretended to? You sat down, looking at it lying there. I mean, it wasn’t like you couldn’t track him down at Anvil, but you would no doubt have to go through a receptionist and you could be endlessly stone-walled.

You eventually picked up the phone and unlocked it. Scrolling to your contacts, you suddenly burst out laughing. Billy had put his numbers in there and had also taken a selfie, him smouldering into the camera. He’d attached it to the contact details with a description.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy drove away from her apartment, truly wishing he could’ve stayed over again.

But then he’d shaken his head slightly, laughing to himself; she’d definitely got one thing right - he was a big sap. Since when did he find himself almost playing house with a woman? Telling her she was his girlfriend - as she’d put it - after five minutes? He was a one-and-done kinda guy!

But then Billy Russo admitted to himself that something had hit him smack in the heart when he’d first seen her, sitting there looking stunning and somehow fragile with that creep trying to come onto her. Well turns out she wasn’t fragile in the least! However when those beautiful eyes had met his... well, he was a goner. Solid gone. And then he’d pursued her like a lovestruck idiot.

He hadn’t ever seriously thought about love. Or believed in it, for that matter. Certainly not when he’d been bedding all those women when he’d been on leave or since he’d left the Marines. All that shit just wasn’t for him. And now? Yeah, not so sure.

Billy almost felt like he was under some kind of spell, it had hit him so quickly. Yeah, like she’d enchanted him or something ridiculous, straight out of a Disney or Harry Potter movie. Was this love, then? His stomach clenched every time he saw her, he just couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanted to be with her all the time, hell he was even jealous of Jake though he wasn’t a threat. Was he? No, surely not. And what about Steve, the other one? Yeah, there he was doing it again - unreasonable jealousy.

And when they’d first slept together, he felt like he’d finally understood what making love meant.

Billy Russo, who until a few days ago had spent most of his leisure time in life actively fucking women - how he’d always described it to himself and others - was now a confirmed big sap. He chuckled to himself.

He suddenly remembered ripping the shit out of a young Marine in his squad who’d come back off leave totally besotted with some girl. The kid had confessed (stupid move) to all the guys that they’d made love, a distant and dreamy look in his eyes. At the time, Billy had scoffed at him and endlessly humiliated him about it. In an affectionate way of course, he told himself.

But he felt guilty about that. Who’s the one with the distant and dreamy gaze now, Russo?

In all truth, Billy felt like he was having some kind of out of body experience. As if Previous Billy Russo was looking down in horror at his new self, yelling at him to get his fucking head back on straight. But New Billy Russo wasn’t listening because, well because he realised he liked feeling this way.

And he thought that she felt the same. He knew she was fighting it and wouldn’t admit anything to him, but there were little tells that had given her away. He decided he’d stay on his best behaviour, just keep trying to win her over, and he felt in his bones that they would be together.

But he did feel a sting of guilt. He had been honest with her, but he’d also been selective with what he’d told her about Anvil, how it all started, and this ongoing shit he and Frank were still embroiled in. One day... one day, and hopefully soon, he could tell her absolutely everything.

His phone, clipped to the dash, vibrated.

He rolled his eyes when he saw the caller ID, hit the button and answered it.

“Dinah... what can I do for you?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You, meanwhile, had just finished your second glass of wine and were admitting to yourself that you were really missing Billy. Oh this is bad, your brain yelled at you, very bad. You’d only known this guy for a few days and you were falling for him. Or - okay - had already fallen for him. It scared you, quite honestly.

He was charming, funny, handsome, sexy. An amazing lover. He’d been disarmingly honest with you about his past, but... but what? Why was there a ‘but’? Because there was something niggling at the back of your mind. Just a couple of expressions you’d seen on his face, quickly gone. An indication of more happening just underneath the surface than you knew about. Billy had a distinct air of danger about him, and you wondered what else was going on inside that dark head of his.

You’d fallen for him, yes... but you were also going to remain wary of him, until you were certain you knew everything you could about him.

Reaching over and pulling your laptop towards you across the coffee table, you typed Billy’s name into Google.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next morning, Billy parked his car and walked into Anvil. His reception staff wished him a respectful Good Morning, he nodded to them and headed upstairs to his office. Frank was already there, reading a newspaper.

“Mornin’ Bill,” he said, looking up. “Frankie,” nodded Billy, “want a coffee?” and kept on walking towards the coffee machine in the corner. “Nah, just had one, thanks.”

He poured out an Americano for himself, then chuckled loudly. Frank quirked an eyebrow at him, and Billy shrugged back. “I met someone last week. She owns two cafés, and she’s a coffee snob. Gonna refine my palate, she said.”

Frank looked back down to his paper before commenting, “I’m impressed you know that much about her, Bill. Didn’t think you bothered cos you usually cut & run.” Billy smirked, knowing he couldn’t dispute what Frank had just said, but he was going to enjoy the next slice of the conversation. Even just to see the expression on Frank’s face.

“I....like her. A lot. I want something with her.” “Something?” Frank chortled, “...you mean, like a relationship, Bill?” He looked closely at Billy, saw the shit-eating grin he had on his face and his jaw dropped. “You do, don’t you?! Fuckin’ hell! Never thought I’d see the day, Russo.” Billy burst out laughing.

“Well, that makes two of us, Frankie. But...” he spread his hands out to either side of him, “...it is what it is. And I’ll fill you in on all the details later. Now, this thing with Madani and Homeland - let’s get it nailed down.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

That same morning, you sat at your desk and slowly twirled from side to side in your chair. You sipped your cappuccino, and thought about Billy.

Little cousin had done you a favour this time and earlier on had delved into her company’s database, digging out some further information on Billy and Anvil which Google couldn’t provide you with. All it had given you was the bare minimum of the company’s founding date and numerous photos of Billy looking hot in his designer suits.

She told you she’d heard of him, and had also seen him at several events similar to the one you’d attended. You’d admitted you were seeing him, and she’d firstly screeched down the phone at you, nearly bursting your eardrum, before saying, “Now see, if you hadn’t gone in my place you wouldn’t have met him!” “Yeah, yeah, alright. Tell me what you’ve got for me.”

In a more serious tone, she said, “Just be careful though, his company seems a little... well, shady let’s just say. I mean, in the security business,” her voice lowered, “there’s usually some dodgy dealings or other going on. But him and his colleagues seem to have got themselves in some deep water with two federal agencies. I’ll email this stuff to you now and you’ll see what I mean.” You thanked her and hung up before she could tell you that now you owed her another favour.

You’d read through the attachments she’d sent you, and your eyes had got wide as you read that Billy and Anvil had originally been funded by a shadowy CIA guy, who’d then been killed in a gun battle between un-named protagonists. You sussed out that Anvil must’ve been one of those involved, as Billy and his friend Frank had been arrested and interrogated by Homeland Security before being released without charge. That struck you as a bit odd, but there were no more details available.

Your phone had chosen that moment to buzz with a FaceTime call from the man himself. You’d hesitated then accepted the call, and Billy’s handsome face popped up in front of you, with a wide smile plastered on it. You could see he was in his car. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said in a low sexy voice, and you felt your stomach tighten with excitement. This guy... the effect he had on you....!

You’d smiled and replied, “Morning, Billy.” He tilted his head towards you, dark eyes drawing you in, “Missin’ me? Because I’m missing you.” Shaking your head, smirking, you said, “We only saw each other a few hours ago so no, I’m not.” A cheeky grin from him this time, “Don’t believe you, angel, I think you can’t wait to see me again.” “You’re such a cocky bastard, Billy,” you laughed, “Why are you calling, exactly?”

His smile was a genuine one as he said, “I just wanted to see you before I head off to this job. Not sure when I’ll be able to call next. Remember - I’ll let you know as soon as I can when we can meet up this week.” You nodded, “Yeah, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” He blew you a kiss, saying “Bye, angel,” before he rang off.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

One of your friends had called shortly afterwards to ask if you wanted to meet up for lunch, as you hadn’t seen each other in quite a while. Deciding that you could do with some girl time, you arranged to meet her in a steak house near the Chrysler Building, and then decided you’d better get some work done before you headed out for your long lunch hour.

The two of you had met up just outside the restaurant and had gone in chatting away to each other. Being shown to your table, you sat down only to spot Billy Russo walking in behind a small dark-haired woman. Your mouth dropped open, and your eyes took in every detail of her. She was pretty, with big dark eyes, olive skin and wavy hair in a shoulder-length bob. Billy, you noted, had his hand on her lower back, guiding her to their table, just as he had with you when you went for your first drink with him.

You leant forward to your friend, “I’m so sorry about this but we’re gonna have to go somewhere else.” She looked concerned, “What’s wrong?” “Someone I need to avoid just came in,” you explained, “c’mon, I’ll tell them I’ve had an emergency at work or something.” You both stood up, and you fled from the restaurant before you repeated your actions at that house party, which had got you arrested. You didn’t want to end up in jail this time just because of that jerk and his little lady.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy looked up as two women who’d been sitting near him stood up and started rushing towards the door. Weird, he thought, they hadn’t even been served judging by the menus still laying on their place settings. He looked back at them, and one of them turned back briefly to her friend behind her as they exited the premises.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was her. His angel. Oh fuck! Did she..? Yes, she must’ve seen him and... he glanced at Madani across the table from him, reading through the menu choices. She glanced up, smirking at Billy but it quickly dropped off her face, when she saw the expression on his.

“Billy?” she said, but he’d dumped his napkin onto his plate by now and was standing up.

“Sorry, Dinah... I gotta go.” An annoyed look on her face, she growled, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. I... there’s someone I gotta catch up with, and I just saw them leaving.” He walked away from their table, and towards the door of the restaurant. As he did so he heard Madani say in a harsh voice, “Is it a woman, Russo?” but ignored her.

He made it out onto the street, looking around him in all directions, heart sinking as he couldn’t see her anywhere.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

[nomsugayoongi]

Chapter 2

Pairing: Jungkook X OC female

Warnings: None. It's just fluff. Absolute fluff.

For weeks, nights passed uneventfully and even though he slept well, he didn't dream. At least not any he could remember and although he hadn't forgotten about the dream, it wasn't something he thought about much. It was just a strange dream. So after a particularly long and tiring day, Jungkook wasn't thinking about anything other than how tired he was when he finally fell into bed. His body ached from dance practise, the beginnings of a headache starting to settle behind his eyes and even though it wasn't particularly late, he knew that if he didn't rest he'd pay for it the following day. He'd barely closed his eyes when a noise had him groaning. A tapping sound. Like fingers on glass.

"I'm sleeping. Go away" he muttered. "Not so soggy this time." His eyes shot open. He was no longer in his room. He turned, he was back at the top of the dark road only this time there was someone in the window of the convenience store. He spun round, his face errupting in a grin as he spotted her smushed against the glass, tapping furiously with her fingernails. "You again." She nodded, pressing her lips to the glass and blowing, causing her lips to puff apart in the stupidest way. "Are you 6? No self respecting adult makes faces on windows" he chuckled, immediately running over and doing the same thing on the other side of the window. She giggled, her hand pressed flat against the glass as she looked at him. "You came back." She mouthed. He nodded, suddenly wanting to place his hand on the glass over hers. "What are you doing in there?" He questioned. She looked behind her and shrugged. "Eating. Ever had the run of a whole store?" She grinned wickedly.

He joined her inside, they took great pleasure in raiding the shelves, he didn't feel hungry in the slightest but that wasn't the point. They opened so many snacks, taking one bite, comparing the taste then abandoning it to move onto the next one. He noticed she liked savoury more than sweet. "So this dream thing? You said last time that we control it so if I wanted something that wasn't here could I just....make it be here?" He asked, watching her pick one single pocky out of every different flavoured pack then taking a huge bite out of the bunch. "Hmm...I guess so. I haven't actually tried." She muttered, spraying chocolate and biscuit crumbs as she spoke with her mouth full. He rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "What have you tried?" He asked. She hummed, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. "Flying mostly. I've changed the place a couple of times. Tried to make a rollercoaster appear but I failed at that. I think my dream rollercoaster is too extreme even for here." She smiled. "Show me how to fly." He grinned.

He followed her outside, she spun, walking backwards as she grinned at him giddily. "Ok, just...float up." She instructed. He watched her in awe as she started to float, her feet wriggling happily as they lifted from the ground. She raised herself just maybe twice his height and looked down at him, folding her arms. "Come on." She smiled. He looked down at his own feet agaisnt the floor. Nothing was happening. He tried jumping a couple of times only to come rushing back down. "You're trying too hard. Remember, you're dreaming. Stop trying to actually make your body fly. Think it. Don't do it." She explained. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to picture himself floating upward. "It's not working" he huffed. "You sure about that?" He heard her chuckle. He opened his eyes and gasped. He was a good 6 feet off the ground, legs dangling limply. "No way" he breathed, urging himself higher. "No fucking way!" He surged upward, head thrown back, cackling wildly. He heard her laughing too, she was higher than him, doing mad loops and swooshes through the air. "Fun right?" She shouted through squealed laughter. "This is amazing." He whooped, also trying a loop, essentially throwing himself backwards like he was attempting a back flip but without the fear of crashing to the ground. His heart raced. He felt amazing. Weightless and free. The closest he'd come to the feeling was when he'd bungee jumped and that had ended too quickly. His adrenaline surged, flooding him with an unbridled joy.

He looked over at her, she was watching him with a grin. "Are you real?" He asked. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you just part of my dream? You seem so real. But...this seems so real." He kicked his legs against the air with a chuckle. "Did I just dream you?" She floated up a little before spinning into a huge loop, stopping right in front of him. "I guess that's your choice. Like everything else in here." She smiled. He studied her. He wanted to believe she was real. Surely he couldn't have conjured up a whole ass person. She had to be real. He reached out, smoothing his fingertips through the ends of her flowing hair. It felt soft and silky. "You feel real." He said softly. She giggled, flying underneath him then swooping up behind, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, pretty much clamped to him like a backpack. He grinned, holding her legs around his waist even though he knew he didn't actually need to support her. "Definitely real." He muttered, looking out in front of him. "Hold on" he chuckled, zooming higher up then spinning madly as he aimed back down towards the ground. She squealed hysterically, arms tightening around his shoulders even though there was no fear of falling. He couldn't remember laughing as hard in a long time. He finally stopped, landing on the slate roof of the gazebo, gently putting her down as he looked out onto the water. "This is the best dream I've ever had."

It took Jungkook a while to get over that one. The feeling of freedom he'd had while spinning through the air with her stayed with him for ages. It bled into his waking life and he'd find himself zoning out, trying to replay it in his mind. Which was fine when he wasn't doing anything but not so great when he was at practise or in the middle of an interview. His band mates had noticed, asking him more than once if he was ok, why he was so distracted. He made excuses that he hadn't slept well when in actual fact, all he did in his free time was sleep in an attempt to go back. Yet he woke up morning after morning disappointed. It was strange but he missed it. He missed the freedom. He missed the possibility. He missed her. ​He knew it was stupid. She wasn't real. A figment of his imagination. A dream. But he missed her and as days turned to weeks, the niggle became an ache he found impossible to ignore.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts #jjk #jungkook fluff

[commander-hanji-zoe]

First I wanna say I really appreciate and love the attention and more in-depth analysis you give to Mike, content for him is severely lacking..I can’t find many blogs that really gives him the time of day. Secondly, in your size kink ask, by ‘bigger’ were you using it in correlation with ‘curvier’(idk if that’s the most appropriate word to use) because that’s what you meant, a curvier girl myself a blurb on him comforting them would totally be the best.

Thank you for this message, and for being so sweet - i’m glad you enjoy my writing! Your message it put so many sweet images in my head because let me tell you Mike would be wonderful at comforting a partner who was struggling with body image/feeling insecure regardless of body type/physical appearance. Like I mentioned in my previous post, I think Mike is someone who falls in love with a person for their mind/heart/personality, of course there has to be a physical attraction there too or it won’t work, but he isn’t shallow. 

When I posted about his s/o being larger in that previous post I meant whether they were taller/bigger built/more muscular/curvy/fat etc. So, yes, thinking of a partner with curves was definitely on my radar. I’m really glad you enjoy my more in depth analysis of him, he’s a character I adore and always feel he doesn’t get enough love. And a lot of the love he gets is based on physical appearance, which I mean, isn’t wrong the guy is drop dead gorgeous and as handsome as they come, but what little we get of him in the manga/anime I feel he’s a very deep character and I try to do him justice with my writing. 

Warnings for the below - goes into issues with body/stretch-marks & low self-esteem/confidence quite a bit. (On that note I have to say this is written from experience) 

You sit on the bed looking at the floor length mirror, more specifically just staring at your reflection. As you study every part of your body you sigh. Whenever you see yourself recently you can’t help but compare yourself to others whose uniforms fit slightly better, the beautiful ones, the pretty ones, the ones that everyone would want to date. Somehow you feel like you just don’t fit in with them and that makes you question whether you fit in at all. When you think of Mike and just how much you love him there’s always something else niggling in your ear.

Mike is drop dead gorgeous. He’s one of the most handsome men in the Scouts, well, the most handsome to you. Incredibly tall, muscular, strong and then there’s you. Telling you how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, how he loves every inch of you - this is how your days start with Mike. 

He isn’t afraid to show it publicly either and often in group situations will kiss you on the cheek or lips, put his arm round you, dance with you if the occasion calls for it and occasionally will rest his hand on your thigh. A hand so big that despite your squishy thighs which you’ve referred to before as small tree trunks (Mike detests it when you do this as it makes him incredibly sad to hear you say bad things about yourself and to demean yourself in that manner). His large hand will squeeze your thigh and remind you of what’s to come when you’re alone. How you love the feeling of his hands on your body, he tells you he cannot get enough and showers you with praise and body worship. And in those moments between the sheets you believe him, you really believe him. You believe you’re beautiful and perfect the way you are, that you’re worthy of a man like him, worthy of love just the same as everyone else.

But sometimes when you’re apart, when the ecstasy of orgasm has worn off and you’ve awoken from a day dream, it can be easy to remember how good it felt or how much you believed his words. 

Now sat on the bed it’s hard to control the tears, you don’t want Mike to see you like this to see you so weak and pathetic. If it really bothered you that much why weren’t you doing anything about it? Then you just feel angry and lazy and start to think that if you really loved Mike why aren’t you getting more in shape for him? By the time you’ve finished judging yourself in the mirror you feel absolutely rotten and wish you hadn’t looked today.

You heard the door open and panic set in as you wiped away your tears, lowered your shirt and jumped off the bed.

There is no hiding from Mike, he knows you far too well. He only has to study you for a moment, to tilt your chin and see the reflection in your eyes, watery like a golden lake for him to give you that sweet melancholy smile.

“My love what’s upset you today?”

There’s no beating round the bush with Mike, you are his number one priority and he says things how he sees them. The sooner you can talk about it, the sooner he will be able to work on a fix for you, that’s the way he sees it.

He sits beside you and when at first you don’t answer and struggle to get the words out, Mike doesn’t push you. No, he sits patiently by your side, arms wrapped round you and strokes your hair.

After a few minutes you sob quietly, he pulls you in a little tighter then presses a firm kiss to your cheek, “Just breathe, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Another thing you love about Mike is how understanding he is and how he never rushes you to speak or tell him what’s happening. He knows it will come in good time when you’re ready. Just having him by your side is already like a remedy, the smell of his skin, his warm smile, his comforting hands on you.

When you finally tell him what’s been happening he seems almost hurt, hurt that you are hurting so much and that so far he has been unable to reassure you of how beautiful and perfect you are already.

He takes his time with you, kissing your lips slowly and pulling you on top of him. He massages you, strokes your thighs, legs, arms. He kisses all your scars and stretch marks telling you just how beautiful each one is.

He goes down on hands and knees and worships you. Mike, the second strongest soldier who fights for the future of humanity, here in front of you vulnerable, naked and ready to beg, steal, kill….for you. He pulls you into his arms so you can wrap your legs round his waist. He nuzzles into your neck and tells you you’re his star. 

“There is nothing in this world that can compare to your beauty, your wisdom, your charm or your kindness. There is no night, no matter the amount of stars that could come close to the radiance that shines from you when we’re together.”

His words are so sweet that they make you cry again, but this time they are tears of happiness, the tears of someone who has been feeling tired for so long and just wants to fit in. The tears of someone who feels a little bit foolish and wishes they were more ‘normal’ like others.

“And there’s nothing you would change?” You ask sincerely as you look into his eyes - determined to see if there is any hesitation, of course there is none. 

He shakes his head, “Nothing, you are gorgeous as you, you are loved more than anything just as you are.”

“All of it?” You ask as you squeeze the chubby bits on your hips.

He gives a small laugh, “All of it,” as he puts you down on the bed he kisses the bit of flesh you’d been holding. “There’s so much to love, to cuddle, to hold when we make love. All your stretch marks, scars, freckles, I like to join the dots together and turn your body into a night’s sky.”

You frown.

“Don’t you see, your body is covered in constellations, stories formed by a life of love and honour.”

Mike climbs on top of you as you fall into bed, when he kisses you you know it will be a long night where you need nothing but the company of one another. 

#Mike Zakarius #Mike Zacharias #miche zacharias #mike zacharias x reader #snk #snk vets #snk x reader #requests #my writing #cw: body image

[yuta1forme]

light & shadow pt. 1 | yuta

summary: standing in line for doyoung’s book signing, yuta wonders if he has ever acted normally around you 

author’s note: i had no idea how else to split this story into a readable format so  this will be a two (maybe three) part series! as always let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future parts!

taglist: @sweet-rintarou​

prologue: [21:26] 

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, college!au (this part)

pairing: yuta x reader

length: 1.7K

There are certain fundamental truths Yuta knows about the universe - the sun always rises in the east, milk goes before cereal and that Nakamoto Yuta does not blush. 

“Nakamoto Yuta, do I have permission to flirt with you in Japanese?”, the translation app reads out in its robotic voice. He whips his head around to face you as if the words had left your mouth and not the phone held in your hand. And then he feels it. That unfamiliar heat rising to his neck and cheeks. One look at the amused grin on your face and he knows that you have noticed too. If there is one thing that has not changed in all eleven years of him knowing you, it’s that he should always expect the unexpected from himself when he is around you. 

Even right now, hearing you gush about your attractive new coworker, Yuta feels an unfamiliar knot of form in the pit of his stomach. He suspects that it is the protectiveness he feels towards you that is making him feel so strangely antagonistic towards this man he has never met. But there is a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that tells him that that’s not the only reason why. 

You always had a way of getting a reaction out of him that no one else could, always had him feeling emotions that he didn’t know he could feel. His relationship with you, while not better or worse than the relationship he had with any of his other friends, was certainly different. It always had been. 

In freshman year, equipped with only a translation app on his phone, Yuta left his hometown of Osaka for Seoul. He had been offered a full-ride sports scholarship by Sooman University. He would play for the school’s soccer team and pursue, to his parents’ relief, a more “practical” degree in Business Management. 

He would be playing with the team where some of his favourite soccer players had first gotten their start before moving to the Japanese league. It was a dream come true. Well, almost. 

He had just never imagined it would be quite this...lonely.

Over his first month in the city, he could count the number of people he had spoken to on one hand. The first was his roommate with whom his conversations were limited to “hello” and “good morning”. The second and third were two middle-aged cafeteria ladies, who would coo over him and give him an additional helping whenever they saw that he was down. The younger of the two looked so much like his aunt, that it made his heart long for his family back in Osaka. 

The fourth and final person was Mr. Jung Yunho, the Student Affairs Counsellor - an energetic man in his early thirties who had lived in Japan for most of his adult life. He had sense that something was amiss and had tried to pry into what was bothering Yuta right from their first meeting. After about three weeks of beating around the bush, Yuta had finally, begrudgingly, confided in him about his homesickness and his trouble communicating in Korean. Mr Jung had listened intently through it all, occasionally patting his shoulder to comfort him. 

“You must feel very lonely, Yuta”, the older man had told him, resting one hand on his shoulder, eyes shining with sincerity. 

It was lonely. He didn’t have a single person he could call a friend. Everyone he had met thus far seemed so busy, living a life far too fast paced to notice the quiet foreign student at the back of the lecture hall. He wondered if anyone in his classes would even notice if he stopped attending lectures. The only time he felt like he belonged somewhere was when he was playing soccer with the team, but even then he wondered whether he could call his teammates, his friends. 

“Let’s start with helping you communicate first, shall we?”, Mr Jung had said, interrupting his self effacing train of thought. 

“I’ll put you in touch with someone who can help tutor you in Korean. A Korean Literature student who’s been working with some other foreign students as well. I have a gut feeling you two will become great friends!”

That was how Yuta had come to know you. He clicked on your kakaotalk profile picture and zoomed in to your beaming face. You had one of those warm, welcoming faces. A face that one would trust immediately. Your face gave the impression that smiling was your resting face. The laugh lines on either side of your mouth and the crinkles beside your eyes were further proof of that.

Yuta had sent you a short, impersonal message introducing himself as the student Mr. Jung wanted you to tutor. He had not wanted to get his hopes up. Having been all by himself in a foreign country for the past month, being dependent on someone felt strange to him.

Still, before he went to bed that night he found himself refreshing his messages, hoping for a notification from you. As his luck would have it, you hadn’t replied even the following morning. Yuta had swallowed the lump forming in his throat, pushing any disappointment out of his mind. 

You made the decision to move, all on your own, to this country far away from your friends and family, where you don’t even speak the native language. You have to face the consequences on your own too. Y/N is not obligated to help you. No one is. This is your own battle, for you to fight on your own.

With those thoughts in mind, he had busied himself with getting ready for the first match of the season against the neighbouring university. 

At half-time, Sooman University was trailing behind Seoul University with a score of 3-1. With the centre forward benched because of a foul, things weren’t looking up for the team. Yuta had made several attempts to score a goal throughout the game but had been stopped by the right-back, Park Minsoo, on Seoul University’s team. He was much taller than Yuta and had a larger build, which he used to his advantage. 

If there was one thing he absolutely hated, it was foul play. Yuta’s teammates had tried signalling to the referee that Park had been playing dirty, but the referee, infamous for being biased towards the Seoul University team, had brushed off their concern. 

After having collided with him several times over the last half, Yuta was getting impatient. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him but he had let his anger get the best of him. After another foul-worthy tackle from Park, Yuta used his side to shove the man out of his way with all his energy. Perhaps it was the momentum with which Yuta had crashed into him or pure dramatics, Park landed on his back howling in anger.

The referee blew his whistle to signal a pause and the players from both teams began fighting amongst each either, trying to put the blame on the opposing team’s player. The situation with Park must have been grave because the Seoul team’s coach and manager hurried on to the pitch as well. Yuta’s team captain stepped forward to defend Yuta from the wrath of the other side. But ofcourse, being Japanese, Yuta barely understood a word being spoken. There was no way he would be able to dig himself out of this. 

The thought of being benched for the rest of the semester crept into his mind. The fear of losing his scholarship made his legs tremble and he instantly regretted not heeding his older sister’s lifelong advice to him to be more gentle.

Then you appeared. Like an angel, only instead of white robes and a halo made of pure light, you wore a blinding neon green visor and an equally garish hot pink t-shirt bearing the Korean Literature Department’s logo. He saw you hop down the bleachers and squeeze through half a dozen sweaty soccer players, to thrust yourself in between Yuta and the opposing team’s coach. You explained somewhat emphatically to the referee that Yuta was a foreigner who barely spoke Korean and that any missteps on his part were purely a misunderstanding because of the language barrier. The man didn’t seem convinced, grumbling and gesturing animatedly at the two of you, egged on further by the other coach’s growing impatience. 

Yuta wished he could understand what was being said. He tried to hang on to every word being spoken, but the adrenaline from the tackle and the heightened atmosphere made it even harder for him to concentrate. He picked up a few words here and there. A mention of a foul. Then someone yelling out the word suspension, which made him clench his fist so hard he thought he would pop a vein in his arm.

But he understood the last words to come out of your mouth, perfectly well.

“Please let my friend off the hook this one time? I apologise on his behalf”.

Friend. No, he definitely had not misheard that. You had called him your friend. 

You had yanked Yuta forward by the arm, pushing his head down into a deep bow. Yuta took the hint and apologised, somewhat robotically, to Park and his coach. He was not bothered by the condescending smirk on Park’s face or the dirty looks that were thrown his way by the rest of the Seoul team as he allowed himself to be dragged off the field by you.

You dragged him quickly to the empty booths near the back of the stadium, sat him down and handed him a bottle of Gatorade. 

“I saw your text. I’m really sorry I didn’t reply any earlier. But to be fair I had wished you good luck with your game but I doubt you saw my message considering you were down here getting shoved around by that asshole Park”, you had started rambling while Yuta chugged the drink. 

Then he did something that he would cringe about for years to come. He should have known right then, on day one, that he could never act like his usual self around you.

He had shot up out of the seat, stepped forward and pulled you right into his arms, lifting you a couple of inches up in the air due to the sheer force. Through shaky breaths, he had whispered out a barely audible thank you to you. To his relief, you didn’t fight him off.

After a few seconds, you broke the silence and embrace. 

“Hey, I know I just saved your ass but you’re kind of really stinky from the sweat”, you had said in between giggles. 

He had dropped you back down and grinned somewhat apologetically at you in response. 

After that day, he was no longer alone.

#yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta fluff #yuta scenarios #yuta college au #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct friends to lovers #nct college au #yuta friends to lovers #moonrise

[saladejin]

Admire | Prologue

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary:  You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Slight mention of absent parents and some unhealthy mindsets

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Finally getting around to posting my most recent ongoing series. The prologue is written in 3rd person, but from then onward it continues in 2nd. Hope you enjoy! :)

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All she could see were those eerily beautiful chocolate-brown eyes looking back at her. Even though she’d only first seen them that morning, and besides the fact that they regarded her coolly because of that, she couldn’t help but let herself be drawn deep into them. Melting in front of the man himself, as if he’d cast a spell on her and bent her to his will upon a simple glance.

She could only let a small sigh of acceptance fall from her parted lips. It was nothing but an inevitability at this point.

Kim Seokjin… no, my husband.

The days leading up to that point had been excruciating for (Y/n) (L/n), but for some reason knowing that her entire life had just been signed away to some stranger didn’t shock her as much as she thought it would. It would have, and definitely should have, but the young woman always knew in the back of her careful mind that the day would soon dawn.

“Dear, your father and I told you a while ago about our company connections with the Kims, right?”

(Y/n) blinked the crusty sleep from her eyes as her mother’s words rang sharply through the quiet living room. She sat further back into the plush couch and brought her legs up underneath her, eyeing the way her parents exchanged wary looks.

“Mum, Dad… Please don’t beat around the bush. Yeah, everyone knows about the Kim family because of how filthy rich they are, and even though you guys barely talk about them I do know that our company is connected to theirs somehow. It only serves to explain why Dad’s so successful half the time.”

Her groggy voice held no malignant tone because it pretty much felt like reciting a memorised speech at this point. If her parents were insulted by her brutally honest commentary, they showed absolutely no sign of it.

“Yes, I firmly believed you would’ve kept up with at least some of our more important professional relations. Sorry to get you up early, but there’s something we need to tell you before we leave for our business trip,” her father continued after clearing his throat. (Y/n) quirked an eyebrow in confusion, because it wasn’t normal for her parents to act so interested in her.

They’ve never really paid mind to my opinions.

Well it sounded bad no matter how you put it, but that’s truly what it was like. Working for a big corporation and having to run many aspects of a widespread company meant that her busy parents didn’t have as much time for their daughter. Growing up, she learnt how to take care of herself and didn’t mind developing that sense of independence many of her high school friends lacked. Her bond with her parents was built on a foundation of mutual respect and trust, so when people asked her about growing up neglected, she directly shut down the idea.

In her mind, being brought up by parents who treated you as an adult early on was the best way to get a head-start in life.

“I don’t know if I should be concerned,” The sleepy girl grunted and fiddled with the pyjama shirt she still wore.

“Well, that’s for you to decide now. It’s about the marriage thing we discussed a few years back. Do you remember?” her father asked bluntly, to the point and not sugar-coating a single thing along the way.

“Oh, yes,” (Y/n) hummed after making a small ‘ah’ noise of recognition.

“Where you guys agreed to marry me off to their son?”

The son no one really knows about, to be honest.

“Don’t put it like that,” her mother started sternly, “It was an agreement with the Kims that we made long before you were of age. It’s only right, considering both of our families and their lineages.”

(Y/n) still didn’t allow any emotions bleed into her tone or expression. She wasn’t shocked, upset or disgusted by what was going on, because she knew that this day would come around and rear its ugly head eventually. It was one of the many perks of being born into a family such as hers; having your partner decided for you so that you could keep the family’s wealth and bloodlines within a ‘respectable’ standard. God forbid you ludicrously fall in love, or something.

It was an outdated tradition, but it still existed. She knew this, even if it had in fact been swept under the rug and forgotten about for most of her teenage years.

“The ceremony is happening after we get home. The maids already know what’s going on and preparations are already underway. We’ve left you some files to read up on about the Kims and Seokjin himself, if you’re curious.”

So this is why I got my measurements taken the other night. Sneaky staff.

(Y/n) heard the sound of the front door clicking shut echo through the whole house as her parents finally left. She just really didn’t know how to feel about it all, or how to feel about her future husband. She already had this voice nagging in the back of her mind telling her about how awkward the whole relationship was going to be. Two strangers thrust into marriage, only having uttered maybe a simple ‘hello’ to one another prior.

More likely than not, he was going to be some pompous ass who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, a spoilt brat, and she honestly didn’t know how she was going to put up with a constant niggling annoyance after living such a supposedly quiet life. The cold truth was she wouldn’t be able to, and that would only lead to constant fighting and unnecessary tension. Were there any positives to think about here, actually?

(Y/n) shook her head and groaned in frustration, not caring about the noise level since there would be no staff milling around the house for a few hours yet.

What did they even say his name was? Sock…something? They’re Korean, aren’t they?

She gave up on trying to eat an early breakfast and decided to find the so-called files her parents had left for her to browse. She needed to know a name and birth year at the very least.

Shuddering at the thought of marrying someone twice her age, the young woman slipped into the study room and found what she was looking for almost immediately. There were multiple files on the Kim family in general, but there was only one that held her focus.

Seokjin. Seokjin Kim, or I guess the other way around in, uh, Korea.

There wasn’t even a photo to help douse her curiosity regarding the looks department, but she breathed a sigh of relief after reading that he was in his early twenties like her. No need to worry about perverted old men or baby-faced teens fresh out of high school. Nope, she could cross a few major concerns off the list already. What a plus!

There wasn’t too much to read about on his file at all, but she didn’t mind. Thinking about it now, she was going to have the rest of her life to get to know this dude whether she wanted to or not. Why not keep an element of mystery while you can?

She could already tell she’d bypassed the heavy stages of grief. Only settling deep into acceptance after already having years to move on from any other feeling. This was it.

~

A week or two later was when she found herself standing across from him. Him and his cursed eyes. Cursed, because of how they were so beautiful yet so chilling at the same time. How they looked like they could see so much of a person’s soul with one fleeting look. She didn’t know if she liked it or not, but he had an effect on her regardless.

The minister’s words faded into the background as she observed the tall, silent man in front of her.

Yep, this is Kim Seokjin, and now I belong to him.

Copyright �� 2020 by salade. All rights reserved. No part of this collection may be reproduced, distributed, or translated in any form or by any means. Legal action will be taken if necessary.

#seokjin x reader #seokjin scenarios #seokjin smut #thehouseofbangtan #btsghostie #seokjin angst #seokjin imagines #arranged marriage au #husband seokjin #bts jin #bts fanfic #jin angst #jin fluff #jin x reader #seokjin fanfic #admire #saladejin