#my author's notes are getting less and less coherent as this goes on

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

Would you mind sharing your planning process of the comic? I'm starting to brainstorm a fiction idea and right now the ideas are very messy and I wanted to know if you could show how you plan what happens on a season and on an episode, maybe with an example of a season episode you already published, so I can learn how to organize myself?

I really, REALLY appreciate you coming to ask me for help with this. It's awesome to hear that you respect my writing enough to seek me out as an authority on such things, or at least enough to ask for advice.

But I'm gonna be real with you - what you're asking for is not a quick slapdash reply that I can whip up in my free time. What you're asking for is an hour long video essay (with examples) on the level of an educational creative writing online course.

And I--I don't know if I have it in me to do that right now. Not with everything else I'm trying to do. (Sorry.)

BUT.

What I can give you instead is a basic rundown, and maybe some recommendations for where to this stuff.

To be absolutely brief: For me, the best way to visualize how I plan would be to make a flowchart.

Keep in mind that....... I don't ever actually.......MAKE. A flowchart.

Mostly, I am just using this as a visual representation of how my ideas flow from and to each other in a coherent way. The reality is that this skill is something you have to develop until it becomes second nature.

As an example, let's take the episode(s) where I introduced Seaglass.

This little arc was planned in season 3, but really started to come into play in Season 4.

To make it happen, I started with the obvious main idea: SEAGLASS.

I then broke it down into multiple smaller ideas:

If you notice, the main plot of this doesn't even start when the Seaglass exposition does. Steven makes Seaglass back in season 3, but doesn't know about it. But these ideas are still important to acknowledge as being a part of the main plot.

I then fill in MORE space between these larger ideas.

This whole set of steps is just a logical progression of me playing 'how do we get there'. I make up plot points and say 'what happens to get from A to B?'

And keep in mind - this may seem kinda obvious. That's because... it should be! But that's how the planning happens.

Realistically, it's just a bunch of asking myself questions. The same exact questions I refuse to answer in asks.

"What happens next? What would happen if....?" "Why doesn't Steven know about ....?"

"How would Steven find Seaglass if he doesn't know she exists?"

Well she's small and green, kinda like Peridot. So he goes looking for Peridot and mistakes Seaglass for her.

BAM! You've got yourself a plot point. That's a plan, baybee!

And then just kinda rinse and repeat.

And eventually, you want to make sure that you have some sort of connection back to the main plot point. In this case, it's the realization that Steven CREATED LIFE.

Again, I want to stress - I don't actually........plan.... by writing this down.

I do this process in my head. Often, multiple times per chapter, writing and editing to make it make more and more sense. The important part is about asking yourself questions. The same questions your readers should be asking.

"Why is this character doing this?" "Why is this event happening NOW?" "How will A find out when they realize what B has done?" "What is the BEST time for B to find out...? What is the WORST time?"

All of this takes imagination. It isn't about organization. It's moreso about learning to tetris plot events into their most snug spaces. It's about thinking of events as a staircase, which eventually leads to a larger staircase of plot arcs.

And as a final note, I will say that someday, when I'm less busy, I may make a video about plot. But it will take more time and effort, and for now, please just watch videos by other creators! I'm sure they're just as good at it as I am.

#chekhov answers #plot

[kimakento]

so this is how it feels

synopsis: nicholas has been in love with you for quite some time now, but he struggles to reconcile with that love when it goes even far enough for him to develop hanahaki. but you’ll never know that he yearns your love back. ⌙ 2.6k

pairing(s): wang yixiang x fem!reader x koga yudai

genre(s): angst

warning(s): swearing, blood, passing out, low self-esteem, bit of toxicity

tags: hanahaki!au, unrequited love and more. (too lazy to write it out sorry 😞)

author’s note: this was requested by my fav @loserlvrss i actually read a hanahaki fic the other day and HAD to write one myself, this is a bit self indulgent but as always hope you enjoy !!! i js wanted to get this out quicker, might make a part 2 idk i hope this is gut-wrenching enough for you bae 🤞

a few years ago, when nicholas was asked by one of his friends what his type was, he blanked out. while staring at his friend, dumbfounded, he scoffed, claiming that he didn’t care enough to have one.

love wasn’t something that he needed at the time, much less cared about. he pondered about how romantic love was supposed to feel like or what love even was, it wasn’t one of his priorities, though.

but now, if anyone ever asked nicholas what love was, he’d reply with you. the girl who occupied his every thought, his every dream, his every waking moment — maybe that was an exaggeration, but you were love to him. love was the person who made you feel feelings, nicholas couldn’t quite put it coherently but he just knew it was you.

and if you were love to him, why were you with him and talking about another man right now? nicholas despised him, he loathed that he wasn’t the reason for the goofy smile on your face, that he wasn’t the reason for your random fits of giggles, that he wasn’t—

“nicholas! are you even listening?” the train of thoughts cut off when a pout crept up on your face, emphasising your discontent. however, as time passed torturously slow, an unsual sensation in his chest began to settle, but he dismissed it. nicholas set his hazy gaze on you, watching intently while you parted your lips to speak, the same ones he so badly wanted to claim as his.

“just look at what he posted, k is definitely doing this on purpose.” you said while shoving your bright phone screen in his face, nicholas squinted his eyes to focus on the photo of yudai while the subtle tickle buried deep in his chest intensified. balling his fist, he watched as your enthusiasm became more evident as you slightly bounced on your bed, humming along to a melody, only stopping when he spoke.

“why don’t you just tell him about your feelings then?” more like ‘why couldn’t he tell you about his.’ it was rich coming from him.

“it’s not that easy, nicho,” and he thought he understood that more than anyone. “yudai—“

“can this wait? i need to use the bathroom right now.” nicholas was only a mere two seconds from just leaving, he couldn’t bear hearing that stupid name anymore. ‘yudai’ this, ‘kei’ that, he just wanted your attention on him and only him.

his steps felt heavy as he dragged his feet towards the bathroom; nicholas felt so shameful. distance from you felt like the proper solution. as he entered the bathroom and locked the door, his head fell against it in a dramatic thump. so much thoughts ran through his mind, it felt unbearable.

involuntarily, he let out a small cough into the palm of his hand.

fuck, am i sick right now? he thought.

but then—he saw it, a delicate and dainty pink petal; one that looked like one from a cherry blossom. that’s when his heart dropped. staring nervously at the out-of-place petal, it crumbled away painstakingly slowly, disappearing into flecks of dust whisked away by the air.

“what the fu—“

the vulgar sentence was cut off by another cough wracking his body, bringing a second, pale petal with it. nicholas’s eyes darted around anxiously as his breath hitched. this cannot be happening. not now. not like this, when you’re in the other room. with trembling hands, he slapped his hand over his mouth hastily. yet his ragged breaths only seemed to intensify the creeping pain in his chest, the ache refusing to dissipate.

completely oblivious, you noticed nicholas’s prolonged absence and decided to walk towards the bathroom, calling out his name while concerned.

“nicho, are you okay?”

in between half-stifled coughs he let out a meek mumble, “i…i’m fine.”

bringing your hand up to cover your face, you shook your head while tutting at his response.

“okay then..? just shout my name if you need anything!”

once he heard your retreating footsteps becoming fainter, nicholas retracted his hand from his mouth and noticed a small petal was placed fitly in his hand; he grimaced.

it was hanahaki. he was suffering because of his unrequited love for his best friend. why was it always him? bad things always had to happen to him.

a sharp pain struck him in the chest and he clenched his shirt to find relief. nearly doubling over in pain, nicholas ran over to the sink, putting one of his hands on each side while coughing violently. his grip on it was so hard that his knuckles turned white. after a few more minutes, it seemed to have subsided, but that was only the calm before a storm—a big one at that.

sheepishly, he turned the bathroom door handle and stepped outside, hearing the sound, you hurried over to him.

your hand came up to cover his forehead, feeling his body temperature before stating, “you look pale, and you’re hot. i really think you should go home.”

nicholas’ face flushed from your gentle touch, he didn’t even pay attention to the growing ache tightening.

a smile crept up on his face. ‘i know i’m hot, you don’t have to tell me.’ he wanted to say, but before the first word came out, he coughed into the palm of his hand.

another petal.

this time, a streak of blood painted the innocent, pink petal.

concern washed over you and you placed your hand over his shoulder, the petal just out of your line of sight. quickly, nicholas nodded his head before clenching his hand; just to hide it.

“what about you? you’re going to be lonely here.” he gazed down at you with drab eyes. mesmerising were your eyes, the eye contact you held with him enchanting him more with every fleeting moment—no, he wasn’t allowed to think that.

you responded with a small smile, “it’s okay, me and yudai are going out. you know, i think he likes me back. i might take my chance sooner or later—“ that name again; why is it always him? nicholas thought. that familiar pang pained him again and he clutched his other hand, gritting his teeth through the pain. it only seemed to worsen whenever you mentioned that guy—nicholas didn’t even want to think about his name.

after recognising the complicit frown on his face, you interrupted yourself and dismissed it as him being ill. “—but enough about that! you should go home.”

in defeat, he weakly nodded before grabbing his jacket and making his way out of your home. the outside world felt cold and the chilling wind whisked everything away as he kicked a nearby pebble.

opening his fist, he threw away the blood-painted petal in a rage.

nicholas hated—no, he loathed koga yudai. he hated how he had to fight for your attention, he hated that he even developed hanahaki because of his stupid, unwarranted love for his friend. most of all, he hated you for being so oblivious. but who was he kidding? wang yixiang could never hate you. even if he tried his utmost hardest.

the subtle tickle in his throat began again, almost like a never-ending story.

then he looked up, trying to distract himself by watching the clouds. it all became useless when your face appeared again in his thoughts, and he’s reminded of the strong gaze you held just minutes ago.

nicholas picked up his pace, walking through the park that you both do every week. shoving his freezing hands into his pockets, he notices a familiar face in the distance walking in the opposite direction.

koga yudai.

great, his day seemed to be getting worse. a bitter expression adorned his face as the taller man continued to walk towards him, almost passing nicholas in the process before finally recognising him and visibly brightening up.

“hey, nicholas! funny seeing you here.” his tone was light and airy, usually the type that friends would have towards each other. but they weren’t friends, they would never be friends; or at least that’s what nicholas thought.

the latter’s voice was flat and disinterested as he replied dryly, wanting to end the conversation. “yeah, nice.”

before he could walk away, yudai placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his sudden rush.

“do you know if she’s at home? i don’t know if you were told, but we’re going out right now. i really want to make a good impression.” on yudai’s face, he held an almost lovesick expression, which made nicholas feel sick.

the mention of you brought back the long forgotten pain. with a weak shake of his head, nicholas excused himself and walked away hastily.

kei was perplexed but thought nothing of it as he continued to your house, making note to ask you about it later.

the wooden bench nicholas chose to sat own was cold. his fingertips brushed against the splinted wood as his other hand covered his mouth, to attempt to silence his defeaning coughs that wracked his already-vulnerable state.

for months in a row, this continued—you’d call to talk about the ‘oh so romantic’ moments with kei or to talk about how kind he was, or to even just update nicholas about your situation with yudai. then that same pain would start again, and pink petals, sometimes painted with a streak of red, would fall out of his mouth. it only worsened when you announced that you and yudai were a thing.

he was genuinely sick of it.

his pain seemed to have become palpable in every way.

but today, was a day like no other. nicholas was hunched over, eyes widened at what lay there, tainting the white, marble sink in his bathroom.

a whole cherry blossom.

he turned the tap, indulging the clear water to run; all to tune out his thoughts. the petals of the blossom crumbled, and some were taken away by the water. with trembling hands, he threw the running water at his face, with this continued on for a couple of minutes with a few sighs of fatigue in between.

when leaving the bathroom and sitting onto his bed, he began to sink deep into thought. nicholas didn’t know how to get rid of this, the disease that plagued his soul, the one that he was terrified of bringing up out loud, much less to you. this unknownness was unfamiliar; therefore horrifying. help couldn’t be an option for him, yet he couldn’t just hope it all went away. but—

before nicholas could finish his thought, his phone vibrated from a text.

my life </3 wanted 2 ask if u wanted to go to a get-together with our class with me n k at one of their houses (u don’t have to come, i know how much u hate these.) sent 1:38pm

the last part of your text, though not important, made his heart flutter. as he reread the message he noticed the phrase ‘me and k’. armed with frustration, he was reminded of the blossom again. and with a bitter taste in his mouth, he replied back.

nicho!! ok. txt me the address. sent 1:43pm

as you squinted to read his message, your mind wandered. the crude reply sounded unlike him and so you responded. nicholas stared at the three dots that flowed on his screen, anticipating your reply.

my life </3 u good? u sound out of it ): if u’re sick u should stay home. sent 1:45pm

nicholas hated seeing you sad, he never wanted to be the cause of your unhappiness but he also didn’t want to see you with yudai. he took a deep breath to calm himself, choking himself up when he coughed.

it was another whole flower. however, there was no blood this time. his stomach churned as he doubled over and the feeling of wanting to throw up intensified. nicholas wanted nothing but to get the hanahaki disease out of him.

tapping your foot impatiently, you texted him again.

my life </3 nicho? where r u? wang yixiang. i’m concerned now. read 1:54pm

every passing minute made you more anxious, resulting in you picking at your fingers.

with trembling fingers, nicholas responded with a simple ‘i’m okay’. and you let out a sigh of relief knowing he was fine.

‘please come to the get-together’ you said, ‘it’ll be fun’ you said. yet what was fun about watching you all over kei? what was so fun about leaving your friend hanging and barely even speaking to him? what was fun about being so oblivious about his painfully obvious feelings?

while everyone cooed at the ‘cute’ couple that was you and yudai, nicholas stayed slumped in the corner with an empty glass in his hand; subtly glaring at you both with watchful eyes.

as you interlocked your fingers with kei’s, you bridged the gap between you, meeting his lips with yours.

thoughts distorted and eyes narrowed, nicholas swore he could hear his porcelain heart shatter into minuscule pieces.

there it was again, the ache in his chest, now rising up his throat.

placing his glass on the table, he sped up the steps to find the nearest bathroom. finally, one door he opened turned out to be it. and wasting no time, he hurried in and locked the door; running to the sink, he couldn’t stop the strings of coughs from his mouth. flower after flower appeared, each with more streaks of blood than the one before.

so, this was how it felt? to fall in love with you? nicholas wondered if it would’ve been different if he had confessed before everything. everyone warned him to not develop feelings, it was always going to be a bad idea. he never listened.

and these were the consequences.

the flowers were nonstop and like infinity, they continued on and on and on. each blossom pained him more, making him wince. his vision slightly darkened and his breath hitched.

then it quickened and it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen. the room started spinning and the temperature dropped. or it didn’t, he didn’t know. nicholas’s senses were all distorted and that made his brain unable to recognise or process anything. everything felt foreign and weird. while staggering, he fell to the floor in one swift motion.

“nicholas?” he heard a voice echo.

another cough. another pretty pink cherry blossom. one as pretty as you.

“nicho?!” again, the same familiar voice. his eyes stayed open long enough to watch the door creak and you come out behind it. your face showed worry as you scrambled down, clutching his shirt.

voice cracking, you whisper-shouted, “nicholas! listen to me, come on.”

your shaking hands reached into your pocket, dialling for an ambulance.

and then you see it, a flower on the floor, laid prettily next to his motionless head. your hands tremble trying to reach out to touch it, but you’re distracted when nicholas mumbled softly.

“what’s wrong?” you asked quietly, tears threatening to fall.

a small smile appeared on his face, “i love you.”

“i know, i love you too. but this isn’t it for you, please.”

“y..you don’t get it… not in that..way.”

the last thing he remembered was seeing your eyes blinking cluelessly. it took you a couple of seconds before your eyes widened. you turned away from him, concealing your hurt expression and you heard nicholas sigh.

“nicholas, i..i’m sorry.” you managed to say while turning to face him, only to see his eyes shut peacefully.

even though he knew there was no chance of you liking him back, nicholas would still always love you and choose a life with you in it in a heartbeat.

#&team nicholas #&team k #koga yudai #wang yixiang #&team x reader #nicholas x reader #k x reader #nicholas imagines #k imagines #&team imagines #&team drabbles #&team angst #✍🏾 — kimakento writes

[vintagepresley]

68' Comeback Special... Part 10.1

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Word Count: 5,952 Words

Warnings: 18+ Pregnancy complications, talks of blood, cursing, mentions of a emergency c-section, panic attack, and tons of cute fluff, typical Elvis stuff.

Author's Notes: ELVIS IS A DADDDY. Hi y'all, sorry this took me so long to get out. I will be splitting this last part into two because it became so long. But I promise to get that out faster than I did this one. But thank you for being so patient. I promise some smut will be in the next one!! Check out the Elvis song ‘My Happiness’ if you haven’t heard it already! Possible spelling errors. (side note: @moonchild-daniella I used one of the baby names you suggested! thank you!)

My Happiness...

“E-Elvis… W-Where’s Elvis…” you repeated over and over unaware of what was happening around you as the paramedics wheeled you out the ambulance into the hospital. Your mother was at your side trying her best to stay calm and reassuring you that Elvis would be there. She was shaken up even more when the doctors wouldn’t allow her into the operating room with you. She stood in the hallway pacing back and forth nervously as she waited for your father to arrive at the hospital, but who she saw instead was Jerry the man she remembered who brought you home. She quite relieved to see a familiar face and she ran over to him giving him the tightest hug. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened?!” he said worriedly as he pulled back from the hug. “I-I don’t know. One minute she was fine and then the next she wasn’t and there was so much blood.” She cried and Jerry embraced her into another hug and soon after your father arrived and the three of them waited patiently for answers. Jerry was waiting to hear any updates from some of the guys who were in California and had been in contact with Elvis from the plane. Jerry hoped that nothing would happen to you or the baby. He knew Elvis would blame himself and he wouldn’t be able to handle it which only send him down a dark spiral. Tenses were on high and by now your mother was inconsolable because of how long they were taking to let them all know what was going on. 

In the operating room where you were less than coherent you just couldn’t stop mumbling on about Elvis and how he needed to be here until they had sedated you and began to work hard at trying to stop the bleeding and finding the source of the problem and after about an hour of waiting and no answers your mother, father, and Jerry hopped to their feet the moment they saw the doctor walking to them and it was hard to tell if he had good news or bad news. As the doctor approached, he let out a soft sigh. “Well, we’ve got the bleeding to stop, but we did discover that she had an infection and severe inflammation. Had she been complaining about any kind of unusual pain?” he asked. Your mother shook her head. “N-No, she seemed to have the usual problems back pain, swelling if there was anything else going on she hadn’t told me.” She responses. “So, what does that mean doctor? Is she and the baby going to be alright?” your father chimes in. “For now, she and the baby are both stable, but we’re still looking to see just how much the infection spread and if it’s affected the baby and if so, we unfortunately may have to do an emergency c-section, if we can’t stop it.” He says softly.  “What?! She’s not due for another month. What will happen to the baby?” your mother says frantically. “If all goes well the baby should be fine, it may have to spend some time in the NICU but that’s normal with premature babies.” He said trying to assure your mother of her fears before he went back to the operation room.

Your mother couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and your father consoled her that the doctors know what they are doing and that they will both be okay. Jerry didn’t know what to do and he was so worried that Elvis wouldn’t make it in time if they did have to perform an emergency c-section, he quickly walked off to find a payphone to see if there were any other updates on Elvis’ flight. He dialed the number to the phone on his private plane and nervously holding the phone up to his ear as the line trilled quietly and suddenly Charile picked up the phone. “Hello?” he said. “Charlie, it’s Jerry, how much longer until you guys get here?” Jerry asked. “Oh hey, Jerry, it’s lookin’ like another hour or two. How is she? The baby?” he says he looks over at Elvis who was staring out of the plane window with a look of worry and panic on his face, but he tried to keep it together. But when he heard Charlie speaking about you, he jumped out of his seat and demanded for him to give him the phone. Charlie handed the phone over to him and his voice was shaky and frantic sounding. “Jerry? What’s going on? How’s my girl?” he asks nervously. “Doctor said she had some kind of infection or inflammation and that they’re checking to see if it’s affected baby.” He paused for a moment and let out a soft sigh. “What? What is it?” Elvis panicked. “Listen man.. They said if the infection has spread, they’re going to have to get baby out.” Jerry said hesitately. “What?! But it’s not time! W-What if something happens to the baby? H-How can they just do that!?” his voice shaky and he was nearly on the verge of tears. “Elvis, listen to me, the doctors say the baby should be fine it’ll have to spend some time in the hospital. But things should be fine.” Jerry tried to reassure him not really feeling confident about things himself, but the last thing he wanted was for Elvis to drive himself mad with worry. 

Elvis exhaled softly as he nodded at Jerry’s reassuring words. “T-Thank you, Jerry. Thank you for being there for her. I.. I’m sorry for everything.” He said softly. “Ah, I forgotten all about that. It’s all in the past and you don’t need to thank me I care about her and you. You’re my best friends.” Jerry smiled. Elvis chuckled softly with the first smile he’s had all day. “I’ll see you soon and if anything changes call me right away.” He says. “Of course, man.” Jerry responded before hanging up the phone and heading back over to your parents as the three of them continued to wait for more answers. Elvis had several things going through his mind and speaking with Jerry helped him a bit, but he was still so worried. You were the love of his life the woman that was going to make him a father and he lost you he’d have nothing. He didn’t care about anything else in his life especially if you weren’t around. Now with the possibility of you having the baby early he was just a nervous wreck. But the only thing he could do, what he knew that could help was praying and that’s what he did the entire way to California. Joe and Charlie wished that there was something that they could do, but neither of them knew what to say or how to even comfort their friend. But much like Jerry they were going to do their best to reassure him that you would be okay. 

Another long hour had passed and as the doctor came walking back out your parents, and Jerry all stood up hoping to hear good news, but as the doctor let out a sigh they couldn’t tell if what he was about to say was good or bad. “Just tell us straight out, doctor.” Your father said nervously. “Unfortunately, it looks like an emergency c-section is our only option due to the infection spreading to the baby. So far, the baby from what we could tell is okay, again once we do this the baby will need to be in NICU for a bit. But mother and child should be okay, it’s good thing you brought her to the hospital when you did.” He nodded. Your mother and father were beside themselves but trusting that their daughter and grandchild were in good hands. Jerry was completely panicked still seeing there was no sign of Elvis. “I-I’ve gotta call Elvis... He needs to be here.” Jerry says before running off to the payphone. Jerry frantically adding money into the payphone and dialing the number to Elvis’ plane, nervously waiting for someone to pick up as the line shrilled, once again Charlie answered. “Hello?” he said. “Charlie, put Elvis on the phone now.” Jerry said frantically. Charlie quickly let Elvis know Jerry was on the phone and Elvis took the phone quick. “What’s the matter? What happened?” Elvis says panicked. “Where are you? How long until you get here? They’re going through with the c-section.” Jerry blurts out. “Goddamn it! We should be landing in about 20 minutes. You gotta try to get them to wait, man... I-I-I can’t miss the birth of my child. I need to be there for Y/N.” he said with a sadness in a voice but still freaked out. 

Jerry sighs. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that, Elvis. I don’t know if they can wait. But I guess I’ll try.” He says unsure of himself. “Please Jerry, please..” Elvis pleads. “Okay, okay, just hurry.” Jerry says before hanging up, he was going to do everything he could to try to slow the process, but if there’s no chance of that Jerry didn’t know what he was going to do and he knew Elvis would feel even worse about this situation if he couldn’t be there for you when you would need him the most. He had just caught the doctor before he was about to walk away as he came back over to your parents. “Doctor?” Jerry calls out to him. The doctor stopping in his tracks and turning back around to catch Jerry’s worried gaze. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but is there any way to hold off until the father is here? He’s landing in 20 minutes and shouldn’t take him long to get here.” Jerry asks quite nervously. “Uh, I don’t know.. The sooner we do this the better.” the doctor insists. “I-I know, but he doesn’t want to miss the birth of his child. If it’s no harm to her or the baby, is it possible?” Jerry asked. The doctor exhaled softly. “I’ll see what I can do..” he says softly before walking away. Jerry let out a relieved sigh, hoping that they’d be able to, he nervously continued to check his watch waiting for Elvis to show up. 

You were still under the anesthesia having no idea what was going on in outside world but as you were knocked out on that cold table with doctors and nurses buzzing around you, your mind was still running and you had no idea that you were in a dream the last moments you remember calling out to Elvis and in your dream Elvis never makes it to the hospital and it was turning into a nightmare, taking the turn for the worse the very thought of losing your child crept into this dream and all you felt was guilt. That this was all your fault, that if you hadn’t angered him, left or if you had gone back when he asked, he would’ve been here for you, maybe none of this would’ve happened. You’d have your happy little family with Elvis. You were wavering in and out of your dream and sometimes hearing the faint sounds of the beeping hospital machines, distant chatter, but unable to open your eyes and you’d eventually fall back into that deep slumber until you could no longer hear the noises. 

Jerry was a nervous wreck as if he was the one becoming a father as he stared at his watch and the entry way of the hospital hoping Elvis would be walking through it. Elvis had landed and he was on his way as quick as he could be to the hospital, the guys doing their best to avoid the pesky LA traffic. The doctor came walking back out and feeling that he had held off on the operation long enough, telling Jerry and your parents that he understands the situation, but they need to operate for the sake of the mother and child. Just as Jerry was about to give up and agree for them to do what they need to do; Elvis came bursting into the hospital like a bat out of hell with the rest of the guys and his father following behind him and he came rushing over to Jerry and your parents’ side. “Where is she? Where’s my girl?!” he said frantically. The doctor in shock to see who the father was, and he was starstruck for just a moment. Jerry felt so relieved to see Elvis and felt like he could finally relax for a moment. “Thank god, you made it!” Jerry says with a soft sigh. Once the doctor got control of the room and setting aside who was standing before him. His tone was quite serious. “She’s in the operating room right now. We need to do the c-section; we will not wait any longer. We can get you in the proper attire to be with her in the room.” The doctor said with a nod. Elvis nodding swiftly to the doctors’ words. “Well, let’s not wait any longer, doc, let’s go.” Elvis said calmly, but still visibly nervous. 

Everyone looked on as they watched Elvis headed back with the doctor and he was taking slow breathes trying to keep calm, not only was he nervous for your wellbeing and his child’s, but he was nervous about also becoming a father. As they suited him up in the proper PPE he could see you through the little glass window lying on the operating table asleep, he clenched his jaw at the sight and then he was following the doctor inside, the nurses and doctors fully aware of who he was but treating him like any concerned father-to-be, he rushed to your side, taking your left hand into his as his other hand gently brushed over your hair, giving your cheek soft kisses and remembering that your father had told him you were calling out for him as they took you to the hospital.  “I’m here, little one, I’m here. I wouldn’t dare let you do this alone...” he whispered in your ear as he grasped your hand tighter, continuing to gently stroke your hair. He looked on nervously as he watched the doctors begin the operation, they had put a separation curtain to shield Elvis from seeing them cut you open. He was doing everything he could to not let his nerves get the better of him, “You’re gonna be okay, little, I just know it. The baby’s gonna be okay.” He whispered unsure if he was trying to convince himself more than you, he was scared. He'd never been more scared of anything in his entire life until this moment. This was supposed to be a happy moment, he had planned on passing out cigars and celebrating. But all he could feel was fear, fear that the worse would happen. But he had prayed, prayed so hard on that plane that you and the baby would be okay. 

Your parents, Vernon, Jerry, and the other members of the Memphis Mafia were waiting anxiously in the waiting room, desperately wanting some sort of update, but it would be another hour or two before they got any answers. Elvis was never let go of your hand as he continued to whisper into your ear how much he loved you and that you’d be okay. “I promise you things are going to be different... I promise…” he mumbled, he still blamed himself for all of this, he should have never put his hands on you, maybe you would’ve stayed, and this wouldn’t be happening, but he couldn’t dwell on that. He needed to be in this moment with you, he needed to be here for you even if you couldn’t hear him or feel that he was right by your side. After for what seemed like a lifetime the doctors were finally able to get the baby out and Elvis’ face lit up when he heard the cutest little cry the moment, they had the baby in their arms. “Congrats, Mr. Presley, you’re the father of a little girl.” The doctor said happily. Elvis smiled proudly as he let out a shaky sigh as his eyes began to well up with tears and he leaned back down toward you, running his hand gently along your face. “Ya hear that, baby? It’s a little girl! We made a beautiful little girl.” He said happily, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Would you like to cut the umbilical cord, Mr. Presley?” the doctor asked. Elvis laughed nervously, nodded excitedly. He brought your hand up to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss before he had let it go and went over to the doctor who had handed him a pair of clamps and Elvis like a proud daddy cut the cord as he beamed down at his tiny child. 

He watched as the nurses took her to clean her up so Elvis would be able to hold her before they took her down to the NICU. He walked back by your side smiling and leaning back down toward you as the doctors began to clean you up and close you back up. “She’s beautiful, Y/N. I-I can’t wait for you to see her when you wake up..” He whispered. One of the nurses happily carrying the swaddled little baby came over to Elvis. “Ready to hold your newborn, Mr. Presley?” she asked. He nodded quickly; a bit nervous about holding such a tiny human. “Uh, I guess so..” he chuckled softly. He held his arms out and she carefully placed the little baby in his arms, he had a protective hold over her, still so nervous about holding such a delicate little thing, she was so tiny, he was afraid of hurting her, but when he looked down at her and saw her little face that was freshly cleaned, all those nerves had washed away, it felt as if he was falling in love all over again, now those tears that welled once again in his eyes and they began to stream down his face and all the nurses watching the sweet moment in awe. “Do you have a name for her?” One of the nurses asked. Elvis carefully wiped the tears from his eyes as he continued to stare down at his little girl and then he looked at the nurse and let out a soft chuckle. “No, actually... I mean, my wife and I made a list of names dependin’ on if it were a boy or girl. But we never actually chose anythin’.” He said softly, glancing over at you and then back at the nurses. “I-I think I’ll wait until I can talk to her.” He nodded, staring back down at the little angel in his arms, giving her the gentlest kiss. “Beautiful... Just like your mama.” He whispered to her. 

But before he knew it that precious moment was over as the nurses had to take her back to get her down to the NICU, though she was only a month early, they still wanted to make sure she was health and fully developed, he didn’t want to let her go, but he knew she’d be in the best care and that now he needed to be with you when you woke up, the doctors had finished getting you all stitched up and now pulling you from under the anesthesia, but the doctor said it would probably be a few hours before you actually woke up because it affected everyone differently. He followed them out of the operating room as they began to transfer you to a room, Jerry having taken the liberty to getting you a private room like Elvis would’ve done himself. Once they got you to the room Elvis had made himself comfortable in the chair that sat beside your hospital bed, holding your hand in his, and the doctor said he’d let everyone know the news. Elvis nodded, thanking the doctor for all his help and then he turned his attention back to you once the doctor had left. He didn’t know how long it would be before you woke up, but he was going to be by your side the entire time. The doctor had let everyone know the good news and allowed them all to come back to where you and Elvis were and allowing you all to have time with each other and the moment, they saw Elvis he got up from where he was sitting and embracing your parents and his father in a tight hug. “You’re all grandparents of a little girl!” he said happily with a soft chuckle. “Congratulations, son.” Vernon said with a smile. Your mother rushed to your side, kissing your forehead, and letting out a relieved sigh seeing that you were okay. “Where’s the baby?” your mother asked. “She’s down in NICU. I think once they’ve got her settled down there, we can all go visit her. She’s angel... A beautiful little angel. That I can’t believe I had hand in making.” Elvis said so proudly. 

Everyone was happy for the both of you and seeing how happy Elvis was and the smile that couldn’t seem to leave his face. They could tell that seeing that little baby had completely changed everything for him in one instant. After while everyone had left and Elvis had told your parents to go home and get some rest after they had spent hours at the hospital, he assured your parents that he’d be by your side the entire time in case anything happened and that when you woke up, they’d be the first to know. As Jerry was getting ready to head up Elvis had stopped him as he followed him out of the room. “Jerry?” Elvis said softly. “Yeah, E?” he answered tiredly. “Will you stay? I-I feel like she’d like it if you were here too. You really looked out for her, and I’d appreciate it.” He said, giving Jerry’s arm a pat. “Of course, Elvis.” He smiled and though they never really hugged each other, Elvis couldn’t stop himself from pulling Jerry into a hug, the two men embracing and forgetting why they even were mad at each other in the first place. Elvis knew he could always count on Jerry to look after you and there wasn’t anyone else, he’d want doing it, he also knew he’d be there to look after your daughter if he ever needed to. Elvis pulled back with a smile and nodded at him the two of them headed into the room and Elvis sat back in the chair beside your bed and Jerry sat in the chair by the door, taking the time to get a bit of sleep. But Elvis couldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t, he just wanted you awake. So, for the next for hours Elvis held your hand and spoke softly to you in hopes that you’d hear him. 

A few hours had passed, and Elvis had dozed off without having realized it. You had finally woken up from what felt like an eternity of sleep, but you weren’t aware of where you were or what was happening that when you did finally open your eyes, you thought you were still in that terrible nightmare, and you woke up in such a panic and in pain, crying hysterically and calling for Elvis. You scared Elvis out of his sleep and when he saw you were awake and in such a state of shock, practically hyperventilating and throwing yourself into a panic attack. He climbed into the bed with you as quick as he could, cupping your face in his hands, trying his best to soothe you “B-Baby, baby, I’m here… I’m right here, honey. Shhh.. I’m right here. Look at me, baby. I’m right here.” He said softly, Jerry had woken up from all the commotion, half asleep unsure what was happening. You were breathing heavily, your chest heaving rapidly as you slowly raised your head up to see Elvis through your teary eyes. When his gaze met yours, he smiled. “Just breathe, baby.. I’m here, see?” He hummed as the pad of his thumbs grazed gently along your flush cheeks. You took deep breaths when you realized Elvis was truly there and you flung your arms around him as you cried softly into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head as he rubbed your back soothingly. “Oh, Elvis, you’re really here..” you said softly trying to choke back your quiet sobs. “Of course I am, little one.. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He mumbled softly, looking over at Jerry and signaling for him to get the doctor. Jerry nodded and slowly got up from his seat and leaving the room to find the doctor. 

“I had the most terrible dream... You weren’t here and the baby... I-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence because you had begun to realize something about you was different, it felt different, you pulled back from Elvis and ripping your blankets off, seeing your once swollen stomach was no longer there. “W-Where’s the baby? What happened?!” you began to spiral and panic again. Elvis quickly went to calm you, taking your face in his hands again. “Baby, listen to me, everything is okay, the baby she’s okay.. They had to do an emergency c-section. You had some sort of infection. But you’re okay and so is she.” He smiled. You took a deep breath as you calmed yourself as you stared up at Elvis. “S-She? It’s a girl?” you asked with tears in your eyes, but this time they were happy tears. “Yes, darlin’, it’s a girl. A beautiful little girl. She’s so tiny.” He smiled widely. “Where is she? I want to see her. I want to hold her. Where’s my baby?” you asked frantically. “Y/N, she’s down in NICU. She’s okay, but since she was born a bit early, they had to take her down there.” He says calmly, trying to keep you from having another panic attack. “I wanna see her, can I see her?” you asked still a bit frantic. Before he answered Jerry had finally found the doctor and when he came walking in, he was happy to see you were awake. “Mrs. Presley, how are you feeling?” The doctor asks. “I want to see my daughter.” You said sternly. “Alright, honey, we can arrange that. But I just want to see how you’re doing and discuss some things with the both of you.” He said with a nod. Elvis raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright, doc?” Elvis asked. 

You laid back against the bed as you winced in pain, staring up at the doctor as he checked your vitals and your stitches, seeing that everything seemed to be holding up. “Is something wrong with our daughter?” you asked. Jerry felt a bit awkward being in the room, but he knew Elvis wanted him to stay so he sat back down quietly in his chair. “Your daughter is doing okay, she was having some issues with her breathing, but that is normal with premature babies. She will need to stay in the hospital for a weeks, just so we can monitor her. But she’s doing okay.” He said and you squeezed Elvis’ hand tight as you got filled with worry. “Can we see her? Please?” Elvis said. “Of course, I’ll have one of the nurses bring in a wheelchair and they’ll take you down.” He said with a nod. “Thank you, doctor.” Elvis said, bringing your hand up to his lips and giving it a few light kisses as he watched the doctor leave. “Hey Jerry, could you give us a moment?” Elvis asked. “Sure, E.” he said, getting up and closing the room door behind him as he headed out, stood outside the room. You stared at Elvis. “W-What’s wrong, Elvis?” you asked nervously. “Nothing, baby. I just…” he took both of your hands into his and suddenly he began to cry. “Elvis?” you said a bit concerned. You’ve never seen him break down like this before. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for everything... I-I thought I was going to lose you, our daughter. I was so scared that I was going to be alone, losing the two most important people in my life. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I prayed, baby… The whole flight here to not lose you either of you. I-.. This is my fault... You should’ve been in Memphis.” He said between his soft cries, his head hanging low. 

You stared at him for a moment and wiggled one of your hands out of his grip and brought it up to gently comb through his hair, letting out a soft sigh because you had also blamed yourself for this situation. “Elvis.. This is not your fault. You hear me? I blamed myself for this as well.. Maybe if I didn’t get you angry or if I had just stayed. But either way, neither one of us could’ve known that I had some sort of infection. All that matters is that you made it here. That’s all I wanted. I was so scared because you weren’t here. There was no one else I wanted but you, baby. Of course, you found a way to be here and see the birth of our little girl. I can always count on you to be there.” You smiled tiredly. He slowly lifted his head as he wiped his eyes, nodding. “I’m always going to be here for you, Y/N. No matter what I will always be here. For you and our little girl. I swear to you that things are going to change when we get back home.” He nodded, kissing your hand over and over. You smiled at his words and quickly wiping your tears that streamed down your face. “I love you so much.” You said softly. He smiled and he leaned forward and being careful not to hurt you he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and you lightly cupped his face in your hands. “I love you so much more.” He mumbled on your lips, a light knock at the door and Elvis slowly pulled back as the nurse came inside with a wheelchair for you, Elvis quickly wiping the rest of his tears when Jerry followed behind her, Elvis got out of the bed and gestured for Jerry to help him get you into the wheelchair and the two of them carefully helped you out of the bed, your arms draping over either one of them and you smiled. “Hi Jerry..” you said softly. “Hi, Y/N.” he smiled as they got you into the chair and the nurse wheeling you out and Elvis wrapped his arms around Jerry with a smile. “Let’s go see my little girl.” He said with a grin as the two of them followed behind the nurse who was wheeling you down to the NICU. Your heart was racing because you were finally going to see your little baby, something you had been dreaming of for months. When you reached the NICU the nurse had wheeled you inside the room where all the little premature babies were, and the nurse turned to Elvis and Jerry. “Only one of you will be able to come inside with her.” She spoke. Jerry patted Elvis’ back with a smile. “Go see your daughter. I’ll wait here.” He said softly. Elvis smiled widely and nodded before going inside and joining you, the two of you needing to wash your hands and she handed you both gloves and Elvis a gown as well to put on, once you both had those things on, the nurse wheeled you over to the little incubator that she was lying in and a soft gasp left your lips as tears filled your eyes at the sight of her, the nurse leaving you two alone with her. “Oh my god..” you mumbled.

Elvis grinned widely seeing his little girl again. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he beamed. “She’s perfect… A splitting image of her daddy.” You said as you smiled up at him. He laughed softly. “I thought she looked more like you.” He grinned. “Not a chance... That’s all you.” You whispered with a soft laugh. “Did you get to hold her?” you asked him. He nodded slowly with a smile, though he could see the sadness on your face because you wanted to hold her as well. You let out a soft sigh. “Elvis, I want to hold her.. Do you think they will let me?” you asked softly. “I’ll ask her, baby.” He said, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as he went to find the nurse and you stuck one of your hands through the little holes that were on the sides of the incubator, gently touching her little hand and smiling when she grasped one of your fingers, watching kick her little feet. “Hi baby, it’s mommy.” you whispered, smiling at her. Elvis had come back with the nurse who he had convinced to let you hold her for a few minutes. She carefully opened the incubator and scooped the little newborn into arms and putting her into a nice little swaddle before she carefully handed you your little baby. Your face completely lit up the moment you cradled her in your arms and Elvis smiled happily, thanking the nurse. “Oh, Elvis, she’s so cute.. she’s your twin.” You giggled quietly. He chuckled softly, smiling down at the both of you. He had never felt more happiness than what he felt in the moment he held her and this moment now being with his two favorite girls. He kneeled beside you as the two of you fawned over your little bundle of joy. “She needs a name.” you whispered softly. “What did you have in mind, baby?” he whispered. “Hm.. How’s Ada Elvira Presley? She is your twin after all.” You laughed. Elvis grinned. “I love it.” He hummed as he kissed your cheek. “Little Ada.” you whispered to her as you brushed a finger along her little cheek. 

“Our precious little Ada..” Elvis whispered. “Did you wanna hold her again before the nurse came back?” you asked him. “Oh, uh, yeah..” he laughed nervously, he was so afraid of hurting her, but he knew those nerves would go away like they did the first time. He stood up and carefully scooped her out of your arms and he cradled her in his and he was smiling so wide his face hurt. “She’s so tiny..” he mumbled. You smiled watching Elvis with little Ada and seeing how adorable he was with her as he carefully rocked her in his arms. “Why don’t you sing one of your songs to her? Like you did when she was in my tummy. She always loved hearing her daddy sing.” You said with a smile. He nodded at your words with a smile, and he thought for a moment of what he could sing to her, but then it came to him, and he began to hum an old song of his, ‘My Happiness’ and then he softly began to sing a few of the lyrics to her as he continued to rock her gently he sung:

There’ll be no blue memories then whether skies are grey or blue, any place on earth will do, just as long as I’m with you... My happiness...

*

Tagging: @elvisgirl35 @godlypresley @lindszeppelin @kaitaesupremacy @powerofelvis @re3kin @elvisdoll @pennyroyalcreep @ilovehobi101 @presleyturner @presleybewbie @samfangirls @peaceloveelvis @moonchild-daniella @generoustreemystic @urlittledairyqueen @kingdomforapony @prayerstopresley @ccab @literally-just-elvis-fics @bigromansgirl-blog

sorry if I missed anyone, I've made so many new friends since I wrote part nine. But let me know if you want to be tagged in the last part!

#Elvis Presley #elvis x reader #elvis x you #Elvis x y/n #elvis fluff #elvis angst #elvis imagine #elvis fanfic #comeback special

[writing-my-time]

Daddy Ain't Home

Images taken from @boydholbrook-fan's gifsets, and pinterest x

Pairing: Clement Mansell X F!Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: 18+, Smut with plot, age gap (Reader is around 19 to early 20’s, Clement in his late 30’s/early 40’s), swearing, morally dubious actions, coercion, unhealthy power dynamics, oral (m/receiving). Reader has grabbable hair, but otherwise nondescript. Summary: When your dad’s so-called ‘friend’ needs to stay at your family home for a few days, using the excuse of “in-between” places, you find his incredibly forward nature hard to resist. Your temptation only worsens when your dad goes to work Author's note: My beautiful babies have been SO sick. Needed to be a full time Mama for a bit but now I’m back in action!

The older you got, the less sure you became of your father’s previous lifestyle. You’d grown up relatively normal, but the occasional tale he’d tell after a few beers often left your imagination running wild. He’d speak of something far darker than youthful tomfoolery; recounting memories of guns, cash, and deals gone wrong. At some point in his life, your dad had turned himself around, leaving whatever rough and tough lifestyle he’d had behind. Today, he’s a blue collar man with a family, in other words, completely unspectacular. Sure, he’d become a friendly face in the neighborhood, shoveling snow and fixing gutters, but other than that, the peers of your parents wouldn’t exactly blink twice at the man. Which is why when his ‘old friend’ stops by uninvited, it opens a can of worms you never thought imaginable.

It’s past midday, you know that much. You’ve only been back a week, in your family home in a remote town just outside of Detroit, having come back to enjoy the semester break without the bleak surroundings of your college campus. A small group of your friends never left; staying home to take over their parents’ business or wait tables. Still, having some friends in your hometown pays off. That is, until you’re nursing a headache courtesy of your latest reunion. In a place as small as this, everyone knows everyone; meaning that even in your less than perfect state, you can tell the blond man in front of you is an outsider. He’s standing opposite your dad in the middle of the kitchen, unintentionally blocking your access to any form of sustenance as you approach from behind. Bleary-eyed and weak-willed, you fail to recognize the brewing tension in the room, stepping around the stranger with a grumble.

“Well, shoot.” The blond nods in your direction, cocking his brow as you manage to stumble past. “The apple sure doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

There’s an audible huff from your dad, and you reach the fridge as he grabs the stranger's arm and hauls him into the living room, slamming the door behind them. If you were sober, you’d be outwardly surprised by your dad’s aggression. Right now your sole focus is to hydrate using whatever bottle your hand grabs first. Judging by feel, you’ve picked up some type of juice; gulping it down greedily right from the lip of the bottle. As the sweetness trickles down your throat, you feel a morsel of the raggedness from your night before wear away. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you drag a hand down your face, taking note of the mascara very much still crusted against your lashes. Apparently you had come home coherent enough to get into bed, but not enough to get your makeup off. Just as you’re about to make your return to your room, the sound of your father’s hushed muttering permeates the closed door.

“Absolutely not.” He grumbles, saying something else but you can’t quite make out the words. “Clement, I won’t-”

“-Don’t forget now,” You can hear the other man loud and clear. “You do owe me a favor.”

A prolonged silence follows. One which is only filled by the sound of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. This time, you fight the haze just enough to get a better read on the conversation going on in the next room. Hearing the clearly strained resignation of your father come through the door, you decide to hover in the kitchen a little longer. Whoever this Clement character is, he’s got intimidation down to an art.

“You can be here for one week.” You’ve never heard your dad sound so defeated. “That’s all. One week.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The southern drawl of the man rumbles through the door. “You always had to be so serious about things.” 

“Just don’t bring my family into it, yeah?”

“Now, now. Terrorizing families was more your style.” Clement clicks his tongue. “I will be on my best behavior, of that you can rely.”

Your brows furrow upon hearing what appears to be the end of the exchange. They’ve come to an agreement; one you don’t truly understand considering the ominous accusation thrown your father’s way. Your dad, a terror? The man who mows old ladies’ lawns on the weekends for nothing more than a cup of tea and a sandwich? That’s enough eavesdropping for one day, you decide, shaking your head. You begin your retreat, eventually climbing up the stairs toward your room.

Neither of your parents had changed anything about your room since you had left. You still had the same gaudy palm tree wallpaper your mom had picked out, only saved by the amount of band and movie posters you’d covered it up with. All the furniture was the same as it was, too. A mix of things your dad had either built or bartered for over the years, leading to an eclectic mess of clashing styles; something you’d come to miss when your dorm room was nothing more than a bed and a desk. Your shins meet the foot of the bed, and you flop down face first onto your pillows. Still in the throes of a hangover, now layered with the strange pit of uncertainty embedding itself into your stomach, you tuck the blanket up above your head and fall asleep.

—

It’s early in the morning when your dad knocks gently at your door. Of course, you’d slept the entire day away; a habit you aren’t exactly happy you’d picked up while at college. You slowly peel yourself out of the blankets, sitting up as your dad steps softly into your room. Dressed in his usual work clothes of his boilersuit over a white t-shirt, you gauge that it must be almost time for him to leave. He’s holding your favorite mug in his hands, bringing in a coffee just for you. The thought is lovely, even if you both know you’ll forget about it until it’s already gone cold. Your dad sets it on your nightstand before kneeling down beside your bed. There’s a reserved look in his eye, one you aren’t sure you’ve seen before.

“Morning, princess.” He speaks softly. “Thought I’d say hi. Since I didn’t see much of ya yesterday.”

“Sorry, dad.” You mumble, looking away in shame. It wasn’t like you to drink so hard that you wasted an entire day. “I think I went too hard.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re young. It’s good that you’re having fun and still coming home safe.”

There’s another flicker of something in his eyes when he speaks. Despite his kind reassurance, you can tell his mind is elsewhere, perhaps reminiscing on something. His nose scrunches for a brief moment, and you shift slightly under your sheets. You watch as he presses his lips together, evidently trying to find a way to word his thoughts.

“I need to let you know, we have an old friend staying with us for a week.” He explains with a smile. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “His name is Clement. I knew- I’ve known him since before you were born.”

“How do you know him?” You ask him quickly, watching him shift his weight on either knee as the question rings through his mind.

“You know, that’s a good story.” Your dad pulls back just as quick, sucking in air between his teeth as that forced smile reappears on his face. “Maybe just not when I'm leaving for work, yeah?”

In response, you nod, earning a kiss to your forehead from your dad. Since coming back home, he’d gone right back to treating you like his little girl, and the affection had been greatly missed. He pulls himself back up to a stand, brushing his knees before he looks at you one last time.

“He’ll be hanging around the house, but don’t feel like you have to keep him company, okay?” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for your response.

“Is that code for ‘don’t talk to him’?” You ask, receiving a pause in return.

“You can talk to him, just… don’t go outta your way to make him feel welcome.” He explains with a sigh. “I love you, honey.”

“Love you too, dad.”

His exit leaves you in a befuddled silence, pressing your lips together in thought. You stay in place as your father’s footsteps begin to trail off, eventually dulling once he reaches the bottom of the staircase. Minutes later, the house rattles ever so slightly at the opening and closing of the front door. Your father has left for the day, leaving you alone in the house with mystery man Clement. What you remember of yesterday’s overheard conversation lingers in your mind. How do they know each other? Why didn’t your dad want him to stay? And why does he owe him? In a rapidly-failing attempt to take your mind off of it, you pull the covers back over your face. Thoughts swirl around your mind while no answers come to call. Clement had claimed your dad had a terrorizing schtick. It just didn’t match up. 

Not wanting to give in to the oncoming spiral, you bring yourself to a stand. A shower will help. Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as you close your bedroom door behind you with a sturdy thud. Lazily, you trudge down the hallway until you find yourself standing on the cold bathroom lino. After a few minutes of mincing around, you slip under the gentle caress of the showerhead. Streaming down your face, neck, and shoulders, the warm water does wonders in quelling your nervous mind. Even after you'd moved out, your parents still kept the bathroom stocked with boujee products far out of your price range. It’s a dramatic change from the discount bath and body works garbage you’ve got littering your dorm shower, and you smile to yourself as you lather the coconutty soap over your body. For the first time in what feels like months, you have a long, warm, relaxing shower.

Eventually, you force yourself out of the cocoon of warmth you’ve created in the bathroom, stepping out with a fluffy towel wrapped around your chest. The house is silent, eerily so. You wonder if it means that Clement had also gone out, leaving you alone for the time being. With light-footed steps, you pad along the hall back to your bedroom. Thoughts of having the house to yourself cause a dopey smile to paint your face, and you eagerly wrap your fingers around your doorknob. With the door ajar, a gentle push is all it takes to enter your room. You stride in, humming a tune under your breath as you seal yourself back in your bedroom once more. You’re about to peel the towel away from your dampened skin when a low whistle beckons from your bed.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight.”

You flinch and desperately twist your hands into the fabric of the towel, keeping it as close to your body as humanly possible. With wide eyes, you turn towards the graveled voice. There lies Clement, completely reclined on your bed, wearing nothing but what appears to be your father’s navy robe. He’s got one of your books in his hands, open on the page you had bookmarked and forgotten about a few nights ago, now. The older man isn’t shy in his staring, dragging his tongue along his teeth as he raises a cocky brow. He rests the book in his lap, allowing him to rest his now free hands on the back of his head, unabashedly ogling your towel-cladded form. There’s nowhere for you to hide yourself while the intruding man remains confidently splayed on your bed.

“What’re you doing in my room?” You ask, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. 

“Shoot.” He raises his hands defensively, though his eyes still sparkle with a dark sense of mischief. “Your daddy said to make myself at home, and I wanted a good book to read. Nothin’ downstairs caught my attention - but this?”

Clement holds up the open book, waving it around long enough for you to remember exactly where you had left off. Fuck. The arrogant smirk sprawled on his face isn’t just to revel in your scantily clad form, but also your perverse taste in literature. Very perverse taste. He clicks his tongue, pretending to make a stern face as he drags his slender finger along the page.

“This is definitely something worth a read.” The blond furrows his brow, reading the very extensive smut you had bookmarked for when you were alone. “You, you pretty young thing, are into some extreme shit.”

“Can you get out of my room, please?” You attempt to speak with confidence, though there’s something about him making you shiver.

“Why? Voyeurism not your thing?”

“Not really, no.”

“No?” He begins to climb off the bed, his tall frame already towing over yours as he begins to stalk towards you. “It didn’t seem so bad in your book.”

You shy your gaze away from Clement as he comes toe-to-toe with you. While none of his fingers touch your soft skin, there’s a clear intention swirling in the air. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as he chuckles to himself. It’s a dark, throaty chuckle. Creases form around his eyes as he laughs. Is it at your expense? You can’t tell. You barely hold your ground as he continues to talk.

  “Girl in your book liked older men. Wasn’t interested in boys. What about you, little lady? You like real men?” He runs his finger across the seam of your towel. “I think you just might.”

He’s not wrong, and unfortunately, your outward lack of fear towards his grotesque intimidation is only proving his point. There’s some part of you that’s enjoying this, perhaps it’s because fortunately, he’s not exactly unattractive. As he stands before you, his newly acquired dressing gown begins to slip open, and you find yourself admiring the tattoo decorating his chest. You know you've gotten lost in your own ogling when his finger begins to slip through the seam.

“My dad would kill you.” You try to slap his hand away, but he grabs your wrist just in time.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but your daddy ain’t home, sweetheart. He left you all alone.” His voice lowers into something akin to a growl, while his breath hits hot against your face. “With me.”

Clement’s hand travels away from your wrist to the back of your head, making a tight fist within your damp hair as he sneers. It sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, going as far as to make you gasp through clenched teeth. You close your eyes, not wanting his piercing gaze to make you squirm more than it already has. He lets out another breathy snigger, baring his teeth as he cranes your head back with ease. A weak exhale escapes your trembling lips.

“Knew you were into dark shit.” He hums in your ear. “This ain’t even that bad, little lady.”

Before you can respond, the man pulls harshly on your hair, sending you crashing to your knees in front of him. For a brief moment, he keeps you there, doing nothing but glaring down at you while his lips continue to curl into a perverse smile. Your eyes flit to his other hand, watching it glide down until it slips underneath the seam of his dressing gown. Slowly, tauntingly, menacingly, Clement pulls the gown open. It’s just enough for you to get an eyeful of his white briefs, and the significant bulge growing beneath them. His eyes stay focused on your face, watching with twisted delight as you wet your lips.

“See? I had a whole plan to convince you, and you don’t even need it, do ya?” Clement taunts with a low voice. “If only your daddy knew how easy it is to get you on your knees.”

He loosens his grip on your hair, knowing you won’t do anything other than sit pretty on the floor. Clement’s other hand now slips into the waistband of his briefs. Of course, he doesn’t bother to take them off, instead opting to tug the fabric underneath his balls and taking his twitching cock into his fist. Though his underwear left little to the imagination, he’s girthier than you anticipated. Your eyes are glued to it, observing the way his hand trails up his veiny shaft, then back down until it meets the unruly hair decorating his pelvis. A bead of sticky pre-cum glistens at his tip, and you stay transfixed on the image as he drags his palm up his shaft one last time. Clement clearly notices your ogling, letting out a breathy chuckle before he begins to push your head towards it.

“Go on, baby.” He urges, watching with bated breath as your lips begin to part open. “Put your mouth on it, yeah, there you go.”

You glide your tongue up the bottom of his shaft, dragging from base upwards until you wrap your lips around his tip. His sharp intake of breath is enough to encourage you further, eventually sliding your mouth down until you’ve taken him whole. As his hand steadies your movements, a low, satisfied hum leaves his lips, and you look up just in time to watch him throw his head back.

“Fuck, I knew just from lookin’ at your pretty face that you’d have a mouth on ya.” He grits out as you begin to hollow your cheeks, sucking him slowly yet eagerly. “Shit. Didn’t think you’d be this obedient. Like a fuckin’ dog, you are.”

Doing as you're told, you don’t change up your movements right away. Instead keeping a slow, languid pace. Each bob of your head creates a rich mixture of your own drool and his slick, letting his taste be savored on your tongue. He tastes of salt and sweat and musk. When you’re about to bob back down, Clement guides you by pushing on the back of your head, and forcing you to take him right into the back of your throat. Your nose is almost embedded into his pubes, causing you to splutter around him from the lack of oxygen. Even so, he doesn’t let up. Clement clicks his tongue, giving you a surprisingly affectionate look.

“Now that’s a sight I could get used to, little lady. Look at you, chokin’ on me.” He holds you there for just a second longer, before letting you lift your mouth off of him completely. A string of drool connects your bottom lip to the tip of his cock, and before Clement can speak, you’re already diving back in. 

This time, you don’t suck him with lazy strokes, no. As your lips wrap around his head for the second time, you hollow out your cheeks and wrap your hand around the base of his cock. Your mouth pumps in time with your hand, all the while Clement doesn’t shut up, grunting out praises, as he rolls his hips in time with your movements. He fists your hair again, keeping your head still for his oncoming onslaught of hard thrusts. Drool coats both his shaft and your lips, bubbling and spilling out of the corners of your mouth as he fucks it with enough force to make you gag. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you keep choking on his length. He doesn’t stop, instead grinning as you continue to struggle around him.

“Keep your lips on me,” Clement rasps out, almost lost in the moment. “That’s it. That’s it, thaaat’s it.”

“Knew from the moment I saw you that I needed this.”

He squints his eyes shut.

“Knew that you’d give it to me.”

He throws his head back.

“Knew your daddy would make a good girl.”

He fucks himself down your throat.

“Good. Girl.”

Clement pushes your head back down to the base of his cock, holding you tightly in place with your hair as his hips begin to buck without rhythm. Your only other warning to what might be coming is the chesty moan that leaves his lips. You flinch as the hot, thick ropes of his release spill down your throat, coating your tongue with a salty, bitter taste. There’s no other option but to swallow it all, having his hand forcing you into position. Once the last drop is gone, Clement pulls you off him, eventually letting go of your hair entirely. As if nothing had happened, he tucks himself back into his briefs, and re-wraps the gown, covering his body once more. You look up, slightly dazed as air finally makes its way back into your lungs. With your lips pink, wet, and parted, you must be a sight to behold - earning a cocky chuckle from Clement.

“Thanks, little lady. Just what I needed to feel welcome.” He grins, swiping some of the drool off your bottom lip before heading towards the door.

“That’s it?” You can’t help but feel short-changed, watching as the man exits into the hallway.

“For now,” He states, dragging his fingers through the coarse hairs of his beard. “I’ve been really wantin’ a shower, and now it’s all freed up.”

He looks you up and down one last time, scrunching his nose as he sniffs with what almost seems like indifference. Then, before you know it, he’s closing your bedroom door, leaving you alone on the floor as you come to terms with what’s just happened. You drag the pads of your fingers over your lips, closing your eyes as you grunt in frustration. He’s still here for an entire week, and you caved already. What would your dad think?

---

A very big thank you for reading. As always a big thank you for those that encourage me - @justeverythingprettymuch, and those that inspire me - @toxicanonymity!

#boyd holbrook #clement mansell #justified city primeval #clement mansell x reader #goose writing #boyd holbrook smut #clement mansell smut

[hexagonalhavoc]

Can I request the hex Characters Reactions Do the readers love bites? ( Just another funny little idea I had)

The Hex characters reacting to the reader’s love bites hc’s 

[Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure how to love bites so I hope I did it well! I decided to take a more comedic approach with this]

Lionel: 

Lionel is so confused.

My headcanon for him is that he’s uncomfortable with touch so in the beginning he doesn’t respond well to you doing that. 

Once he becomes more comfortable in the relationship he really doesn’t mind. 

He could be doing something and you bite him and he doesn’t even look up. 

Doesn’t really know how to respond so he’ll just go. “Uh…Thanks?” 

Carla: 

She is very ticklish so her first instinct will be to laugh and lightly push you away. 

Carla is fine with physical touch and doesn’t really mind it. She might even start biting back to just surprise you. 

Doesn’t really care if you bite her in an obvious place or if it leaves a mark, she has no shame. It leads to some pretty funny conversations when people notice the bites. 

“So things are getting pretty heated in your relationship?” 

“No, I think Y/n was just bored or hungry. Maybe both.”

Carla is a little quirky herself so she definitely doesn’t judge you for it. 

Reggie: 

He thinks it’s funny and will joke about it a lot. 

“Irving if you don’t leave I’m going to send Y/n after you.” 

Jeremiah:

The first time you do it he just goes: 😐

He doesn’t understand your thought process behind it and he might ask you about it because he wants to learn about you and your behaviors. 

Chef Bryce: 

It might be less fun but if you’re going to bite him you should probably give him a heads up. 

If you bite him unexpectedly the fighter’s instinct will kick in and he almost punches you. He’s able to stop himself last minute but just be cautious. 

After he’s used to them he’ll laugh about it and will tease you about it a lot. 

He loves all your quirks even if he doesn’t understand why you do it. 

Lazarus: 

Depending on how tired he is he may not even notice. 

When he does notice though he gets very flustered, like his whole face turns red and he can’t form a coherent sentence.

Around other people he’s nonchalant but with you he actually lets his emotions. When other people tease him there isn’t a reaction but when you tease him there’s a big one. 

Chandrelle: 

You are the only person she would let lay a hand on her let alone bite her. 

It makes her smile, especially if you do it randomly. She just finds it endearing. 

Will randomly flick your forehead and call you a dork. 

Sado: 

She will bite back without hesitation or some say some super weird shit like: “I hope I taste good.” 

No matter what you do she’ll always be the weirder one in the relationship. 

Irving: 

The first time you do it he might scream like a little girl from being startled. 

Irving being the blunt person that he is might be a little rude about it at first. 

“Are you fucking rabid?” 

I can assure you that he’s not actually mad at you, just very confused. 

First Person Perspective: 

“…”

Rust McClain: 

“I’ve been bitten by Radrats before. Your bite isn’t poisonous, right?” 

#The hex game #the hex x reader #the hex game x reader #This is so silly I like it

[percontaion-points]

Lifeblood chapter 6 & bonus chapter 3

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 6

I spend the next day at home, trying to forget yesterday’s walk of shame. After Elizabeth’s announcement, I left the party and, after taking a few wrong Gates, managed to find my way back to the cathedral. No one came after me. 

[...]

So far, all I’ve done is anger and upset the people I’m supposed to protect.

They haven’t done anything worth actually protecting. The only thing that they’re doing is causing further pain. 

If you forget all else, remember this: love is always the answer. Love your realm. Love your people. Love yourself. This is right. This is good. Only when you choose love are you living in Light. 

Even if you ignore Elizabeth, these people choose Ten because she serves a purpose to them. They couldn’t care less about her. 

“Meet your teammates. The ones you’ll be working with directly. Everyone has a different specialty, and I believe you’ll complement each other well, despite the lack of experience. Like Archer, Victor spent time with Killian before he defected. And considering Killian helped you rescue Kayla and Reed from Many Ends, they’re the least likely to attack him and the most likely to aid you. Clay and Meredith love you and will guard you with their lives.” 

He calls them “teammates”. I call them “all of the named characters”. 

I step into my Shell...and this time, I stay put.

Chapter 6 summary: Ten goes home in a huff. Alone. Where she has another nightmare, and no Killian to save her. When she wakes up, she mopes around some. 

Finally, because we need to have an actual plot, three men break into her apartment and drag her away. Elizabeth is the only one who seems pleased with this development, and Ten hates her for it. 

But the men turn out to be Deacon, Victor, and Clay, who take her to Levi and a couple of other named characters. He tells her that there’s an urgent mission that requires her specific powers. See, Meredith told Ten about this Myridian disease that’s been spreading (I forgot to mention it because this book has no sense of importance to literally anything). Levi goes on to say that Secondking has hidden Mariee away after some threats made by Myridian against her, so Ten is the only one around. As untrained as she is. They’re going to give her a crash-course on how to do stuff in the Land of Harvest (aka the human world), where she’ll go face off against Killian for control over this young lady who has been infected. Oh, and Elizabeth is also on her team, as if the entire situation isn’t ridiculous enough as it is. 

The first lesson is a shell, which is the only way to interact with mortals. Levi says some stuff about the weapons shells have, but again, it kind of feels like the author wrote a bunch of words, but none of them SEEM important. At least, not right now. 

The first lesson in shells is simply to enter them. Which seems easy, but it’s actually really hard. Ten has to focus a lot simply to stay inside. But she’s determined, and eventually gets it. 

Bonus chapter 3

A report of this exchange has been sent to your superior, General Levi Nanne.

Bonus chapter 3 summary: The first couple of “emails” are between Ten and Levi. Except that Ten sent them from inside her new shell, and she’s quite bad at working the keyboard; the message is literal gibberish, which Levi comments upon. 

Then, there’s a long email from Killian to Ten. He said that Archer had given him a Troikan communication device before he’d died. He says that her dad is living it up, but that her mom has requested a trial date to switch sides, and Killian has his friends protecting her around the clock because of this. 

When Ten tries to message him back (with some barely coherent nonsense), she gets an error message and a note that it’ll be reported to Levi. 

#lifeblood #everlife series #bookblr #book review #scifi #romance novels #ya novels #dystopia #religious imagery

[sesamestreep]

stack the deck with wild cards (chapter 4)

(Read on AO3)

(start from the beginning)

SUMMARY: Jyn gets some much needed tough love from the band. She also gets soup. 

A/N: Here’s a shorter chapter to break up the other, more dramatic chapters. A palate cleanser, if you will. An amuse bouche, if I may. Fewer warnings needed on this one, I feel like, since it’s mostly about the power of friendship, but there’s still some talk of pregnancy and abortion here as well. Follow the AO3 link for more detailed tags. If you’ve liked/commented/kudos-ed/reblogged anything from this series so far, I really appreciate it and I wish I could make you all some soup because you deserve it.

“So,” Chirrut says, clapping his hands together and officially bringing their meeting to order, “how has everyone’s week been so far?”

As Jyn expected, Baze and Bodhi immediately turn their attention to her, since they clearly all discussed this beforehand and planned to gang up on her.

“I hate all of you,” she says, picking up Baze and Chirrut’s cat from the floor where she’s been weaving between everyone’s ankles and dropping her onto her lap. The cat immediately curls up over Jyn’s stomach, despite the fact that she’s not visibly pregnant at all, and Baze hums thoughtfully, which makes Jyn scowl. “Shut up,” she adds, without much heat.

“I didn’t say anything,” Baze says with an exaggerated shrug.

“I can hear what you’re thinking.”

“You’re starting to sound like him,” he replies, cocking his head towards Chirrut, who smiles broadly in response.

“We’re anxious to know how you’re doing,” Chirrut says.

“Oh, I’m sure Bodhi’s already told you everything,” Jyn says, shooting a glare in Bodhi’s direction.

“I’ve told them everything I know,” he replies easily. “Which is not the same as, well, everything .”

“I told you how my conversation with Cassian went, which is what I assume you all care about, so you should be caught up.”

“Okay, first of all, that was like...four days ago,” Bodhi says, counting off on his fingers. “And secondly, I asked how your conversation with Cassian went and you said ‘fine’ and then ignored my texts for two days!”

“Well, I—”

“And thirdly , that is not ‘all we care about’! We love you, we want to know how you’re doing!”

Jyn flings her head back on the couch petulantly, only giving up on her sulk when she feels Baze’s hand on her shoulder. He gives it a gentle squeeze, but when she turns towards him, he’s giving her a stern look.

“He’s right, you know,” he says, solemnly.

“Ugh, fine,” she says, sitting up and mildly annoying the cat that’s still curled in her lap. She scratches her behind the ears to make up for it. “What do you want to know?”

“How are you feeling?” Chirrut asks.

“Fine,” Jyn answers with a shrug, and then sees Bodhi’s unimpressed look and decides to elaborate. “I’ve been a little moody, I guess.”

“No, he means since you’ve been pregnant,” Bodhi says, laughing, and Jyn swats him.

“Asshole,” she replies, but there’s no heat to it. “I’ve been moodier . How’s that?”

“Much better, thank you.”

Jyn hums, considering what else to add. “I haven’t had much of an appetite. Also, I've been sleeping like crap, but that’s probably stress over the appointment.”

“That’s Friday, right?” Baze asks, before taking a sip of his tea.

She nods. “Bodhi’s going with me, so no one has to worry.”

“We’ll worry anyway, just to be safe,” Chirrut says cheerfully, which makes Baze hide his smile in his mug. “How did Cassian take the news?”

“Why don’t you ask Bodhi?” Jyn says with an eye roll. “He’s the one who told him.”

Bodhi scowls at that. “In my defense, he came back to our apartment from dinner with you looking thoughtful, and I knew you’d been trying to tell him, so I just assumed he already knew! How was I supposed to know you chickened out and abandoned him at the restaurant?”

Jyn thinks about swatting at him again, but she’s fairly certain that Baze and Chirrut’s cat would not take it too kindly if she jostles her one more time.

“You left him at the restaurant?” Baze asks, alarmed.

“No, I—okay, so, technically, I did, but it was…it's complicated!” When that doesn’t seem to pacify anyone, she adds, “he was being cute to a baby at the next table and I freaked out and left, okay? Bodhi still shouldn’t have told him.”

“I thought he knew already,” Bodhi cries. “You didn’t see his face! He looked very confused! I was trying to offer my support!”

“That’s just Cassian’s face!”

“Maybe around you, it is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Bodhi looks heavenward for a moment, as if praying for the patience to deal with her. “I just mean that...I think maybe Cassian doesn’t know how to read you. Not the way we do.”

Jyn looks around at the others, whose facial expressions give away nothing, except that they’re listening intently. “Well,” she says, “that makes sense, I guess. He doesn’t know me as well as you do.”

“No,” Baze says, carefully. “But I think he’d like to.”

She can’t do anything in response to that except blink at him in confusion. “What?” She finally asks, after what feels like several minutes.

“I think he likes you, Jyn,” Bodhi says, far too gently. “I think he was really happy you asked him to dinner the other night and he was disappointed when you left without explaining.”

“He knows now,” she interjects. “I explained what happened when he came over later.”

“I know, I just think...he wanted you to call him for another reason.”

“Yeah, well, so did I,” Jyn says, petulantly. “It’s not like I wanted to be pregnant.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Bodhi says, and his tone is lightly chiding, which just makes her pout more. “I meant that I was a little surprised he came home from your place at all that night.”

“What, did you think I was gonna axe murder him?”

He frowns at her. “No, dummy, I thought he was going to tell you how he felt!”

“‘How he felt’??” Jyn repeats. “What does that mean?”

“I give up,” Bodhi says, throwing his hands up.

“I just don’t understand!”

“Listen,” Chirrut says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We know it’s been a rough few months for you. The breakup was terrible and with Saw’s health getting worse and now being pregnant, this can’t be an easy situation for you to deal with. But surely, even with all of that going on, you must see that Cassian has feelings for you.”

Jyn laughs before she can’t stop herself, but no one else joins her. They don’t even crack a smile, they just keep looking at her with concern. “That’s not true,” she says, with more confidence than she feels. “Don’t joke about that.”

“He’s not joking,” Baze says. “It’s true.”

“Cassian told you that?”

“He didn’t have to. It’s obvious from the way he looks at you.”

“And from the way he talks about you,” Bodhi adds. “He’s seriously asked about you a hundred times this week alone.”

“Well, that’s because he’s worried,” Jyn says. “Because I’m pregnant and he feels bad. Not because he likes me. And if he looks at me in any sort of special way, it’s because he feels bad for me. Because of the breakup and everything.”

“Oh, I get it,” Bodhi says, nodding in a way that feels sarcastic somehow. “He only had sex with you out of pity.”

“Yeah,” she replies, half heartedly. “That’s gotta be it.”

“Bullshit,” he fires back. “He’s had a thing for you since he met you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jyn practically shouts. “I—I had a boyfriend when he met me.”

That remark earns her an eye roll. “Yeah, and no one’s ever had a thing for someone they couldn’t have before.”

“So, what? You think he was just waiting around for me and Reece to break up so he could have a shot with me?”

“Of course not! But I don’t think he was miserable to hear that it had finally happened.”

“If he was so excited for me to be single, why did I have to make the first move? Why didn’t he call me afterwards? Why didn’t he say anything about wanting to date me at any point in the last few months?”

The guys are quiet once she’s finished, but not in a way that makes her feel like she’s stumped them. Rather, it feels like they can’t decide who’s going to tell her she’s wrong first.

“Like we said,” Chirrut finally pipes up, “he doesn’t know you as well as we do. Maybe he doubts your feelings for him.”

“My feelings?” Jyn asks, flabbergasted. “For him? I don’t...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Jyn,” Bodhi says, rolling his eyes. “You wouldn’t have slept with him in the first place if you didn’t have feelings for him.”

“I know this is hard for you to believe, since you’re some sort of Disney prince when it comes to relationships, but sometimes people just have sex because they’re horny and they feel like it,” she snaps.

He has the audacity to shrug in response. “Sure, but that’s not why you did it.”

“Oh, right! Because you know how I feel better than I do! How could I have forgotten?”

“Normally, I would never presume to tell someone else how they feel,” Bodhi says, putting his hand to his heart and everything, “but, in this one particular case, and just because you’re so terrible with emotions, I’m telling you: you like him too. Trust me.”

“I am not terrible with emotions,” she scoffs.

“Well…you’re not great with them either,” Chirrut says, with a shrug.

“Okay, fine! Let’s say you’re all right; I do have feelings for Cassian. What good does it do me? I already slept with him, made him feel like a rebound, didn’t call him for two months afterwards, and then bulldozed my way back into his life by telling him I’m pregnant. What sort of guy would still be interested in me after all that?”

“Cassian would,” Bodhi says simply, as if she’s the dumbest human being in the universe. “As long as it’s you, he’ll still be interested.”

Jyn closes her eyes, because now would be a stupid time to cry, especially since she’s trying to convince them she doesn’t care about Cassian and crying over someone is a textbook example of caring about them. She can’t even think about what they’re saying, because she isn’t allowed to think about Cassian like that. She’s attracted to him, sure, but sleeping with him was supposed to get it out of her system. And it should have. The only reason sleeping with him wouldn’t have helped is if they’re right and she does actually have feelings for him. And that would really suck, because there’s absolutely no way he feels the same way about her; not after everything she’s put him through.

“If I agree to take everything you’ve said tonight under advisement,” Jyn says carefully, without opening her eyes, “can we please talk about something else right now?”

Baze puts his hand on her shoulder again, which makes her look over at him. “Of course,” he says, and she smiles at him weakly in response.

An hour or so later, she and Bodhi shuffle out of Baze and Chirrut’s apartment to head home for the night, without so much as a moment’s rehearsal on anyone’s part, despite that being the actual reason they supposedly got together tonight. Once they’re out in the night air, Bodhi claps his mittened hands together to ward off the cold and they head for the subway together.

“I can’t believe those bozos made me soup,” Jyn says, perching her chin on the top of the tupperware that Baze had shoved into her hands before she left, on the grounds that she wouldn’t want to make dinner for herself on Friday after her appointment and so he and Chirrut had made something for her to take home so she wouldn’t starve. It had been another close call for her almost crying.

“Well, they love you,” Bodhi says, slightly muffled because he’s buried his chin in his scarf. “And so do I. We just want you to be happy.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sorry if I was a little hard on you earlier.”

Jyn wants to wave his apology away, but she’s a little worried about dropping the container she’s holding, so she just shakes her head instead. “You weren’t.”

Bodhi looks down at his feet as he walks. “I was, a little. I just get so frustrated when you talk like you don’t deserve nice things.”

“I never said that.”

“Not directly, but,” he pauses, clearly searching for the right words, “I watched the way things ended with you and Reece, and you were mad at him, sure, but a lot of the time, the way you talked, it was like you were mad at yourself. Like, you thought you deserved what he did to you, and if you’d been a better girlfriend or a better person, you could have stopped it from happening. And that’s bullshit.”

Jyn stops short, right there on the sidewalk. “I don’t think that,” she says, but it’s a faint protest. She knows she’s had that thought before, more than once, and she’s sure she got drunk enough at some point to even say it to Bodhi.

Luckily for her, he doesn’t cite his sources with a drunken text from her or anything like that. He just looks at her, with obvious concern, and says, “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right. Someone who’s never going to make you doubt how they feel.”

“And you think Cassian is that person for me?” she asks, trying to sound incredulous.

“I don’t know,” Bodhi says, shrugging helplessly. “But you don’t know either, and you won’t ever know unless you give him a chance.”

Jyn starts walking again while she processes that and he follows her lead. When he’s caught up with her, she moves in close to elbow him in the ribs.

“Being in love with Taidu has really made you into a hopeless romantic,” she teases.

“I’ve always been a hopeless romantic,” he grumbles, making her laugh. “But now I speak from experience.”

She smiles at that, holding her tupperware of soup close to her chest. “What you said before,” she says, quietly, “were you serious? Cassian really asks about me?”

“All the time,” Bodhi says, smiling. “He knows I was meeting you tonight, so I bet he’ll ask about you within the first five minutes I’m home.”

Jyn rolls her eyes at that, but the idea of it thrills her, making her cheeks warm even in the cold night air. “I’m sure he won’t,” she says, faintly, because there’s a foolish part of her that really wants Bodhi to be right.

“I’m serious,” he replies. “I’d put money on it.”

“Well, so would I.”

Bodhi sticks out a hand for her to shake, which she readily accepts, once she’s switched her soup to the other hand. “It’s a deal, then?” He asks.

She laughs. “Deal.”

It’s only later, once they’ve parted ways at the subway station and she’s made her way back to her apartment, that her phone buzzes with a new text: You owe me five bucks . Jyn allows herself a stupid, giddy smile at Bodhi’s message, since she’s alone in her own home and no one can judge her for it.

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #chirrut imwe #baze malbus #star wars #stack the deck verse #obvious child #obvious child au #abortion #abortion tw #pregnancy #pregnancy tw #my fic #my writing #anyway here's wonderwall #my author's notes are getting less and less coherent as this goes on #is it obvious i'm losing my mind or no? #ALMOST THERE #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since

[alwritey-aphrodite]

evermore

Paring: Duke Leto Atreides x f!reader

Word Count: 6.5 k

Warnings: general angst, loneliness

Authors note: this is the second longest thing I’ve written and I’m not even sure it’s coherent, cross posted to my AO3, alwritey_aphrodite

Tagging: @aellynera @thedukeofcaladan @justrunamok

All of your life, you had been taught about power. The idea of climbing the political ladder has been drilled into your head for as long as you can remember. Your family always wanted more; more power, more money, more land, more control.

Your family played life like a chess game, a series of moves to generate the outcome they wanted. People were no more than pieces for them to control, lives no more than games.

You knew that was what this marriage is, a move in the game of political chess. You wouldn’t allow yourself to think anything else. You were getting married for duty, for honor, for your family. They made the plans, and left you to wonder why the Atreides agreed to this.

It wasn’t as if they needed to gain more of anything, like your family did. You wonder who was controlling the Duke, what they would gain from this union, and what they threatened to take away from him if he refused to comply.

His son, perhaps, or his concubine.

You knew that there wasn’t room for you in his life, in his heart. He already had Jessica, the woman he loved, and a son. What would he need you for?

He needed you to appease whatever higher power was pulling his strings, just as you needed to appease your family and their hunger for more.

It wasn’t as if the Duke was particularly cold towards you. He was a stoic man, and you can tell just from the way he holds himself that he commands power and attention wherever he is.

You had only met him once, before you came to Caladan, and he was nothing but kind towards you. While this wasn’t his decision, you could tell that he wanted this to go as smoothly as possible, for you to be as comfortable as possible. The Duke was many things, but cruel was not one of them.

It wasn’t him you were afraid of.

No, it was the beautiful, terrifying Lady Jessica. You knew that he loved her, and that she loved him, and you wanted nothing more than to reassure her that you are in no way trying to replace her, that you don’t desire to become a wedge in her family, but you know that you are.

You know that she’s smart, that she can tell that this is simply a political move, one that neither of you have a say in. But you also know how easy it is for resentment to begin to grow, like an uncontrollable weed.

And Paul, their son, you can’t help but be frightened of what he might think. You’re sure he’s old enough to understand, but you’re still someone, an outsider, coming in and rearranging his family and his life.

You wouldn’t blame them for resenting you.

You resent yourself.

Since coming to Caladan, you had seen very little of the Duke or his family. You resigned yourself to your room, and while you know you should go out and make connections and conversations with all of these new people, you locked yourself away.

While in your room, you made yourself a promise. That you would try to stay out of the Duke and his family’s way, that you would make this political marriage as easy for the Duke as you could, and that you would not fall in love with him.

You made yourself continue to repeat that last part, because while you didn’t love him now, you knew that you could. You had never loved anyone before, and yet you could tell how easy it would be to be in love with the Duke. But love has no place in politics, and you’re not meaning to make anything more difficult than it should be.

The wedding ceremony goes smoothly, and you almost forget what you’re doing, with how casual it seems. The lack of emotions, the lack of love between you and the Duke makes it feel just like another ceremony, for something far less important than a marriage.

As he slides the ring onto your finger, you can’t help the pit of dread that’s beginning to form inside you. You’ve attended the weddings of cousins and friends and political allies, and you know what happens at the end.

You get so worked up over this that the moment comes much sooner than you’ve thought, with the way you’ve zoned out. Your heart is pounding and your hands are shaking as the Duke delicately places his hands on your cheeks, and then he kisses you.

It was tentative and polite and a bit awkward, and not nearly as dreadful as you thought. It was the opposite, really, and now you find yourself having to tamp down the yearning to kiss him again despite the way you repeat your promise like a mantra.

And as much as you wish you could run off and hide in your room, the day is far from over. There will be dinner and a celebration, and millions of hands to shake and people to greet. As Leto leads you out of the room, towards the much larger dining hall, with a hand on the small of your back, you allow yourself to take a deep breath to calm back down, to control yourself.

Leto turns to look at you, to study your face and wide eyes as you enter the large hall.

“Nervous?” He asks, voice quiet and deep and you want nothing more than to listen to him talk for the rest of your life but you try to will that part of your brain to shut up. You do not love the Duke, and you refuse to even entertain the idea of falling in love with him.

“Would you be nervous?” You reply, keeping your voice level with his, a small smile blooming on your face when he chuckles in response. You’re not sure why the noise spreads warmth through your chest, but the way it mixes with your nerves makes you feel sick.

While the two of you together don’t look like two over-the-moon newlyweds, you look like something much more important: power. That’s all he is to you, that’s all you are to him. You’re here to tip the scales in his favor, to remind the Emperor of the power of House Atreides.

In return, your family receives money and power and allies. It was a simple trade, really: their only daughter for power they couldn’t get on their own. You won’t miss them, and would gladly spend your life alone on Caladan than spend any more of your days with them.

The Duke stands with you, with his hand continuing to rest at the small of your back, radiating warmth through your body, as close friends and power allies come to congratulate you.

It amazes you that Leto has not strayed from your side once the entire evening, you wouldn’t have blamed him for wandering off in search of better company.

You can’t help but admit the comfort you feel next to him, feeling much less alone in a frightening new place with high ceilings and higher expectations. You can’t blame him for not loving you, but perhaps he can be something more important: a friend.

The flow of people coming to shake hands with you or the Duke begins to slow to a trickle, and you’re hopeful that soon you can return to your room, take off the uncomfortable dress, and sleep for the foreseeable future. However, you can see Paul, accompanied by a man you’ve yet to meet, begin to make his way towards you and his father.

As soon as the two reach you, the taller man is clapping Leto on the back, grinning while shaking his hand. And as Duncan Idaho is introduced to you, he gives you a much less intense, but no less polite, handshake.

This is a man I could be friends with, you think as you find yourself feeling safe and comfortable in his presence already. He’s no less intimidating than your husband, but much less stoic, and on the night of the celebration you don’t think you’ve seen the easy smile leave his face.

Leto, too, seems more relaxed than he was before, with his son and the best of his men by his side. You wouldn’t be able to tell from a distance, he would look the same as ever; stoic, commanding, intimidating. But from up close, you can see his joy through his eyes.

You realize right then and there that his eyes are the only way to get a read on him. He’s so in control of everything, including his emotions, but he can’t mask them through his eyes. It makes you happy to see him enjoying himself for what is apparently the first time today.

Of course, you’re a bit bitter that you’re not the reason for his joy, but you can’t be too upset, you’d really only just met. Even though you remind yourself of your promise not to fall in love with him, you can’t help but feel the warmth spreading through your chest at the way his eyes crease as he smiles.

But you do your best to ignore those feelings, to ignore anything other than respect and friendship towards the Duke, towards your husband. You’re not sure you’ll ever really think of him as your husband, you’re barely able to call him an acquaintance today.

There’s a brief wave of regret that washes over you, covering you completely and leaving you reeling. You are married to Duke Leto Atreides, and you will be until you die. You are married to a man who doesn’t love you, who won’t love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You try to convince yourself that you’ve done the right thing, that every sacrifice you make benefits your family even if you don’t particularly care for them. Maybe, hopefully, you can find some friends on Caladan, so you won’t be so desperately and completely alone.

Wonderful thoughts to have on your wedding night.

Once the celebration is over, Leto walks you to your room. As you reach the door, he kisses you softly on the cheek, and he’s gone with a gentle, “Goodnight.”

It’s not as if you expect anything from him, especially nothing like consummating your marriage, but you would have liked to talk to him some more, to share a drink and share stories with the man you’re married to.

But he leaves, and as much as it stings, you wouldn’t do anything different if you were in his shoes. You have to keep reminding yourself that he’s been trapped as much as you have, that he didn’t want this.

He would never say it to your face, he’s much too kind and respectful, but you know he doesn’t want you, in any sense of the word.

So you return to your room, quickly undress and clean yourself, and curl up in your bed. It’s comical, really, the size of your bed despite the fact that the only person who will ever sleep there is you.

And despite how desperately you want to sleep, it doesn’t come. You lay awake for hours, your mind running in unending circles, unwilling to let you rest even as the exhaustion settles in your bones.

After your wedding night, you barely see your husband. Outside of dinners and events you're required to attend together, you only see the Duke once or twice. However, surprisingly, you see Duncan Idaho far more frequently.

He’s wonderful company, and you’re beyond grateful to finally have a friend. He’s gone quite a bit, at long and unknowable intervals, but you enjoy spending time with him when he’s available. He’s your first, and only, true friend in Caladan.

And with how often he’s gone, you’re left alone most of the time. After spending so long locked away in your room, you start to go a bit crazy. You find yourself wandering through the halls, and stumble upon a small room with a few small bookshelves.

It’s far too small to be the library, and while you’re worried about being in someone’s private space, you’re relieved to have a space to yourself that isn’t your bedroom. You find yourself returning there more and more often, making your way through the books on the shelves.

You’re curled up in a cushioned chair, your book of the day in your lap, when you hear the door open and look up to see Lady Jessica enter the room. Immediately, you’re terrified that this is her own personal library, that after taking away the man she loved you took away her sanctuary.

You practically jump off the chair, and try to hurry out of the room without speaking a word to Jessica, but then you think better of it and begin to apologize profusely.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this was your space, I found it on accident, really, I didn’t mean-“

“Relax,” she cuts you off, and you pretend to see a ghost of a sympathetic smile on her face, “this isn’t my room. I come here to think, to be alone. No one ever comes here.”

The message is clear, you think, she’s trying to subtly tell you that she wants you to leave.

“I was just going, I’m sorry to disturb you.” You hurry to put the book back onto the shelf, but the next thing Jessica says surprises you.

“You can stay.”

You’re about to refuse the offer, turn back and scurry off to your room, but you think better of it. She’s extending an olive branch, and you’d be an idiot to refuse. And, maybe, it would be nice to have the company.

So you grab your book again and settle into your chair with a quiet “thank you” and a small smile. It’s quiet for a while, before Jessica surprises you again.

“What do you think of Caladan?”

“I haven’t seen much of it, but I think that it’s lovely, from the small portion I’ve experienced.”

You find yourself speaking honestly with her, as if a dam had been broken. You couldn’t stop, even if you wanted to, but it was so nice to finally be able to share and talk with someone.

“And the Duke?” She asks, and you hesitate. You’re not sure how you should answer, or how you feel.

“A similar situation to Caladan, I’m afraid,” you say with a chuckle, trying to diffuse the honest answer with a joke, “I haven’t had much of a chance to talk with or be with him, but he’s a wonderful leader, a bit intimidating, but he’s been nothing but kind to me.”

She nods, and you think the conversation is over, but she has more questions for you.

“You don’t see him often?”

“I’m afraid not, I haven’t seen him much since the wedding. Of course, I know it’s not his fault. There are worse people to be married to, even if I am a bit lonely.”

You pause and Jessica waits for you to continue, her full attention on you. It’s a bit intimidating, having her focus on you, but you’re just happy to finally have someone to talk to, to have someone listen to you.

“I’m happy, I really am, and I didn’t expect much from him or this new life, I just wish I wasn’t quite so lonely.”

“I understand, better than you imagine.” You wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t, so you just nod and turn back to your book. You like Jessica, you really do, and you can’t imagine how the marriage makes her feel.

You wish you could tell her that you want things to be different, you want the both of you to be married for love, you truly want her, and yourself, to be happy. But it would be naive to even say those things, so you just return to reading your book. But, you think she understands.

Later, there’s a knock on your door, and immediately you think that you’d forgotten something important, and you rush to answer it. You rarely get visitors, unless it’s someone to escort you to a dinner or a gathering you’re expected at. Surprisingly, however, it’s a member of the Duke’s personal guard.

“The Duke wants to speak with you,” the man says, and turns down the hallway, expecting you to follow. You hurry after him, heart pounding and head spinning with all of the worst things you can think of.

The man leads you to a door, which another guard opens. You’re led inside, and then it’s just you and the Duke. He doesn’t greet you, but you try your best to smile despite the tension and silence.

“Are you lonely?” he asks after a long moment of neither of you speaking, and you swear you can hear your heart beating against your chest. Jessica, you immediately think, Jessica told him everything. He knows everything.

“I’m very happy, honestly I am-“

“That’s not what I asked.” He says sternly, but not unkindly, the same way a parent would scold a child, telling them that they’re disappointed but not upset.

Your words catch and die in your throat, and you swallow hard. You’ve never been as thoroughly terrified as you are now.

“There’s only so much time I can spend alone in my room…” you trail off as you gather your thoughts, the Duke watching you like a hawk. “I’m not trying to complain, and I don’t mean to complicate things, really I don’t, but I’m only human. I don’t expect you to love me, I’m not that naive, but I didn’t think your friendship would be so hard to obtain.”

He stares you down, and you frantically blink away the tears that have started to burn in your eyes.

“I know you’re very busy, I can’t fault you for that, and I know you’d rather spend whatever moments of freedom you have with the people you love, but… but I hope it’s not too much to ask for a conversation or two, something that’s not required or expected of us.”

“But I understand if you’d rather not see me if it’s not necessary and I hope you understand that this is not me looking for pity, this is simply how I feel.” You finally stop, but the Duke remains quiet. He remains quiet for so long you can’t help the angry tears that spring up in the corners of your eyes.

Months.

You had been married to the man for months, and could count on one hand the number of non required conversations you’d had.

You had told him the truth: you never expected him to love you, but you had thought that maybe he could be a friend.

But he must feel as trapped as you do. You know he didn’t want to marry you, that it was in no way his decision, and you’d known that from the beginning. But then, at least, you were able to pretend he might be your friend.

But if you are to live out the rest of your days married and alone, you will.

You’re embarrassed, crying in front of the Duke because he doesn’t love you. He must think you’re pathetic, repulsive. And that only makes you feel worse.

“I’m sorry,” you say when he stays silent, wiping your eyes, “may I go?” He nods, and you walk as quickly as you can towards the door, without making it seem like you’re running from him.

Thankfully, you make it to your room before you break down. If he didn’t hate you before, he absolutely does now.

You find yourself leaving your room even more infrequently than before. You leave only when it’s required of you to make an appearance at a dinner or event, and that’s it. You have your meals brought to you, as well as books and small projects, like drawing or sewing.

Sometimes, you take a walk through the halls, trying to memorize where all of the twists and turns lead. But you don’t return to the small library, terrified of finding Jessica there again and telling her all of the things that should be kept to yourself.

It’s weeks of this when you get a knock on your door. It reminds you of the exact situation that led you to this, hiding out in your room. But, instead of a guard, it’s the Duke himself.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing in an attempt to speak.

“May I come in?” The Duke asks, and you nod and step back, giving him the space to enter your room.

You watch him look around, appraising the space, letting his eyes wander over all of the small things you’d added to make yourself feel more at home. You’re embarrassed, almost, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, voice wavering, “I never should have said any of that to you, and I’m terribly sorry that I did. I hope you can forgive me.” Leto doesn’t respond, and you find yourself choking back tears.

This wasn’t the life you wanted, the life you dreamed about. Even when you learned you were to marry the Duke, you had hoped you could become friends, not naive enough to think he’d love you. But friendship didn’t seem too much to ask.

“You’re sorry?” He asks, and it’s impossible to read him with his back towards you, his voice giving away nothing.

“Yes, I’m so incredibly sorry.”

“I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

“W-what?”

You’re utterly confused. Why should he apologize to you?

“I need to apologize. I was rude when you came to speak with me the other day, I didn’t mean to be so dismissive of your feelings. You were right, and I’m sorry.”

“It was my fault, I never should have spoken to you like that.”

“You may speak to me however you want, we’re married, we’re equals. You should never be afraid to voice your opinions with me.” He finally turns towards you, and you nod, seeing a ghost of a smile on his face.

“You’re lonely?” He asks again, voice and eyes much softer than the first time he’d asked you that question.

“Yes,” you reply, still shaken but not as scared as before. “I know you’re very busy, but if we could spend an evening together, when it’s not required of us, to get to know each other, I would be happy. I’m not dumb enough to believe that you love me, but perhaps we can be friends?”

“I promise, I will spare an evening to spend with you.”

“That’s all I want, really.” He looks like he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he kisses your cheek and bids you goodnight, leaving you alone again but feeling much less lonely than before.

You knew the Duke was a man of his word: when he makes a promise, he fulfills it. Still, it surprised you when he had shown up at your door one evening and invited you to walk through the gardens with him. He had remembered when you said you’d only explored the halls and never the grounds, and he wanted for you to see more of Caladan.

He also surprised you with the intensity that he listened and paid attention to your thoughts and stories. He was a busy man, you wouldn’t have blamed him if his mind was elsewhere. But when you were together, you were his sole focus.

It was a bit intimidating at first. You’d never had someone pay attention to you like that, someone who really cared for what you had to say. You felt vulnerable with the way he was studying your face, a forgien feeling it seems only he was capable of making you feel.

You walked around until it was dark, and you would barely be able to see your feet without the lights coming from the palace. He walked you all the way back to your room, placing a kiss on your cheek before retreating to his own room.

And that was your routine for months. One evening, every few nights, Leto would come to your room after dinner. You would walk around outside, or if it was too cold, find a quiet space to sit and talk. He was fascinating, and was the only person who ever truly listened to you.

You could mention something once, like an old friend or your favorite flower, and he would bring it up weeks later, after you’d long forgotten you’d told him at all. And the way he looked at you, as if his eyes could see through you to the very center of your being. It was terrifying, and you still weren’t quite used to his attentive nature.

And when you were with him, you were his sole focus. There was nothing that could drag him away, except perhaps his son. And you felt yourself falling into a pit you wouldn’t be able to climb out of.

You know that there’s no coming back from this feeling, and it eats you up inside. You can feel it dissolving your insides and taking root in your heart, cracking your ribs and nestling deep into you, too deep for you to cut out or ignore. You try to ignore it. You want to ignore it.

But it's almost impossible to ignore the way his gaze softens as you tell him of your childhood, and the way it turns your insides to mush. It’s impossible to ignore his laugh when you tell him something particularly funny, a deep laugh straight from the bones, and it fills you to the brim.

It’s impossible to ignore the way he looks with his sleeve rolled up to his forearms and his hair disheveled, stray curls falling across his forehead. It’s impossible to ignore the way he begins to linger with you, more and more, extending your time talking and standing with you outside of your door, seemingly reluctant to let you go.

That’s when the hope takes root. That’s when you allow that stupid, little, naive part of your brain to take over, to voice it’s opinions. You allow yourself to play into the idea that he feels the same, that he thinks of you the way you think of him.

And you know it’s not possible, but it’s the happiest you’ve been in all your time on Caladan. And it’s all been built on a lie, on a dream, on a childish hope of marrying for love instead of power and duty.

You feel the tug inside your ribs whenever you see him, the desire to tell him how you feel and hope he feels that same. But you can’t tell him. You can’t love him, you can’t tell him, you can’t complicate things.

So you sit and suffer and yearn as long as you can handle it.

Until you reach your tipping point.

He’d been seeing you less and less, and it stung worse than when he wouldn’t speak with you at all, because you hadn’t known him then, you hadn’t loved him. And his retreat felt like a punishment for your thoughts, for your feelings. It felt like a reminder that he didn’t love you.

So you let it happen. You let him drift, and hoped that he would come back to you sooner or later. You pretend it doesn’t hurt and you allow yourself to be lonely again, to devise a plan to cure this hollow he’d unknowingly created in your chest.

You felt worse than before, because now you knew him. You weren’t able to pretend that he was an awful man incapable of feeling anything other than rage and duty and hunger for power. And the gap he left inside seemed larger than before, more of a crater than a pinprick.

You think that all of this time alone is what led you to this, to making what must be the worst mistake of your life. It was all you could think about, from the moment you woke up until you fell asleep. You dreamed about him, about another life where he would have loved you and you would be happy.

You were only hurting yourself more by keeping it all to yourself. You briefly thought about telling Jessica, but ultimately decided against it. Inside, you managed to find and confide in your very first friend on Caladan, perhaps the only real friend you’d ever had.

As soon as he was cleared for it, Duncan Idaho went to find you and all but tackled you in a bone-deep hug. You couldn’t even begin to describe the relief at having your friend back, at him being safe and alive and here with you.

You spend hours just talking and catching up, filling each other in on all of the things that you’d missed, and the loneliness doesn’t feel quite as crushing as before, as if weight had been removed from your chest.

And that’s why you tell Duncan.

“I think I love him.” You say quietly, and he doesn’t need any clarification. He just nods, sits with the information before responding.

“I’m not surprised… does he know?”

“Of course not, I’m not that stupid. I’ve worked this hard to finally think of him as a friend, I’m not going to ruin that. I’m not going to make my life any more miserable than it has to be.”

There’s conviction in your voice, and you sound sterner than you ever had since coming to Caladan. Duncan sighs before standing and clasping a large hand on your shoulder.

“You never know what might happen,” he dips to kiss the top of your head, and then leaves with the excuse of finding dinner.

You know he really just wanted to give you space to think everything over, to come up with your own plan of attack.

And Duncan was right.

You never know what might happen.

Maybe nothing changes, and when you tell him he says that the only love he feels for you is as a friend. It stings for a while, but you get over it and fall back into your routine.

Maybe he loves you too, and when you tell him he’ll kiss you, for real, and you’ll know right away exactly what you mean to him. The odds are low, but you let yourself dream to keep you sane.

Maybe he feels nothing, and when you tell him he dismisses you, and then he drifts away from you until the only time you see him is when it’s required, just like the beginning. Everyone you pass in the halls would glare and whisper and you would be completely and utterly alone because the odds of Duncan having to leave soon are high.

So you sit and ponder and spiral over these scenarios, trying to determine if it was even worth it to tell Leto how you feel. You decide to sleep on it, but sleep doesn’t come easy, and you spend the night thrashing and sweating and crying out, and you wake feeling even more tired and confused than when you went to bed.

You think it over the rest of the day, continually choosing different answers, until you make up your mind after dinner. You need to tell him. You need to get rid of the weight and he deserves to know and you deserve an answer from him.

So after dinner, you make your way through the halls towards the room you know he’ll be in at this time of day. It’s a path you’d walked a hundred times before, but always with him by your side.

When you reach the door, you knock tentatively, and hold your breath until he calls out for you to enter. As quietly as you can, you open the door and slip inside.

You almost feel bad for interrupting him, you can tell from the way he barely looks up from what he’s doing that he’s overworked and busy and exhausted, and you almost feel bad for what you’re going to tell him, for the extra burden you’ll be giving him.

But then he smiles at you, and his eyes soften, and he sets down what he was doing and folds his hands on the table and you can’t help but smile in return, before it drops when you remember why you’re here.

“I need to confess something,” you begin, and you close your eyes while taking a deep breath. When you open them, Leto looks concerned, and you feel your heart tug when you realize that you’ll only cause him pain. But you have to do this.

“I love you, and I know that I shouldn’t. I know that you don’t love me, and I don’t expect you to. I just thought that you deserved to know how I felt.”

Leto doesn’t say anything, but you can see him processing your words. A few times, he opens his mouth before promptly closing it again. This lasts for longer than you’d hoped, so you turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But with a hand on the door knob, you add quietly, “I’m sorry… I never meant to complicate anything.” You leave quickly, praying that you’ll make it to your own room before the tears start, knowing you won’t be able to stop them.

You’re not so lucky this time, and the tears fall from your eyes as soon as you shut the door behind you, blurring your vision as you frantically make your way back to your room.

You slam the door shut behind you, hard enough to rattle the frame, and you throw yourself onto your bed, curling up into a ball and squeezing your eyes shut, trying to will the tears to stop or your brain to shut off or your heart to stop hammering or your breath to stop sawing in and out.

Instead, you end up crying yourself to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake. You don’t dream, and your thankful for the inky blackness that overtakes your brain as you drift off, still sniffling and tears burning on your cheeks.

It takes you four days to even leave your room, too terrified of the consequences of what you’d said. What’s worse is that Duncan is gone again, and you are utterly alone again.

You were taking your meals in your room and having books and other things brought to you to keep you busy, but you felt yourself starting to go insane, trapping yourself in your room like that.

You realized that you couldn’t live like that forever, and would have to deal with the consequences of what you’d said, as much as you wished you could disappear from Caladan forever.

So you started to eat your meals at odd times, in order to avoid the Duke, and you’d resumed taking walks through the gardens, even though it doesn’t seem as comforting without Leto by your side.

It’s on one of these walks when you find a small bench and decide to sit down, just admiring the beauty of Caladan and enjoying the sun and the air. You jump when you feel someone sit down next to you, too lost in thought to even notice him approaching.

You feel ready to bolt when you realize who he is, but you don’t. You take a deep breath, and try to calm down. Running will only make it worse, you must face the consequences.

For a long while, neither of you speak, and you don’t plan to. If he wants to sit here in an uncomfortable, tense silence, then you will. You begin to debate leaving, wondering if it’s even worth being there if he won’t talk, when he finally clears his throat.

“You left before I could say anything,” he says, looking straight ahead. After sparing a glance at him, you do the same, and can see the way he shifts out of the corner of your eye.

“I knew what you were going to say… I wanted to spare myself the embarrassment.” You swallow thickly, trying to keep down the nerves and tears rising in your chest.

“You don’t know… I didn’t even know, not for a long time.” He says, and you need to tamp down the hope and butterflies rising in your stomach but even just the thought that he might possibly love you makes you feel like you're floating, but you’re terrified of crashing.

“I love Jessica, and I don’t think I could stop if I tried. I would have married her, if I had the option.” And now everything feels like a cruel joke: your hope, your feelings, his kindness, your marriage. The tears burn, and you do nothing to stop them.

“And I love Paul, a very different way than I love Jessica, but I love him just the same.” You nod as he talks, wishing he would be done so you could leave and return to your room and cry in solitude.

“I didn’t love you when we were married,” he says and his words feel like a slap across the face, “I wish I could tell you something different, but it’s the truth. I didn’t love you that day, and I think you felt the same.”

And he was right. The day you were married, you didn’t love the Duke, you vowed to yourself to never let yourself fall in love with him.

“But now… I’m not quite sure how I feel, and I wish I could give you a better answer.” You close your eyes, and he gently reaches up to tilt your chin towards him, letting his hand rest on your jaw as he continues, “You are one of the most important people to me, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you, because I do… I’m just not sure how.”

You nod, and he allows himself to smile at you, in a way that sends your heart racing.

“But for now, I would like it if we could continue to be friends and continue to spend time together and learn more about each other.”

“I’d like that very much.” You say, smiling at the Duke. Maybe it wasn’t the answer you are looking for, but you have something you hadn’t had in a while: hope.

Hope for a better, happier future, where you were married to the man you loved and the man who loved you. Maybe you were not so naive as to believe that Leto could love you, and for now, until he would be able to give you an answer, you were content with your hope.

#duke leto x reader #duke leto atreides #dune #dune movie #dune 2021 #duke leto x you

[tweetsongs]

why orv rewrote my entire brain (and why it’ll rewrite yours, too)

(note: this is as much a rec post as it is a way for me to try to get down my [brain go vrrrrr] feelings about orv in a coherent way that i can actually use to talk to people about it without sounding absolutely unhinged. it will still sound unhinged, because me, but at least it’ll be ORGANIZED)

what is orv?

orv, or omniscient reader's viewpoint, is a korean webnovel written by author(s) sing-shong. it is currently complete at 551 chapters, and currently has an in-progress webcomic of the same name that’s in its early arcs.

what’s the plot about?

orv is about kim dokja (kdj), a 28-year old social maladroit who works as a contracted drone for a gaming company and spends all his free time reading webnovels. specifically, he’s been hyperfixating on an extremely long, deeply unpopular apocalyptic survival game webnovel for over a decade, to the point where he is the only reader who’s still reading the ongoing 3000+ chapters as they update. the story begins when the author announces the end of the novel and the beginning of the epilogue, and as a reward for being the only reader to make it this far, gives kdj a text file for the entire novel.

this file comes in handy when the apocalypse actually happens in the exact same way as it did in the novel, and kdj is the only person who has inside knowledge of what’s going on. to survive, he must make alliances with the ‘characters‘ from the original novel, and get through the survival games in order to reach the unwritten epilogue.

okay, this sounds cool, but i think i’ve seen a lot of other works with similar premises - what makes this one special?

you’re not wrong! orv’s plot initially starts off as a sort of reverse-isekai/dungeon crawl webnovel, a genre which has grown very popular in east asian media in the past few years. for the first few arcs, there’s a lot of worldbuilding, game mechanics, and a protagonist who gets overpowered skills as a result of his epic gamer reader skills. if you start orv and specifically enjoy the first seventy or so chapters, i’d recommend searching up other manhwas/mangas in this genre!

however, past the first few arcs, orv takes a hard turn into more complex themes and narratives, delving into more meta elements and grappling with so many plot threads that it would honestly make this post unreadable if i tried to organize them. suffice to say, while the first few arcs are fun and in-line with other works of this genre, it becomes more of a interrogation of its own genre and of webnovels and the act of creating media in general as it goes on. if deconstructing tropes, metanarratives up to your nose, and 4D chess-style time and multiverse shenanigans are your thing, orv is probably right up your alley!

that’s fine and all, but you’re neglecting the most important part - does orv have good characters?

oh, my sweet child. of course orv has characters! BOY DOES IT have some characters. orv has one of the most richly filled and developed casts i’ve seen in media in a WHILE, and nearly every character (of which there are a LOT, this is 500+ chapters, remember) has some kind of arc. there are some characters that are done with less justice than others, an inevitability of having a cast that large in a story that weighed down with shit that needs to get done, but even they usually have some sort of development. rarely does orv have one-note characters.

another note i want to make on this is that there are A LOT OF COOL GIRLS in this book, and pretty much all of them get their arcs in unique and interesting ways! orv tends to introduce characters in terms of tropes or stereotypes (the nice girl, the innocent child, the hardened warrior) and then slowly builds onto those foundations in ways that make them immensely interesting and complex. i’ve agonized about how to talk about the characters without going into a long spoilery spiel, but suffice to say that they are EXCELLENT.

okay, and what about their relationships?

i want to start off by saying that orv does NOT have any romantic relationships within its main cast, so despite whatever you see in the fandom, don’t go into it expecting romance! what we do have is a massive cast of complicated relationships, often completely separated from their relationship with the main character. the main relationships in orv are platonic ones, and much of it is spent on ruminating on found families and rebuilding broken relationships.

this being said, the emotional core of the story is built upon the (ambiguous) relationships between the trio that makes up the three main characters of the novel: kim dokja, yoo joonhyuk, and han sooyoung. their relationship is not stated to be romantic in any directions, but their interactions are what builds the backbone of the story’s themes, and they serve both as interesting individuals with interesting relationships with each other as well as points of analogy within the larger themes of the story. i will say that there is romantic coding in all of their relationships at various points, though i WANT TO REITERATE THERE IS NO EXPLICIT ROMANCE NOR LOVE TRIANGLE BULLSHIT HERE.

are there any caveats you have about reading it?

definitely! i don’t like to make recs without acknowledging the shitty aspects of a media, and orv definitely has places where it falters. here are a few trigger warnings/general irritations i had with the book:

while it’s not a romantic novel, there are some teases about romance between characters that are obviously not here for romance in ways that can get pretty eye-roll-y at times.

there are some implications of sexual assault in the early chapters that seem to serve little purpose beyond it’s affirmation of the early arcs’ grimdarkness. it’s not prevalent and gets dropped later, but it’s an aspect of its genre that i dislike

there are so many arcs in the novel that explore so many different genres that i’m pretty sure that everyone will have an arc that they’re not as interested in

the translations that are available online are of varying quality, as there was a change of translators in the middle of the novel. this means that some names and terms will change in spelling out of nowhere, which can be pretty jarring

if you’re not used to the prose of webnovels or translated east asian novels, it can take a few chapters to get used to the different style.

this is a big one: there are some transphobic elements in the novel - specifically three characters/bits that stand out particularly egregiously. there is a villain that is implied to be genderfluid that is treated pretty shittily by the mains, a group of minor villains that fall into the predatory transes stereotype, and a character that is a trans woman who, by a mix of bad narrative framing as well as translation error, is misgendered for a while. while the transphobia does drop off as the novel goes on and the trans woman, rocky beginning aside, has one of the best character arcs independent of her gender identity in the novel (as the authors realize that transphobia might not be great), it’s still perfectly valid if these portrayals turned you off. it certainly made me, an nb, annoyed when i was reading!

all of this sounds really interesting, but why should i allow orv to rewire my brain?

okay, if the past few paragraphs didn’t make you perk up already, here are some more miscellaneous things that made me read this stupid book three and a half times:

the book’s VERY fun to read. like, it gets heavy, and there’s a lot of complex themes in it, but it never gets bogged down in them, and it’s always a delight to just, sit down with it.

it’s really funny. like, EXTREMELY hilarious in both expected and unexpected ways. there’s a reason why the fandom tag has so many memes in it

the pacing is super brisk in a way that i internally refer to as ADHD catnip, and you never feel like the book really overstays its welcome on any particular arc. it’s why the book is so bingeable, despite its length

most if not all of the book’s arcs and themes, both character and plot-wise, are resolved in satisfying ways. i’ve read this book multiple times, and i’ve never felt like the book really missed any steps on what it’s trying to say. a great accomplishment, considering just how much it has to say

a reverse of one of my caveats: the book is so long that there’s almost certainly going to be some arc that you dislike, but similarly, there’s also almost bound to be an arc that you LOVE. do you like survival games? this is that! murim novels? has that! scifi? yep! historical fantasy? got it! this is a sampler plate of genres, people.

the book never takes itself or its plot mechanics too seriously OR too lightly, somehow managing to strike a perfect balance in tone that’s both self aware of how ridiculous it can get at times, and never undermines the emotional stakes of the characters

for all its darkness and tragedy, it’s never CYNICAL. orv feels like a distillation of how much FUN consuming media can be, and is a love letter to every person who’s ever loved a story. it rejects cringe culture and gatekeeping, and is an affirmation that every work of art that you’ve ever loved is valuable, if only because of the fact that you love it. 

tl;dr psych! this WAS my tl;dr of how much i love this novel. please read it i am on my fourth reread and going bonkers

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #long post #look maybe i didn't want to do work so THIS IS WHAT YOU GET #i'll come back and make edits later maybe i actually do have to do things now aldksfasd #feel free to drop q's at me if you want to know any specifics tho! i am always up for trying to convert someone to this truly stupid book #rain's menagerie of unhinged webnovel recs

[mirrorfalls]

Hi Mirror! I hope your week is starting off on a good note. I have a question for you: what's your favourite thing about Ran and/or Ran's interactions with the other characters? ~ Santa

Short long answer: This.

Long short answer: Beneath the cut.

So here's something I once dropped the esteemed - and infinitely-more talented - @scratchface in a DM, which is probably the closest anyone's ever come to making her respect Ran.

"Ran has enough parts in her for a good character. She probably has enough parts for three or four good characters. When a series, however banal, runs for a thousand installments, it can come up with those purely by accident."

This may sound backhanded to you and a lot of others, but it's genuinely, unironically why Ran appeals to me so much. Having grown up on AmeComi and Batman specifically, I'm used to stitching all my favorite characterizations out of dozens of different stories that at-best pay only lip service to each other's continuity and at-worst go out of their way to contradict and overwrite each other. What's really fun (and/or "fun") about Conan is that it somehow manages the same despite having only one author, one publication format, and one almost painfully-faithful adaptation.*

And Ran - especially early manga Ran - is the absolute pinnacle of this. Where Shinichi/Conan and Kogoro had their roles pounded out in cast-iron from the getgo, Ran's a Jack (Jill?) of All Trades who can play almost any other part the ensemble needs. Sympathizing civilian? She can "How awful!" with the best of 'em. Butt-kicking cavalry? Watch those fists fly. Distressed Damsel? She can give even that creaky old trope a level of agency I'd never thought possible - just witness Golden Apple, or the wharf showdown, or:

Better still, the fact that she has to be the plot-hook for roughly one-third of the filler cases gives her a correspondingly wide range of interests and hobbies, for those willing to squint at the margins. You know she's a black-belt; you probably know she goes "Rhosts, Rhaggy?!" at the slightest mention of the supernatural; but did you know her for a Three Kingdoms reader?

A gambling prodigy?

A Yoko Okino fan, just like her pop?

Scraps these may be - but it's usually from scraps that you get the richest fruit in any Transformative work. And so it goes with her presence on AO3: a shadow of Shinichi's or Kaito's in raw numbers, nevertheless capable of unparalleled tear-jerking and side-splitting from any author that puts in the work. Hell, I don't even mind the straight-up bashfics that turn her flighty or abusive; canon's planted enough seeds to make that sort of characterization juuust this side of plausible, and plenty entertaining besides.**

(Predictable self-plug: I've spent years working on a longfic to stitch all the above (and a dozen other traits!) into a single, coherent narrative tentatively titled Hey, What If We Didn't Lie To And Manipulate Our Female Lead For 1050+ Chapters?. There are authors who've pulled off similar projects for Shinichi, Kaito, and Shiho, but I think as far as Ran goes it's still fairly uncharted territory - and will probably remain so even if I finish it in 2030 or thereabouts.)

Of course, if I told you that my Purely Story-Minded Doylist Eye was the only thing at work, you'd call me a liar, and you'd be right. Ran's no less flexible in terms of lowdown wish-fulfillment, whether you want a straightforward action-girlfriend, an overbearing Onee-chan, a too-pure Ingenue/explanation magnet, or - my personal favorite - an old childhood buddy who can needle you in ways nobody else would ever have the nerve and the right to. She's got the range. She's got the style. One day, she might even get a story - a canon story - that deserves her again...

(Detractors, consciously or otherwise, usually point to the fact that Ran's irrelevant to most of the Big Organization Cases, and indeed is meant to remain irrelevant to them for as long as they keep happening. Just three or four years ago I might've shuffled my feet and mumbled an objection along the lines of "She has relevance, and she can get more!", but at this point I've long given up on any impression that the Big Organization Cases are meant to hold any weight at all. Far as I'm concerned they're just an extra-dull flavor of filler; the series' real heart is in the slice-of-life romcom fluff, and very possibly always has been.)

* "But what about the live-act-" What about the live-action?

** In controlled doses, anyway.

#Detective Conan #I wrote this in fits and starts over a week so it might contradict itself in places #Too tired to care RN #Ran Mouri

[master-sass-blast]

High as Hell.

Summary: In a reversal of the norm, you're in charge of caring for Piotr when he has his wisdom teeth pulled and has to recover from surgery and the drugs that accompany it.

Hilarity ensues.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 2.8k.

Set before "The Long Awaited Arrival" and after "Children of the Gods: Part Four."

Author's Note: This will be the last post for this series for a short while (not a permanent stop, I promise). My shoulder injury flared back up during NaNo, and I need to take time off from writing to let things heal and see a chiropractor. Once I'm doing better and have a lil stockpile to post from, I'll be back!

I hope you all had a good Thanksgiving and spent good quality time with your loved ones. See you again when I'm doing better.

“Thanks again for helping me with this.”

In the waiting room seat next to you, Alexandra Rasputin waves her hand dismissively. “Ne volnuysya. It is not a problem for me.”

The two of you are sitting in the waiting room of a local oral surgeon. On the figurative chopping block today are your respective husbands.

As it turns out, dental care wasn’t necessarily the best in pre-or-post Soviet Union Siberia. Nikolai –Alex’s husband—is going “under the knife” (or, in this case, the dental scalpel) today to take out his impacted wisdom teeth and clear out any infection.

Your husband, Piotr, is also undergoing a similar such surgery today. He’s not dealing with any impaction, but this is the only place willing to use the amount of anesthesia necessary to numb him up for the surgery. It’s not an opportunity either of you are willing to pass up on.

“Relax,” Alex says when you can’t stop shifting in your chair. She favors you with a slight smile when you look over at her. “Medvezhonok will be fine.”

“Shit goes wrong a lot with anesthetics,” you mutter, eyeing the door separating the waiting room from the surgical area of the clinic.

“They do,” Alex concedes with a nod, “but valium is not the same as actual anesthesia.”

“They’re using five times the normal dose.”

“To account for Piotr’s weight and resistance to drugs.”

“But—”

“Malen'kaya ptitsa.” Alex squeezes your hand gently and gives you a softer, warmer smile when you look over at her. “Relax.”

You exhale and slump down in your seat. “Sorry.”

“No apologies needed.” She releases your hand and pats it. “It’s more for you than anyone else.”

***

As fortune would happen, Nikolai’s surgery finishes right around when Piotr comes to from his high –no pun intended—dose of valium.

Nikolai walks out of the surgery suite on his own two feet, thanks to only needing local anesthetics.

Piotr, on the other hand, is wheeled out in a wheelchair about two sizes too small to him by no less than three dental assistants. He gives you a dopey, bleary smile when he sees you and holds his arm out for a hug. “Myshka!”

“Trade.” Alex shuffles Nick over to you –he’s far more coherent, if a little puffy and spacey—then strides over and takes Piotr’s chair from the struggling assistants. She coaxes him into putting his feet in the stirrups, then wheels him towards the door with ease (which makes the assistants stare after her in equal parts bewilderment and envy). “Home with you, sladkiy medved'.”

You follow her with Nikolai in tow.

Nikolai gets into the passenger seat of Alex’s truck with ease. He even manages to buckle himself in –though he misses the clip a couple of times. He waves and gives you a parting smile, bits of blood-soaked cotton sticking out past the edges of his lips.

Piotr, on the other hand…

Alex grunts as she tries to manhandle her son into the passenger seat of the SUV. She curses in Russian, arms locking around his waist when he tries to stumble over to you –again. “Vo imya lyubvi Gospoda –yes, she is very pretty. You lucked out. Sit your ass down.”

Piotr laughs and holds his hand out to you. “Krasivaya zhena ... davay potseluy menya ...”

Alex lets out an annoyed huff. “You couldn’t have smoked weed in high school, huh? Built up any tolerance to this kind of shit at all? Ty tozhe dolzhen byt' tyazhelym, kak tvoy otets… blyad.” She rolls her eyes when Piotr continues to fight getting in the SUV –giggling like a madman all the while, and, hey, at least he’s entertaining himself—and jerks her head towards the driver’s side. “Get in. Maybe we can incentivize him.”

You get in the driver’s seat of the SUV –and, sure enough, Piotr goes willingly on the next attempt.

Alex buckles her son in, shaking her head all the while (though a fond smile tugs at her lips). “I can help you get him home and inside, but he’s all yours from there.” She pats Piotr’s chest a few times, then kisses his forehead before closing the passenger side door and heading to her truck.

You chuckle and take Piotr’s hand in yours. You kiss his knuckles, then grin when he gives you an astounded look. “Ready to go home, baby?”

“Kak ya nashel takuyu krasivuyu zhenshchinu?”

“I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’” You turn over the ignition, then steer the car towards the parking lot exit.

***

True to her word, Alex tails you back to yours and Piotr’s home. She helps you get Piotr up the stairs, inside, and to the family room couch, then makes sure you’re set before leaving with Nikolai.

“Call me if you need something,” she says, giving you an affectionate, maternal hug. “Day or night.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.” She smiles and squeezes your shoulder when you nod, then takes one last glance at Piotr and shakes her head. “Good luck.”

You see her out the front door, then lock it before turning and assessing your situation.

Piotr’s slumped across the couch. He’s staring at the ceiling like it’s revealing the mysteries of the universe to him. He’s got some blood crusted on his lips and chin, his cheeks are pouched out from where he has cotton wadded up in his mouth, and his eyes are so dilated they don’t even look blue anymore.

Hopefully his trip won’t last long. You check the instructions on his antibiotics and pain meds, then double-check the delivery time of lunch –a chocolate milkshake for him and a burger and fries for you—before heading over to the couch. “How’re you doing, baby?”

Piotr beams up at you. “Myshka! Come sit me.”

You bite back a laugh as he clumsily motions to the space on the couch next to him (which isn’t much, given his size). “Maybe in a bit. How’re you feeling?”

“I feel great,” Piotr says, with such emphasis and conviction that you don’t doubt him in the least.

“I’m so glad, honey. Can you feel your lips and mouth yet?”

Piotr opens his mouth to reply, then frowns. “But… do we feel anything, truly?”

And then, as if to drive home how high he is, he starts making fish faces with his lips (though, with all the numbing agent in his system, they don’t look very fish-like).

You giggle when your husband starts crossing his eyes to try and see his lips. “Okay, easy there, champ.” You place your fingers against his temples, gently pressing to guide his gaze –and attention—back to you. “How about we start you on the ice pack routine the surgeon talked about, and then we get some pain meds in you once your milkshake arrives. Sound good?”

“And you sit me?” Piotr asks, pouting up at you.

You nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “And I sit you,” you promise. “We can watch some TV together.”

“National Geographic?”

“So much National Geographic, baby. As much as you want.” You giggle when he grins –you suspect, in a few hours, the expression won’t be quite so painless—then plant a kiss on his forehead. “Just a second, sweetheart. I’m going to get the ice pack, and then I’ll be all yours.”

A soft “yay” emanates from your husband as you amble over to the freezer.

***

Caring for Piotr, fortunately, is easy. You follow the intervals for icing given to you by the surgeon –twenty minutes on, ten minutes off, repeat throughout the first day and then no ice after that—and sit next to him on the couch while the National Geographic channel plays on the TV. You set him up with his milkshake and a spoon when the drink arrives –no straws, surgeon’s orders—and eat your lunch while he slurps down his shake.

You wind up sending Alex a Snapchat picture that shows off Piotr’s chocolate ice cream coated chin (special thanks to Novocain) and wide, slightly glassy eyes.

She sends you back a short video of Nikolai sacked out on the couch, sawing logs, with King –Alex’s black Pitbull—sprawled across his chest.

Once Piotr downs his milkshake, you administer his pain medication (which is also a ridiculously high dose, but such are the perks of being a pure grade Russian beefcake with high resistance to drugs). You finish off your food, help him do a saltwater rinse and change his gauze, then get him settled back on the couch and get the ice packs back on his cheeks. Once you’re sure he’s good to go, you start cleaning up from lunch and get going on doing dishes.

Fortunately, since the worst of the valium is working its way out of his system, he’s settled from being a boisterous, intoxicated handful. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his head bobbing as he starts dozing off, then jerk back up when a dish clatters in the sink or something exciting happens on the TV.

You finish loading the dishwasher and swing the door shut—

“Myshka?”

You smile at the sound of your husband’s soft, sleepy voice. You amble over to the couch, leaning over the back of the sofa so you can run your fingers through Piotr’s thick, dark hair. “What’s up, baby? Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

Piotr sighs and leans into your touch. His eyes are closed, face slack with drug-induced exhaustion. “You hold me?”

Your heart melts at the request. “Yeah, I can hold you for a little bit, baby.”

He pouts. “You stay with me.”

“For as long as I can, sweetheart,” you chuckle, brushing your fingers across his forehead, “but I have to keep doing your ice pack routine. I’ll need to get up for that.”

“Nyet,” he whines, drawing the word out.

“Yes,” you reply, drawing the response out in equal measure. You laugh softly when Piotr opens his eyes and stares up at you blearily. “I’ll have to get up to put the ice packs in the freezer and get fresh ones out, my love. But other than that, I’m all yours.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Pinky promise, even.” You interlock your pinkies, laugh when Piotr merely blinks at both your intertwined fingers, then pat his shoulder gently. “Make some room for me, big guy.”

He sits up so you can slide in behind him.

Most of the couch is already taking his weight, so being crushed isn’t an issue when he reclines back against you. You wrap your arms around his burly shoulders and kiss his temple when he rests his head on your shoulder.

Within minutes, he’s out like a light.

You giggle silent when Piotr lets out a massive snore. You wriggle your phone out of your pants pocket, then click onto your phone’s camera app and turn on the front facing camera. You take a picture of you and Piotr, add the caption ‘baby wanted snuggles,’ and send the message to Alex.

She replies two minutes later.

Russian_Mama: <3 <3 <3.

***

“Kak?”

You bite down on your fist to keep from laughing. Okay, so maybe hoping he’d sleep off the rest of his drugs was a bit audacious.

Piotr’s sitting at the dining room table, staring at a glass of milk like he’s seen the face of God. He gapes, blue eyes wide whilst he marvels at the beverage before him. He blinks, then looks up at you and points at his glass. “This is from korova, da?”

“Baby—” You burst into giggles, bracing yourself against the table as you try to regain your composure. “Baby –Piotr—I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Piotr moos –and, while it does clarify his question, it does little to help you remain composed.

“Yes,” you manage after a serious bout of laughter, “it’s cow’s milk, honey.”

“But… we do not have one.”

You snort. You can feel tears of mirth streaming down your cheeks. “What?”

“We do not have cow,” Piotr repeats, mooing again to try and drive his point home.

“I know, honey—”

“Then…” He stares down at his glass again, face alight with wonder. “How?”

“We got it from the grocery store, sweetheart,” you say, somewhat calmer. You wipe your cheeks dry, giggles leaving you in short, breathless bursts. “You can get milk at the store, baby.”

“But… we do not have korova.”

You nearly collapse from laughter all over again. “Piotr—”

“Is miracle milk!” Piotr exclaims, voice hushed. He stares at the cup with a certain ardor that only someone who was very high off their ass would be able to understand. “Ot Boga!”

It’s your turn to blink at him. “What, honey?”

“God,” Piotr whispers, as if there are conspirators trying to ascertain the secrets of the glass of milk. He points at his cup. “God sent us milk.”

Your ribs hurt. Your lungs burn. You’re pretty sure you’re going to die, and it’s going to be from laughing your ass off at your husband’s post-wisdom tooth removal high.

There are far worse ways to go.

***

Fortunately, the rest of the day progresses rather smoothly. You feed Piotr some mashed potatoes and warm soup for dinner –both blended to the point of not having any discernible chunks in them—and help him do a saltwater rinse before putting him to bed.

A good night’s sleep, fortunately, seems to finish putting Piotr’s screws back on properly. Come morning, he isn’t mixing Russian and English or attributing the work of grocery stores to that of an unseen deity.

This isn’t to say, however, that new complications haven’t arisen…

“No!” You laugh when Piotr pouts at you and –gently—press the tip of your index finger against his lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you saying you do not desire, moya dusha?” Piotr asks, feigning sorrow. “Does my wife no longer love me?”

“That’s not the issue and you know it, you little shit,” you retort, grinning when Piotr giggles and ducks his head. “The issue—” you smack his hand when he tries to take off your pajama pants again “—is that you are not going down on me with two fresh holes in your mouth.”

Piotr pouts again and lays his head against your stomach. He sighs –then peeks up at you, eyes pleading. “I could…”

“Not gonna happen,” you say sweetly, ruffling his morning bedhead with your fingers. “Pretty sure pubic hair counts as a ‘foreign object with the potential of causing infection.’”

Piotr scrunches up his face.

“Exactly.” You stroke your fingers through his hair and sigh lovingly. “I appreciate the offer, babe, but none of that is gonna happen until your mouth’s all healed up. I’m not consenting to it under any other circumstances.”

Piotr sighs, but relents. “Khorosho.” He looks back up at you. “Breakfast?”

“Absolutely, babe.” You pat his shoulder, then slide out of bed when he clambers off of you. “More applesauce and various lukewarm mushes for you, mister.”

…

Over the next couple weeks, Piotr recovers. He completes his course of antibiotics, stops needing the pain meds, and the holes in his mouth close without problem.

Once Nikolai recovers, too (the process was a little lengthier, given the infection he was dealing with), you and Piotr head out to Alex and Nick’s farm for a “we can finally eat normal food again” celebration.

Nick and Piotr are whirlwinds in the kitchen –and with Alex on “all things knife related” duty, you get the distinct pleasure of doting plenty of attention on King.

“Oh, you’re so handsome,” you coo from your barstool as King stands back on his hind legs so he can get his front legs into your lap. You rub his massive head, taking time to stroke his floppy, scarred ears. “Yes, you’re the handsomest baby, aren’t you?”

Alex chuckles as she expertly cubes a bowl of potato chunks. “He’s a good nursemaid, too. Took good care of papa while he was recovering.”

You praise King for his attentiveness –and then you remember something you’d been meaning to share with Alex. You giggle, then look over at Piotr. “Babe, you’re agnostic, right?”

Piotr looks up at you, expression confused. “Uh… da. Why?”

“I was just checking,” you say with an air of forced nonchalance. You wave your hand at him when he frowns. “You just had quite the ‘heavenly revelation’ about how we had milk during the first day of your recovery, is all.”

Alex snorts. “This should be good.”

“He couldn’t figure out how we had cow’s milk, since we didn’t have a cow,” you explain through your giggles. “And –even though I told him it was from a grocery store—he decided that God must have sent it to us.”

Piotr groans and drops his head in his hands while his parents laugh fondly.

You laugh with them, then grin and blow a kiss to your husband when he looks up at you.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #fluff fluff fluff #just some soft domestic shit #because i need it #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

[iovchlde]

poetry is a clear expression of mixed feelings.

he’s no expert at love poems, only dabbling in the aspect of flirting, and that he’s aware of. there’s also no better way to get more proficient than by getting some critique; so he seeks your opinions, asking for guidance and advice, on the poem he’d written out. one thing you fail to notice— it’s a confession to you.

in which kaeya tries to indirectly confess, but you need some help catching on.

pairing.

kaeya x gn!reader

genre.

fluff

author’s note.

blinks at my own writing

it’s nice and quiet where you’re at— seated on a bench in one of the more secluded parts of mondstadt. you can hear the faint laughter of the drunkards from the tavern a few blocks away, and the running water of the fountain placed in the center of the plaza. the windblume festival always had mondstadt livelier than it typically was, and all you needed was a slight change of pace from a day full of festivities. it was dark out now, and you were simply admiring the beauty of it all, in the dark.

“oh? what brings you here, y/n?” you hear a smooth voice call out to you, and you cock your head to the side to see the cavalry captain. kaeya’s leaning against one of the lamp posts, his arms crossed over his chest, and he wears his infamous smile on his face. brief eye contact is made, and you return a small smile. you can see a small letter tucked into the crevice of his arms, the teal accents contrasting to his blue attire, but you pay no mind to it. the festival was known for love after all, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d received some from fond citizens. “avoiding the crowd, too, i assume.”

you nod, before turning back to look at the scenery ahead of you. granted, it’s not much— only a sliver of the plaza can be seen, and all you can really admire are the glowing dandelions and the pretty garlands decorating the sky of the city. “yeah. are you running away from the hoards of love letters and gifts?” he chuckles to this, shaking his head, though not responding.

kaeya carefully makes his way towards you, seating himself on the opposite side of the bench, your hands a hair’s breadth away from touching. it was only a loveseat bench after, so there wasn’t much space to begin with. from your peripheral view, you can see him pulling out the letter that was previously tucked between his arms. “no, actually,” he starts. “i was hoping to catch you at the right time. would you be willing to listen to a poem i made?”

this catches your attention, and you throw him a questioning look; an eyebrow raised and a glimmer of curiosity swirling within your eyes. you’d never assumed kaeya to be the type to write poems, let alone poems during the windblume festival. he bites back the grin that tugs at his lips at your curious expression. “for who?” you ask, and you unknowingly lean closer in anticipation. a force of habit, if you will.

“do you promise to keep it a secret?” he asks, and you nod promptly. you’d also never assumed kaeya to be the type to write poems for someone— but this is kaeya you’re talking about. a man full of mystery and not the easiest to predict. he may have always secretly liked poems, and just skillfully hid this passion of his away from prying eyes. kaeya brings a finger to his lips, as he looks straight at you, an indication of secrecy. “someone i like.”

“what did i expect?” you deadpan at him at the lack of an answer, and you swat at his arm playfully. he doesn’t bother to dodge, simply letting you arm softly push him, and you miss the small glint of fondness that flashes across his eyes as he looks at you. “just read me the poem now. i’m actually kind of curious to see what you’ve written.”

“patience, sweetheart. i haven’t even pulled it out of the envelope yet.” he skillfully tugs away at the string that keeps the envelope together, revealing a piece of paper folded into thirds. kaeya brings a closed hand to his mouth, coughing for added dramatic effect, before he opens the paper. from what you can see, your vision of the paper being obstructed by his hands, that there wasn’t much written on the paper. “don’t be too amazed, though. it’s very simple.” you grunt at the way he’s stalling, throwing him a half-hearted glare, to which he slightly raises his arms in surrender.

“go on,” you urge him, slightly leaning over his shoulder to take a peek at the letter. he turns it out of your sight. “continue.”

“here goes nothing, i guess.” you watch as his eyes gloss over the paper, and he opens his mouth to speak. “olani hoath ol; i love you, in a distant language.”

there’s a moment of silence as you take in his words. your mouth opens and closes, simply from not being able to form a coherent opinion, like a fish straight out of water. he eyes you attentively, watching as your brow creases, and he almost snickers. “wow,” is all you’re able to say in the moment. that was unexpected, and that would be putting it lightly.

“well? do you think i should read this to the person?” he asks, though he can tell from the look on your face that you are less than impressed. you’re staring at him incredulously, baffled at the… simplicity of the poem, to put it in nicer terms. you may have not expected some great literature achievement from him, but your expectations were surely much higher than that.

“absolutely not,” you tell him, shaking your head rapidly. “unless, you want them to think you’re a creep and run away— then by all means, kaeya. go for it.”

“hm.” he brings a hand to his chin as if he’s contemplating his next move, and you can see a smirk pull at the corner of his lips. with a quick glance, he leans towards you slowly. “but you don’t seem to be running away, so i guess it does work.”

you blink once, and then twice. and after the third blink, the gears in your head start to spin and work. he’s still impossibly close to you, his eye boring straight into you and you stare back. “were you trying to romance me?” the words finally come out, and he simply grins at you.

kaeya flashes a wink at your direction, before promptly getting up from his spot on the bench. “noib is yes, in the said distant language.” right before he slips back into the crowded streets, he turns to look at you. “how about dinner sometime soon?”

you think for a moment, and you chuckle. “noib, i guess.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #kaeya fluff #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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[yamayuandadu]

Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely  because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that.  I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material?  It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character -  would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me. 

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

#circe #madeline miller #greek mythology #madeline miller circe

[hoseokisgucci]

You Lift Me Up

GENRE: Fluff and Smut

WORD COUNT: 5K

PAIRING: Taehyung x Reader

SUMMARY: Taetae here sees OC at the gym, one day helps her out a little when she gets injured and somehow ends up in her bed. 

WARNING: Tbh there’s some oral in there (fem receiving), some body worship, a lil of undiscovered kinks showing a sneak peek, penetrative sex, a little dialogue heavy, Taehyung being softboi max. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally uploaded this without the smut, but then deleted it, and now I’m putting it up again because I finally got around to finishing it. I definitely wanted to write something gym related because its my safe space but I really also wanted to make it soft because IM AN IDIOT FOR PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE/FINDING THEIR PEOPLE. 

“How different would it be anyways? I’ll just ask someone for help if I need it. It’s not like I’ll be abandoned by everyone just because I don’t have a partner.”

 “Hey! We didn’t abandon you!! We have exams. Our university made you lonely, not us.” Your friend squawked over the phone.

 Taking advantage of this new found chink in her armor, you added, “Yes. An institution is more important than I am. I see how it is. Hungry, partner-less and overcome with despair. That’s my life now.”

 She huffed, and you could just imagine her shaking her head at you. “You’re a heathen. I’ll buy you food. Now bye. Duty calls.”

 You laughed out an affirmative and slid the phone into the side pocket of your gym bag. The university gym was located close to your dorms, which made it easier for you to haul your ass to the gym even on your lazy days. You were already wondering what it would be like without a partner. You always had friends with you at the gym, be it one or two. You never had to worry about spotting or support ever before, but now these questions crossed your mind. Scenarios where you dropped a dumbbell on your toe or worse, your face flashed before your eyes. You shuddered when a haunting crack resounded in your ears, the sound reminding you to be wary of heavy lifting while you were on your own.

 Getting started on your workout was easy enough. A little warmup here, a bit of running and cycling there. The music pumping through your ears helped you keep up the pace as you cycled, body starting to sweat, lips mouthing the words of the song playing through your earphones. When you hit the 15-minute mark, you figured it would be alright to cycle for 5 more minutes. 

Just as the song changed, and you looked down to check if the lever for your seat was proper, your heart came up to your throat as someone tapped you. With your hand over your heart, legs coming to a stop, you turned to see the most gorgeous man ever. Scratch that. The most gorgeous being ever.

 Lost in your head, you only came to when you realized that his lips were supposed to be forming coherent sentences. That were aimed at you. Raising your hand, your palm faced towards him, you said, “Wait, I can’t hear you.”  His lips grimaced, as if embarrassed and he nodded his head. When you turned off your music, paused your timer and turned to look at him, torso twisting in his direction, his eyes quickly snapped to yours, as if he wasn’t just checking out the swell of your ass perched on the tiny cycle seat. You raised your brows at him, which probably kickstarted his brain again. He gulped and said,

 “How long will you take?”

  You were about to retort and tell him that there were other cycles too, but when you turned the other way, you saw that all of them were occupied.

 “Maybe around 4 more minutes.” He nodded in response, gave a quick smile, and when he was about to turn away, you tapped his hand, grabbing his attention once more. You didn’t know why you felt good, having those eyes on you. You were probably going crazy, you imagination making you see the electricity in them.

 Rethinking about your situation, you said, “Actually, I’ll get off. I was just going to do some extra cycling, but you can get started.”

 He shook his head, curly hair bouncing around as he said, “No no, please take your time. I’ll just stretch some while you’re getting done.”

 You nodded your head and smiled at him, hoping that he could understand how grateful you were. You got back to cycling, starting up the movement of your legs once again. Without the music to keep you occupied your eyes wandered to the mirror in front of you. As you scanned your surroundings, you noticed the guy from before, stretching his arms, gazed fixed on your form. The intensity with which he kept looking at you almost made your legs flounder, but you concentrated on maintaining your momentum.

 Sighing inwardly, your eyes moved backed to him. He hadn’t noticed you looking at him, because he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather your ass. Wanting to add fuel to the fire, you stuck your ass out a little more and arched your back a little more, making your body look a little more tantalizing. As you did this, you could see his eyes widen a little, hands now hanging limp. You discreetly kept looking at him, and could see him scan your form, his gaze focusing on your face. You cycled a bit more aggressively, the motion moving you from side to side. 

If he was watching, you might as well give him a good show. When you eyed him again, he was bent over, legs spread wide, hands touching the ground, stretching. But his eyes, they didn’t leave you, or rather, your butt, even once.

 Your timer beeped, signaling the end of your 20 minutes. You slowed down your legs and sat there, catching your breath. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, sweat dotting your forehead and your face glistened. You looked thoroughly wrecked. He was still looking at you. You got off the cycle, walked to him and said, “Its all yours.”

 He nodded, and you walked away. You breezed through the rest of the workout, mind occupied with thoughts of big hands and one beautiful man.

  Through the next week, you kept seeing him at the gym, on a machine or doing a rep. You weren't ignoring him, per se, but what the hell would you go and say to him? "Hey I think you're pretty hot, come over and choke me?"

 Definitely not.

 A week without a partner goes by with no problems, but its like your beginner luck in the world of solo exercising has run out when you lose your balance while doing weighted squats. Even before starting the set, you were a bit worried, because the rod itself weighed 32 kgs, and you had added plates of 10 kgs. You never imagined that you'd get injured at the gym out of all places but, alas! Your time had come. When you felt that you had no control over the bar and your body anymore, you tried to brace yourself for impact, but two hands lifted the bar off of your shoulders, which allowed your body to gain some balance. When you looked at the mirror, you saw cycle dude holding the bar in his hands. You quickly turned around and helped him rack it.

With frantic eyes, he scans your body for any apparent injuries and asks,

 "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

 "Uh no, I don’t think so. Just that, my knee might be a little sprained."

 His eyes focus on your knee, hands out in front of him, ready to support you. You start walking, but you can feel a slight tinge in your right knee when you put pressure on it. The discomfort might show on your face, because he wraps your arm around his shoulder, and urges you to put your weight on him. He walks you to the bench and sits you down, your leg extended in front of you.

Squatting near your leg, fingers brushing the hair our of his eyes and off of his forehead, he asks,

"Can you call someone to take you home?"

 You take a minute to think if there's anyone who actually could take you home at this moment. And you come up with no one. You tell him so.

 Tentatively, eyes now darting here and there, he says

 "Uh, would you mind if I dropped you off?"

  You blurt out, "Why?"

 "Huh?"

 "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."

 "Well I, uh, might have a small crush on you. Not in a creepy way! I just think you're kinda cute. And I would feel better if I knew you'd get home safely."

  Welp. That's kinda endearing.

  "Okay. Let's go."  

 He asks for your locker number, goes and gets both of your bags and comes to get you. For a few minutes, you walk with your arm around his

 shoulder, half of your weight held up by him. Your pace is probably slower than a snail, what with you trying to clumsily hop and him trying to support you. He stops and says,

 "Okay, let's get you on my back. You can point in what direction you wanna go and I'll carry you. It'll be faster and way better for you."

 You try to protest but he's already hanging both of your bags around his neck and getting on his haunches in front of you, hands ready to hold your legs. So you climb on.

As he starts walking, he says,

"I'm Taehyung by the way, your beloved servant."

 "Well, my dear servant, you shall call me princess then," you cheekily reply as you tighten your hold around his neck.

 He laughs and shakes his head, huffing out, "Wow, the audacity."

 "I'm sorry. Thank you so much, I'll be indebted to you forever. You're too kind," you sincerely say to him.

 He just hums in response, so you leave it at that. Your dorm building isn't that far, so you make it there in no time. You get in the lift, and once it opens on your floor, you tell Taehyung your dorm number.

 You tell him your door code, and he walks you in, going straight to your couch and sitting you down. He takes the bags from his neck and puts them aside. Next, he takes off your shoes and puts them near your door.

 "Okay, do you mind if I check your fridge? Is there anything like an icepack? To put on your knee?"

 "Yeah, there is an ice pack."

 He grabs the ice pack, fills it with ice cubes and holds it on your knee. The freezing sensation

 sends a twinge down your knee. He urges you to hold the ice pack and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back, he presses a glass of water to your lips, and you drink.

 Once you're done, he sets the glass on the coffee table, and settles beside you, grabbing your leg and gently getting it on his lap, urging you to lie down, with your head resting on the armrest. He holds your leg with one hand, and tenderly ices your knee with the other. The action makes you relax your body, all the stress unwinding. Taehyung doesn't say anything, his eyes concentrated on your knee. Feeling the pain in your knee numbing, you close your eyes.

 The next thing you know, Taehyung in shaking you awake, calling out your name in his low baritone. When you gain some semblance of consciousness, the first thing that you register is the fragrance of food. Your stomach grumbles, and Taehyung chuckles at you. He helps you sit up, and shoves a takeout box in your hand. You thank him and dig in. Once you're done, he cleans up and comes back to sit beside you.

 "How are you feeling now?"

 You flex your leg a little, and when it doesn't hurt that bad, you say, "It feels better.  I'll just take a painkiller and knock out."

 He nods his head, hand reaching out to feel over and around your knee. After being satisfied, he rests his hand on your knee, and looks at you. "I'm glad. Just be careful."

 In a moment of courage, you rest your hand over his and say,

"I can't thank you enough. For getting me home, taking care of me, feeding me."

 His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he rests his other hand over yours, your palm now sandwiched between two of his. He leans closer to you, and whispers,

 "You don't have to thank me, doll. But I can think of a few things you could do."

 The way he says these words makes tingles run up your spine, the intent clear in eyes, made clearer by his words. You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa, knowing that Taehyung's eyes are fixed on you. The knowledge that this kind, breathtakingly beautiful man has a crush on you, and moreover wants you, gives you the confidence to act a little, if not more coy. With your head now tilted towards the ceiling and your eyes closed, you channel your inner heathen and say,

"And what would they be, hmm?"

When you hear him suck a breath in beside you, you smirk inwardly. You wait for him to say something, but he just retracts his hands from yours. This action makes you open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, question clear in your gaze.

Just as you're about to sit up and say something, you're hit with a face full of Taehyung, and suddenly his palms are grabbing your face and his lips are on yours. The shock makes your eyes widen, but as you register what's going on, your eyes close and your hand fists his shirt as you kiss him back.

Taehyung's lips feel way better than you could ever imagine, and the warmth seeping into your skin from his palms makes this experience feel real, and not just fantasy. When his lips suck on your lower lip a little harder, you arch your back, your upper body lifting off the couch. This makes him slide one hand off of your cheek and around your waist, and he pulls your body closer to his.

At this point, he's basically straddling you. When his tongue probes your mouth, one of your hands grab the back of his hair and pull. The low groan he lets out as you disconnect from his mouth and start sucking on his neck makes you quiver, the thought of hearing the same baritone in your ear as he pounds into you making you want him even more. He parts from you, and as he sits up, your hands leave his body.

 "What do you want?"

 You bite your lip, and instead of answering, one of your hand rises to his waistband. Instantly, his hand grips yours, and as he smiles, he leans down to kiss your palm. Against it, he whispers,

"Want me to eat you out? Wanna cum on my tongue?"

You gulp at the thought of this man between your legs, and nod at him. Something in his face hardens, and he drops your hand, only to lean over you and grip your chin.

"Use your words, baby doll. What do you say?"

You maintain eye contact with him and whisper,

"Yes."

Though your answer makes him loosen his grip on your jaw, only makes him move closer to you.

 "Yes what?"

 "Yes sir."

 At your answer, Taehyung's eyes widen, and then a smirk spreads across his face. His hands urge you out of your top, and he throws it over his shoulder, uncaring as to where it lands. 

His eyes take you in, and in a second he's getting off you and pulling your leggings and underwear down your body. You struggle a little to lift your ass off the couch, a little pain shooting through your knee at the pressure. Taehyung makes you rest your injured leg straight on the coffee table. After making sure you're comfortable, he leans down you kiss you, on of his hands making their way to your tits. When he squeezes and twists a nipple, your body arches off the couch, legs spreading wider.

Once Taehyung's satisfied from claiming your mouth, he gets down on his knees in between your legs. For the first time, you see hesitation cross his eyes as he nibbles his lower lip. You lean up, and say,

"I want you. Please make me cum, please."

A smile blooms on his face, eyes lighting up as his hands move up your thighs. He leans forward, kissing up the inside of your left thigh, his hands squeezing where they hold you. After a few kisses, he suddenly bites, which makes you reach out to grip his hair as you moan.

 Indifferent to your reaction, he moves forward, his hands widening your legs as he comes face to face with your core. Sounding absolutely wrecked, he says,

"Fuck I can't wait to taste you."

With this, he kisses your mound, and then spreads your outer lips.

 "Holy shit, darling, it's all for me, right?"

 You card your hands through his hair as you whisper an affirmative. Happy with your response, Taehyung leans in and envelops your clit in his lips, and sucks. Slowly, he starts making strokes with his tongue, delving deeper. He speeds up the motions of his tongue, now moving it in and out, and puts a finger in your core. The slide is tight, and it makes you both moan. But he doesn't stop, if anything, he gets even more determined. 

Soon, he adds another finger and his tongue moves onto your clit. The added stimulation makes the knot in your core tighten, the arousal pulsing stronger in your veins. He takes his mouth off of your clit with a pop and leans back to see his fingers scissoring as they move inside you. You tilt your head down to take a look at him, and dear God above, he looks wrecked. His hair is all messed up, thanks to your fingers, and his lips are swollen and glistening, and you're pretty sure his chin is too.

 Fuck.

 Your eyes roll to the back of your head as this visual ingrains itself in your eyes, a whimper falling from your mouth as you say,

"Fucking God, please fuck me. Want you so bad, please."

 "I'll think about it if you cum like a good girl first."

  His fingers speed up, and he leans down to capture you clit in his mouth again. This time, he's absolutely brutal with the way he goes at you, nothing gentle about his mouth or his fingers. Just as you feel yourself climbing up to a climax, he adds another finger, his tongue now flicking across your clit.

 As you get closer to the finish line, your moans turn into curse words, your voice getting louder.

 "Fucking Hell, Taehyung, don't stop! Shit! I'm s-so close, please, please, I'm gonna c-cum!"

 Saying nothing Taehyung curves his fingers inside you as he lightly bites on your clit, and that's all it takes for you to let go. Your body pulls taut, legs shaking around him, hips riding his fingers. His fingers and his mouth guide you along your high, and even after you've come down, his mouth still keeps laving over your clit. You moan in oversensitivity and that's when he deems it enough.

 He gets up, but groans out while straightening his legs. You giggle at his facial expression, and he stands over you, hands on his hips, mouth drawn into a pout.

 "I just ate you out but you're laughing at me, huh?"

 This makes you laugh out loud, and you say,

"Can't believe you're a grandpa."

 His mouth falls open, flabbergasted. His mouth tries and fails to form a word, and his mouth just bubbles out a laugh. He's shaking his head as he takes off his tee, and throws it on the couch beside you. Oh you're definitely not laughing now.

 "Well, this grandpa did get you off, baby doll. Now, where's the bedroom?"

 He leans down to pick you up, his hands urging your thighs to wrap around his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck. You hold on tighter when he stands up straight with you in his arms. He leads you to the bedroom, kicking the door open and walking in. He lays you down on the duvet slowly, mindful of jostling your leg. 

Once you're lying on the bed, he goes to get a pillow and puts it below your knee. You make eye contact with him, hoping your smile conveys how grateful you are. He smiles at you, expression shy. Pointing at the bedside table, you say,

"The condoms are in here."

 He raises an eyebrow, but gets a condom and climbs on the bed. Once he's in between your legs, one of his hands knead your thigh, the action relaxing your muscles, making you let out a sigh. Seeing your reaction, he leans down to kiss your tummy, trailing light kisses down to your pelvis.

 "You look so beautiful like this. So lovely."

 His hand glides up your inner thigh, two fingers plunging into you without warning. He pulls out, only to push back in, your soft wet walls accommodating to his ministrations easily. When he doesn't hear you making a sound, he scissors his fingers, and starts sucking a hickey on your hipbone. A shiver runs through you, and you let out a whimper at the sudden influx of stimulus.

 "Such a sweetheart, huh? Always ready to let me know how good I'm making you feel."

 As he says this, he adds another finger, and the added stretch makes you arch off the bed. Soon, Taehyung has you moaning his name, your hands reaching out to hold onto the bedsheet. Taehyung slows down his fingers, and asks you,

 "What do you want? Tell me. Tell me and I'll give it to you."

 The husk in his voice makes you groan, the timber of it sending trills of arousal shooting through you.

 "Want you to fuck me. Now. Right now."

 Pulling his fingers out of you, he whispers, "Then that's what you'll get, baby."

  He takes off his gym shorts and his underwear, his cock standing hard and proud, the tip glistening with precum. While stroking his cock, he says,

"Although everything in me is telling me to fuck you like the devil you are, I don't wanna add to your injuries. So let's have you wrap you legs around me, okay?"

 Actually processing what he said, you try to move your leg, but the twinge of pain has you nodding your head in agreement.

 Seeing your approval, he gives you a smile and tears open the condom. Your eyes trace him as he kneels between your legs. The soft curls falling into his eyes, the slope of his nose, adding to his charm. The strength visible in his shoulders, all the way down to his arms, makes you want things that can only be done behind closed doors. The thoughts of being manhandled, being pushed into the mattress as he takes you run through your head among other lust-filled scenarios, and these make you gulp.

Your eyes follow when he rolls the condom onto himself and strokes his cock in long motions.

 His eyes, fall onto you, and seeing how you're entranced by, well, his dick, he chuckles. The sound makes your eyes flit to his, your cheeks already filling with colour, embarrassment flooding your mind.

 Taehyung doesn't say anything, just urges your legs to wrap around his waist as he leans over you. That one moment of silence, where you and him are just two people, closer than ever, closer than any galaxies, any stars, seems to last for a lifetime. When he slightly smiles, one of his hands coming up to stroke your hair, you feel a storm brewing where you heart is meant to be. You smile back, and then Taehyung is thrusting into you, the stars in his eyes now clouded by lust.

 The first few thrusts are slow, languid and have Taehyung's eyes flitting over your features, looking for any signs of discomfort. But when he finds none, he gains confidence, his hips moving with more purpose, plunging impossibly deeper into you. Your eyes close, head tilting up as your mouth lets out little moans mixed in with whimpers.

 Taehyung's thrusts slow down into him just grinding his cock into you, and he grabs your chin to make you look at him.

 "Look at me, baby. You feel so good, like heaven. Maybe even more divine than heaven itself."

 The sincerity in his eyes as he says this makes your clench around him, throat choking on the words you want to say. You reach out a hand and put it on his shoulder, which makes him pause his movements. Worry flickers across his face as he waits for you to say something.

 "G-go faster. Wanna cum. Right now. Please."

 The worry on Taehyung's face quickly dissolves into cockiness as he positions himself to pound into you better. His smirk grows as his thrust gets a moan out of you. Continuing with his ministrations, he manages to grunt out,

"This good enough for you, doll?"

 When you don't answer him, too busy whimpering, he leans over you and one of his hands reach out and twist your nipple in warning, hips maintaining their momentum.

"Think I asked a question, darling. Come on, now."

 The hand you had on his shoulder moves up to the back of his head, and as your fingers entangle in his locks and pull, you say,

"Yes! Yes! Dear God, yes! F-feel good."

 He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he hums, the low rumble of his voice making you feel some type of way.

 One of his hands land near your head, the other one grabbing your thigh, and its pound town from there. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixed in with Taehyung's grunts and your moans. The boy in between your legs turns into a beast chasing just one thing, and he doesn't slow down. The sound of sex resounds in the room, making you feel downright dirty.

 Your eyes focus on Taehyung's face contorted in pleasure and his body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Maybe it's this realization, that you have this beautiful man fucking into you that pushes you closer to your climax.

When your walls start clenching around him, the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach so close to bursting, one of your hands reach down, two of your fingers rubbing your clit in desperation.

 "That's it. Make yourself cum on my cock. Let me see you cum, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me."

His words are accompanied by his hips moving faster, hitting the spot inside you, making the fire in you unravel. Your back arches off the bed, mouth opening in a whimper as you cum, body drowning in pleasure.

 Your walls tighten around Taehyung, making him let out a choked moan. With two, three more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming in the condom. He slumps on you, letting out puffs of air, catching his breath. When Taehyung taps both of your legs gently, you remember that they've been there this whole time, and, holy shit, your fucking knee was fucking sprained. Taehyung, apparently has the same realization, because his concerned wide eyes lock with yours and he slowly untangles your legs. Your knee gives a twinge in protest to movement but as soon as it's straight and on the bed, you feel fine. Taehyung pulls out, and ties the condom off, getting up to go and throw it in the bin.

 When he comes back, it's to you playing with your fingers running circles on your navel. You stop your actions when you realize he's back in the room, your cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment. Taehyung mumbles a 'cute' but doesn't say anything else.

Taehyung has a wet towel in one hand, with which he gently wipes between your legs. And when he's done, he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead, and then he's gone again. Your eyes follow his bubble butt as he leaves the room.

 Exhaustion seeps into your bones, and your eyes close. They only open to the sound of something being set down on the bedside table. You open your eyes and turn your head to see that it's a glass of water, and Taehyung, Taehyung is wearing shorts again.

 You sit up, grabbing the glass and gulping down the water. The thought that you're still completely naked makes you feel shy, even after all of the things you just did. Taehyung sits

 beside you on the bed, taking the glass from your hand and putting it on the table.

 "Uhm.."

 "I ju-"

 Both of you shut up, but when you lock eyes with each other, laughter spills out of you. With a smile on his face, Taehyung speaks first.

 "What were you going to say?"

 You think for a moment, wondering if what you're about to say will sound weird or not.

 "Uh, just that, do you want to stay over?"

 With disbelief painting his face, Taehyung asks, "You want me to?"

 You try to keep the endearment out of your voice as you deadpan, "Oh no, the monster under my bed just liked your feet and told me to ask you to stay longer."

 It takes a moment for your words to register, but when Taehyung realizes what you just said, laughter tumbles from his lips.

  Your concerned friends knock on your door the next morning, and a clueless Taehyung opens the door to let them in. Your friends barge in to find you wrapped in a blanket, lying on the couch, Haikyuu! playing on your TV. Taehyung just stands there, neck full of hickies, rampant sex hair, smelling like your body wash.

 Your friends look at you for a moment, then turn to Taehyung only to turn back to you. When one of them asks you what the hell you've been doing yesterday and where you've been, you lock eyes with Taehyung as you smugly say,

 "What can I even say? It was one heck of a workout."

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfiction #taehyung x you #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bts fluff #smut and fluff #kim taetae #this is filth #this is also cute #taehyung #bts tae tae #bts #bts fic #bts fanclub #dont hate me

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 27: Conditions

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, violence, & a brief scene of implied assault (it's the scene in the cantina in Canto Bight!! it's over in a few lines, but if you want to skip over them, it won't impact the story at all!) please let me know if there's anything else that needs to be tagged! <3

SUMMARY: “I—what?” you ask, trying to shake away the fuzzy feeling, “what are you saying to me?”

“I’m saying,” Din emphasizes, sighing, looking down at the Darksaber in his hand, “that I don’t have a secret family, and I’m never leaving you again, but…”

“What?” you repeat.

“I accidentally became the ruler of Mandalore,” Din admits. “And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then the bacta kicks in and everything fades to black.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO AND HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! i hope you love this chapter, it's 12k+ words because i simply could not stop writing. we are getting INTO IT ;) hope y'all love the dinova makeup scene hehehe ENJOYYYYYY!!!! <3

*

When you and Din first fucked, all the way back on Dagobah, you remember how gentle he was with you, how it stood out in such shimmering, stark contrast to the man and warrior he was everywhere else. He would pause, he would revere you in the dark, he would let his mouth make sweet love to you in between your thighs for hours. It was lovely. Him being gentle, taking his sweet time with you, it was lovely.

But you’ve just spent an agonizing month apart, you nearly lost each other forever to that looming darkness, and the baby’s not here on Kicker to be quiet for.

So when you grab at him, lustful and intentioned, the big, brave bounty hunter bends at your will. Again.

“You—” Din says, strangled, the second your hands slip down his face, “you don’t have to—if you’re not ready—”

“Shh,” you whisper, and at that alone, he quiets. You let your thumb lightly graze over the length of his cheekbone, eyes darting all over his face, taking in every single gorgeous inch. “I want the man who loves me to fuck me senseless.”

Din groans, the noise strangled and low in his throat. You grin, top teeth coming down on your bottom lip. “I used to—fuck—like to be in charge. A lot. B—but you talking like this, stars, Nova, I could cum from your words alone—”

“Don’t you dare,” you emphasize, closing all the remaining space between the two of you, swinging your legs up and over into his lap so that you’re straddling him. “It’s been a month, Din, a whole month without feeling you, without fucking. Give me a taste first.”

He makes another small noise at the base of his throat, and a horrifying thought flutters into your head, foggy and heavy.

“It—” you blink at him, stomach doing backflips, “It hasbeen a month without…sex for you, too, right?”

Din’s eyes flash open, dark and dangerous. “Are you serious?”

You feel your body start to shrink against his, your knees wobbling from where you’re straddling him, sliding down into his lap. “I—”

“You think I could even look at someone else?” Din asks, his voice low and electric. You raise an eyebrow. He tangles one hand in your messy hair, and when he sharply brings your head back with the force of it, the moan you’ve been holding back escapes out of your throat, easy and loaded. “That every time I touched myself, I wasn’t regretting every second of my decision to leave you somewhere because nothing compares to your warmth?”

Maker, he sounds betrayed. Like he can’t even believe that you’re suggesting it, which, come to think of it, you can’t really believe you’re suggesting it either, considering how much of himself he gave you back on the last planet, but you have to know, even if it’s hard to hear. You swallow. “You left me there, I didn’t know if we were—done, if you were breaking off our engagement—”

“Nova,” Din interrupts, and everything in your body goes white-hot, blistering. You’ve heard him say your name before—in love, in fear, in pain, in pleasure—but something about the timbre of it right now is halving you with lightning strikes. He’s somewhere still buried in your neck, and when his tongue brushes up and flutters against your strongest pulse point, you feel like you’re melting, all over Din’s lap, all over Kicker’s floor. “Even if I was that much of a total fucking idiot, even if I were stupid enough to truly let you go, do you really believe that any pussy in this galaxy or the next would be as good as yours?”

You yelp. All of that control that you had a second ago, it’s blissfully rushed away, a river running out of you, everything concentrating between your legs, low and wet. “Well,” you manage finally, your voice shaking, “prove it.”

For a second, a single, tantalizing second, Din just holds you there. You can feel the heat, the friction between your hips, his hand on your left one, anchoring you there and pulling you against his crotch. You feel his cock jump in his pants, and it makes that flash of desire strike through you again, regardless of how many times you’ve felt it do so before. “I love you,” he whispers, tongue dancing in and out of your ear, and when he pulls away from you and looks at you in the starlight, you want that to be it. That confession, that freedom, that honesty—and you being able to look at him straight in the eyes while he gives himself to you—that’s enough for you to cum right there on the spot, but you made him promise to hold out, so you grind your teeth together, control your breathing, and try to hold out your own challenge.

“That’s not what I meant,” you breathe, your hands coming loose to land on either side of his face. He closes his eyes into the safety of your touch, and, for just a moment, you press your forehead against his.

It’s over a flash later, when his eyes open, dark and possessive. “Oh,” Din smirks, “I know.” And then you’re being hauled up and out of his lap, and when he grabs you and pushes you up against the wall, face first, you let out a gasp that could rattle every single last star in the galaxy. “Tell me,” he whispers, “tell me if I’m going too far—”

“Din,” you interject, softly, your voice still shaky and uneven, “I thought I told you to prove it.”

All you hear is the rhythm of both of your breathing, and then your clothes are being ripped limb from limb, the tank top tearing straight off your back, your pants being shoved down to your knees. The sharp intake of breath that comes out of you is partially because off the immediacy of it, the urgency, and partially because of the shock of the cold metal of Kicker’s walls against your bare skin.

“You—” you start, as Din yanks down your trousers even further, “you bought those pants for me—”

“So?” he tosses up to you, and then you feel the rough fabric of the glove slamming into the small of your back, making it arch. “I’ll buy you new fucking pants.”

“Okay,” you pant, already halfway there and way past being coherent, “yeah, sure. I didn’t have that much of an attachment to those anyway—”

“Nova?” Din asks, and you toss your head backwards as you feel his scruff on the right side of your neck. “Open your legs.”

You do. You’re pretty sure everything you’re wearing is trashed, now, but at this point, you couldn’t care less. When you feel Din’s lips travel down your shoulder blades, your spine, stopping just on the small of your back, you shudder, the cold metal in front of you already turned warm from your touch. When his lips leave you, you think that’s it, that he’s going to shove his fingers in you, but Din drops, stealthy, like the practiced bounty hunter he is, to his knees. You inhale, exhale, all of your energy on expelling and intaking air, and then his tongue starts at the very back of your slit, and somewhere between your legs, before it finds your clit, he’s turned over, staring up at you with his mouth buried inside of you.

“Oh,” you manage, faintly, and there it is, the electric feeling of being pushed right on the edge, that white-hot numbness, everything falling and rising at once, “oh—”

“This is the part,” Din hisses, muffled slightly as he moves his tongue in and out of you, “where I’d normally tell you that I own you.”

“Don’t you?” you ask as he pulls off his gloves and pushes a finger inside you, and, stars, you can feel yourself clench, the way you take him in, like you’re hungry, like you’re insatiable, and you’d usually feel your cheeks flush from all of that pure, unadulterated desire, but you barely even register all the noises you’re making because Din’s drowning it all out with his touch.

“Not anymore,” he says, simply, and then he’s in and out of you, standing back of behind you so lightning fast that you can’t categorize how his mouth went from being on your pussy to back on the nape of your sweaty neck, but your knees buckle at the feeling of him pressing up against you, ripping every connective piece of armor off his body like it’s scalding him. “You own me. Every inch.”

You moan, wriggling your hips back as if to entice him, to make him just fuck you already, and you know how impatient you’re being, and that you should savor this, that this should last through the entirety of hyperspace for all of the lost time that you have to make up, but you can’t hold back.

“Tell me,” Din whispers, his voice just as breathy as yours is, “what you want.”

You inhale, exhale. He’s behind you, and you can feel the tip pressing at you, leaking a small bead of wetness that’s trailing down your naked body, and you’re so choked and consumed with this, with how much you missed it, that you have to take a second to compose yourself. Din holds himself there, patient—writhing, but patient—until you know exactly what to say.

“I want you,” you breathe, tilting your head just a bit, enough to catch a glimpse of his silhouette, “your every fucking inch.”

Din moans again, and then, before you have a second to prepare yourself, that’s exactly what you get. Your own moans eject themselves form your mouth, completely uncontrolled, animalistic, insatiable. With every stroke, the symphony of the noises that Din’s making gets louder and louder, one hand against your hips, the other tangled back up in your hair, bringing your body closer and closer to him like rolling tides.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, his mouth contorting around the word like it’s holy, something divine, “oh, fuck, Nova, I—missed you.”

You throw your head back, eyes fluttering, everything dark and warm. Din’s other hand slips down to your bare hip, and he starts rocking himself deeper and deeper inside you, as if he’s trying to fuck away all the mistakes he made, as if he’s begging you for repentance.

“Cum in me,” you gasp, already shaking yourself through another orgasm as his hands tighten around you, as he buries his face in your neck, “mark me as yours.”

And, Maker fucking above, the way he screams your name as he does makes you ready to fall in love all over again. It’s like the first time. It’s better.

“I was right,” you say, finally, after both of you have sunk to the floor, throbbing and aching and delightfully exhausted.

“Yes,” Din agrees, automatically, his arm tightening around your midriff as you both try to breathe yourselves back to consciousness, “about what?”

You smile. As your vision focuses, you turn around in his arms so that you’re sitting against the wall, looking out at the stars you’re traveling past, grinning at the notion that you just had a supernova more brilliant than they could ever dream to have. “It’s not about deserving. It’s about belonging.”

Next to you, Din slowly untangles himself from the mess of your shared limbs and slides into his usual position on the floor. You smile at that, too, because regardless of how much has changed, this too, this mirror image, is still the same.

*

Hours pass. You don’t remember falling asleep, but when your eyes open lazily to the slow tilt of space around you, you’re swaddled in blankets and pillows, and your Mandalorian is cuddled up next to you. It still makes your heart jump in your chest, the knowledge that he’s yours again, that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him. You still don’t think you forgive him, because that ache is bitter and horrible in the depth of your chest, but you feel how much you feed into one another, how much easier it is to fight off any incoming threats with Din next to you, and you make momentary peace with your broken heart.

“Hi,” he says, sleepily, his eyes fluttering open, “come back to sleep.”

“I will,” you answer, sitting back down and snuggling into Din’s bare chest. Everything else in here is dotted with luminescence—the stars outside, the lights you strung in the back of the hull—but it’s cold compared to him and his light.

You think he’s asleep again when you feel his lips moving, his chest rising and falling, the noise his voice makes vibrating where your ear is pressed against his ribs. “You said you have conditions,” Din whispers, “back there, on Takodana. I didn’t forget. What are your conditions?”

Your stomach does a small flip. You absolutely did have conditions, but right now, it’s nearly impossible for you to remember any of them. You’re both here now, where you belong, and space is quiet, and you’re not currently in any immediate danger, and you just had some of the best sex you’ve ever had—

Danger. It lights up, and you blink hard and then shoot upwards at the threats the both of you just narrowly escaped back on Takodana, the people that have been trying to catch you and hurt you for weeks. You feel the way your heart is pounding, and you immediately curse yourself from being distracted enough to not warn Wedge about the mysterious danger that’s rising from the ashes of the Empire, and Din follows you when you sit straight up, pressing the warmth of your blanket against your bare chest.

“Nova?”

“Um,” you say, holding up a single finger, “my first condition is that you come with me to tell the Alliance everything we know about these new troopers, and their new boss.”

He stares at you. “Can’t…can’t you just call your friend back on your commlink? Tell him what you saw?”

You press a cold hand to your face, and the chill grounds you. “I could,” you admit, “but the two of us just barely got out of there alive, and I think we need to literally call in the big guns. Besides, I—I have ties there. You’ll understand when you see it.” You flash him a small look. “It’s cold on Hoth. Really cold. Not a desert planet at all. You’ll love it.”

It’s still so strange seeing his face, like something out of place, but after a minute, Din’s quirked eyebrow relaxes. “Okay,” he agrees.

You nod, definitively, feeling his eyes on your naked body as you get up to point the nav system back towards Hoth, and when you slide back into your nest, he’s even warmer than you remembered.

“Din—” you whisper, and you’re not even sure what you’re about to say until he pulls you in, the low light casting parts of his face in shadow.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs back, the promise barely air but so concrete, so powerful, “I meant it when I said I’m going to follow you anywhere.”

Kicker, like the habitual monster she is, starts screeching right before reentry onto Hoth. You untangle yourself messily from Din’s arms, pulling the closest blanket you have around your bare body again, tiptoeing over to where the dashboard is blinking and flashing.

“Work with me, baby,” you whisper, turning dials and pounding on wherever you think you could get it to quiet, “c’mon, what’s wrong with you?” You turn knobs and flip switches, and when Kicker shows you she’s clearly not slowing down, you turn to throw on whatever clothes are closest, and they’re the tatters Din tore off of you last night. As you run a systems check, you trade the ripped fabric for your orange jumpsuit, which is, thankfully, still untouched. You shiver as you zip it up over your bare chest, tucking your messy hair behind both ears, studying the panel of blinking lights and the volume of your glorious rebel of a ship. “Kicker,” you try again, exhausted, dragging your hands over your eyes, the stars exploding as you press against them, “please, I am so tired, tell me what you want—”

And then you spot it. Your shields, which have consistently been locked and loaded since you left Hoth last time, are depleted and tired. They keep flashing on and off, and you hesitate, peering out the front widow to survey the open space around you, checking furiously for any immediate enemies, trying to gauge if you need to keep them on until you land, or if you want to save the last bit of power for whenever you leave Hoth next.

“What,” Din mutters sleepily from behind you, “is happening?”

“She screams,” you answer, which is honestly completely self-explanatory, “when she wants to tell me something,”

“Nova,” Din says back, groaning as he sits up, pulling on all the underclothes he has, leaving the armor scattered and strewn all over the ship’s interior like a trail of shiny breadcrumbs, “she is not a sentient being, and you have the power to shut her up.”

You do. Then you turn, staring at him, trying to look menacing. “No making fun of my ship.”

A tiny smile surfaces across his face. It’s fleeting, but glorious. “You’re a real pilot again,” he says softly, “how does it feel?”

You grin to, bringing one orange-clad knee to your chest, resting your chin on it. “Like I spent way too long without it,” you admit, reveling in your pilot’s chair, slowly swaying from side to side as you observe him. “I miss the Crest,” you say, “every day, but being able to be in charge of my own destiny, to be my own captain, to fly something I could handle in my sleep—it feels right.”

Din looks at you, slowly striding over. You grab his bare hand as you pull him in closer, tipping your head back so you can stare up at him, and even in this position, you feel the way he’ll bend to you, how he’ll do whatever you want. That sense of power, exhilarating as it is, also feels unlike you, so you let him tuck your hair back behind your ears again, relinquishing small atoms of control until you’re both back on equal ground. “Are we sticking with Kicker, then?” Din asks, and you nod, fluttering your eyelashes at him as he strokes lightly over your cheek. “I think I might need flying lessons from you, then, Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim.”

You grin. “Maybe we should write that all over the ship.”

“You write that all over the ship,” Din points out, gently, “and you’ll have even more of a target on your back.”

You sigh, long and heavy, and you feel the energy shift. Din moves to the copilot’s chair, and you swing the other way as you crest through the chilly atmosphere of Hoth, shivering the second you broach through the air, even though the cabin temperature is holding steady. “I was reckless back there,” you admit, voice small. “I was spending too much time trying to give them the best vocal middle finger I could muster up, that I wasn’t paying attention to the soldiers we downed. I’m not very good at the hand-to-hand combat thing,” you say, examining the ridges of your fingers, the way your knuckles bulge slightly against your skin. “I’ve always done so much better up in the air. But now, with my new—” you cut yourself off, flipping your hands over to study your palms, trying to envision where the Force works like a conduit underneath it, “powers,” you finish, halfheartedly, “I know I need to be down on the ground more, that I need more practice. I’m not even close to being skilled enough to beat multiple people.” You glance over at Din, and then back at the wicked handle of the Darksaber. Even though you know it’s not Gideon’s weapon, that it came from Mandalore, it still carries the symbol of so much darkness, so much hatred, and you shiver. “Especially if it’s going to be you and me against these new troopers, this new threat.”

Din’s staring at you. You turn your attention back to navigating Kicker down onto the snowy path that funnels down into the landing bay, watching as the whiteness of it all jut up in mountains and valleys around you, carefully moving into the spot you had to emergency evacuate a few weeks back. “What do you think it is?” he asks, and you can tell he’s asking because he believes you, but also because he has no idea. “Who do you think it is?”

You square your shoulders, pulling your parka off the hook it’s hanging on, glancing at the armor all over the floor. “I don’t know,” you answer, honestly, “but whatever—whoever—it is, it’s coming. That’s why we’re here. I’ve had visions of it,” you say, stretching your arms back to quickly braid the top layer of your hair, “a few times, but I have no idea. I—we—are totally out of our depth.” You look out the front window of Kicker, watching as a small squadron of orange jumpsuits starts to materialize in the distance, and a grin stretches itself across your face before you can stop it. “That’s why we’re here,” you say, tying off the braid and pointing with your chin, “because if anyone has advice on how to battle back the unknown, it’s the Alliance.”

You glace back over at Din, who’s still standing there, collecting random pieces of armor off the floor absentmindedly. His eyes are still on you. Secretly, you wonder if he always stared at you this much underneath his helmet, of his eyes never leaving your body is a new thing, or if it’s been one for the last year and you just had no idea.

“Are you coming?” you ask, and you’re trying not to push him, because you know if you tell him he has to, he will, no questions asked.

He nods, clicking the last piece of armor into place. You press on his pauldron, evening it out, and when you look up at Din, maskless, helmetless, your heart catches like it always does. “Yes,” he says, finally, his gloved hand gently finding your wrist.

You look to where he has his helmet in his other hand, and the second your eyes move, you feel his do too. Even out of your periphery, you can tell he’s staring at it as intensely as he does with you, internal battle of tradition versus newness loud and unencumbered in your head.

“You don’t have to wear it,” you whisper, reassuring him. You bring your hand up, touch your fingertips to the side of his face, brushing your thumb lightly over the bow of his lips. “But you can, if that’s what you want.”

Din looks back to you, then to the helmet, then to you again. You smile as encouragingly as you can, and he exhales, pulling the rim of it over his head. Your heart drops and rises as you watch him do it, conflicted with the knowledge of how hard this is, how hard anything is, how he’s like a ship without sails.

“You’ll like them,” you say, quietly, as you move downstairs and disengage the gangplank, “I promise.”

“Rebel girl!” Wedge calls through the frosty air, and you squeeze Din’s hand and smile as your boots meet the crunchy, snow covered ground. “Welcome back. Who are we fighting?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help me with,” you sigh, falling easily into Wedge’s paternal arms, feeling Din’s eyes scour over him underneath the visor. “Listen, we don’t have much to go on, but the threats are coming, and they’ve got the jump on us. Is everyone in the control room?”

Wedge lets go of you, nodding, stepping forward to shake Din’s hand. Din, adorably, has absolutely no idea what to do, and when Wedge grabs him, you can sense the flinch before it even happens, and then something in him relaxes. “You must be Nova’s fiancé,” he says, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. Pleased to meet you…”

You know he’s waiting for a name, for something concrete, and you freeze, not knowing how to intervene, if Din can willingly reveal his identity, and right before you’re about to fake some sort of emergency to hurry Wedge along, Din’s hand clenches over his.

“Din,” he says, quietly, but his intention is vivid and strong. “You must be…Nova’s contact. Friend. In the Alliance.”

You nod. Wedge grins back. “I am. Wedge Antilles. We could use someone like you,” he tries, as the three of you move forward into the small gathering of people who are greeting you, welcoming you back in, “if you’re ever looking for a career change.”

You laugh under your breath, trying to imagine your calculated bounty hunter rushing immediately into battle like the rebels do, but Din’s helmet moves over towards you, then back to Wedge. “Well,” he sighs, “depending on how much of a threat these new forces are, I might be.”

“Anything associated with the Empire,” Wedge sighs, dragging a hand over his face, “is a threat worth fighting against. I should know,” he tacks on, opening the heavy door that leads to the inside of the base, “I used to work for them.”

Both of you whip around to study his face, his expression. Din doesn’t know Wedge well, but you do, and your eyebrows narrow, trying to decide if he’s joking or if he’s being level with you. Wedge isn’t someone who does anything without intention, so it seems like he’s genuinely telling the truth, but at the look at your startled expression, Wedge scratches his head. Under the faded, white light of the hallways, you can see more greying in his hair than you thought was there the last time you saw him up close.

“I’m from Corellia,” he reminds you both, quietly, as you let him go in head of you to direct your small group of people into the control room, “I didn’t have much of a choice. Got caught up in the Imperial Navy because I wanted to be in the air, flew a few missions before I realized how much death and destruction I was contributing to. Defected, never looked back, joined the Alliance.” There’s a small smile on his face. “I met Luke,” he offers, and you follow the way his mouth moves when he talks about Luke Skywalker—that same sort of urgent intimacy you detected in the flickering image of Luke on the holotable the last time you were here. For whatever reason, it makes your grin match his. You glance over at Din as you stride into the bigger room, watching how Wedge tucks his expression away for later, but you can tell his mind is still on Luke.

“Glad you got back safely,” one of the generals says. His voice is low, gruff, and he has facial hair that’s stark white. He’s intimidating, stone-faced, but he seems to genuinely be thankful for your presence, so you smile brightly over at him.

“Listen up,” Wedge calls, barely louder than his normal talking voice, but all the conversation around the room quiets almost immediately, everyone’s attention focused solely on him. “Nova’s back, not because she’s out of danger, but because it seems like we’re all about to be in a hell lot more of it. I know we’ve talked about this for years, but it seems like whatever was left in the Empire’s ashes is rising up stronger and quicker than we’ve kept our eyes on.” You nod, confirming his theory. “I know most of us are veterans,” Wedge continues, his eyes aglow, connecting with every single person in the room, “and I know that we’ve already lost so many battles, so I understand if you’re tired. If you want to walk away from this one,” he declares, leaning over the table, and you take stock of the circle gathered around, all clad in orange, determination written all over their faces, “I’ll understand. I won’t hold that against you. But if you’re not prepared to fight this next one, you need to leave this room now and go somewhere safe.” He raises his eyebrows. People exchange glances with one another, but not a single one of them budges. After a handful of seconds, making sure to account for any delayed reactions, Wedge nods. “That’s what I thought. Okay, Nova,” he says, turning to you, “for our remarkable lack of Force sensitivity and our living on the outskirts of this mess, you seem to be the forefront authority on what’s coming. Tell us everything you can.”

You swallow. You knew this was what you were coming here to do, to direct the Alliance in the right path, to give them the most explicit briefing on this new evil, but you step forward, your mouth going dry, You haven’t had to do this part in years, almost a decade, and you got used to hunting rather than defending, hiding rather than attacking. Din’s hand squeezes over yours, just once, and that fortifies you enough to open your mouth.

“I’ve seen every corner of this galaxy,” you start, wringing your hands together to try and muster up the right amount of information to give these people, these people who are fighting alongside you simply because of your word alone. “I was born into the Rebel Alliance, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to keep our world here free of evil. Even when I dropped out after my parents died,” you continue, voice shaking a bit with embarrassment at the naivety of leaving, “I shuttled people to safety, regardless of what they were running from. I got myself into a serious bit of trouble, and I narrowly escaped with my life. Then I met my fiancé,” you say, pointing to Din, “and I spent a lot of time figuring out my own power. I thought…I thought what I had was just me being me,” you say, vaguely, swatting at a loose piece of hair fluttering in your face, “but over the last year, I’ve learned that I have the Force. Like my son. Like Luke Skywalker.” You swallow, making a fleeting second of eye contact with Wedge. “I watched when General Skywalker and Wedge destroyed the first Death Star, and then I watched when the Rebels eradicated the evil from this galaxy, even though I was out on my own then.” You sigh, staring at the luminary solar system projected on the holotable, steeling yourself. “You did a great job,” you say, softly, trying your best to follow Wedge’s example by making eye contact with the rest of the generals and rebels in the room, “really, you did. You made this place safe for us to live in again, and you were brave during a time when I wasn’t. And whatever part of the Empire is left over,” you continue, voice gaining strength as you undo your crossed arms to lean slightly against the table, eyes focusing on the little locator on the Hoth base, blinking a blue YOU ARE HERE to the rest of the room, “it’s not because you weren’t thorough. It’s because the Empire was conniving and cunning, and was built upon decades of secret creation, and no matter how many parts we cut off, there’s always going to be one lurking under the surface.” You look at Din, then back to the others gathered around the table. “We thought Moff Gideon was the most dangerous lurking evil left. We were wrong.”

“Who else is there?” another woman asks. You faintly recognize her face, but you can see by the way that her laugh lines are written around her mouth that she’s at least a decade older than you are. “What did we leave over?”

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, rubbing the place where your eyebrows burrow, pinch together, “When I see things, in my visions…they’re not always exact. I saw Luke coming back to defeat Gideon’s troopers, and I saw our kid being taken, but they were always foggy, hazy. When we were back on Takodana,” you say, inhaling a deep breath, “I felt something there, too. But I could tell this time that it was a premonition, that what I was feeling was a threat in the future and not one I needed to be fighting in that exact moment. But there have been concrete examples,” you say, finding your rhythm again. “Stormtroopers, a whole regiment of them, except they weren’t like the ones that worked for Darth Vader.” You swallow. “I could tell by their uniforms that they didn’t quite belong to ones we’ve seen before, but beyond that, they’re precise. They attack with intention, and they’re nimble and fast. They daggered me with a tranquilizer dart twice,” you admit, “and nearly killed the both of us back on Takodana.”

“They kept threatening us,” Din says, and you whip around to face him. In these situations, in anything more than a handful of people in a social setting, he usually doesn’t speak a word. Even when weapons are drawn, he chooses to act rather than talk, and so you close your mouth and let him. “They told Nova they worked for a different boss. A scarier one. One more…dangerous, and formidable, than Gideon.”

“That’s what scares me,” you say softly, your finger tracing a soft line over the hairs of your eyebrow. “Usually, Empire thugs like to rule with a sense of superiority, to threaten us with specifics. But the mystery surrounding this whole thing is what’s different. It doesn’t feel like a new era of the Empire. It feels like something darker, more sinister, that they’ve been working on to replace it.”

The general, the one who welcomed you back, stares at you. “Do you have proof of that?”

You know he’s not trying to judge you, but you can hear it in his tone. “No,” you admit, honestly, “no, I don’t have any concrete evidence that this is something new coming out of the ashes of the Empire, but I can feel it.” You swallow, looking around at everyone, trying to gauge if they’ll dismiss your intuition. No one, not even the man who spoke, even lifts an eyebrow. “Look,” you say, leaning forward against the table again, “I’m not in charge here. Frankly, I really don’t know what I’m doing, except when it comes to fighting them off up in space out there. But that’s not enough, and they’ve been after me—and my family—for months, now, and this kind of defense isn’t what I’m good at. And I have almost no specifics, I just learned I was Force sensitive a few months ago, and I don’t know what we’re facing up against. I’m not Luke Skywalker,” you tack on, a bit desperately, noting the way that Wedge’s expressions shifts when you mention him, “I’m not even a real Jedi. But I’ve seen a lot,” you say, eyes focusing back on the holotable, “and this—whatever it is, whatever evil is coming—is a real threat. And I can’t face it alone.”

You press your lips together. You can feel Din’s eyes on your face from where only one cheek is turned in his direction. Wedge, finally, steps forward, meets you in the middle directly across from you. “You don’t have to,” he says, and it’s with such determination, such finality, that it makes you exhale what feels like a month’s worth of bated breath. “Look, we’re all coming from different places,” he continues, gesturing to the array of people and aliens in the room around you, “but we have one goal, and that’s making sure the Empire, or whatever this is, stays dead and gone. I can be the figurehead, if you need a leader,” he says, and you nod, relieved, “but you need to be the one keeping us updated.”

“I can do that.” You grin over at him, standing up a little straighter, “especially if I have the rest of you behind me.”

“Well, then,” Wedge says, smile spreading back across his face, so warm in such a freezing place, “consider this your official welcome back to the Rebel Alliance, Commander.”

Your smile fills up the entire lower half of your face. “Thank you, General Antilles.”

Wedge looks around the room, and when you join him, you see the brief moment of lightness being shared by the rest of you. “Nah,” Wedge says, finally, “with what we’re doing, we don’t need formalities. We’re the new legion of the Rogue Squadron,” he continues, and your eyes bloom with tears around the edges. That was your mother’s team when she flew in the Alliance, all the people she told stories of when the night crept in. “Let’s get started.”

And when everyone moves in around the table to devise a plan, you feel Din’s hand clasp in your own, and when he squeezes it, you know he’s as proud of you as your parents would be, and you stop running. It’s time to fight.

*

A handful of days pass. You and Din share an empty bunkroom, huddled up together to keep each other from freezing. He still doesn’t seem like he’s entirely comfortable here, but earlier in the night, he ate in the mess hall with you. Even though it was technically after hours, even though no one else was in the room, he kept his helmet off for longer than a second, took the time to really enjoy his food. Now, you’re both naked, snuggling, wrapping the warmth of the blankets around each other’s shoulders.

In the past three days, you and the Alliance have devised a plan. Your job—and Din’s, considering he swore to follow you anywhere—is to go out scouting for these new troopers, to try to gain any sort of reconnaissance you can gather without drawing attention to yourselves. Wedge and the rest of the fractured Alliance—the new Rogue Squadron—will fly in small numbers of three or four to the deserted Empire outposts and connect with other allies in the New Republic to try and find out anything concrete related to this new boss, this new threat. Tomorrow morning, you’re leaving to fly around the Outer Rim, trying to go as undercover as possible wherever you land next, disguising yourselves—and Kicker—enough to hopefully travel relatively undetected.

“What’s the next condition?” Din whispers, bringing your attention back to him, the way his hands roam over the small of your back as he pulls you in close to him, your bare skin pressed flush up against his.

“Condition two,” you answer, pressing your cold nose into his neck, “is that I don’t stay on the ship anymore. Neither do you. Whatever we’re fighting, we fight it together.”

“Deal,” Din says, sighing. “Nova, I hated leaving you behind. I never thought you were…a burden, or something I had to keep an eye on. I just knew how much danger you could be in, especially in the last few weeks before…” he trails off, and you know how he’s kicking himself.

“I know,” you echo, out loud. “I know you didn’t think I was a liability. But you never let me fight my own battles alongside you, and now that I’m the one who’s putting us both in the direct line of danger, I have to have an equal standing on the ground with you.”

Din nods in the dark. You feel your hair tangle in his scruff, still slightly damp from the shared shower you took together an hour ago. “No staying on the ship.”

“The third condition,” you continue, snuggling in closer, “is that you hold me until I fall asleep. No complaining, no take-backs.”

“Nova.”

You giggle, the sound a soft, melodic thing in the dark. “I’m only half kidding. But the real third condition is that we talk about things and make decisions together. Unless, of course, we’re in the heat of battle, and one of us leads by example.”

Din sighs. “That’s only fair,” he allows, and he pulls you closer. “Does that mean…?” he trails off, and even though you’re half asleep, you can feel the weight of his unasked question, so you shift under the blankets to stare up at where you think his face is, only navigating by knowledge and touch alone through the darkness. “The other day,” he continues quietly, directly into your ear, “you said that you thought that—that me leaving meant that I was breaking off our engagement.”

“Yeah,” you manage, heart hammering in your chest.

Din swallows. You can feel it, in the pitch black, the movement of his throat. You map out his movements, trying not to pull away until he’s fully asked what he needs to. “Did I?” he asks, finally, voice low, dejected.

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “I mean—you said you were coming back, but you left, and I didn’t know for how long. For a while, I…I acted like you were my ex, just to myself, so that I could try to protect myself from the hurt of it all, but…you told me you’re tied to me. I think I’m tied to you, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” you sigh, “you don’t have to win me back, anymore, but…if you wanted to propose to me again, I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea.”

You can feel Din smile, a ghost of a thing, through the sleepy darkness. His grip on you tightens, and then he turns to wrap his body around yours, trapping all the heat in. “Is that how we’re playing this?”

You’re asleep before you can answer.

*

When you leave the base, it’s with a game plan in one hand and breakfast in the other. You and Din are heading to Cantonica. You’ve never been—its main locus, Canto Bight, was always a pit of gambling and crime, and after Jacterr, you never wanted to see anything remotely seedy ever again—but they have cantinas and loudness and clothing, and Din promised you replacements for the ones he tore off of you the other night.

Kicker’s been repainted, which wasn’t the original plan, but the planets that allied, nondescript ships are on—Dantooine, Tatooine, Naboo—have already been through the ringer, and you don’t want to implicate anyone else in this war on the new Empire if you don’t have to. She’s still very obviously a starfighter that belongs to the legion of Alliance ships, but with the remodel, everything’s been painted over with white and grey, disguising the orange. You’re still in your jumpsuit, because it’s about the one intact article of clothing you have, but when you land on Cantonica, you’re going to go in the first store you see and buy up a few sets of trousers and tops. Your other jacket, the one you didn’t wear when Din left you, is still hanging up, and you throw that on too, trying to counteract all the orange.

“What’s the plan?” Din asks as you’re taking off, and you level Kicker up and out of the landing bay.

“New clothes,” you say, winking at him, “food, reconnaissance. Trying not to die. Do you have anything else to add to the list?”

He hooks his fingers under the rim of his helmet, pulls it off. You’re distracted, almost immediately, eyes roaming over the contours of his face, trying to drink it all in. “Trying not to die should come sooner,” Din mutters, and you can trace a small smile on his lips.

“Good point,” you allow, pushing Kicker into warp. “That should always be the first thing on the list.”

For a handful of hours, you coast, kicking your feet up on Kicker’s dashboard, talking and laughing. You’re amazed at how easy it is, how it feels like everything in between, the distance, the darkness, has fallen away as you’re coasting through the stars. When you touch down, your mouth hurts from grinning, and you navigate to the northern part of the city, trying to find the cheapest landing bay. If you park on the outskirts, the loaners are a lot less demanding, so you pass over your credits, eyes scouring the ground for any potential threats.

Canto Bight is glittering, loud. The architecture here is almost all curved and chrome, and it looks like a flashier version of Coruscant, something that you didn’t even think was possible. It’s enough to keep you jumpy, make your skin crawl, but you don’t want to look dodgy, even though you know that you are far from the sketchiest figure here.

You look out the front window. “We need to get me in something that’s not orange,” you remark, wrapping your cloak around your waist like a skirt, pulling your jacket over your upper half.

Din’s looking at the armor that he took off earlier, shininess strewn over the floor. You know he’s going through another internal battle, trying to decide what the least conspicuous choice is, and you hand him his cloak.

“Here,” you whisper, draping it up over around his face, so only the bottom half is visible. “You can wear your helmet if you want, but—”

“It’s like a big, reflective beacon,” Din sighs, and you nod, biting down on your lip. “I can deal with this. I won’t wear my full armor, either, but I’d like to keep the weapons in my wrist plates.”

“Good call.” You hand him back those specific pieces, pulling your own blaster from the small armory on the lift side of the ship, and both of you make a simultaneous grab for the Darksaber.

Din stares at it. You stare back. “I don’t like that thing,” he says, voice loaded with disdain.

“Why do you have it?” you ask, tilting your head as your eyes map over the metal, dark and wicked. “Why keep something that you hate so much?”

Din sighs again, long and low. You know there’s more to the story, and you want to know it, but you don’t want to push him. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain,” he starts, as you lower the gangplank, “when we have a bit more time and we aren’t trying to stay undercover.”

You nod, slipping the hood of your jacket over your head. “I’ll carry it,” you offer softly, and as it hangs from your belt, you can feel that power, the way it burns, even when the blade isn’t ignited.

Canto Bight is loud. Everywhere, it’s loud, from the cantinas that people spill out of onto the streets, to the stores that you restored your wardrobe at, to the way noise filters in through the strange architecture. Everything here is amplified. You hate it, but there’s something alluring about it, too. You’ve stuffed your jumpsuit in your bag, sporting black pants and a black shirt, a new, heavier shawl in swirling patterns of browns. It’s warm and it’s soft and you feel like you’re wearing a blanket.

Din looks uncomfortable. That seems to be his standard mode of operation without his armor, but he’s just as shifty and paranoid as you are. Back in the shop, he got a black face covering, so between the hood and the makeshift mask, only his eyes shine through. Gorgeous and brown, flitting and concerned.

You’ve been walking around for hours, trying to pick up any clues that might lead you back to whoever’s after you. There are more sketchy people on Cantonica than there are non-sketchy ones, but all the leads you’ve followed have just lead to underground fighting or drugs, and when they look at you, you can sense they don’t have that special kind of malice and ruthlessness that the Empire thugs after you do. Your stomach grumbles, loudly, and Din takes your hand and pulls you into the newest cantina.

“Eat,” he says, immediately shoving a menu in your face. “Please,” he tacks on, after, the second he gets a glimpse of your face.

You do. You order kebabs and steamed vegetables and whatever delicacies they have to offer, and the table fills with bulbous platters and plates of food. You know Din prefers to have his face to the room, but you take over his usual position so he can eat without anyone making eye contact. He scarfs his food down, but you have a feeling it has more to do with the energy of this place than fear of being seen.

“This may have been a bad plan,” you admit, after your tummy is swelling up with the hallmarks of good food. “This planet seems to have one dead end after another.”

“You wouldn’t survive a day as a bounty hunter,” Din remarks, and you lightly kick him under the table. “Most of what I do—did—was just sitting and waiting.”

“I,” you say, with a lofty air of pompousness, “prefer not to sit and wait.”

“You love sitting,” Din counters, and you narrow your eyes. You can see his flash with mischief, even under his cloak, even in the low light, and you know he’s right, but you also don’t want to give this one to him.

A beat passes, and then the new band in the cantina starts playing a swinging tune, upbeat and jazzy, and you grin over at him, sliding out of your bench, heading straight for the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” Din hisses, hand closing over your wrist. “We’re supposed to—”

“Believe it or not,” you whisper back, nimbly plucking your hand free, “I can dance without revealing my identity. Most of these people in here are disguised. No one’s going to look at me twice.”

“Nova—”

“If you’re afraid,” you say, voice lowered, “you can just follow me out there and shield me.” This shakes him, you can tell. You wink, sauntering out onto the dance floor. You weren’t exaggerating. This place is full of people who don’t show their faces, and most of them are just swaying to the beat, moving and writhing out on the chromatic floor, spinning underneath the lights and colors. You haven’t danced in ages. Since you were first out on your own, before Coruscant became the place you almost died, you’d go out with friends you met in the cantina the day before, just to have someone to go with. When you were still traveling with Grogu, you’d spin around the Crest, trying to get him to move alongside you, but that wasn’t real dancing. Here, though, here in Canto Bight with your shawl obscuring your identity, you dance. Really, truly dance, your hips undulating, your arms moving to the beat, twirling and jiving underneath the lights, getting lost in the dance floor.

You can feel Din staring at you. A few times, you try to make eye contact with him, shimmying your hips suggestively, gesturing for him to join you, but he just sits there like he’s frozen. The tune changes, something slightly slower radiating for the band, the lead singer’s voice crooning and sultry. You close your eyes, trying to feel the music, only focus on the notes, the symphony.

Someone’s behind you. You sigh, a small groan, whipping around to face them. The man is tall, an orange tint to his skin, and you can tell he’s not fully human.

“I like a woman who knows how to dance,” he says, eyes lingering just a touch too long on the contours of your body.

“I do know how to dance,” you agree, “and I prefer to do it alone.”

“C’mon gorgeous,” he whispers, slimily, moving closer. You can feel his leg as it brushes yours, and you jerk away, knowing that your blaster is just on your thigh, that you can pull it out and knock him with it if he wants to try and touch you again. “Give me one dance. Let me take you for a ride.”

“No,” you say, heart flipping over, “I’m good, thanks.”

Quickly, before you can register, he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you around, fingers slithering into your belt loops, forcefully pulling your ass back to grind into him. The motherfucker’s hard. You take a second to respond, trying to decide between shooting him in the foot or kicking him in the groin, and when your gaze flits over to where Din’s sitting at the table, he’s not there anymore.

“Let go of me,” you say, “this is your final warning.”

“I’m just trying to dance with a pretty girl,” he whispers into your ear, and his pointer finger slips into the waistband of your pants, not quite prying into your panties, but you’ve had it. He’s going to get kicked where the sun don’t shine and you’re going to shoot his foot. You bring up your own, hard, between his legs, pointing the reinforced tip of your boot right where you know it’s going to hurt the most, and he starts yowling.

“I said, don’t fucking touch me,” you say, pulling your blaster out, trying to remain calm. The music is loud, everyone around you still dancing, without paying you any mind.

“You crazy bitch,” he says, still on the ground, trying to grab for your leg. You shoot his hand, just to stun him, and the blast gives him an electric shock. “I could have been the best you’d ever had if you gave me a fucking chance—”

“She’s spoken for.”

Din materializes, out of nowhere, and you look over at him, both relieved he’s here and annoyed that he didn’t trust you to fight this battle yourself. The man gets off the ground, swings at Din, and pushes his other hand onto you, his fingers dragging down the material of your shirt to the bare bones of your cleavage, fingernails digging over the fabric into your scar. You narrow your eyes and plant your boot on the side of his face, stomping him into the ground as hard as you can.

“I can speak for myself, you know,” you say, more to Din than the man, and when the fucker on the ground tries to grab for you again, you’ve had it. You’re exhausted from walking around, you’re tired from being chased to the corners of the galaxy, and you are so fucking sick of men trying to tell you where you belong. “But yeah, you creep, I’m taken. And if you don’t try to be a bit more respectful to other girls—if we leave you alive for long enough to hit on one again—you’re going to get hurt worse. Because I’m one of the nicer ones in this galaxy, and I didn’t shoot your face off on sight.”

He starts swearing at you, and Din moves, lightning fast, to grab a platter of fresh food off a nearby standing table, whacks the guy across the face. You see him spit out a few teeth as he’s knocked bloody and unconscious, and even though you know that it’s a better treatment than he deserves, heads turn wildly to the sound and the violence, and it doesn’t help that the band was in between songs and the only ruckus in the cantina is you and Din beating a creep into the ground.

People stare. You look at Din, who’s frozen, again, face still obscured under his clothes, but you can tell how hard this is. You don’t react, just take his hand and firmly pull him behind you, running out of the heat in the cantina into the cooler night. People are calling after you, and you know it’s probably not the wisest move to make a scene and then immediately cut and run, especially when you’re trying to stay undercover and not show anyone you’re the Force sensitive girl and her ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, but it doesn’t matter if Din’s not safe.

So you run, and you pull him with you. After a few blocks, you pull him around the corner of one of the strange, curved buildings, hiding in a small alley so that if anyone’s on your trail, they won’t be able to see you in the dark. Your breath is heaving, you can feel scratches over your scar, and you’re sweating, trying to cool down enough to take in air.

“Are you okay?” you ask gently, and Din nods, even though he’s stiff. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” you exhale, heavily, “then you can tell me why you didn’t trust me to fight my own battle back in there when we just had the conversation about us being equals out here.”

Din looks back at you. Even in the dark, even with his face still half-obscured, you can see the guilt in his eyes. “Nova, I—”

“I know you were trying to protect me,” you sigh, dropping to the ground, pulling your shawl off your neck so you can press it against the coolness of the building. “I get that. And I’m thankful for it. But I’m not the same girl that needed you to kill every single thing that meant her harm a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Din says, his voice low but clear. “I—you’re right. I didn’t think. I saw that man touch you and I wanted to drop him right there, and I wasn’t paying enough attention to you handling it on your own.”

You smile. “Thank you,” you whisper, and then he’s standing over you, and you stare up at him, glorious and gorgeous even in the low light. “What are you doing?”

“Figuring out how to make it up to you,” Din whispers, and you let him pull you to your feet. “Would you rather be bent over backwards in this alley, or be eaten out for hours back on the ship?” His lips meet your neck, and everything is warm. You sigh, a small moan of a thing, feeling him write apologies with his tongue on your pulse point.

“Is both an option?” you manage, voice all breathy and high, and when he sinks his teeth into you to leave you with a hickey, something flashes in front of your eyes. For a second, you think it’s just the blinding light of pleasure, but when you try to flutter your eyes open, something’s there, obscuring you. A figure in a long, dark robe. Then flashes of light, red and blue, and your own mouth open and screaming, even though you haven’t moved. There’s something so unsettling about watching yourself move, watching yourself strike with light exploding out from around you, unable to warn yourself there’s someone behind you, unable to make yourself run away, and you yell again, except it’s coming from your own mouth instead of the one in the vision.

This breaks you out of it, just a bit, but you can feel yourself start running. Here, in your present day, feet hitting the pavement, even though your head is still in the vision. Whoever is attacking you is ruthless, lethal. The lightsaber you have at your side is no comparison to the evil behind you, and you run and run and run, swinging your arms, trying to use the Force in any desperate way that you can, and then you run into something.

You struggle. Hard. And then your eyes clear, and you can open them, and you see Din in front of you. Immediately, you stop kicking, You can see panic in his eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, pulling you off the ground, wiping away the dirt kicked up in your attempt to get away from whatever that vision was.

“I—” you start, looking around wildly, “I had a premonition. Vision. Dream. Usually, when I have them, I’m in my own body, but I was watching myself this time. It—I’m okay. I’m sorry,” you say, looking back to him, trying to coax your hammering heartbeat back to its resting temperature. “We need to go back to the ship, I need to report this to Wedge—”

“Breathe first,” Din says, eyes darting around before he pulls his own cloak down. You stare at him, register his gentle but firm touch on your forearms, looking into his deep, brown eyes, trying to ground yourself. You nod, exhaling through your mouth, and, finally, you’re back at your baseline. When the two of you start slowly making your way back through the chromatic buildings, trying to find where you parked the skip, you take a few wrong turns and run into a handful of people.

One’s wearing brown, nondescript except for the seedy look on his face. Two are stormtroopers, one who’s pocketing a bag of spice. And the last man is the one you and Din just stomped on back in the cantina. You inhale, trying to step back undetected, but when you move, you feel the white armor of another trooper.

“We didn’t see anything,” you start, and the man who grabbed you in the club steps forward, grin evil and full of black holes from the teeth Din knocked out.

“I didn’t know you were so valuable, sweetheart,” he leers at you, moving forward. Din lunges, but he’s knocked back by the man in brown, and without his armor, he slams into the building, losing his balance. “If I had known you were worth this much money, I would have traded you straight in to the bounty hunters myself.”

“Could have saved a few teeth,” you say, cracking your neck to the side. “Shame you didn’t know beforehand.”

He moves closer to you. He’s gaunt and horrible in the moonlight, and the dried blood on his mouth looks like a gaping wound if you don’t fixate on it. You swallow. “What do you want,” you whisper, low and tired, positing it to the general group. “You want to turn me in? Get money for me? Why’re you after me in the first place?” You clock Din getting to his feet. The man in all brown strikes at him again, and Din dodges it. The troopers just stand there, holding you in place, while the man you attacked grins again, a broken smile full of venom.

“It’s not my place to ask questions,” he says, leering, “only to take you in.”

You sigh, looking up at the troopers holding you. Their uniforms are much more standard, rounded, normal. You can tell by action alone that they aren’t the ones working for whoever the new boss is, but you try it anyway. “How about you guys?” you ask, blowing a puff of air to get your hair out of your face, “why do you want me?”

You can see Din in your peripheral vision. You think he’s hurt, seriously hurt, but when you catch his eye, you know that he’s just faking it until you’re ready to jump into action. He’s righting his wrongs. You have the helm.

“Legend has it,” one says, voice strange through the modulator, “that you have the ability to use the Force. And that you,” he says, pointing at Din, “are the Mandalorian who almost died in the fight against Moff Gideon.”

“So what if we are?” you ask, and the man in front of you steps closer. Maker, he’s the worst. You can feel how hard the troopers are holding you back, so you try to relax, to get one hand free to call the saber into it when you’re ready. “What do you want with us? Why are there bounties on our heads?”

“You,” the man you attacked whispers, coming close enough that you can smell the vile blood on his breath, will be worth something invaluable to the Order.”

“Yeah?” you ask, brining your chin upward, trying to look frightened, to milk them for all the information they have. “What order?”

He grins. “With your power? We’ll use you over and over again, sweetheart.”

You’ve had enough. You sniff, hair in your eyes, and when he bends down to inspect you, you bring your head up, hard, under his chin. He cries out in pain, and you throw the Darksaber over to Din, who ignites it, cuts the man in brown down to the ground. You’re not sure if the severing of his arm was enough, but you dart and pull through the troopers, trying to use your size to your advantage. They tower over you, and even though you aren’t the nimblest or fastest, you’re good at getting on the ground and kicking the shit out of whatever else is above you. You roll and twist, and one trooper grabs you by your neck, the other one taking a crack at your knee. You yell in pain, and you close your eyes, throwing one against the wall, evading the other trooper’s arms.

“Now!” you yell to Din, and you watch as the Darksaber flies, fully ignited, through the air. You catch it like you’re built for it, and you twist around to go back-to-back, you swiping at the man in front of you, Din pulling the blaster off your hip to use on the two troopers.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” the man spits, and you cry out as you slash at him, moving him back against the wall. “Even if you kill us, nothing will change. You want to know what the Order is?”

“I have decided that I don’t care,” you seethe, swiping at his foot. He’s quicker than you are, somehow, and he’s able to predict your movement. He cracks at your hand, and you yell, tossing the saber back over your shoulder to Din, grabbing the blaster out of his outstretched palm.

“It’s going to be even bigger,” he says, grabbing at your neck, and you shoot him in the foot like you should have back in the cantina. Howling, he falls back, but he’s still yelling at you. Behind you, you hear the cries of the troopers, and then silence. Din tosses the saber back, unlit, and you ignite it in your hand. You’re not great at this. You’re making mistakes. But you’re here, fighting your own battles, and you have your weapon against the bastard’s throat, the man you love in waiting behind you to back you up if need be. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

“More thugs?” you ask, pointing the tip of the saber underneath his chin. “I think I can handle that.”

He grins at you, blood spilling out of his slimy lips. “What died didn’t stay dead, little girl,” he whispers, and Din ducks under your outstretched arm to hold your blaster up, firm and strong, looking at the guy with pure hatred. “The Dark Side is coming for you. You’re never going to win.”

“Watch me,” you say, and then Din puts a bullet through his chest. “Fourth condition,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “you don’t let me fall.”

Din stares at you. “Okay,” he starts, and then you feel your consciousness fade back out into a vision, and before you land on the ground, Din’s holding you up. You can see it—the same scene as before—flashes of blue and red light, screaming. You’re on the other side, this time, watching yourself battle against something dark and faceless.

“Go!” you hear yourself scream, reverberating, and the you that you’re watching explodes in light. It’s so bright that you have to turn away. You cry out, and when you turn around, Luke Skywalker is staring you straight in the face. Except he’s not blonde, anymore, he’s old and grey and there’s a haunted look in his eyes. “Go,” he repeats, and presses something into your hand. Your eyes fly back open before you can make sense of it.

You come back like hurtling out of a dream. You gasp, and Din lets you down, gently, onto the ground. “Cyar’ika,” he says, and you can hear how scared his voice is. He pushes your hair out of your eyes, and you stare back at him in the moonlight, trying to get your bearings. “Novalise, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly, and then you hear a noise from behind you. You duck when the first round of artillery comes. It’s not stormtroopers, at least—it looks like angry villagers, maybe a militia they’ve formed to keep outsiders in check. Din’s hand is clasped in yours and he’s pulling you behind him, throwing the saber through the air until you can catch it in your palm. When you ignite it, you see the people balk, and it’s enough for them to step back to give you both the leeway to run. You have no idea where you’re going. There’s absolutely no indication where you are in the city. Din twists and turns, but the group is gaining speed, and they’re on your heels. They’re yelling, jeering, and the only thing in your head is the voice of the man who touched you, whispering what died didn’t stay dead. You’re cold, but it has nothing to do with the chill of the night.

You’re on the ground before you realize you’ve been shot. You yelp the second it registers, a slug buried in your calf. Din lifts you up and keeps moving, until another gun points at him and sinks one into his shoulder. He yells out, too, and both of you are just moving, running wildly away from your attackers. The second you spot Kicker, you ignite the Darksaber again, slashing at the closest men on your heels. Din ducks in front of you, pulls the blaster out, and keeps shooting as you climb the gangplank and get up the ladder. For a second, a slow, agonizing second, Kicker doesn’t start. And then you hear Din get shot again.

“No!” you cry, scrambling back down the ladder, brandishing the Darksaber. “Get away from him,” you say, voice as level as you can possibly make it. Din is gasping on the gangplank, bleeding profusely out of something on his chest.

The main raises the gun and you use the Darksaber to slice his arm clean off. You gasp at what you’ve done, staring at your hand, trying to reconcile how even your pulse is, how your palm isn’t even shaking. As Kicker bursts into life, you pull Din up the gangplank, scaling the ladder long enough to punch the coordinates of open space into the navigation system, and then sliding back down with a bacta kit to fix whatever’s bleeding.

“Fifth condition,” you say, voice shaking, “you wear your armor no matter how dangerous it is, because you are not allowed to leave me again.”

“Deal,” Din manages, weakly. You wrangle off his shirt. The bullet is lodged in between two of his ribs, but it doesn’t look like he’s nicked a major artery, so you breathe a sigh of relief as you begin to clean the wound. “I’ve already told you, I’ll follow you anywhere—”

“That,” you interrupt, “doesn’t matter if you fucking die on me.”

“Well,” Din starts, hissing the second the alcohol burns into his skin, disinfecting the wound, his stomach contracting. You stare at the pockmarks of all the other scars you’ve patched up. “That’s a—fuck—a good point,” he agrees, finally, and you carefully apply the bacta patch. The second it’s secured, you look around to his other injuries, scanning for anything else life-threatening, and then Din’s pushing himself up on the heels of his hands.

“No,” you protest, “not a good idea—”

“You’re shot,” he reminds you, and your eyes follow his all the way down to the bullet lodged in the muscle of your leg.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, distantly, “I am.” Silently, you assume your regular position—staring over at Din while he works, quiet—and when you feel Kicker shoot safely out of Cantonica’s atmosphere, you breathe a tiny sigh of relief. “Condition six,” you sigh, “is that we keep patching each other up after we’re being shot at.”

“That just seems like common sense,” Din mutters, and when you catch his eyes, he manages a soft smile. “Is that the last condition?” he continues, injecting you with the bacta shot before he bandages the wound, “because that seems like a notable place to end on.”

“I don’t know,” you say, softly, feeling the buzz of the bacta coursing slowly through your veins. Your face stretches into a smile, even though you know it won’t be the last one. But here, now, after you just fought off five men together, before you’re about to rendezvous with the rest of the New Rogue Squadron to try and stop whatever evil is coming, you think you both deserve a safe place to land. “I don’t know if that’ll be the last one. But I’ll tell you,” you sigh, adjusting, pulling him in closer, “after you marry me.”

Din stares at you. “I thought I was supposed to propose again—”

“Beat you to it,” you slur, “marry me, Mandalorian.”

He laughs. A real laugh, a genuine one. Maker, it’s the most glorious sound you’ve ever heard. He bends down to kiss you. He tastes like home. “Okay,” he whispers, tipping his forehead gently against yours. “But there’s something I have to tell you first.”

“Oh, Maker,” you sigh, feeling the bacta about to take its full effect, struggling up on your hands to face him. “Do you have another family that you haven’t told me about?”

“That…depends on what you mean by family,” Din says, slowly. Even through your drugged haze, you feel the weight of it. You sit up straighter, staring at him. “Earlier, you asked why I have the Darksaber.”

“Yeah,” you answer, eyebrows furrowing down the middle.

“Well,” Din continues, sighing, pulling it off of your belt, “I have it because I won it in battle with Gideon. And much to Bo-Katan’s dismay—and mine—apparently, that means it’s mine until someone else wins it from me.”

“I—what?” you ask, trying to shake away the fuzzy feeling, “what are you saying to me?”

“I’m saying,” Din emphasizes, sighing, looking down at the Darksaber in his hand, “that I don’t have a secret family, and I’m never leaving you again, but…”

“What?” you repeat.

“I accidentally became the ruler of Mandalore,” Din admits. “And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then the bacta kicks in and everything fades to black.

*

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as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!!

I HOPED YOU LOVED IT!!!! this chapter spanned over so much, but it was a joy to write. i took a lot of little liberties here and there with fudging the og star wars plot/timeline, but it's all to set up the sequel, and i promise if it seems like it's moving quickly, there's going to be more plot points described in way more depth later on! <3

SOME NOTES:

1. i do not know when SM will be over (i have this last arc to finish up & stuff to introduce for the sequel) but as soon as i know when we're nearing the end, i will let y'all know here & on tiktok (padmeamydala)!

2. yes i am pushing the wedgeluke agenda. they are in love. if you guys are picking up ~vibes~ it's because they're there. wedgeluke romantic subplot because, well, i want to and i love writing about my favorite little fruit luke skywalker & it's been so fun to write my interpretation of wedge!!

3. i've gotten a few comments and messages that are very critical of Nova and the way she's acting. i want her to have depth, and sometimes being a little selfish or not immediately rushing to convey messages to the Alliance when she's dealing with heavy and/or emotional experiences comes along with that! you are, of course, entitled to your opinions on Nova/her characterization/SM in general, and it's more than okay to voice those opinions to me, but please just know that she's written the way she is because she's coming into her own (and the girl has been through the RINGER lol), and she's flawed because i want her to have depth and her own merits, more than just a reader insert character or a love interest, because she's going to have much more of her own personality in the sequel. please just be respectful of me and my work, and please voice whatever you want to say with kindness <3

CHAPTER 28 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, JULY 3RD @ 7:30 PM EST!!!!

xoxo, amelie

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