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no-droids · 3 years

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Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Rapacious - rə-ˈpā-shəs- excessively grasping or covetous, living on prey, ravenous

(A rapacious appetite only for you my doll)

Hello and welcome to my first formal collab with the lovely @lady-bakuhoe Our thirsty dms finally turned into a full blown collab where our writing melds into one. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

✧Triggers and Warnings ✧

Pro Hero Dynamight, aged up AU, adult themes, such as intense sexual interaction, yandere behavior, mind break (?), branding, and dub con. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read any further. Thank you.

The snow comes down heavily, beautifully as it sticks and clings to anything it can. Blanketing the outside world in an unsullied shimmer bringing a smile to your face as you watch the sun dip low over the horizon. The light painting the world in stunning reds and pinks as it filters in through your bay window that faces the street. A small shiver runs through your spine as you wait impatiently for your warm tea, convincing yourself that the chill has nothing to do with your outfit. An oversized Red Riot t-shirt, a pair of black dolphin shorts and black thigh high socks, it was comfortable and you felt cute. Even if it was just for yourself, besides what else would one wear to their solo Netflix binging? Surely not pants.

A rapid knock comes at the door. Harsh, precise as you jump out of your skin, nearly dropping your mug.

Lifting your cell phone to check the time, wondering who could be knocking at this hour, it was far too late for any visitors and it surely wasn't the post. The icy snow ensured that most people would be snuggled into their couches with a warm cup of tea, tucked away from the harsh weather. Much like you were trying to do, maybe if you ignored it the unsuspecting visitor would move on.

But another sharp knock echoes around your living room, urging your feet to move. You pad through your small townhouse, trying to get a glimpse through the window only for the unwanted guest to be standing just out of view. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the thick oak door, debating on whether to open it or not as another knock sounded from the other side. Curiosity with a hint of fear compels your fingers as you click your door onto the chain latch. Opening it slightly, looking out between the crack in the door to see who it was.

“H-hi.” Your eyes caught sight of the man outside your house, pupils widening in surprise at the sight of him. Messy ash blond spikes on top of his head as his hair faded to a low buzz cut at the sides, “Dynamight?”

The man's scowl morphed into a smirk at your recognition, obviously proud that you knew who he was, his vermilion eyes glistening in the light gleaming from your house as you moved to take the door off the security latch, opening it fully so you could see him properly. His gaze immediately drank you in, glancing at the thigh high socks that hugged your thighs as he made his way up to the hem of your shirt, cherishing the exposed skin of your upper thighs until he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His nostrils flaring slightly at the sight of his best friend's face across your chest. It should be his.

“My car broke down.” He motioned to the car that now sat motionless at the end of your drive, fresh snow already falling and covering its windscreen, “Can I come inside?”

"Oh, um…" You're hesitant, technically you didn't know Dynamight but he was a pro hero. That meant he could be trusted right? Snow sticks to his blonde strands and shoulders. His hands and nose were a little red making it seem as if he had been in the cold a touch too long. Swallowing your fear you take a step back from the door, arm gesturing for him to come in. Silently elated he steps in as if he owns the place. What were the odds he would end up at your doorstep?

"Um, can I offer you some coffee? Coco? Tea?" Your voice sounds small, stupid. Nervousness prickles over your skin as he sinks into your couch.

"Tea is fine." His voice is silky and foreign in your warm home. He watches you with sharp eyes as you reach for a mug. Your short shorts ride up just a bit as your shirt gives him a tease of your back.

Meanwhile you're buzzing from head to toe, THE one and ONLY Dynamight, the man you'd been dreaming of since his debut, the only face and voice that you ever imagined when your hands ventured into your soaked panties, was here. In your home, sitting on your couch and oh Gods...Which blanket did you have out? Was it his that you sprayed with his line of cologne so you would feel less lonely in your apartment?

The kettle howls pulling you violently back to the task at hand. Should you ask him how he'd like his tea? You already know how he likes it, having read it in a magazine once committing it to memory in case you ever met him. But would that come off too strong? You settle on making it perfectly in hopes it would paint you in the light of a "great hostess." You grab onto the cup and turn to face the ill tempered hero head on.

He turns away in time, relaxed on your couch as you offer him his cup. He takes it from your hands, his cool fingers brushing against yours. He takes a sip, peering at you over the rim. His vermillion eyes cause your stomach to flip as you nervously twist the hem of your shirt. His eyes rake over you with a smirk before they land on your worrying hands and that damned Red Riot shirt. Suddenly you're hyper aware of your inappropriate outfit, tugging your shirt over your exposed skin.

His large palm settles on your thigh, starling you.

"The outfit isn't the problem. I just think you look much better in my shirt." He tugs at the hem, "Maybe you should take this one off."

“W-what?” You stammered, your body instinctively shrinking away from his touch.

“There’s just something about the way my face looks stretched against those tits.” He smirked, taking a sip of the warm mug before slipping it into your coffee table.

“What do you mean?” Confusion evident in your tone. What was he talking about? Your Dynamight merchandise? How would he have any idea about how much of a fan you were of him, just how many of his shirts sat in your closet right now.

“Don’t act all coy.” Bakugou continued, turning his body to face yours on the couch, a dark look in his vermillion eyes as his fingers danced higher up your exposed thigh, feeling a warmth begin to seep from his palm as his cool calloused fingertips dig into your skin, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I assure you, Dynamight.” Bakugou groaned at the way his hero name sounded spilling from your lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Every day you’re out there being a fuckin’ tease.” He growled, biting your lip as you felt his blunt fingernails digging into the plush of your thigh, “Prancing around in these short fuckin’ shorts and my shirts.”

Wait, had he seen you wearing his merch before? Had he seen you in his clothes? How? You were certain he’d never seen the multiple selfies you’d take of yourself to upload onto social media, always too scared to tag your favourite Hero. Instead proclaiming your love for him shamelessly on your socials, gushing about how he was the perfect hero. Still, even if he was lurking on your accounts, he couldn't possibly remember someone as lowly as you.

“You knew I was watching you, didn’t you?” He snarled, his other hand moving up to palm your breast through your shirt, the action catching you by surprise as you gasped, “You wanted me to see you acting like such a slut.”

“N-no, Dynamight. I wasn’t-” You stammer as you think back, trying to remember all of the times you thought you felt a weighted gaze on you. Only to look over your shoulder to find nothing before submerging yourself back into your mundane world.

"Wasn't what? You mean you weren't trying to show the whole neighborhood your ass when you bent over 'pulling weeds'?" His palm becomes uncomfortably hot as his voice dips lower, lips brushing your ear as you drown in his spiced caramel scent.

"Maybe you heard about your new neighbor Pro Hero Red Riot, wanted to show off for him? Or maybe you're just a slut who loves the attention?"

Your blood runs cold, icy despite his burning palm, you swallow thickly as he continues to recite your summer as if reading from a list.

"You know exactly what you're doing don'tchya? So many men have changed their jogging route to include your street, even if it is well out of their way. They slow their pace in front of your house when you're outside. Bent over, head lost in your garden and your skin tight shorts show your plump lips, your thick thighs and that supple, soft ass. Tits almost falling out from your crop tops as you must refuse to wear a bra. But you're such a good girl, reminding everyone who you belong to when you wear those shorts with my name across the ass."

He leans away from you to hold your gaze. A shiver runs up your spine, you had never posted those shorts. The fan made ones that say "Bakugou's" across the ass, fuck how did he-?

He reads the question across your face, a nasty smirk dances on his cruel lips as he takes delight in the fear that blows your pupils wide.

"I've been watching you Princess." You feel your heart beating out of your chest at the realisation, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

You didn’t.

“That’s why you put on such a show for me every time, isn’t it?”

You hadn’t noticed your favourite Pro-Hero had been watching you all this time. You were beyond excited when Red Riot had moved into the neighbourhood, wishing you’d catch a glimpse of him each time you left your house. Getting up early some mornings just to see the red head stretching for his morning run, his muscles taut across his thick frame. But not once had Bakugou been anywhere in sight. You were sure you'd remember the ash blonde standing next to your second favorite hero.

“You do it on purpose.” Bakugou growled, his hand moving to your exposed waist, stroking against your naked skin as his fingers dipped underneath your top, “It turns you on doesn’t it? Everyone looking at your slutty little body.”

“No, please. It doesn’t- I’m not.” You tried to move away from him, but he already had your body trapped between the arm of the couch and his large, muscular frame.

“All those eyes on you and you don’t give a fuck.” Bakugou’s large palm grasps your round breast, groaning when he feels your nipple pebbled underneath his touch, “You want everyone to see you.”

Before you have a moment to object, to tell him how wrong he is, his lips are already against yours in a sultry kiss. Your mind hazy as he immediately prods your lips with his tongue, desperate for entrance as he invades your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening, The Dynamight was inside your house. Your entire body burning as his heat engulfed you, this was something you’d dreamed about more than you could recollect. The amount of nights you’d touched yourself to the thought of his hands dancing across your body. Trying to imagine how it would feel to be completely ravaged by him, but now that he was here in the flesh you were nervous. The reality of the situation slowly consumes your body as your heart beats with more intensity.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Bakugou rasps huskily as he tugs your shirt up and over your breasts, his vermilion eyes taking in the sight of your exposed chest to his prying eyes, “Even better than I imagined.”

You nervously tried to move your arms to your chest, trying to hide your body from his burning gaze, but his hand was quick to grab your wrist, tugging your arm away with a glare, “Don’t.”

You averted your eyes from his own, biting your bottom lip as he lowered his face to your chest. His tongue tentatively coming out to lap around your darkened areola, closing his lips around your hardened nipple as he began to suck on the tender skin. Your head falling onto the back of the couch as you let out a low whine, one of your hands coming up to brush through his buzzed undercut, stroking against the spiky hair as you arched your back into his touch.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this, sweetheart.” He murmured around your nipple, his warm breath fanning against your skin as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. An airy gasp leaving your parted lips at the sensation as you involuntarily arched your back into his touch, “Every fuckin’ time I saw you-”

Wait? Every time he saw you? How often did he seek out your address? How many times did his crimson eyes burn into your skin without your noticing?

Your eyes dart to the large bay window, holding eye contact with yourself as you stare at your reflection. A pitiful and clear sight as the blonde's hands groped your exposed tits. If the pro hero was brazen enough to peer through your unobstructed window, just how many other eyes fall onto you?

“When I saw you in my signed debut Dynamight shirt, I knew I had to have you.” His lips curving into a grin against your skin as his tongue lapped at your hardened nipple, rolling the other one between his thumb and forefinger, “There’s just something about the sight of you in my clothes.”

At the mention of your rare signed shirt your body goes rigid, numb. If he had seen you in the shirt you mostly kept tucked away for safekeeping, he had seen everything hadn't he?

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Princess.” He released your nipple with a pop, palming your breast with a grin as he pressed his lips against your own, “Weren’t shy when you were putting on a show for everyone, were you?”

Your bottom lip trembled at the suggestion, worrying it between your teeth as you felt Bakugou lean forward to grab your wrist in a large hand, the scent of his quirk filling the air as you felt the heat radiating from his palm. Vermilion eyes glancing down at your half-lidded ones, a glazed expression over your features as you focused on his touch.

“Look at what you fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart.” Bakugou tightened his grip on your wrist, moving your hand towards his crotch. His cock bulging against his pants, desperate to be released as he lay your palm against him. Gasping at the sensation as your palm made contact with the fabric, feeling just how hard he was for you underneath the denim.

All the while his thoughts are consumed by you, your smell, the look of surprise on your face. The feel of your skin against his and the heat of your breath tickling his ear when he pins you to the couch.

All of the things he'd been imagining for the last few months. Your small hand against his large, twitching cock. Even through the fabric your warmth is hypnotizing, drawing him in and captivating him with every inch of you.

Bakugou's problem is that he can be greedy, hungry for more. Wanting nothing but the best and much like his sun sign, once he had his eyes set on something nothing could overcome his stubborn ambition. Not even the small look of fear in your eyes but even he can see that it is fading, melding into desire. He watches your fingers flutter, teasingly trying to figure out just how big and girthy he really was. Your heart races as you stare into his clouded vermillion eyes. Blood running hot as your mouth salivates, imagining the same thing he is.

How does it taste?

You let out a soft whine, fingers prodding at the head earning you a borderline feral growl.

"Quit being a fucking tease and take it out, Princess." He groans, you freeze at his bold request.

"B..but…" He crowds you as your protests die in your throat. His lips brushing against your ear as he breathes in your sweet shampoo.

"But what Princess? Scared I'll fuck you stupid?" He nips at the shell of your ear, chuckling darkly when you shiver, "Or are you scared you'll get addicted to how I taste?"

"T-taste?"

"Aw look at you acting all fuckin shy?" He squeezes your thighs with a deadly grip, fingers creeping between them, "You weren't so shy last week sitting in this spot were you?"

You freeze as you think back to last week, knowing exactly what you were doing, eyes glancing over his broad shoulder to see the snow coming down in sheets through the large bay windows. You thought you were high enough and far enough away from the road, there, there was no way he saw right?

His fingers press against your clothed sex, rubbing rough circles unable to keep the deadly smirk off of his lips.

"Your phone in one hand and your other right here. Or maybe," He moves the dark fabric to the side, sliding his fingers to your clit, "It was here."

You bite back your moans as the rough pad of his fingers circle your clit, just barely grazing over it in an agonizing purposeful fashion.

"What were you watching again? Amateur porn right? POV with the guy's face hidden but he was in a knock off Dynamight suit wasn't he?" He pulls back to watch your face, twisting with pleasure and horror, body arching towards his touch as your head swims. Cunt clenching as he dips closer to your core for slick.

"And what did that slutty mouth say?" His smile is cocky, holding eye contact. Silence sits between the two of you as your eyes flutter. He pulls his hand away from your throbbing clit, squeezing against your pulse point.

"I asked a question, Kitten. Now answer it." His voice is dark.

"Dy-Dynamight." You gasp out, he ruts his hips against your leg.

"Again." His free hand slips back between your folds, fingers setting a rapid pace that already has you teetering on the edge already.

"Dynamight!"

"Again. Say my name again." His fingers work you over as the coil unexpectedly snaps in your stomach.

"Katuskiiii." You gasp and whine, shamefully cumming all over his thick digits. He groans, shoving his fingers into your cunt to feel you grip onto him, he cannot wait to feel that pretty pussy molding to his aching cock.

But he would wait, for now.

"Good girl." He praises, pulling his fingers from your core, licking up them. Savoring your essence as you watch his eyes flutter paying you a high compliment. In quick motions he throws a pillow onto the solid hardwood floor, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you onto the plush cushion. His free hand undoing his belt with deft fingers before he pulls his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free, the head leaking precum as you lick your lips.

"You're gonna keep being a good girl for me right, Princess?" He coos, dragging his cock across your lips, smearing his sweet and salty pre from cheek to cheek.

"Fuck do you know how long I've been dreaming of your lips around my cock?" He groans, pulling your hair back to force eye contact.

"How, how long?" Your question prompts that nasty smile as his crimson eyes gleam with cruelty and lust.

"Months."

And with that he pulls your hair back hard enough that you cry out in pain. Bakugou takes the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. Bottoming out at the back of your throat causing you to gag, your spit eases the roughness of his slow harsh thrusts as your eyes water.

Nothing could have prepared you for feeling Bakugou inside you for the first time, your wildest fantasies didn’t equate to this. The sheer size of his thick, bulging cock made it difficult for you to take him inside your mouth. The prominent veins that forked along the side dragging against your cheek as he eased you down on his length. Fingers stroking through your hair sweetly, a stark contrast to his previous movements. His husky voice cooing down at you, gentle praises that had you keening, desperate to hear more. The red, swollen tip prodding against the back of your throat as you gagged around him, a mixture of spit and pre dribbling down your chin as you tried to fit more of him inside your mouth hungrily.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” Bakugou grunted, his fingers carding into your messy hair and tugging harshly against the root, pressing you further down his aching cock. Watching the way your cheeks hollowed around him as you tried to adjust to his size. The movement causing fresh tears to clump in your lashes as you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. His coarse blond pubic hairs tickling your skin as he held your head down on his cock.

Struggling for oxygen as your tongue lashed against the underside of his length, the salty sweet taste of his cum mixed with the lack of oxygen making you light headed as you felt yourself falling deeper into him. Teeth grazing his sensitive skin as you tried to relax your throat, innocent eyes gazing up at him. The sight almost had him cumming on the spot, it was something he’d thought about for months, stroking himself raw to the thought of your lips wrapped around him. You felt gentle tremors flowing through your body as he finally allowed you a moment of respite, tugging you off his length roughly as you gasped for air.

“So pretty for me,” His warm palm stroked against your cheek, dipping his thumb between your parted lips as he felt you instinctively close your mouth around it. Your tongue swirling around the calloused pad of his thumb as you heard him groan above you, “Look at you.”

“How many times have you played with that slutty little pussy to the thought of me, hah?” Bakugou mused, his thumb slipping from your mouth as he pulled down your lower lip, watching the way your face followed after his hand to try and pull him back in.

“P-please.” You trembled, already feeling your clit throbbing painfully between your thighs, already feeling unsatiated as crimson eyes glared down at you.

“I bet you’ve never had anything this big inside you,” He wrapped his palm around his cock, smirking when he noticed your eyes hyper focused on him, “Have you?”

You shook your head nervously, even the toys you’d experimented before didn’t equate to his sheer size, “N-no, Dynamight.”

“I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Princess.” Bakugou’s thoughts already flooding to how your tight little cunt would feel being split around his cock. Moulding it to his size so you’d never be satisfied with anything or anyone else. You were going to be his and his alone, and he’d do anything to ensure that happened, “Wanna feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, yeah?”

His words sending more pleasurable jolts to your core, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he helped you to your feet, his large palms keeping against your hips as he dipped his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. Sliding the material down your thighs with one rough tug, exposing your naked body to his prying eyes. The sight of you completely bare in front of him had his cock twitching almost painfully, you were even more perfect than he had imagined.

“C’mere, Princess.” He cooed gently, a stark contrast to his earlier actions. You keened as you slid onto his lap, feeling his thick cock pressed snugly between your folds as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Your fingertips digging into his shirt as you tried feebly to get him to take it off.

“So needy,” He smirked, leaning forward to tug his shirt up and over his head. His chiselled abs now on full display as you focused in on each sharp ridge. He was even more perfect in person, and you couldn’t quite believe that the Dynamight was now in front of you.

Bakugou’s large palms moved back to your hips, pressing you down against his cock as you felt the length stroke against your slit, involuntarily grinding down against him as you tried to give your clit some much needed stimulation. The action did not go unnoticed by Bakugou who smirked at your desperation, digging his fingertips into your skin as he began to circle your hips against his cock.

“You’re soaking my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet,” He smirked as he felt your slick coating his length, watching in amusement as you continued to grind yourself against him, trying to give yourself some relief, “Bet you could get yourself off just like this, hah?”

“No,” You whined, “Please,”

“Please, what?” He coaxed, his fingers slipping between your bodies to tease your puffy clit, a harsh laugh leaving his lips when he felt the way your body jerked at his touch.

“Please,” You trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous and self-conscious that you were now very much naked in front of your favourite Pro-Hero.

“You don’t seem to want it enough, Princess.” Bakugou teased, moving you away from his cock as you groaned in displeasure. Your eyes looking down at his shaft that was now coated in a layer of your slick. Fresh pre spilling from the tip as you reached out to grab him between your fingers. Bakugou’s reflexes were quicker as he caught your wrist in his large palm, giving you a warning look as his nostrils flared.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He moved his hands back to grab your ass, kneading the round mounds as he moved you to hover over his cock, vermilion eyes gazing up at you as he waited for you to speak, “You want my cock?”

“Yeah-” You felt your head nodding before you’d even had a chance to think, desperate to feel him sliding inside your warmth, splitting you open as he buried himself deep inside you.

“Yeah?” He mocked, tilting his head to the side as he pressed a kiss against your pebbled nipple, “Then fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Please, Dynamight.” You rolled your hips again, grinding against nothing as you tried to create some friction between your thighs, “Want your cock.”

A groan spilled from his lips at such blunt words leaving your pouty lips, calloused fingertips digging into your supple flesh as he pressed you down on the head of his cock. The tip stretching you out slightly as you tried to drop your hips down on him, wanting to feel him deep inside you.

“You want Dynamight to fuck this slutty pussy?” He pulled you away from his cock which caused a needy whine to spill from your lips, trying to angle your hips back towards his length.

Bakugou’s palm wrapping around his cock to drag the swollen, reddened tip along your sopping folds. Feeling your slick coat his skin as it mingled with his pre, watching the way your eyes fluttered at the sensation of his cockhead brushing against your clit.

“Yes.” You hissed, already anticipating the pleasurable stretch his girth would create inside you. The thick head already back at your tight entrance as he watched you shamelessly try and drop your hips down onto him.

"Yes what?" His voice is dark with pleasure as he glares up at you, a pitiful mess. He's toying with you, as a cat does a mouse and you feel utterly embarrassed. This was Pro hero Dynamight damn it, you wanted to make a good impression. You wanted to be sexy, not some whiny bitch in heat.

Little did you know how much Bakugou loved it, lived for it as he gently bounced you on just the tip. Driving you wild as you whined, all the while he smirked.

"Please Katsuki-sama." Your nails rake down his forearms, "Please, please fuck me."

"That's my good girl." He slams you down on his cock in one swift motion causing your vision to spot. He relishes the way you flutter around him, adjusting as a shiver runs up your spine.

"Now fuck yourself on my cock, Princess."

"But-" He wraps his hand around your throat, malice and lust dance in his eyes as his free hand travels to your thigh. Palm heating with each pound of your heart until it begins to become too much, too hot.

"Ride me like you did your fingers last week. You were thinking of me then weren't you, pervert?” You gasped at his crude words, the idea that he had been watching you while you dipped your fingers inside your tight cunt had embarrassment ebbing in your core. Your body trembling as the object of your affections degraded you, “Wishing it was me finger fuckin’ that pretty pussy, yeah?”

Unable to stop the shameless moan that left your parted lips, the sound restricted to a strangled gasp as he kept his palm wrapped tightly around your jugular.

“Or were you thinking of Red Riot since you love wearing his merch so much, hah.” Bakugou goaded, you could feel his grip against you tightening as his palms heated up dangerously, “Wishing he’d come in and bend you over like the little slut you are.”

“N-no,” You tried to gasp out, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen that flowed through your body.

Bakugou loosened his grip around your neck, keeping his palm against your skin as he leaned his head closer to yours, his warm breath fanning your face as vermilion eyes bored into your own, “What was that?”

“J-just you, Dynamight.” You rasped, a rush of air filling your lungs as your chest heaved against him, “Only for you-”

“Yeah?” His lips curled into a cocky grin, immediately tightening his grip around your throat once more, “That’s fuckin’ right, you should be thinking about me when you play with that sloppy pussy.”

He squeezes both your throat and thigh harder. You rock your hips, fucking yourself on his fat cock as you gasp for air, hands desperately holding onto toned arms for support as the coil in your stomach begins to snap.

“Now I want you to fuckin' show me how much of a Dynamight fan you really are." He groans at the way you grip around him, tongue lulling past his smirk for just as second.

If you had to try and describe this feeling it would be something akin to euphoria, a constant throb ebbing through your cunt at the dull stretch his cock caused around your core. His cock moulding you to his shape as he bounced you on his lap, the thick jutting veins along his girth dragging against your inner walls with each pronounced thrust. Desperate cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as he fucked himself into you, hungrily searching to pull more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips. You felt pearly tears begin to clump in your lashes as he fucked into your tight cunt with vigour, uncaring for giving you a moment of respite as he hungrily used you for his own pleasure.

“Aw, you gonna cry, Princess?” He sneered, vermilion eyes gazing down at your own as he kept his pace, “I know you fuckin’ love it. I can feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Please-” You couldn’t think of the words, your mind foggy with the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain overwhelming you as he continued to fuck you with reckless abandon.

“Don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid, dumbass.” He grunted, the calloused pads of his fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs, crude noising filling the air as you could hear just how wet you were for him, “That sloppy pussy is drooling all over my cock.”

"Who do you belong to?" His husky voice wraps around you like a vice, pulling your heart into your stomach.

"You." You gasp as the heat of his palm on your leg begins to burn, skin warping beneath his touch. Hand glowing golden as if he were a God while his quirk begins to really activate. The smell of spiced caramel, smoke and scalded flesh cling to the couch and invade your senses as a crude whimper leaves your parted lips. The skin that he’d just burned throbbing under his touch, as heat surged through your body. His sharp thrusts helping to morph the pain you felt into a pure, unabashed pleasure as he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Good girl. Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to." Your eyes flicker away from his face before he uses his finger behind your jaw to meet his gaze, "Look at your King when you cum."

The combination of pleasure and pain paired with the thought of being his makes that delicate coil snap. Your body tenses and freezes as you shake atop his lap, biting nails drawing blood on his arms. He smirks, fucking up into you as another mind numbing orgasim washes over your body. Without withdrawing himself he flips the two of you against the couch.

“Fuck, look at you.” Your back presses into the cushions as he towers over you. Gazing down and into your eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, switching hands to place one on your unburnt thigh, “So fuckin’ pretty.”

The telltale sounds of his quirk sound in the room as his hands crackle, heating his other palm, readying himself to repeat the action. To mark your body and claim you as his own, so if anyone dared to look at you they would know exactly who you belonged. Permanent hand prints marking you as his. No one else was allowed to have you, not that you had a choice, at least not anymore.

Bakugou hissed as he felt your cunt continue to flutter around him in the aftershocks of your climax, snapping his hips as his pelvis hits against your puffy clit, head swimming from both pleasure and your primal need to breathe that was being wholly denied.

Bakugou was going to ruin you and you'd let him.

"Who owns this pretty pussy?" Another possessive question that rockets you to the edge, body hoping for another mark, to make you symmetrical.

Whole.

"You." Another raspy breath but it's enough for Bakugou to hear. A silent moan tears from your throat as you try to keep your eyes locked with his. Pain blooming on your thigh with a delicious bite.

“What was that?” He snarled, pressing your thigh up against your chest as his arm slid underneath your knee, resting your calf over his shoulder as he changed the angle of his thrusts, his cock delving deeper between your folds as you felt the swollen tip bruising your cervix with each hard rut of his hips, “Say my name.”

“Dynamight.” You called out, already feeling your body throbbing in the telltale signs of another orgasm, your thighs quivering as you felt Bakugou fuck your body into the couch hard before using his grip on your thigh to drag you back into him.

The crude sound of skin against skin vibrated around the room as his meaty balls slapped against the swell of your ass, Bakugou’s muscular frame dwarfing your own as he used you for his own pleasure. His own little cocksleeve that would succumb to his every request, you would be his and his alone to use as he pleased.

“Again.” A low growl sounded from the back of his throat, a possessive undertone to it as he urged you on, “Say it again.”

“Dynamight.” You managed to whimper through sobs, tears trickling down your temples now and soaking into your messy hair. The sound of his name spilling from your lips made him readjust his thrusts with newfound intensity.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Red Riot would never fuck you this good, hah?” He provoked, a clear sign of dominance over you, “You’re fuckin’ made for my cock.”

A cry slipping from your lips as he gave a particularly hard thrust inside your aching cunt, the tip of his length pounding against your cervix as he worked to claim your body as his own, trying to wipe thoughts of anyone else from your mind so all you could think about in this moment was his fat cock buried deep inside your tight heat.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” He grunted, his eyes mapping out your body as he worked himself against you, “Feel so good.”

Your breasts bounced with the intensity of his thrusts as he felt your inner walls quivering around his cock, already feeling another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil inside you impossibly tight as you tried to remember to breathe. Your vision hazy as you felt yourself becoming lightheaded, white dots blanking your vision as you shook beneath him.

“You gonna cum again already? Greedy fuckin’ bitch.” Bakugou’s lips curved into a grin as he felt your fingernails dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shapes in their wake as a dull ache tingled against his skin at the sensation, “My cock’s better than your fuckin’ fingers, yeah?”

“Yes,” You hissed, your toes curling as you felt yourself succumb to the pleasure. Your tight heat clenching around Bakugou’s cock as an usual sensation flowed through you, an intense throb in your core as you felt the unwavering urge to pee. Tightening your thighs around Bakugou’s firm body in an attempt to stop it from happening as wracked sobs left your body, your lower lip trembling as the sensation became too much. Too intense, too overwhelming as you allowed it to take over, your body crying out as you came. A clear stream of liquid gushing from between your thighs and soaking Bakugou’s crotch, his pace never once faltering as he fucked you through the sensation.

“Look at you, you messy fuckin’ slut” He howled in pleasure as he watched the liquid seep from your folds, “Look at your sloppy little pussy soakin’ my cock.”

“I’m sorry-” You cried out in embarrassment, feeling your heart pound in your chest as you saw his abdomen glistening with your release, “I didn’t mean-”

“What? You never fuckin’ squirted before?” Bakugou’s lips curled into a sly smile, his chest puffed out in pride, “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

Bakugou slipped a hand between your connected bodies to press four fingers against your clit, rubbing it frantically side to side as he tried to prolong the sensation, watching to see more of the clear liquid escape your heat.

"I can make this pretty little cunt do what I want. Wanna know why?" He leans in with a deadly grin on his lips, "Cause I own it."

You cried out as you felt the sensation flowing through you once more, a dull ache in your lower body as more of the clear liquid gushed from your folds. The sight made Bakugou smirk with glee, his fingers relentless against your sensitive nub.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He goaded, feeling your body trying to shy away from him as you withered beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, “That fuckin’ desperate.”

“P-please,” You whimpered, your entire body felt unbearably hot. Unable to think coherently as Bakugou continued pounding his thick girth into your core, his warm breath fanning your face as he hovered above you.

“P-please,” He mocked, tilting his head as he glanced down at you, “Please, what?”

“‘S too much,” You stammered, your hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist, trying to tug his fingers away from their assault against your clit.

The movement made him growl, baring his teeth as his hand moved from your clit, reaching up to wrap around the curve of your neck instead as he instantly tightened his grip against your jugular. The action caused your eyes to widen in surprise before your soft whines turned into hungry pants as you tried to gasp for air. Bakugou’s consistent thrusts into your sloppy hole made it difficult to think straight, your body fully focused on the sight of him above you while his hand wrapped tightly around your neck.

“Gonna fill that sloppy little pussy with cum, yeah?” You flushed at the suggestion, already feeling your inner walls fluttering around his cock at the thought, squeezing his girth as it created more friction as he dragged his cock along your velvety walls, his grip on your neck tightening as you felt your cunt clench around his cock in response, “You’re gonna look so pretty for me all full of my cum, Princess.”

A guttural groan spilled from his parted lips as you watched his eyes roll back, his thrusts stuttering as he came, bottoming out inside you as white hot spurts of cum splashed against your inner walls. His palms stroking along your exposed skin, sliding against the thin sheen of sweat that coated your body as he came down from his climax, humping a few more sloppy thrusts into your cunt as he cherished the sweet way your walls continued to flutter around him.

You whined as Bakugou slowly eased his hips back, slipping his softening cock out of your quivering folds. His eyes immediately focused on your abused hole as he watched his cum begin to trickle out of you as it dribbled down towards your ass. Unable to resist reaching a finger out to collect the mixture, scooping it up as he slowly pushed it back inside you. Smirking at the way you tried to bat his hand away from your overstimulated folds, this only making him want to tease you more as he moved his finger to press against your inner walls. Swallowing thickly as he felt your body involuntarily clamping down around him in an attempt to pull him back inside you.

“Such a good girl for me, Princess.” He moved his fingers up to stroke against your puffy clit, laughing at the way you arched your hips away from his touch, trying to stop him from teasing your satiated clit, “Took my cock so well.”

You mewl in response, clutching your arms to yourself as you shake from the previous events. You looked so small and scared causing a sharp pain to bolt through Bakugou's chest. God he wanted you in his care even more now.

“You were even more perfect than I imagined.” He pulls you to him, trapping you in his embrace as he presses your face into his chest. Hand smoothing your damp hair as he hums lightly. His eyes catching sight of the Red Riot shirt he’d discarded to the floor, a thought occurred to him, one he cannot keep to himself, as another sadistic smile settled on his lips.

“Kirishima told me not to come over here, said to leave you alone-” He pulls you back so you can look at him, and gods the look you're giving him. Eyes soft and submissive, hazed over in mind numbing pleasure as you float off somewhere far away. Only Bakugou's arms are keeping you bound to Earth. “But I was right wasn’t I, Princess?”

You'll never be able to escape his gravity now.

“He just wanted you for himself.” His fingers feather over your body before he stands, guessing where the first aid could be. You clutch onto his shirt, eyes desperately glued to your new God as the fading sun washes him over in deep hues of red. The way you look at him makes his cock twitch, feeling the intense power he already holds over you.

"You'll let your King go." A growl as his fingers find your throat, you nod with fresh tears catching on long lashes as he steps away. Sobbing from his absence before he returns.

"Don't be a baby, I wasn't that far Princess." His voice all bite while his hands speak the truth. Calloused and scared fingers pressing ointment into the fresh burns tenderly.

“But you’re mine now aren’t you Princess?” He dots over the burns, rubbing the salve in gently, “All mine.”

He leans away from you, cruelty ever plastered on his smirking lips.

“Maybe I should show Red Riot what you look like right now, hah?” He pulls out his phone, going to snap a picture. You're hesitant at first but then move to strike a pose, wide eyes looking into the lens of the camera as Bakugou angles it to get the dark bruises and scars that now marr your perfect skin. "Fuck, I think showing him what a good girl you are in person would be much better."

“W-we shouldn’t-“ You mumble, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of your sweet neighbour seeing you like this, utterly debauched because of Pro-Hero Dynamight.

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl.” He coos uncharacteristically, almost mocking you as he watches your lower lip tremble, “I’m sure Red Riot would love to see you like this. Probably jerks himself raw to the thought of you.”

He eases you to your feet, sliding your shorts over your thighs as you hiss when they get to the fresh brand. Your mouth waters from pain as you look down at them. His perfect palm prints etched into your skin forever. You bite your bottom lip, wanting more from Bakugou who slips his jacket over your shoulders before putting your snow boots onto your feet. He makes his way to the door.

"Comin' pervert?" He asks before you rush to your feet, “Shall we show Red Riot what a desperate little slut his neighbour is?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, engulfing you in his mesmerizing scent and heat. You nod slowly, wanting nothing more than to please your new caretaker.

“Gotta remind that asshole who the fuck you belong to.”

#bakugou x reader #tw: dub con #tw: branding #yandere bakugo x reader #tw: mind break

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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

Text

Always You | JJK (Two)

Summary: you and Jungkook have been best friends since freshmen year of college, there’s a lot of unsaid feelings and tension but neither make a move. what happens when his friend Taehyung (also your crush) needs a fake girlfriend?

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader, slight Taehyung x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, roommate au, college au, SMUT (starting ch2), fluff, angst (in later chapters) slight crack, lots of drama

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, oc is a bad friend:(, sexual tension (?), body image issues, oc is feeling a lil insecure, mentions of sex, sounds of sex, crying, male masturbation, fantasy includes: spanking and vaginal intercourse.

Notes: thanks for the love for the first part…heres part 2! I hope everyone enjoys:) get ready for drama to come hahaha. If you wanted to be added to the taglist just send me an ask or whatevs, and feel free to send one if you want to discuss the story!

Taglist: @monvieesdaebak @mooniyooni @thisartemisnevermisses @giadalin @kookiebunny097 @cosmosjk @moonchild1 @just-jeon @anpanman-sonyeondan @starlight-night0 @yessii-i

Previous --- Next

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Gentleman: “A civilized, educated, sensitive, or well-mannered man.” Is how the dictionary defines the word but if you were to look up the term in your own dictionary it would just be a picture of Taehyung’s handsome as hell face.

Opening the car door, pulling your chair out, holding your hand, softly gripping your waist, making you feel like the only one in the room—Taehyung is doing everything right. Your mind should be overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung. He should be filling your every sense, he should be the only thing you can understand. He should be. But every time his perfect lips land on the skin of your cheek, your mind somehow finds Jungkook. That son of a bitch.

There’s a string of warm lights dangling on the restaurants brick walls, and it’s almost picture perfect but one of the bulbs is out and it’s making the scene less ideal. Your eyes keep going back to the one bulb that refuses to shine. You just want everything to be perfect.

“I know I already told you…” Taehyung is sitting across from you, his gentle smile making your heart flutter, “But you look so pretty tonight.”

You know you should be gazing into his chocolate eyes but you can’t keep your eyes from shifting towards that stupid ass bulb. All the other bulbs are lit up just fucking fine but this bulb wants to be difficult. It just hasto go against everyone else. Your eyes narrow at the string of lights and you scoff. This stupid bulb reminds you of someone.

Taehyung brought you to a decently fancy restaurant, the food is alright but he says the main attraction is the monster baked cookie with ice cream melting over the top. He is excited like a child at the mention of his favorite dessert, you can’t help but smile fondly towards him.

“So…” Taehyung slides the dessert closer to you, “I never asked but how did Jungkook take the whole not really talking in public thing?”

Your eyes shoot up to the stupid bulb and you blink at it a few times. “I…” Your gaze drifts back to him. “I didn’t tell him.”

Taehyung drops his napkin at the news, his eyes slightly widening as he processes your words.

“We just aren’t talking right now.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth, but it’s true. You are a coward who is just ignoring her best friend because you don’t have the balls to face him. You don’t have the balls to forgive him and you definitely don’t have the balls to inform him that he’s out of the picture for a month. Because you don’t have the balls to admit to yourself you chose a boy over your friend. Basically you’re just a bitch with no balls!

“Yeah, he isn’t really talking to me either.” Taehyung chuckles bitterly, “He’s really against this…I mean, I knew he was protective over you but—”

“Protective my ass.” You lean back in your chair, “He’s just being stupid.”

Taehyung looks at you and frowns. It makes you want to kiss his pouting lips.

“But thank you.”

Taehyung’s quizzical expression makes you snort,

“For the compliment. Thank you. You look really handsome as well.” You smile, your hand sliding across the table to hold his. You gently squeeze and pull back, letting go. Taehyung smiles at you but something strange settles in his eyes. He’s struck with an awkward expression as he forces another smile, his lips pulled together tightly.

“Thanks y/n” He opens his mouth then closes then opens, “For doing this. Seriously, thank you.”

“Well, you’re kind of supplying me with free coffee.” You laugh into your hand.

“Regardless,” Taehyung leans back in his chair, “You’re a good friend.”

Right. Friend... But you feel optimistic you will flee this place! The god forsaken friend zone! You smile at Taehyung, grabbing your fork and cutting into the cookie with it. You stare into Taehyung’s dark eyes as you bring the fork to your lips—okay yes, you are most definitely trying to make this sexy—you open your mouth wide and wrap you lips around the piece of cookie, you never break contact with Taehyung. You chew slowly and roll your eyes to the back of your head, like the dramatic ass bitch you are. You open an eye to see his reaction, you see him gulp and a small smile begins forming on his lips.

“mmm” you moan again.

“RIGHT?!”

~~~

“We got some pretty insta worthy photos!” Taehyung chuckles into your hair as he pulls back from the hug. “I would say tonight was a success!”

Right. A success. Because this is all for show. To get this Anna girl off his back. Not because he likes you or anything. You can’t help but feel disappointed in his words.

“That’s good Tae.” Your hands linger on his back, not wanting to let go completely. “I’ll see you tomorrow right?”

“And the next day and the next day,” he teases, “And don’t forget this weekend is the pool party at my friend Jin’s house.” Then Taehyung nibbles on his lips, “Jungkook is going…so you should probably talk to him.”

You probably should of figured Jungkook is going to go…but that doesn’t stop you from feeling shocked. You should tell him he needs to lay low in public for a month but you guys aren’t talking already so do you really have to have that discussion with him?

“We’ll see.”

Taehyung steps forward and grabs your hand, “y/n…I know I said no Jungkook but I really just meant that you two aren’t all over each other in public…you don’t have to ignore him at home too…I’m sure he isn’t feeling great about it. And honestly, it makes me feel guilty too.” He admits softly, his hand feels sweaty in yours.

“He’s an asshole.” You let go of his hand, you feel your chest tighten and you hate yourself.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. I should get inside now.”

“Okay…” Taehyung leans in for another quick hug and places a kiss on your forehead. You wish you could enjoy it but on the other side of this forehead are thoughts of Jungkook. Once again, that son of a bitch.

~~~

The next few days pass quickly, you and Taehyung have gone on two more dates.

The second date felt like a movie—it was classic and dreamy. Taehyung picked you up and drove you over to the next town that was having a carnival. You walked around holding hands, eating cotton candy and laughing at his jokes. The night ended with the ferris wheel, where you two got some insta worthy pictures—one shot including his lips on yours.

It felt so surreal. He posted it on Instagram that night with the caption ‘Her’ with purple hearts and within a couple hours there were at least 50 comments congratulating the two of you.

Third date you two went to a drive in theater. You fed each other popcorn, talked over the radio’s audio and took snaps to prove your date to the world.

This week has been nothing short of amazing. Taehyung is absolutely perfect. You feel like the only girl in the world with him. Like you don’t have to compete with anyone. Unfortunately, the week may have felt amazing on the outside, on the inside it’s been…weird.

The weird part of this week is the lack of Jungkook. Your usual cereal at noon on Tuesdays didn’t happen, your usual weekly episode of My Hero didn’t happen, your usual chit chat and banter didn’t occur. Just silence and awkward passes.

It’s all your doing though…Jungkook has tried. He still sat at the breakfast table munching on Apple Jacks while you passed him by, walking out your front door to meet Taehyung. He saved this week’s episode to your list so you could watch it. He has sent you multiple texts saying he’s sorry and he misses you but you ignored them. You have purposely started putting a distance between the two of you and it makes you uncomfortable.

You remind yourself that, besides doing this because Taehyung requested it, it is also for the best.

~~~

You sit at the edge of your bed staring at the bouquet of flowers Taehyung had sent you this morning. You eye the flowers, taking in their gorgeous appearance. They’re open and full and colorful. But why do you look at them and feel disappointed?

They seem to be begging for water, so you stand to your feet and grab the bouquet. You head for the kitchen to find your mothers crystal vase so you can place the beautiful flowers in it.

Jungkook is sitting at the breakfast table, slurping on some noodles and playing on his phone. You completely ignore him as you walk into the kitchen.

You stand on your tip toes to try to reach the vase in the cupboard but it’s too high for you. God damn it, you think. There’s no way in hell you’re asking Jungkook for help, no way in hell!

*about 10 pathetic seconds later*

“Jungkook, will you help me?”

You don’t even turn around to face him, you just raise your voice so hears you. Yeah, you’re a coward. You hear the screech of the chair against the tiled floor and you shiver. Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he walks up behind you, his chest coming flush against your back and you swear if he tried to pay attention he could probably feel your heartbeat through the contact. You stay frozen as he reaches his arms above you and grabs the vase. He must of just done laundry because his detergent fills your nostrils, its clean and refreshing. He sets the vase down on the counter and he continues to stand closely behind you, his scent now overwhelming your senses.

“These flowers are pretty.” He leans down to say in your ear. His hand coming down to hold on to your waist. “But you only like tulips.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “These are fine too.”

“Yeah, they are.” He admits. “But they’re not what you want.” He squeezes your waist, then he’s backing away from your body and a chill is left behind as he gets further away. It’s like the further he walks away from you the colder you become. As if Jungkook is the source of your warmth.

~~~

It’s Saturday afternoon and you are finally done getting ready. Taehyung is taking you out to a pool party today, hosted by one of his close friends—Jim? No, Jin. You know you’ve heard Jungkook talk about him before but haven’t gotten the chance to meet him since he’s a bit older and already graduated.

You look in the mirror as you tug your oversized shirt over your shorts. Underneath is a plain black bikini but unfortunately today is not a good day—you’re bloated as hell and it shows. At least you think it does. You continue to rate yourself in the mirror when Jungkook walks past your room.

“Didn’t know you were so self obsessed.” He pops in to say.

You turn to face him and as soon as he sees your frustrated expression he knows you’re on the verge of waterworks.

“Woah woah, whats wrong?” Jungkook is quick to rush to your side. You’ve been ignoring him for a week yet he still rushes to you when you need him. You’re a god damn bitch.

“I feel fat but I have a pool party to attend to and—”

“You’re going to that too…?” Jungkook eyes the ground under his feet. He sounds disappointed.

You try to steady your breathing but you feel a breakdown coming and Jungkook can sense it too.

“You’re not fat.” He states plainly.

“You wouldn’t know with these clothes I’m wearing.” You try to reason.

“Then take them off and show me.” He’s obviously aware of the bathing suit underneath but still, his words do something strange to you.

“No, I’m ugly.” Is all you respond with.

“y/n I don’t have time for this, either show me or like, don’t go.”

“Fine!”

You begin unbuttoning your shorts, painfully slow. He watches as you fumble with the zipper as you slide it down. You drag the shorts down your legs one by one and then you reach for the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head. This leaves you half naked and feeling incredibly vulnerable.

Jungkook eyes you up and down quite shamelessly. His tongue darts out to lick his lip and he muffles a groan,

“You look fine.” He says so nonchalantly it makes you want to pull his hair out.

“Just fine?”

“You look good y/n” he says, his eyes sliding to the left. You don’t feel quite satisfied with his answer so you step towards him, getting so close he is forced to step back until his back is against the wall.

“How good?” you say, your voice dipping lower than usual, “So good you would—"

Bbbrrrr bbbrrrr bbrrrrr bbrrrr

Your phone.

“Hello? ….Hey Tae. No need, I’ll just meet you at your car. Okay, bye.” You click the phone off and throw it on your bed. You gather your clothes and put them back on as Jungkook stands there awkwardly. Once you have your things you turn to face Jungkook.

“Well Tae is here…” you motion towards the door. “Look, if you’re going to be at the party can you try to…respect my fake relationship? We wanna make it as real as poss—”

“I get it.” Jungkook snaps before walking out your bedroom. Fantastic.

~~~

“And this is y/n.” Taehyung pushes you forward by the shoulders as you stumble in front of all these new faces.

“Hi everyone.” You squeak out.

Everyone gives you a warm welcome, many handshakes and hugs later you feel well acquainted. You notice a familiar face. He’s laughing with Jin over some beers and you smile in their direction. Namjoon, a friend you met freshmen year. He notices you look in his direction and he waves you over. So you walk towards him and Jin, Namjoon handing you a drink as you get closer.

“Long time no see y/n!” his dimples light up the entire backyard. He glances between you and Taehyung, who is chatting with some others.

“You and our Taehyungie, huh?” He grins at you, “honestly, I thought you would end up with Jungkook.” You can’t help but blush at that. A real deep blush. Namjoon chuckles but his eyes hold pity.

“no no not Jungkook.” You laugh awkwardly.

“Well, Jungkook has always spoken really highly of you so I am sure Taehyung is a lucky guy.” Jin chimes in.

For some reason you feel sick at that. Jungkook speaks highly of you? Yet here you are ignoring him for another guy. You are avoiding your own best friend because of a boy. Fuck, you are the worst.

“thanks guys…well, I’m gonna go see Tae.”

You walk over to Taehyung, and when he spots you he absolutely lights up. His boxy grin taking over his entire face.

“There’s my girl,” he pulls you in for a hug and places a kiss to your head. You want to melt, you want to feel the lava of love drown you but instead you feel anxious as you notice Jungkook from across the yard. He’s got a beer to his lips and his eyes on you.

“Thanks for doing this y/n.” Taehyung also catches the pair of eyes watching the two of you. He meets Jungkook’s hard gaze and automatically Taehyung is filled with anxiety as well. Jungkook just shakes his head towards his friend and takes a generous sip of his drink.

“Everything okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Everything is fine.” He says with a tight lip smile. “Just glad you’re here.” He says honestly.

A few hours pass, and the whole gang is crowded in the pool. Mostly everyone is drunk, but you are pretty sober. Not wanting a repeat of last weekend. Yikes, amirite ladies? Taehyung has his hands all over you, which you don’t really mind. The thought of him touching you was once something that might make you faint but you’ve grown comfortable. Your eyes scan the pool when you notice Jungkook is nowhere to be found. Did he go home already? Maybe he was feeling so down because you’ve been ignoring him…god, you hate yourself. You just need to talk to him. You’re a shitty friend, for sure.

“I’m gonna be right back,” you whisper to Taehyung. He only nods his head and continues chatting with his friends.

Jin’s house is beyond nice, and also huge. You are trying to find the bathroom but feel like you are opening every door but the one you’re looking for. There’s only one door left at the end of the main hall and you bet your entire ass it’s the bathroom. You reach for the door knob when you hear something muffled on the other side. Oh, it’s taken.

“Thanks for this.” It’s a woman’s voice.

“No problem.” Its Jungkook. You feel your stomach drop. What makes you feel worse is how detached Jungkook sounds. He sounds far away and broken. The doorknob begins to rattle and you try to make a run for it in time but are too late. The door is swinging open and one of Jin’s friends is walking out and in the background you see Jungkook zipping up his pants. His eyes meet yours and you want to run the fuck away.

“y/n?” Jungkook’s eyes expand twice their size as he spots you.

“I was…I was just looking for the bathroom.”

Jungkook’s face hardens, “Well, you found it.” He makes his way to pass you but you grab on to his arm to stop him.

“Wait,” you breathe in and out, trying to give yourself time to think of what you want to say.

“What is it?” his voice is somehow softer than he probably intended.

“I want to talk to you…explain to you why I’ve been ignoring you.”

“Yeah, you’re still pissed at me, I fucking get it.” He spits out bitterly.

“It’s…it’s more than that.”

“More than that? Did I do something more? What did I do? y/n just tell me…” He rocks back and forth on his heels, his eyes glued to the ground.

“You’re going to be so mad at me, maybe even hate me—”

“You know I could never hate you.” He whispers, sounding so sincere it crushes you.

You glance around your surroundings, making sure no one is around and drag him back into the bathroom for some privacy. You shut the door behind you, trying so hard to ignore the smell of sex.

“Tae thought—” you begin but Jungkook is already rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Of course Tae thought.” His tone almost scares you. “Let me guess? Taehyung doesn’t want me around while you guys are fake dating. That’s not fucking weird to you?” He grits between his teeth. He balls up his fists at his side, you see his knuckles turn white and it makes you feel uneasy.

“He made some good points…”

“Oh really?” Jungkook laughs bitterly, “Like what?”

You looked into Jungkook’s doe eyes and feel a sense of guilt, like you somehow made the wrong choice.

“He thinks we’re too close. And he’s right. It would be weird if I’m super closer to another guy while dating him.” you reason, but your face falls when you see Jungkook’s scrunched up expression.

“You think we’re too close?” he whispers.

Well, yes. But also, no. Of course not, but also yes. How do you tell Jungkook all of that?

“People always think we’re dating or fucking or—”

“Oh? And all the sudden we care what people think?” his voice wavers from the rollercoaster of emotions he is feeling.

“Jungkook wait, I’m wording this all wrong. It’s just for a month okay?”

“You wanna date him that badly? That you would throw me away?” he grits out.

“Hey! That’s not fucking fair.”

“So what? Say your little fantasy comes true and he decides he wants to date you for real? Am I still out of the picture?”

“No no, of course not…” you shake your head and reach for his hands but he pulls away.

“So then what’s the difference now?”

Jungkook has a good point but you’re at a loss for words. Too choked up to speak.

“And you know what y/n? Fuck you for choosing him over me in the first place.” And with that Jungkook breezes past you, swings open the bathroom door and is out of your view.

Jungkook has never spoken to you like that before, you stand there with your mouth hung open and tears forming in your eyes.

He’s right. You fucked up. You did a fucked up thing. You chose a boy who may not even actually like you over the one guy who has always had your back.

“y/n?” you snap your head in the direction of the door to see Taehyung standing there. A look of disappointment decorating his face.

“I was told you and Jungkook were in the bathroom…” he spits out.

“I had to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but how does this look for me?” Taehyung speaks sternly. You did NOT need this right now.

“Tae—”

“You couldn’t even last more than a week y/n.” he scoffs.

“Listen could we just talk about this later?” you ask with pleading eyes.

“I’ll call an uber.” He motions towards the hallway, “we can talk tomorrow.”

You slump your shoulders and nod your head, tomorrow sounds like it’s for the best.

3 days have passed and neither Jungkook nor Taehyung have talked to you.

You hear Jungkook come in and out of the apartment but you’re too shy to make a move outside of your bedroom. He’s either coming from classes, the gym, Jimins, or some girls house and you’re dying to know which.

You have been hibernating in your room, taking comfort in your bed when you get a notification from Instagram.

@V tagged you in a post.

You scramble to unlock your phone so you can view the post. Once you are on the app you click on you notifs and click on the post.

It’s a picture of you eating cotton candy from when he took you to the fair on your date. With the caption:

“Missing my girl tonight”

And a bunch of heart emojis. Your own heart sinks. He misses you? You close the app and instead open your messages.

y/n 9:08pm

You miss me for the show or is there some truth behind that?

Taehyung 9:20pm

Maybe it’s both?

Taehyung 9:22pm

I am sorry for how I left things…I was just kinda embarrassed that my supposed girl was with another guy,,,in a bathroom.

y/n 9:24pm

trust me I know how it looks and im sorry…

y/n 9:26pm

If it makes you feel any better Jungkook isn’t talking to me either.

Taehyung 9:26pm

Of course that doesn’t make me feel better, he is your best friend…

y/n 9:28pm

tae, I hope we can continue this…I still want to help you…

Taehyung 9:34pm

Ill pick you up at 6 for a date tmrw: )

y/n 9:34pm

I cant wait: ) : )

You click your phone off and toss it on the other side of the bed, you squeal in excitement as the realization hits that Taehyung still wants to do this with you.

You hear Jungkook on the other side of the wall, yelling into what you assume is his headset. He’s gaming. You miss him so god damn much. He has no idea what his silence is doing to you. You try to focus your attention on tomorrows date with Taehyung but you can’t help the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Guilt. You were an awful friend and now thinking about it you are continuing to be an awful friend. If he even counts you as friends anymore.

“fuck you”

Those words ring loud and clear in your ears. You didn’t even know Jungkook was capable of speaking to you like that. It fucking hurts.

Jungkook is in his room pacing back and forth. He saw it. The insta post. And he feels like he’s losing you. Neither of you have made a move to speak to the other. He’s just too hurt and you continue to see Taehyung? You obviously don’t feel too bad about the whole ordeal. And 3 days is just too long. A week was too long, but somehow these 3 days are worse.

Jungkook grabs his phone and opens up tinder. He messages one of the girls that’s been teasing him lately. He figures now is the time to make more of a move.

Jungkook 10:00pm

Hey ;) what are you doing tonight?

Leslie 10:10pm

Gonna be thinking about you probably;)

Jungkook 10:12pm

Instead of thinking about me, come see me.

And that was it, that’s all it took. She was quick to agree and he is already sending her the address.

It’s after 11pm when you hear the front door open, you quietly get out of bed, curiosity getting the best of you. Was Jungkook leaving? But then you hear a girls voice and you immediately frown. Oh. She sounds pretty. Is that even a thing? Well, she does. And it has you feeling weird. You thought you were over this.

You hear the patter of their footsteps walking towards Jungkook’s room, the sound of his door opening and closing just like that.

You walk back to your bed feeling ashamed for spying, but now you know you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Fanfuckingtastic.

“aaahhh…” the random girl whines out causing you to shift uncomfortably in your bed.

“More?” you can hear Jungkook’s muffled voice, he sounds strained. Probably because he’s fucking some girl a few feet away from you.

You reach over to your nightstand for your headphones when you hear Jungkook grunting as the beds headboard bangs against your wall, he groans and moans and you feel yourself getting hotter.

You try not to imagine Jungkook in these scenarios but he sounds…no, you won’t have those thoughts…you don’t want to remember. Your hand is still midair when you retreat it back to your bed.

“Fuck yeah baby.” You hear him gripe. And you squeeze your thighs together. No, this cannot be happening.

“Jungkook! Jungkook!” Fuck, she sounds so fucked out.

“Feels so good, feels so good” he pants over and over and you feel the back of your eyes burn.

“gonna come” he groans out and your chest is heaving now, your breathing becoming a chore. You can’t cry, not over this. He hates you and he’s buried in some other girl. And you want to fucking crying about it. You hear him moaning on the other side of the wall and then—

“Fuuuuuuccckk” his orgasm is fucking apparent. He’s obviously coming and you’re lying in your bed all fucking pathetic with tears staining your cheeks.

Jungkook lays in bed totally fucked out of his mind. This girl is sleeping next to him, trying to her best to cuddle but he resists. He wishes he had time to himself to think properly. He just fucked another girl and thought of you the entire time. He is 100% fucked up. Wait, wait. He needs to explain himself…it’s not like he thought of you like, sexually. It’s just you’re all that’s on his mind. Even during fucking sex. And he hates himself for it.

He decides to sneak out of bed to have a shower. He creaks open his door for any sign of life and when there is none he tip toes to the bathroom. Jungkook stands in the shower letting the warm water cascade over his skin, he just stands there lifeless.

Images of you cross his mind and he sinks to his knees, pulling them into his chest and he quietly curses under his breath. He misses you so much and things have gotten so messed up he just doesn’t even know how to fix it.

He scrubs himself clean, ridding the scent of the random girl he brought over. He sniffles under the raining water hating himself.

Jungkook dries himself off with your towel, and puts on his shorts. His chest left bare.

He exits the bathroom when he notices a light coming from the kitchen and sees you sitting at the table with a glass of water.

“oh.” Jungkook slips up.

“oh?” you wonder.

“I thought you were fast asleep.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“Just woke up.” You lie through your teeth with a strained smile. “Couldn’t sleep…”

“I know the feeling…” he admits, walking closer to you.

Jungkook makes his way to the table before pulling out a chair and sitting down next to you.

“Listen—”

“Jungkook—”

You both begin talking at the same time. Jungkook ushers you to go first.

“I…I’m still fake dating Tae.”

“I know.”

“But…” your eyes gloss over, getting choked up trying to continue. “But I am so sorry.” A few tears spill from your eyes.

“I know y/n.” he reaches his hand to squeeze your knee. You feel so much better with him touching you. “I’m sorry too…I was really harsh. And it pains me every day that I haven’t talked to you.”

“Trust me, I get it. I wanted to like, kill myself not talking to you.” Your eyes slam shut as more tears threaten to fall.

Jungkook’s face morphs into a deep frown, “You know I don’t like when you say that…”

“Right…sorry.”

“Honestly y/n…I don’t know when I will be okay with this, but I’ll respect your wishes for the month.”

“Jungkook…” Your hand flies down to his and you squeeze it but he’s quick to let it go.

“I’m mad at you right now.” He admits softly, his breathing is slow and steady. “So just give me some space.”

~~~

Like magical clockwork you hear light knocking on your front door. You scramble to find your phone and your purse to make it to the door in good time but you hear it being creaked open and the voices of two men. Shit, Jungkook got to the door first.

Ever since you started fake dating Taehyung it seems Jungkook has been keeping a distance from him. You aren’t sure why but they’ve been weird. So you want to avoid as much awkwardness as possible. You grab all your belongings and rush to the living room and find the two men sitting on the sofa quietly chatting.

“Can you keep your voice down dude?” Taehyung peers over his shoulder, looking in the direction of your room. “Would if she hears?”

“I wish she would fucking hear,” Jungkook grits through his teeth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Why don’t you just tell her?” he leans back on the back of the sofa, “She might be understanding, hm? Do it before it’s too late or I swear to god Taehyung I will tell her myself.”

“You swore you wouldn’t say shit. Just like how I swore not to say any—”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell her dude. Just give me some time to—"

Jungkook’s eyes shoot up when he hears the light creak of your bedroom door open, he waits expectantly for you to walk through.

“Hey guys,” you announce your presence and both boys look up at you and smile. Taehyung with his boxy grin and Jungkook with a tightlipped smile.

“Hey y/n, you look nice,” Taehyung stands to his feet and walks towards you, “I mean, you always do.” He stops just in front of you and hands you a bag.

“What’s this?” you take the bag and jingle it around a bit.

“just something for our date.” He grins. “You can open it later.” Taehyung glances over at Jungkook, “Anyway, let’s get going. See you later man.” He nods toward the boy and faces you again. “shall we?”

You smile up at Taehyung and take his hand in your yours and lead him towards the front door but before you leave you and Jungkook make eye contact and he frowns.

Taehyung being the gentlemen he is runs to the car before you and opens your car door.

“Feet inside?” he asks and you’re nodding yes when he shuts the door for you. He runs around the other side and enters the car himself. Taehyung settles on an old 50’s station with the volume just right. He’s humming along with a dopey grin on his face, feeling satisfied with his choice.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Let’s get some dinner first then we can do our date activity I have planned” he chuckles to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

You drive around in comfortable silence when you decide to take your phone out and shoot Jungkook a text.

y/n 6:14pm

You okay?

Jungkook 6:16pm

Don’t worry about me while you’re out with another guy

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking.” You reply quite honestly.

“About Jungkook?”

“What?? Why would you assume that?” your voice rises in panic.

“Well, we were all just together and I know you and him are fighting…I thought it was a safe assumption.” He laughs awkwardly.

“Oh…right. Actually, me and Jungkook sorted things out kind of but we’re still barely talking.”

“oh? Really?” Taehyungs grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“He said he will steer clear for the month, ya know, in public.”

“He—he agreed?” Taehyung coughs a few times, his head pushed back in disbelief.

“Something like that.” You don’t really know what to say, this is an awkward thing to be talking about and you wish the subject would change.

“Anyway,” you begin, “How did things with Anna escalate?”

Taehyung freezes. The color draining from his face as his knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

“Um.” Taehyung feels sweat beading on his forehead as he tries to come up with an answer.

“You know how it is,” his mouth feels dry as he tries to speak, “She just won’t leave me alone and I want to show her that I am taken so she will get the hint.” Then a sly smile spreads across his face “and I think it’s working.”

“You think so?” you raise a brow in question.

“Well, you are such a convincing girlfriend after all.” His right arm extends towards your knee and he squeezes it. “Thanks again y/n…” he almost sounds…guilty. But you push that thought away and smile at him. Your sweet smile making him feel even guiltier.

~~~

“Dinner was sooo good.” You raise your arms above your head, stretching your body, a satisfied moan leaving you as you lower your arms again.

“I knew you’d like it! Best pizza in town!” Taehyung sets his credit card in the bill holder on the table. “Ready for what I have planned next?”

“hmmm, yes.”

The two of you wait for the server to return so you can finish paying so you can leave. Once all finished up at the restaurant the two of you head back to the parking lot and get inside his car to go to your next destination.

“Your apartment?” you ask as you notice his building coming into view.

“Yes. But you’ll see.” He turns his head quickly to flash you his pearly whites.

The two of you walk to his front door as he unlocks the door. Taehyung has a two bedroom apartment but lives alone. You’ve only ever seen his kitchen and living room and you’re wondering if you’re lucky enough you’ll see his bedroom. Hehe but that’s wishful thinking.

“You have that bag?” Taehyung asks,

“yup,” you say lifting it up and showing him the precious goods.

“Great go put it on!”

You tilt your head in confusion but you see how excited he is so you walk to his bathroom and shut the door behind you. Would if it was lingerie? You giggle to yourself at the ridiculous idea.

You open the bag to find some type of clothing. First, you pull out a large white t shirt and next was an…apron? The apron was a light pink color with a pocket in the front with your initials embroidered on it. You gasp once you realize it, your heart beating out of your chest as you melt into a puddle on the floor. He got your initials on an apron? You hurry to change into the white t shirt and put the apron on.

“Cute.” You murmur to yourself in the mirror before you’re out the door and back into the living room.

“How do you like it?” Taehyung asks from behind you, surprising you with a glass of water. You take the water gratefully and gulp down a few sips before answering.

“love it, but what’s it for?”

Taehyung beams, grabbing your arm and leading you into one of the bedrooms. He stands in front of the door and bounces on his heels.

“Ready?”

“Yes?”

“Never showed anyone this room but I feel like you’re special” Taehyung giggles, “Plus I thought it was a cute date idea.”

“hmm, okay. I’m ready.” You are such a fool for this boy, his cuteness doing a million things to you.

Taehyung begins to slowly open the door revealing a room with tarp covering the ground and easels taking up space. There are buckets of paint, a variety of colors spread all across. And many, many art pieces.

“You…” you begin to say in awe, “You’re an artist, Tae?”

“Aspiring.” He chuckles a bit bitterly. “How would you like to paint together?”

“You feel comfortable enough with me?” you ask, surprised.

“Something about you….” He starts but leaves it hanging. “Let’s paint!”

You dip your paint brush in purple paint and stroke it across the canvas, the color joining a mess of other colors. That’s art, right? Fuck, you are not good at this. You sneak a glance over at Taehyung to see him painting a scenic art piece. There’s mountains and flowers but somehow in an abstract kind of way, you tilt your head to the side trying to eye it more carefully.

“Hey, no peeking!” his bottom lip jutting out in the cutest way. You just want to kiss it.

You stand from your stool and walk over to his, your eyes never leaving his art work.

“I’m trying to figure out what I am looking at. Don’t get me wrong, its super cool. But like there’s this beautiful tree with flowers but also shapes??”

“Its abstract, y/n.” his tone is light and makes you flutter. “I like it this way.” He says softly.

“me too.” You look at him, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze shifts to your lips.

“heh really?” Taehyung’s cheeks turn a wonderful shade of pink, like the flowers on his canvas.

“You really are amazing, aren’t you?”

“Me? Let’s see what you got!” He stands from his stool and begins walking over to your art work.

“No!” you stand in his way, your arms flailing above your head. “It’s not good!” You laugh and push his chest back with your hands, Taehyung wobbles in place as he laughs at your dramatics.

“It can’t be that bad.”

You finally let him walk past you, he stands in front of your canvas with his finger on his chin,

“Okay, it can be that bad.”

Taehyung bubbles with laughter and you hit his shoulder but end up laughing with him.

“I told you.” You pout. Taehyung stares at you, his eyes once again shifting towards your lips and you aren’t going to play dumb, of course you’ve noticed.

“What?” you jut your lip out even more, walking just a bit closer to him.

“Nothing, you’re just cute.” Taehyung admits. His long fingers brush against your cheek as he pushes a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Like, really cute.”

Well, holy shit. Your heart and also your vagina cannot take this.

“How cute?” you breathe out.

“So cute I could kiss you.” Taehyung walks closer, his foot bumping into yours. “But…” He looks down at the ground, guilt beginning to surface, “y/n I have to tell—”

You tilt your head up and meet his lips for a peck on the lips taking him by surprise. Taehyung knits his brows together and is about to say something when he sighs out instead. One of his hands travel to cup the back of your head to bring you closer to him and he kisses you again. He deepens the kiss. Its slow and there’s no tongue, just lips moving tenderly against one another. You feel so light and airy like you could just float away until he abruptly pulls back.

“What’s wrong?” you panic, worry filling your eyes.

“We—we shouldn’t do that.” He finally says after a moment. Why? It was just some kissing between two people who possibly like each other? It’s not like you were delusional right? It’s not like you were making this up in your head. The flowers, the apron, the dinners, the car door, the ‘missing my girl’, the way he treats you can’t just be because of some fake dating bullshit. You know he is known for his kindness but to this extent?

“Why?” you finally say.

“Because,” Taehyung drags a hand across his face, “No one’s around. Let’s just take our pictures—”

BBrrrrrr bbbrrrr brrrrrr bbbrrrr

Taehyung’s phone is sitting on the table next to where the two of you are, it’s going off and you naturally glance over.

Incoming call: Anna

Taehyung races to turn it off, his face flushing and his hands have become sweaty.

“She…she just doesn’t give up.” He chuckles awkwardly, his phone in his grasp as you hear the buzzing of incoming messages.

“Is that her too?” you ask, feeling sorry for him.

“Uh, yeah…probably.” He says, his eyes looking all over the room but never on you.

“Well, let’s see what she’s saying.” You say nonchalantly, reaching for his phone but he yanks his hand back and barks a loud ‘No’. Startled, you step away from him.

“Sorry, I just…” he rubs his neck.

“No no, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have reached for your phone like that…” Something is off, You can feel it. But you want to push that feeling away.

“Let’s just take the pictures, I need to get home soon.”

“Yeah, okay.” Taehyung forces a smile.

~~~

Something is off with Taehyung. The way he wanted to kiss you but then pulled back. The way he got super weird after Anna called. Has she traumatized him that much? Is she like a real, legit stalker who is totally and completely obsessed with him? You feel bad for the guy, he seems like he probably has trust issues or something. Maybe he thinks you might turn out to be like her and he’s scared of that so that’s why he is pushing you away.

That’s gotta be it. You roll around in your bed about to finally get some sleep when you hear music blaring through the wall. Jungkook. You roll your eyes at his choice of timing. The clock reads after midnight, why the hell is he blasting music at this time?

You rise from your bed and storm into his room. Jungkook looks surprised to see you as he is in the middle of doing pushups—shirtless.

His muscles ripple with every movement and it has you practically drooling.

“Uh, can I help you?” Jungkook doesn’t look very annoyed, mostly amused.

“It’s late, Jungkook. Can you turn this shit down?”

“Can’t. Didn’t get a work out in today…so here I am.” He rises to his feet, shrugging.

The music is some horrible rock back that you can’t stand and Jungkook knows this. He fucking knows this. Wow, he really is mad at you still.

“Listen dude,” you put your hands on your hips, “I’ve had a weird day and I just want to relax.”

“Oh baby, I can think of a way for you to relax.” He winks. You want to puke, why is Jungkook so gross.

“Ew.”

“So…how was it?” Jungkook’s eyes fall to the ground.

“What?”

“How—how was your date with Taehyung?” he doesn’t raise his eyes, they stay glued to the floor.

“It was…” you get flashbacks to the awkward date, “fine.” You finish, not wanting to give Jungkook any more reason to dislike you and Taehyung together. “Yeah, it was fine” you force a smile.

“You know I know better than anyone when you’re lying.” He says, finally looking at you again.

Fuck. He’s right, if anyone knows you and your lying habits its Jungkook. He can read you like his favorite book. And it’s like, a picture book. Super fucking easy.

“It was fine Jungkook.” You lie again.

“What happened?” his tone eases into something softer, something more comforting and it almost makes you break and tell him the truth. Almost. But not quite.

“Nothing happened. Keep the music down, I’m going to bed.”

Jungkook watches as you spin on your heels to exit his bedroom, his eyes caving and watching your ass the entire time. He has a love-hate relationship with your house shorts, they’re sexy as hell and that’s the problem.

Jungkook turns the volume down on his speakers and sits on the edge of his bed. His head falls into his hands as he thinks about your date with Taehyung. Something must have happened. He knows it. He feels it. But he can’t force you to tell him.

He lays back on his bed and his face hardens as he thinks more about your fake relationship. He wants to beat Taehyungs ass. He wish he could tell you but it’s not his place and he just wishes Taehyung will do the right thing.

While staying loyal to Taehyung is he betraying you?

~~~~

Best friend: “A person you value over other friends in your life, someone you have fun with, someone you trust and someone in whom you confide.” That’s how the dictionary would describe the word but in Jungkook’s dictionary it would just be your cute face. Everything about you is cute to him, the way you walk, talk, dress, sneeze, just everything.

Even when you look gross as hell in the mornings dealing with a nasty hangover he still viewed you as…cute.

When Jungkook first noticed you was in his Literature class that took place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He knew you always sat in the back and took your notes without really paying him any attention. And not to sound like a cocky bastard but…why not? He obviously thought you were pretty and there was something about you…

The second time he noticed you was at some frat party where he caught you staring at him and he thought he finally might have a chance at talking to you. Or get in your pants at least. He could one and done this situation and move on with his life but much to his surprise you weren’t interested in getting dicked down by him. No, you were interested in just…hanging out. Which he wasn’t use to. Most girls just wanted to say the got with the Jeon Jungkook and don’t pay him any mind for something serious. Because apparently he isn’t the type of guy you could be “serious” with. It’s not like he doesn’t hear the rumors. He hated this honestly…but he guesses it’s his own fault.

He even playfully offered to take you upstairs that night but you refused him. Much too shy. So he got a better idea: the 24 hour diner down the road.

You ended up talking until 9 am the next morning, laughing and snorting, telling tons of stories that cracked the two of you up. He even shared deeply personal information with you that shocked the both of you. But it just felt right—talking to you. He felt like he could open his heart to you, like he was making a real friend.

Jungkook doesn’t have much of a dating history…he mostly just sleeps around and is okay with that—because he has to be. Like what was said earlier, Jungkook isn’t a guy you get “serious” with and all the girls knew that. It just started with one girl spreading the fact he isn’t the type to ‘do’ relationships. He thought this would cause girls to try harder and try to change him or whatever. But none cared enough. He guesses…he just isn’t worth it. Does Jungkook yearn for something more? You wouldn’t know because he has never voiced it. Even though he isn’t lucky in love, he did get super lucky in a friend. That’s you. He cherishes your friendship more than anything in the world and wouldn’t do anything to risk ruining it.

3 years ago

“What about you?” you smile at him with all your teeth, “What are your parents like?”

You didn’t know at the time but this question made Jungkook feel the very dread he avoids feeling.

He looked into your wide eyes and couldn’t help the sigh that escapes his lips.

“Dad cheated the whole time and moms not around anymore.” Jungkook picks at his cuticles.

You felt a pang of guilt for bringing it up…but you were too curious to stop.

“Where did she go?” you can’t seem to stop yourself from asking.

Jungkook pauses his bad habit, his fingers coming to a halt.

“Can we change the subject?” he finally says, a small smile spreading across his lips, “It’s like, uh…a touchy subject. Ya know?” he almost looks as if he feels bad that he can’t confide in you.

“I promise I will tell you about it someday.” He swears with his pinky joining your pinky. You felt content with his answer but somehow you knew he probably never would.

Jungkook lays in his bed with his head dangling off the edge. Its 10 at night and you’re still not back. You had another date with Taehyung today—he knows because he follows the both of you on Instagram and you posted a photo of Taehyung in front of a mural that’s located just downtown. He grabs his phone to check your location and unfortunately you are still in the same spot—Taehyungs apartment. He hates this. Why does he hate this? Because Taehyung doesn’t deserve you and what he’s doing is not right. But he can’t tell you that because none of this is his business. Instead all he does is piss you off and he hates himself for it.

He truly thinks the world of you, he truly wants nothing but the best for you and he truly loves you. You’re his best friend.

Jungkook starts to doze off when he hears the front door being unlocked. It’s you.

Quickly, Jungkook jumps to his feet and scurries to his bedroom door and places his ear over the wood. He hears you talking…then another voice. You’re not alone. Its muffled but he makes out what you’re saying.

“It was amazing T,” oh, you’re with Trina. “He got me flowers, took pictures of me and got all my best angles.” He hears you giggling then another voice joins you in your laughter.

“I told you! This was a great idea!” Trina says, Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“He was such a gentlemen the whole time and it…I know it’s not real but I don’t know man…it feels real sometimes.”

“Girl, he would be stupid not to have a thing for you.” For once, Trina and Jungkook agree on something.

“I would actually kill myself if he did!” you giggle.

Jungkook goes rigid at your words, his jaw clenching so hard it ticks. He hates when you say shit like that, it creates a suffocating bubble around him that’s too hard to pop.

Jungkook decides he’s eavesdropped enough and settles back on his bed. He lays back, his arms folded behind him. He feels beyond frustrated and doesn’t know what could cure this. Well, maybe sex? Maybe he should call up some girl…maybe that could make him feel better. But somehow that didn’t appeal to him so much in this moment when his brain is occupied of you. So he settles for himself. It’s been a while since Jungkook gave himself a handy but he’s not opposed of going for it.

The lights are off and Jungkook is deciding if he wants to watch porn or settle for his imagination. A girl he use to hook up with enters his mind and he decides to roll with it, he dips his hands underneath his boxers to feel up his hardening length. He reaches for his nightstand to squirt some lube in his hand, his cock is only half hard by the time he’s gently stroking himself. The skin on his cock is smooth with few veins decorating the length, he’s already leaking precum while his imagination starts up.

He thinks of this girl and her lips, how she looks with them wrapped around his greedy cock and he becomes even harder. Fuck, he can’t remember her name—a piece of shit move but he doesn’t care at this point. He’s stroking himself faster, gathering the precum at his tip and smearing it around. A light moan escapes his lips as he tugs on the head of his cock harder. His other hand drags his boxers down his legs as his continues to stroke himself and then reaches to fondle his balls. He groans at the sensation.

He then thinks of the girls ass in the air, her wiggling it around and begging him to fuck her. Her ass is round and plump, it jiggles slightly as she squirms below him. His hand moves quickly as his thoughts get dirtier. He doesn’t see her face just her ass and her voice sounds a lot like…yours. Fuck, he can’t be thinking of you right now. He’s pissed at you, his thoughts growing angry yet somehow his hand doesn’t stop. He’s so close it fucking hurts.

“Fuck…y/n..” he whimpers into his shoulder. He now sees your face, underneath him, your hair all splayed out. Your lips are swollen and you whine for him, begging for him to fuck into you faster. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut at that image, his hand stroking him impossibly fast as he is beginning to lose all composure. He shouldn’t be thinking of you right now, or ever—not like this. But he hears you beg for him, he imagines flipping you over, demanding you to raise your ass in the air. You beg to be punished, you beg for him to spank you, and he does. He pulls his hand back and slaps your needy ass and you whimper. He does it again and again.

He sees himself insert his cock into your pussy and he’s thrusting in and out like his life depends on it. Jungkook’s hand squeezes desperately around his throbbing member, he cries out quietly as he fucks you in his mind.

He imagines you reaching your own high, your moans and screams ringing in his ears and that’s what sets him over the edge. His cum spurts out of his swollen cock, spraying all over his hand as he begins to come to a stop on himself.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck” Jungkook is out of breath, his fantasy too much for him to handle. “What the fuck did I just….”

He sits in complete silence as his breathing comes down. Did he just? He is not supposed to do that.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jeon Jungkook #Jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #kim taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 13

Hello friends we have come to the end of Cult Girl. Thank you all for hyping me up throughout this story and giving me the confidence to actually post my work. Y/n and Hannibal throw a dinner party.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the entire kitchen in that homey mid-morning glow. You were enjoying your coffee and scrolling through an article on your phone.

"Senator Hatch reportedly coughed up his late wife's toe on the floor of the precinct." You read out loud. "Huh. Wonder how that could have happened."

You side-eyed Hannibal, who was contentedly sharpening his knives. Placing a rather large meat cleaver to the side, he met your gaze. "I have my ways."

You finished off your coffee and brought the mug to the sink. "There was no way Theresa was going to survive that night, was there?"

"Clever girl." Hannibal praised.

"You were going to kill her if I didn't, were you?" You felt a smile coming on. "Did everything turn out as expected?"

"Darling, this all went much better than I could have ever hoped for." He smirked. "See, I had the whole evening mapped out. I was hoping you'd be the one to deliver justice and kill her, but I had to prepare for the possibility that you wouldn't."

You folded your arms and leaned against the island. "Is that why I was so sick that day?"

You could have sworn you saw some hesitation in Hannibal's face. Maybe even a touch of regret. "Yes. You needed an alibi. It was as easy as removing a single birth control pill from your packet. You'd see it was missing and think you'd already taken your medicine-"

"So I'd neglect to take my focus meds." You cut in. "Yeah, I knew something was off."

"By the end of the day, you'd be experiencing full withdrawal symptoms." Hannibal nodded. "I don't take any pleasure in upsetting the delicate balance of your brain chemistry, and for that I am sorry. I did what I had to."

"Yeah, don't ever do that again." You ordered, no disarming smile in sight. "I need those meds to function."

"I promise you, darling," Hannibal said, sincerely. "I would never keep you from being anything but your very best. I was just looking after you."

"I suppose now that all this is out in the open, you won't need to pull any shit like that again." You muttered. "But I'm still going to keep my pills at my apartment."

"That reminds me." He said. "Would you like to invite your roommates for dinner tonight? I've prepared a wonderful Spanish-inspired menu that's perfect for entertaining."

"I'd love for you to meet my friends, but, they all keep such weird hours I doubt they'll all be free tonight." You shrugged. "I'll give them a call though."

"Wonderful." He smiled. "You make arrangements while I prepare the kitchen."

You stepped into the office and called up Pilar. She answered within the minute.

"[F/N]!" She near shouted. "Holy fuck, how are you doing?"

"I'm actually doing..." you looked back into the kitchen, watching your beloved Hannibal in his element. "Really well."

"I heard about your cousin." Pilar cut in. "One down, two to go."

You snorted. "No fucking shit."

"Sorry, was that okay for me to say?" She apologized. "I know you said Theresa was a bitch, but it's your trauma and I-"

"No, you're fine." You laughed. "She was a bitch. Hey, do you have any plans tonight?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so." She answered. "Why?"

"Hannibal wants to invite you all for dinner tonight." You said with an audible smile. "Y'know, to celebrate the bitch's death."

"Yo! Steph!" Pilar shouted across the room. "Wake Randy up! We're having dinner at [F/N]'s rich boyfriend's house!"

You could make out Stephanie's voice in the background. "It's about damn time. We've been waiting for her to redistribute the wealth."

"She means thank you for the invitation." Pilar corrected.

"It's not like I had to twist his arm or anything. It was his idea." You chuckled. "He loves having guests. And excuses to dress up."

"Oh so we're getting fancy, huh?" Pilar's voice turned up in excitement.

"Hey [F/N]!" Randy snatched the phone from Pilar. "Text me the menu for tonight. My girlfriend'll steal a nice bottle of wine to pair. She's a pro, she works over at Cavatappi's wine and spirits."

"Much obliged, Randy." You said. "I'll see you guys at seven."

You returned to the kitchen with a smile. "They're coming."

"Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, then." Hannibal placed something wrapped in butcher paper on the counter. "Come now. Let me show you how to properly prepare a heart.

You and Hannibal spent the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon preparing a bountiful meal. You reveled in the irony of finally finding a space for Theresa in your life. That space just so happened to be on the stove.

Seven came far too quickly, but your friends were always a welcome sight. You greeted them at the door with hugs, Hannibal watching with stoic adoration.

"Guys, this is Hannibal Lecter, my partner." You introduced. "Hannibal, this is Pilar, Stephanie and Miranda."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies." Hannibal greeted. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

"Here you go, Dr. Lecter." Randy handed him a bottle of wine. "Thank you for inviting us."

Hannibal examined the bottle. "Yes, this will pair quite nicely with our meal. Thank you very much. [F/N], could you show our guests to the dining room?"

You nodded and accepted the bottle, given the extra responsibility of pouring. You led your friends to the dining room and wasted no time distributing the alcohol.

"A toast." Stephanie rose her glass. "Too many of history's worst have had the privilege of dying on their own terms. Today, we celebrate the death of one who didn't: Theresa [L/N]."

"She will join her sisters Nancy Reagan and Madame Nhu in hell tonight." You concurred, tapping your glasses together with a series of satisfying clinks.

"Okay, you need to spill." Randy scooted her chair up and leaned towards you. "How the hell did you get away with it?"

"Well, it helped a lot that her husband was already a felon." You teased. "If I didn't kill her, he was going to eventually."

Pilar made a face. "I can't believe it took actual murder to get that latter-day lump thrown in prison."

"Well, the LDS church is a very influential organization with a stronghold on all of Utah." You explained. "There's a long history of legitimizing sex abuse there."

"We know, cult girl." Stephanie laughed. "You remind us every time your pedophile cousin-in-law comes up. Relax and take your victories where you can get them.”

“Ladies,” Hannibal entered. You rushed to his side to help him with the dinner plates. “Have we ever tried organ meat before?”

Everyone’s eyes found Pilar.

“Braised liver is delicious and you guys are just cowards.” Pilar protested. “I will die on this hill.”

Hannibal smiled and presented your friends with their plates. “You are a woman of good tastes, Pilar. Our first course is Riñones al Jerez.”

“Kidneys.” Randy translated. “Who’s kidneys are we eating today, Dr. Lecter?”

He tilted his head. “Theresa’s, of course.”

“I don’t care whose organs you harvested.” Stephanie said, her eyes rolling back into her head. “This is delicious.”

You and Hannibal shared a glance and a smile.

You and your roommates devoured the Riñones al Jerez, then dug into the next serving of heart stewed with chickpeas and olives. You finished off the evening with natillas de leche and a bottle of Sauternes Hannibal just happened to have lying around.

“This is the first time since like, Keith Raniere got sentenced that I’ve seen [F/N] happy-drunk.” Stephanie observed.

“Or even just... happy." Pilar said, looking at Hannibal. "I'll have some of whatever she's having, please."

"My pleasure." Hannibal poured her another glass of wine.

Your phone began to buzz on the table, capturing the attention of your guests. You didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Nobody else in the world had such horrid timing.

"Shit, you've got to answer it here!" Stephanie pleaded. "So we can all give her a piece of our mind!"

You looked over to Hannibal, who you knew was just as curious.

You dragged the answer icon across the screen and put it on speaker. You gestured for your friends to be quiet. "Yeah?"

"Well look who finally decided to pick up." Grandma said. "Thank you for gracing me with your attention. I know you have so much going on right now, you're just too busy to pick up the phone and talk to your grieving grandmother."

"For your information..." you stumbled over your words. "I was interrogated by the police yesterday. I think that counts as having something going on."

"Are you drunk?" Her voice was laced with a disproportionate level of disgust.

"I'm grieving too, Beatrice." You counter. "What, suddenly you're the only one who can drink the pain away? That's not very democratic of you."

"In your state, you shouldn't even be thinking of alcohol!" Grandma scolded. "You of all people should know the effects alcohol has on an unborn baby."

You smacked yourself on the head. Of course Theresa would plant a seed to fuck you over one last time. "Did Theresa actually tell you I was pregnant?"

"It was her last message to me, actually. Anyway, you're coming home." Grandma said, without so much as waiting for a response. "I won't have my great grandchild living in that dangerous city that your cousin was killed in."

You exchanged looks with your friends, who were going through the same combination of emotions as you were. Grandma's words just seemed to fade out as you shared an entire nonverbal conversation with the people around you.

"And you're leaving that terrible, terrible man."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and looked at you, waiting to see how you'd respond. You knew what you had to do. It was finally time. You did something you should have done a long time ago.

"No." You said, your nerves loosened by the wine.

"What?"

"No. And I mean it." A big smile crossed your lips. "Theresa lied to you. I'm not pregnant. And you have to live with the fact that your granddaughter's last words to you were a blatant lie."

Hannibal looked at you with pride and your friends began to silently gas you up with encouraging gestures. "

"...And that you're the only one to blame for her deception." You continued. "You raised her in your own image."

"This is why I refuse to let you raise my great grandchild with that man!" She wailed. "He's twisted your mind against me! He's made you cruel!"

"Hannibal made me see clearly that you made me cruel." You said with absolute certainty. "You'll never see me again."

"Don't be like your mother, [F/N]." Grandma snarled. "Don't cut people out for trying to help."

"You'll never see me again." You repeated and decided to leave it at that. You ended the call and blocked the number, joined by an eruption of excitement from your friends.

It was finally over. Your life could truly begin.

#hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #cult girl

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha romanoff x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

warnings: ppl are upset, shit gets ruined, swearing? the “l” word

word count: 3.5k

what is this, like the sixth part? this was definitely supposed to be a miniseries lmao- all the other parts are on my pinned post!

The nights passed the same, but the days were entirely different. Days kept flying by, and with every single cycle of the sun, you were forced more and more by tradition to prepare your home for your future husband. It had been days since you and Natasha confessed your feelings for each other and kissed under the starlight, and still, the feeling of her arms around you and her face in your hands still ran around in your mind, pushing thoughts of your duties out of your mind without any effort. And it was for that reason, against your judgement, that you still met with Natasha Romanoff every night.

It felt like ever since the honesty started flowing, you began to feel lighter. With every glance at Natasha that became less and less stolen, your soul felt like it could deviate more and more by the second. Your mind knew what was going on, the high before the impending fall, and you knew for a fact that when you hit the ground, you were going to shatter. But you couldn't find your mind wanting to acknowledge how fragile you were becoming for love. And how could you? How could you mind the chilling fall and the results of it when Natasha cradled you so gently, just like stained glass?

Wanda was the sane one. She was the one who kept trying to bring you back down from the tops of your clouds, attempting to be the gentle reminder before reality itself slammed right into you and took your breath away in the worst of ways. She was the gentle hand of a mother that tried to shake her child out of a nightmare disguised as a dream, and you were the insolent child who ignored her.

Pietro, on the other hand, encouraged it. He was all for splurging, and that went for everything. He was a borderline glutton and when he had money, it was gone within weeks, and he was an advocate for the way that you were divulging in your own little heaven. He would smile when he saw you off in your own head, reminiscing on a memory so sweet you could have sworn it was some sort of dream. He would tell Wanda in hushed whispers to leave you alone, and that you deserved to be happy, even if it was only for a little bit.

“But she doesn’t deserve to have it ripped away from her,” Wanda said to him on a day where the sun managed to pierce through the coverage of the clouds, and he just shook his head at her, looking at her with slight pity. “It’s my duty as her friend to remind her.”

“She’s a smart girl, don’t you think she knows?” Pietro retorted, eyeing you as you picked a magnolia from your garden, standing by yourself but still smiling. “Besides, do you really think that her lady love is going to let anything happen to her?”

Wanda gasped and looked around them, on alert for anyone who could have possibly heard what her brother had said. Her eyes were wild as she watched for anyone who may have heard the scandalous words, and when she saw that everyone was minding their business, she swirled her head back to glare at Pietro. “What?”

Pietro grinned, and then his grin turned into a sneaky smirk. “What, you didn't know?” When Wanda hesitated to answer, he chuckled. ‘There’s no way you didn’t know.”

“Pietro, you can’t just say things like that,” she scolded, heart still racing at the thought of someone knowing.

“You and I are the only ones who know her well enough to know that she’s in love, and there’s no way that you haven’t seen the way that the knight is around her.”

Wanda had. She had a great read on people, always seeming to know everyone’s thoughts before they even knew it themselves. She knew the second that Natasha Romanoff started to change, and she would never forget the time where she realized that it was because of her very own dear friend.

It happened on a particularly cool day, and Wanda had dressed you in a short and flowy dress before realizing that there was a breeze outside. You had walked down to the training areas, even though you said that you were just aimlessly walking, and you kept glancing over your shoulder to watch the red head spar with a man twice her size and hold more than her own. You had looked away the second that Wanda looked at you for a moment too long, with her eyes that were always seeking answers. The first pang of realization hit Wanda that day when she saw you stand up straight and tall when Natasha started to saunter towards the both of you. The second time that she saw it was when Natasha got an eyeful of you, too, and then her flawless steps faltered for the quickest of moments. Natasha never faltered.

“It doesn’t matter what we know,” Wanda muttered lowly, putting a strand of her hair behind her ear in an attempt to look like they were having a normal conversation. “We can’t just go around saying that our lady-”

“Likes women?” He asked, and Wanda immediately started throwing curses his way. “No one ever sees past their own problems here. I can assure you, no one cares if Lady Mirellis likes lying with women.”

“No, but Brock Rumlow will care,” Wanda pointed out. “And he has the ability to make her life miserable. So please, watch your mouth. Or at least care for how loud you run it.”

“They were meant to meet,” Pietro said, his words nearly running into Wanda’s. “They were meant to meet, that much is obvious. I knew it from the second that I saw them look at each other when the redhead stepped out of the carriage.” Wanda looked at him with shock in her eyes as she watched his face flood with smugness, the sort of effortless smile that made people smile back. “What, you didn’t see that coming?” He shook his head and ruffled his sister’s hair, ignoring the angered sounds she made.

“And you say that you’re the observant twin?”

§§

The stream became your hiding place. It was the place that you and Natasha went when it all became too much for you or when she wanted to celebrate getting another step closer to finding herself. You went on good days and bad ones, but at the end of it, you felt at peace. You both ended up forgetting why you went in the first place.

Your toes were in the water, brushing up against a rock every few seconds as the red head practiced wielding her sword absentmindedly behind you, still looking graceful and as smooth as water while she did it. “What’s going to happen when you finish?”

“When I finish what?”

“When you finish your knightly duties, you know, the reason why you came in the first place?” You asked, turning your head to look at her. She had her arm straight out, sword elongating it and was mid-lunge, but her eyes were on you and her forehead had gathered wrinkles. “What’s going to happen?”

She dropped her arm abruptly and frowned. You heard her inhale over the sound of rushing water. “Well, I suppose I have to ride back to the capital.” You knew that. “I’ll be officially knighted there.”

“Are you excited?”

“It’s still a few months away,” Natasha said, and you knew that the statement was more for you than it was for her. “But when the time comes, I’ll be excited.”

You knew she would be. She rose up from nothing to possibly being a woman knighted by the king, something that had never happened before. She was proud of herself, and you were proud of her. She was the perfect knight, honorable and strong, and everything that a person with that title should be. You sat there with your lips shut, hand in hers like it was meant to be that way, and your mind moving at a speed legs couldn’t even hope for.

“Whatever you’re worrying about, darling,” Natasha said, the hand that wasn’t intertwined with you reaching up and brushing against your jaw, fingers caressing your face as she turned your head gently to face her. “Don’t.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“It could be,” she retorted, and her pointer finger brushed over your top lip. “Just stop thinking about it.”

You pursed your lips at her, shaking your head. “You truly do have a man’s brain.”

“Are you going to be able to do it?” She asked out of nowhere, and you stopped tracing her eyebrows with your finger to give her a confused look. “I guess the real question is- are you really going to do it?”

You sighed, your heart already slowly breaking. “Yes.” You said, lacking hesitancy that you felt deeply in your heart. “It won’t matter that I’ll be married to him. I swear it.”

“I believe you.”

“Nothing has to change. We’ll sneak around like we always do, we’ll be fine.”

“Hey,” Natasha said, grabbing your hands as they started to shake. Your eyes were gathering tears with every word that passed through your lips, and she made you focus on her. “I believe you.”

The rest of the night was spent as all the other nights were spent. Silence other than the sounds of nature and each other’s soft breathing. The customary breeze that came and went brushing against your bare legs and Natasha’s clothed ones. Soft touches that ranged from hands to foreheads to each other’s backs. It was so intimate, and you were so alone with her that it truly felt like you two were the only people on the planet. You never felt safer. Seeing Natasha wield a sword or wear her armor had nothing on the security that you felt when she just had you close, where there was nothing but a sliver of air between your two bodies. It was in moments like those, when she held you in her arms and kissed your temple, where you truly felt invincible.

§§

With every passing day, you fell more and more in love with Natasha Romanoff. That much was a given, and you knew that the first night at the stream was going to change your life for forever, but you never expected it to be that hard. And by it, you meant, getting married to someone you would hate just so that you could keep the woman that you loved safe.

And it felt so good to finally use that word, even if it was only in the comforts of your own mind. You loved her. You loved her like you had never loved anyone else, and you had to tell her one day. Your heart sunk to your toes when you realized that the confession would have to be in an empty forest or in your gardens or somewhere else just a s secretive, and that no one would ever find out truly how devoted you were to her. You were never going to be able to tell the world that you loved her, and that was for more reasons than one.

You were going to marry Brock Rumlow the day after he arrived. And that day was hardly even approaching anymore, it was on your doorstep. It was so close, in fact, that you were standing in your wedding gown and crying as you tried it on one last time before the fateful day.

One second, Wanda was doing your corset and fixing the collar on the traditional wedding dress and the next- she was watching you lose your mind. “I really- I can’t do it.” You had a hand over your mouth as you looked up towards the ceiling. You collapsed to the floor despite your chest struggling to expand and catch a breath while the corset constricted. Your hands covered your face as you allowed yourself to have a good cry for the first time in what felt like years.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Wanda breathed out, and you could feel the heartbreak in her just like it was in you. “I know. I know, just cry it all out.”

Your head was spinning. You had no idea what terrible choices you had made for life to bring you to the spot that you were soon to arrive at and be stuck in forever. You had no idea what you had done to the world to make the universe want to make your life miserable. “I can’t do it.”

“If you’re afraid that he’ll hurt you…” Wanda started off, a slight tremble in her voice as she tried to gather her own bearings and be strong for you, “Pietro and I won’t let it happen. Pietro is strong, and I’m fierce when it comes to the two of you, you know that. Nothing will ever happen to you while we’re here.”

“I can’t marry him,” you sobbed, and it felt like you were being crushed into a hug by the corset. “I can’t.”

“I will be with you every step of the way, just like I was before, darling.”

“No!” You wailed, and you felt Wanda startle a bit. You were going in circles in your own mind, s fast that you couldn’t even stop your lips from moving if you had tried. “I can’t- I cannot marry him because my heart is fully in the possession of another.” You admitted lowly, so quietly that Wanda hardly even heard it. “I can’t.”

Wanda waited a few moments before speaking again. “It’s Natasha isn’t it?”

You stiffened up immediately, almost forgetting that quickly that you had shared the only secret that you ever kept from Wanda. Natasha. “What?”

“Pietro and I have known you for what feels like centuries,” Wanda said rubbing a smooth hand up and down your back. “Did you really think that we hadn’t caught on?”

You looked up at her, panic manifesting in your eyes. “Who else knows?” If you were in a rational state of mind, you would have known that Wanda and Pietro would never run their mouths, especially not about something that meant life or death. And you being with someone- a woman at that- before your betrothed came? That meant certain death for the both of you. ‘W-Wanda-”

“No one knows,” she said soothingly, a promise deep rooted in her tone. “Just the two of us. You hid it surprisingly well, but you can’t hide from your family.”

And they were family. The only ones you considered to be family, actually. “So now you know why.” Wanda nodded, and then the two of you sat on your wooden floor in silence, but it felt awfully loud with the thoughts running through you.

It felt like ages had passed by the time Wanda’s voice flooded your senses again, the despair in it hardly hidden. “What are you going to do?”

“Try to keep us both alive.”

§§

Your eyes were shut as you laid on your back and tried to will the tears away. Natasha was next to you, and you were supposed to be stargazing during your last night of freedom. You had been keeping it together, but the second Natasha heard a sniffle, she shook her head and leaned up on her arm.

“You are not going to mope on our last- you know what? You’re just not going to mope tonight. Stand up.” Before you could even tell her that you didn’t want to she was yanking you up with one hand. You stumbled forward and into her arms, unable to stop yourself from giggling a bit before she steadied you.

The moonlight was your friend as it lit her face, and like you always did, you momentarily lost your breath while the two of you locked eyes, yours clashing with her blue ones and creating a tension that you were so familiar with, the kind that everyone craved. “If there was no rush, nothing threatening to tear us apart, would you agree to marry me right now?”

You blinked. “What?”

“In another life,” Natasha said, and you nodded with hesitant encouragement. “If this was another life and I was someone in a position to get down on one knee and marry you, would you tell me yes?” You stood there tongue tied, holding both of her hands as she stared at you head on. “If I were a man, a wealthy man who loved you for you, just like I do now, would you tell me yes? Would you agree to marry me if there were no obstacles?”

Once you understood the depth of her question, the answer that had been stirring within finally came to light, and then it was leaving your lips in a surprised exhalation. “Yes.”

“Good,” Natasha said, the apprehension melting off of her face. She took a step back, but still held your hands tightly. “I’ll make it a point to find you in the next life, then.”

The next life. An unknown. Something that had so many variables, so many different meanings and outcomes. She was so optimistic, for someone who had seen so much hurt and suffering. But you were a realist, you had to be after everything that happened to you. And you knew deep down, no matter how much you willed for there to be one, that there was no second chance at a next life for you. And there wasn’t one for her, either. You didn’t have the next life. You didn’t even have the one you lived in. But you had a single night.

“I would marry you tonight,” you said softly, and when you heard her breathing hitch, you turned your head to look at her, watching the slightest of flushes appear on her cheeks, like she was surprised that you would have even said the words that you did. “Even with everything going on right now, I would marry you. I would marry you with or without the people who hate us for loving who we do, and with or without Brock Rumlow coming in the morning. If I could, I would marry you. If you’d have me, of course.”

“Of course I would,” she said, relief lacing in her voice as she touched your face, and one of your tears hit her pointer finger. “And it’s too late now, I’m afraid, but, I love you,” she said, and just like that, all of your worry and frustration and fear had melted away, like you were in some stupid fairy tale that queens tell their daughters at night. “Is that enough?”

No. It wasn’t. Not when it came to her. You wanted to give your all to her and you wanted it back from her. But as quick as you realized that you wanted it all, you realized that you would never get it. So, the little confessions and hugs and caresses in the dark were going to have to be enough. You would make them enough. “It’s enough,” you said, because wanting was enough. Being with her in the night and desiring for her during the day was enough. “It’s enough.”

§§

You expected a more calm entrance from Lord Rumlow, but then again, you didn’t know him. But the second all of his horses and men came barreling down the road, you felt like you knew him quite enough.

You knew all men like him at first glance.

Wanda was on your left, and Pietro on your right as you stood in a pretty, floral dress that Wanda picked out for you. It was silent when she dressed you, but all the words were there. She did your hair the way that you usually did it, said you looked beautiful, and then the next thing you knew, you were standing and watching carriages arrive.

Natasha wasn’t there.

You honestly didn’t know if it was worse or better for you.

When the fanfare was finally over and the door to the grandest chariot of them all opened, you held your breath. And then, before you could even stop yourself, you thought, I’m about to see what a true monster looks like.

He was a big man. Muscular, sturdy looking, and intimidating. You immediately understood why he came off as so hostile in the letters, and it was because he was so scary looking that he could get away with nearly anything. You tilted your head upwards in defiance, meeting his eyes even though he cocked a brow at you, easily recognizing you as his betrothed, and as a woman who was directly challenging him.

He took a few steps closer, but like he knew of your extreme aversion to him and the way that you had two people beside you that would defend you fiercely, he stopped at a far enough distance. His expensive shoes dug up your grass, and you would have flinched if it weren’t for his steely, self assured voice coming your way. “You must be my wife.”

You couldn’t even scoff. “Not yet.”

“But tomorrow is coming,” he said, looking around the estate, clearly pleased with the way it looked. He nodded his head once, twice, and then three times, before his gaze settled on you again, and he looked you up and down. “Couldn’t ask for anything more.

***

it literally astonishes me that this was supposed to be four chapters long, at most. but then again, it was supposed to be a fucking one shot just like all the flowers will bloom- so why am i surprised? i can’t write none shots for shit guys...

please like and reblog if you liked this lil installment! i hope you guys have a great rest of your day/night :))))

taglist!

@teenwonder @msmarvelsmain @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering

@xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

i’m pretty sure i didn’t forget anyone, and if i did, i’m sorry!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #knight!natasha #royalty au #natasha romanov fluff #marvel au #lgbt marvel #gay marvel fic #my fics #natasha x fem!reader

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moralesispunk · 3 years

Text

In his eyes IV (Pero Blacksmith AU)

Pero Tovar x Female Reader

Part 3 here / Masterlist here under Pero / epilogue

Warnings: smut, oral (m and f receiving), squirting, unprotected penetrative sex

Summary: the final two days with Pero while your father is away have you confronting what life will be like when your father returns.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: So this is the last full chapter! I will be posting an epilogue of where Pero and the bakers daughter’s life goes but I had so much fun writing for Pero and thank you for everyone’s lovely comments :) I enjoyed it so much I have planned a second Royal Reader x Guard! Pero series but want to take some time to plan it out properly before posting!

Day Four

The sun poured in through the window, casting a warm light over your back where the bed sheets had fallen off. Slowly letting your body wake to the world you kept your eyes closed as you listened to the birds that chirped from a nearby tree and the stream that ran by the back of your river. The weight that was holding you down began to shift on your back.

Pero’s hand had been taking up the most part of your back, holding you tight to his chest throughout the night. He was still asleep, only just, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest in time with his heartbeat that tapped against your cheek. Your bare skin was moulding against one another with every empty curve of yours being filled by him. You tilted your head up to take in his sleeping form, a lot more relaxed than you had ever seen him. His sharp jaw was within reach for your lips and so you shifted your body up to place a gentle kiss between his ear and jaw.

One of his eyes opened, looking down at you before he closed it again and pulled you tighter against his chest as he sighed contently.

“Good morning,” you whispered against his skin.

He hummed back, his fingertips now dragging up and down your back as he started to wake.

“Pero,” you whispered, waiting until his eyes opened again before you continued, “I have to work the market today.”

“Soon,” he grumbled before moving so your body was fully on top of his, your head resting on his stomach with your legs in the space between his.

His hands continued in their movement up and down against your back. His fingertips were rough, years of being weathered by labour and the harsh weather, but their movements were gentle as if he was handling the most delicate glass. You stayed against his warmth for a while longer, listening to his heartbeat that stayed as calm as it was while asleep, before finally pulling yourself from him to sit back on your heels, kneeling between his legs.

Looking down at him you finally got to take in his body under the light of the morning sun. Reaching out, you traced over the marks and scars that had stayed hidden under the dim candle light the night before. He was strong, covered in tales of his travels, but softer in age. Your hands continued tracing his skin as he watched your carefully, shifting his head on the pillow to fully take in the sight before him.

Pero could count on one hand the amount of times he woke up next to a woman but he had never woken up and been treated so carefully. The woman in front of him treated him as gently as she looked. Her eyes were never filled with even the smallest hint of fear when she looked at him, only care.

You looked up at him, smiling while your eyes were still half asleep. Your hands were lazy, eventually finding their way to his thighs and trailing across his hip bones. He couldn’t stop the shiver that made its way down his body as you did so.

Despite being completely bare in front of him in a way no one had ever seen you before, you felt no need to cover yourself. When your hands reached his middle you finally stopped before letting your fingers drag down his cock gently. The night before had been beautiful but you wanted him to teach you more. Teach him how to make him feel good.

His cock began to harden but his hands reached for your wrists to gently grab them and pull you down towards him.

“If you don’t stop we will never make it to the market,” he whispered against your lips before kissing you, “later.”

You pulled back and nodded before climbing from the bed. When you stood you realised the ache between your legs, wincing slightly as you reached for your clothes for the day.

Pero stood quickly, grasping your elbow, “I wasn’t too rough last night was I?”

“No,” you turned to place your hand on his chest, “you were perfect.”

Standing on your toes, you placed a kiss to his cheek before walking out of the room to get ready for the day. By the time you were ready, Pero was already downstairs with two bowls of porridge laid out for you. You eat quickly, wishing you had woke up with more time to spare to enjoy this domestic moment.

Pero washed the bowls as you filled the baskets for the markets, making sure you had all the breads and pastries to sell today. Once they were ready Pero had lifted them before you could, leaving you with only the spare coins to carry for the day.

“Would- would you like some help today?” Pero’s voice came from beside you as you left the house.

“Are you sure?” you double checked you had everything before leaving the garden, “I do not want to make you work on one of your days off.”

“I am sure, it also means I get to spend more of today with you,” he winked, opening the gate.

The market was busying as you arrived, Pero watching while you set up the stall how he had seen you do so many times before as he approached the market as a customer. He stayed by your side throughout the day, helping to wrap pastries for customers.

You laughed as he served one, listening to his gruff tone as he spoke and realising why he worked in a role that did not require as much people skills. Throughout the day you would feel his hand rest on your back as he moved by you to place coins in the bag at your side, his gentle touch reminding you of his hands on your skin the night before.

As the morning went on the market grew quieter until there were only a few customers left roaming by early afternoon. You took the time to count the coins made for the day before packing up but the sound of voices behind you caused you to lose count. Turning around you found Pero, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed over one another and arms across his chest as he spoke to two of the village children.

They were small boys, one with a ball tucked under his arm that he had forgotten about as they both listened to Pero with wide eyes. You couldn’t hear what Pero was saying, only noticing the soft and playful tone of his voice. Whatever was said caused the two boys to laugh, turning wide eyed to one another

The smile on Pero’s face was wide, mirroring the child-like nature of the boys in front of him. This was the Pero you had grown to know, gentle and caring and not as intimidating as the villagers first thought he was. He looked up, his eyes finding yours, before nodding towards the market and kicking off the wall. The boys followed excitedly behind him, their smiles growing wider as Pero took two coins from his pocket and placing them by the pile you were carrying. He lifted the last two sweet, sugar covered pastries before handing one to each of the boys.

“Do not eat until you are home and until your mother lets you,” he playful warned as he wagged a finger at them.

The boys cheered out a thank you, Mr Pero as they skipped off down the street with pastries in hand. Your eyes stayed on Pero as he watched them weave through the markets, noticing the slight wrinkles that pulled at the side of his eyes as he smiled.

“Cute kids,” you laughed while turning back to tidy up the rest of the stall for the day.

“Rascals,” he smiled turning back to you.

“I didn’t know you were good with children?” you half-asked as you handed him the empty baskets. Pero shrugged, taking them in his hands and waiting for you to collect the coins and lead the way back to the forest.

You felt lighter than you had in the longest time, walking back to your home that you had spent the night in with the man beside you the night before. Around half way back, raindrops began to fall from the gaps between the leaves. It was light enough not to change the pace of your steps but Pero still took the coins from your hand and placed them in the safety of his pocket.

A moment later, the rain started to fall in lashes. Pero reached for your hand and ran down the path, keeping you close to follow behind. You laughed and Pero cheered as your feet were hitting the quickly filling puddles, your feet hitting the ground faster than they had since you were a young child.

When you finally reached the house, Pero pushed the door open to usher you inside and close it quickly behind. You were both soaked through to the bone as moved around the table to start the fire.

“You should take your clothes off, I’ll see if I can find you something else,” you called over your shoulder to Pero who stood close to the door.

He stood for a moment before nodding and reaching for the string at the back of the tunic. You let him undress as you left the room and headed to your room. Once you were changed into a dry night dress, deciding to stay comfortable for the rest of today, you searched and finally found a tunic for Pero.

When you walked back to Pero he was waiting for you by the fire. His skin was covered in a red and orange light, illuminating his back muscles that moved as he stretched his neck. You called his name, handing him the tunic as he turned around.

The room was already heating up and you took your wet clothes to place over the fire while Pero pulled the tunic over his head. Moving to the couch behind you, you pulled a knitted blanket over you and held it open for Pero to join.

“Thank you for helping today, Pero,” you turned to face him.

His eyes were dark but under the light of the fire you noticed the golden specs that were within. The house was filled with the noise of rain hitting against the house, a comfortable loudness that made you feel safe in here, with him.

“It was my pleasure,” he hummed in response.

“My father will be back tomorrow,” you turned to face the fire and you felt Pero nod in response, “I have enjoyed your company Pero,” you felt yourself trail off as you remained unsure about what your father’s return would mean.

“I have enjoyed yours, more than any other before,” he admits, his hand reaching up you tilt your head towards him, “I- I feel at home with you, more at home than I have felt since I was a child.”

“I don’t want this to end, Pero,” you whispered.

His hand moved up from your chin, tracing down your nose and jaw before stopping at your collarbone and letting his fingers drag along there.

“Nor do I.”

You couldn’t stop the gasp that left your lips as he touched you so delicately, your own hand moving to cover his. He paused for a moment, thinking you were wanting him to stop, but you instead guided his hand lower to cup your breast, squeezing over his hand. He leaned forward as his hand squeezed before taking your nipple between his fingers and pinching, taking your lips in a breathtaking kiss as he pushed your body back against the couch and hovered over you.

“Pero, please,” you sighed as you turned your head, letting him kiss down your neck while arching your back into his touch.

He kept one hand balancing by your head as the other trailed down your body, lifting your night dress up and squeezing up your thigh. His hand reached your middle, growling as his fingers moved up your folds.

“So wet for me already?”

“Please, Pero. I- I won’t break,” you moaned, wanting to feel every inch of him on you and not as gentle as the night before.

He sat back on his heels, looking down at you from above. His eyes moved down to your soaked cunt and watched desperately as he pushed two fingers inside. He waited for a moment, still taking care that you were okay, but upon seeing pure pleasure on your face he began pulling them out and pushing them back in again at an excruciatingly slow pace. He bit his lip as he watched your tight walls pull his fingers back in again, mesmorised by you.

“M-more, Pero,” you begged while rocking your hips into his hand and he smirked.

He started moving his fingers faster and faster as he watched your back arch into his touch and his thumb came up to rub over your clit.

“Feels- feels so good,” your hands pulled at your dress as your mind was clouded by pure pleasure.

“So good for me, I could watch you like this all the time,” he moaned, “let go, you can do it,” he coaxed.

Your hand reached for his wrist, holding on as his fingers moved relentlessly against you and when his fingers curled the wave suddenly crashed over you.

You forced your eyes to stay open as you looked down, seeing a gush of your wetness soak Pero’s arm and tunic. Suddenly all you could see was white, your head falling back against the pillow behind you and feeling your body go limp. The ringing in your ears was loud and by the time you finally came to all you could hear was your own moan of Pero’s name and his growling from above.

“I’ve got you, good girl, I’ve got you,” he moaned as he slowed his movements before removing his fingers from you.

When you looked up, Pero’s eyes were darker than usual; full of neediness. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and he balanced his soaked hand on your knee.

“I- I-,” you couldn’t find the words, still trying to focus.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he pulled the wet tunic over his head and leaned down kissing you gently, before squeezing himself between you and the back of the couch.

He curled his body into yours, his hardness pressing into your side as he ran his fingers over your skin.

“How was that?” he whispered in your ear, watching the goosebumps that followed.

“Amazing,” you sighed turning to him.

“Good,” he smirked.

You reached your hand down, wrapping your hand around his length and looking up at him. “I want to make you feel good, Pero. Show me how,” you purred and he groaned in response.

“Tell me how you want to make me feel good, with your pretty mouth,” he leaned over you to kiss your lips once, “or with your soft hands,” he reached for your hand, taking it in his and kissing your knuckles while his eyes stayed on yours.

“My mouth. I want to taste you, Pero,” you sat up.

His lips founds yours once again as his hand made its way into the back of your head, needier as he sat up and pulled you closer against him. He re-positioned your bodies so he was now lying on his back and you were straddling his lap. You dragged your lips away from his and began to kiss down his cheek and jaw, sucking on his neck slightly and grinning against his skin as he moaned, before kissing down the bare skin of his chest. You had sure to move down so to kiss each scar you could find. His hands held the side of your face as you did so, his mouth open wide as he watched how gently you treated his body.

He was already hard, his cock flat against his stomach and leaking by the time you reached it. When you settled between his legs you kissed down his length, letting your tongue drag down it.

You stopped, looking back up at Pero suddenly embarrassed to ask him what to do but he stopped you with a nod.

“Open that pretty mouth for me,” he instructed gently.

You did so and with his hands in your hair he guided your over his cock that he held by the base. You kept your eyes on his as you took him in your mouth, listening to the gasp that left his mouth as you did so.

“There you go. Just take what you can, watch your teeth,” his tone was gentle, guiding, no hint of judgement or patronising you.

Your mouth bobbed up and down his length taking more each time. Your other hand gripped at his base, moving in time with your mouth to take the rest that you could not take. Your free hand was on his thigh, gripping whenever you felt as though you were about to gag.

‘Th- feels so good,” he moaned, his hands moving to cup your cheek and base of your neck as he helped guide your movements.

His head hit back against the pillow, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open and on you as you look up at him. You looked so perfect with your mouth on his cock and eyes looking up at him to watch his reactions to your movements. It was taking all his power not to cum there and then so after a few moments he gently lifted you from him and pulled you up for a kiss.

“Was- was that okay?” you asked as you pulled away.

“Perfect, my love, but I want to be inside you before I let myself go,” he turned your head to kiss down your neck, “turn around for me? On your hands and knees?”

He waited to gauge your reaction to his request and upon seeing your eyes light up as you bite at your lip and nod he began to move. He held your hips gently as you move like he says, turning away from him as he also moves up to his knees. He held you against his chest for a moment, kissing down your neck while pulling your dress over your head before letting you lean forward on your elbows. You looked back over your shoulder as he lines himself up at your entrance. He forces his eyes closed, unable to look at you or he knows he wont last long.

He guides himself in and your moans fill the room as you struggle to keep your weight up. One of his hands holds onto your hip to keep you steady while the other moves round to your clit, wanting you to cum one more time. The sound of his skin slapping against yours makes you moan more, your arms shaking while trying to hold your weight up.

As his fingers move against your clit you can’t help but move your hips back against him, listening to his moans as you do so spurring you on and you keep your hips moving in that rhythm. Both you movements became sloppy and by the time you came Pero’s body was covering yours. His hand was now by your head with his fingers locked with yours while his chest pressed onto your back.

You could feel his breath on the back of your neck get heavier and heavier until he pulled from you and you felt him cover your back with his seed, grunting and holding onto your hand tight as your name fell from his lips.

You stayed in that position as he gently cleaned you before he pulled you back to lie with him on the couch, your back pressed against his chest. He pulled a blanket over you both and his hand started to run up and down your arm before wrapping around your waist.

You turned your head into the pillow as he kissed gently down your neck before moving round to face him.

Your breaths were hot on one another’s face for a moment before he cupped your cheek and whispered your name.

“You are beautiful, so beautiful. I wish to make you smile every day and wash away the tears on the days you are sad. I love you, all of you with all of me,” he whispered against your lips.

“Pero, I- I love you, all of you with all of me,” you mirrored his words, “I do not want this to end.”

“It wont, my love,” he promised, “leave it with me.”

You nodded before kissing him gently. Your head buried into his chest and he pulled you against him, letting his fingers trail up and down your back. The rain was still loud as it crashed against the side of the house, the fire burning enough to heat you both as you fell asleep.

Day Five

The rain had stopped later on the night before while you and Pero eat dinner in front of the fire. He held you in his arms as you fell asleep for another night, this time curled up against one another on the couch.

This morning you stretched out on the couch as you woke up to another day, letting the tingle run down your spine before opening your eyes. The only heat you could feel now was the sun streaming into the room and when you realised he was no longer behind you on the couch your eyes searched the room for Pero. There was no sign of him, only a fresh set of clothes on the table by your side so you got changed before deciding to look for him.

When you reached the kitchen, you noticed the stove was on with porridge bubbling away in a pot but there is still no sign of Pero. You gave the contents a stir before you heard the door open and clang of a bucket full of water being set down on the table behind you.

“Good morning, sleep well?” Pero asked as he walked up behind you.

You hummed and turned to face him,“did you?”

Pero nodded before placing a hand on your hip from behind as you ladled some porridge into two bowls and kissed the side of your cheek. You motioned to the table and Pero pulled out a chair for you to sit at before sitting round at the other side. Breakfast was quiet as you both still woke up to the day and you did not talk again until you stood to wash the dishes.

You eat breakfast in silence, both still waking up to the day.

“Have you missed your father?” he asked as you dried the bowl he handed you.

“I have, but I have had a wonderful time with you,” you bump his arm with your elbow and he chuckles, “I should go to the market today.”

“I can help.”

You nodded and moved around the kitchen to look out your coin and baskets for the market while Pero tidied up the living room and kitchen for your father coming home.

“Do you want to talk the longer walk to the market today, by the stream?” you asked as you tied your coins to the side of your skirts.

“Yes, that sounds nice,” Pero responded as he reached for his boots.

“We can leave in a while, I’d like to enjoy the sun for now,” you reached for his hand to walk into the garden.

Pero followed, sitting beside you and resting back on his hands before you moved so your head was now resting on his lap. He closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the sun as you pulled a flower out of the ground and twirled it in between your fingers. You reached up, placing it behind his ear and tilting his head down towards you. His face was as calm as it had been the first morning you woke next to him.

“Pretty boy,” you whispered.

Pero reached over you and pulled another from the ground placing it behind your ear.

“Pretty girl,” he leaned down and kissed you softly.

You stayed like that for a while, your head on Pero’s lap as one of his hands held him up while the other rubbed gently up and down your clothed stomach. Noticing the sun reaching mid-sky you finally stood, stretching out in the sun, before pulling Pero up to join you.

The stream travels by the bottom of your garden, flowing down and by the village. It was a little deeper than it normally is because of the rain the night before but still only just below the knee height and so when you guided Pero towards it you took off your shoes lifted up your dress to walk through the water.

You held out your hand, waiting for Pero to roll his trousers and take of his own boots to join you. You both walked hand in hand down the river, occasionally pulling the other closer to bump shoulders or kiss slightly. You knew in your chest that you had fallen head over heels for the man beside you. You knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life by his side.

As you neared the village, Pero walked with you out of the water, helping you up the embankment. When you reached the top he took your shoes from your hands, kneeling on the ground to slip them onto your feet before putting his own shoes on.

The trip to the market was quick, gathering milk, meats and vegetables for your father returning. For every item you lifted and paid for Pero was quick to take them from you and carry them. For all Pero did not talk that much, he showed you every moment of every day that he meant those three words he whispered the night before. You were fine with that, feeling the constant warmth that loomed over you from him as he watched every movement of yours with care.

He continued to carry the food as he walked you home. You could feel his eyes on yours but whenever you turned to look at him his eyes moved forward. While he wasn’t what you called confident, his people skills getting in the way of that, he wasn’t shy either and you began to wonder what had him so nervous in this moment. Before you could question him you heard your name called by your father. You looked up to see your father standing in the garden, waving towards you.

“Papa!” you shouted before running towards your father, swinging the gate open and hugging him.

“More beautiful every day,” he pulled you away to look at you, “ah, Mr Tovar,” your father reached to shake Pero’s free hand.

“I hope your trip was well,” Pero shook his hand back, still avoiding your eyes.

“Well, looks like my daughter got enough from the market, will you stay for dinner?”

“I-I do not want to intrude-“

‘Nonsense, a thank you for taking such good care of my daughter this week.”

You and Pero could not hide your blushing cheeks and were glad for your father to lead you both inside. Pero walked next to your father as they spoke about his journey back before Pero began to help your father lifting out the food from the market from the basket.

“It’s a beautiful day, go sit in the sun while I prepare dinner,” your father shooed you out, “Mr Tovar will be out soon.”

There was a hint of something in your father’s eyes that you could not place and you looked back at Pero but as he nodded you moved into the garden.

Sitting on the grass you began to think about these past five days with Pero. You had fell into a routine with him, the past few days where you woke up and fell asleep next to him feeling more comfortable than any before. You didn’t know what would happen now, whether you would see him every Monday for checkers and serve him his bread when he came to the bakers. You were so lost in your thoughts as you stared out into the forest that you did not hear the door open or notice Pero’s footsteps until his weight sat next to you.

“I spoke to your Father,” he looked out to the field as you dragged a flower across the grass.

“What did you say?” you kept your eyes forward as well.

The minute that took him to reply felt like an eternity, the birds seemingly stalling overhead as their songs slowed. Pero’s hand reached for yours between your bodies, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“That I care for his daughter and I love her, and I believe she cares for me too,” he turned to face you.

“I believe she also loves you,” you teased as you faced him.

“He told me I would be a silly man to let that go,” his hand squeezed yours gently.

“Then don’t. Don’t let it go,” you whispered back as you shuffled closer to him.

“Marry me then? Your father told me about the spare land he owns near here, it is still in the forest and I can build our own house there. I can wake up to you each morning and love you each night. We can live as husband and wife and raise our own family… if that is what you want, my love.”

The tears that were pooling at the corner of your eye from his first two words were spilling down your cheeks by the time he took in a shaky breath at the end. He reached to wipe them away and you moved into his touch, laughing as the smile on your face was so wide it hurt your cheeks.

“I love you Pero, I would be honoured to be your wife,” you sighed contently and he finally let his own smile cover his face.

You hadn’t let yourself think about your life with Pero yet, not wanting to be hurt by whatever happened when your father returned, but with the few sentences he had spoke a moment before you realised your own dream. A life with Pero, starting a family and living in the forest well… there was no other future you would want than that with the man in front of you, holding your face gently as he promised to love you for the rest of his life.

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl

Pero tag // @bonktime @justpedropascal @coldlilheart @shadowolf993 @stylelovechild @frostsoldier @idreamofboobear @artsymaddie @ajeff855 @strangelittlenobody @elegantduckturtle @roxypeanut @shedobeclownin

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #headcannon #oneshot #the great wall

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aquaticstyles · 4 years

Text

the five senses

hello everyone! while a separate 13k fic is in the works, as promised, here is a lil 2k piece i miraculously came up with at midnight. as always, feedback is happily welcomed!!! happy reading lovies x

it's been five months since it ended.

you should hate him. you should utterly and fascinatingly despise him. you should hate the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, and the way the sounded. you should forget him—rip every page, crumple him up, and strike a match.

key word: should.

but you don't hate him. you couldn't if you tried. you are utterly and fascinatingly still wrapped around his perfect, ring-encircled fingers. you love the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he sounded. you can't forget him, no matter how much you want to. his ink is still scattered in the novels of your memories, proving to be permanent and stubborn as you try desperately to put fire to its pools.

you are still utterly and fascinatingly not over him.

and you suppose that is why your mind has chosen to drift off to candy land, marshmallow puff trees and gooey caramel lakes, visions of him swimming around, around, and around.

and you also suppose that you shouldn't be thinking of him while another man touches your skin.

key word: shouldn't.

but you can't help it. not when you're reminded of just how differently harry captured your senses and locked them away in the thumping of his chest, throwing away the key.

sight

you can still see him.

his dimples popping, inviting you to curl up inside one of them for just a moment, bunny teeth displayed in an ear to ear grin when he sees you, his lover, his everything, finally in 3D again, because boy oh boy pixelated facetime does not do you justice.

those two endless forests of green paired with wispy eyelashes, billboards for his every emotion, reeling you in and casting you back over and over and over again.

that body of his that makes you positively drool—fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, those ferns that if you had it your way, would never be covered, tempting your eyes to what's below, other markings of ink scattered across a toned bicep, chest, thigh, an endless coloring book for you and only you to paint with your lips, diamond water droplets clinging onto tanned, sun-kissed skin, mimicking your fingers as they slide down the tight muscles, ridges and valleys, of his back, the velvet, rose scrunchie of yours that he has claimed as his own cozying up around those stubborn, chestnut curls atop his head, the ones that cause eyes to roll and skin to furrow between his brows because "they're always in my fuckin' way."

the way he looks when he's napping in the summer heat after taking a refreshing dip in the pool—cheek smushed against a lawn chair, causing his bubble-gum pink lips to pucker unintentionally, begging for a slow, lazy, warm kiss, a van gogh masterpiece of bright blues, oranges, yellows, reds, whites, greens, browns, swirling together in his canvas, those green forests peacefully hidden as his pure, innocent relaxation melts into a scene of serenity before you (you're guilty of laying directly on top of him one too many times, pressing your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and sneaking in a cat nap as well).

how he looks when he enters a room, especially those rooms with a stage and thousands of fans bubbling over with excitement, confidence and swagger exuding from his pores as the spotlights hit him in all the right places, bouncing off the numerous gems and glitter of that night's glamorous get-up. then later the way he looks as his face twists in pleasure during a post-show-adrenaline-rush-dressing-room-quickie.

his reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you do your makeup, broad shoulders leant up against the doorframe, watching you as you carefully add sparkles here and powder there, the glint of curiosity and pure infatuation in his eye, his fingers toying with the smirk on his lips when you meticulously swipe on your favorite his favorite red lipstick, knowing good and well that once he's finished with you there won't be a single trace of crimson left on your lips.

you can see all of him, from the tufts of hair you love to tug and pull and sink your hands into, to the perfect slope of his nose, the sharp pinch of his jawline, his cute ears you poke fun at much to his annoyance, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect, perfect lips, his neck that always seems readily accessible to leave bites and red stains along, the ship stamped on his bicep, his abdomen that isn't too tight or too soft under your touch, just right, the happy trails leading to that one part of him that leaves you aching for days, his thighs, all the way down to his toe permanently labeled "Big."

touch

you can still feel him.

the tips of his calloused fingers tracing down your spine, a valley of goosebumps following in their tracks, a sea of comfort washing over you. fingers intertwined between yours, squeezing your palm, fresh autumn air and central park and new coats and steaming, black coffee. fingers fanned out across your thigh, splashes of pastel purple polish on cuticles and knuckles (he was shaking too much from laughing at something on twitter like an avocado in a top hat or a dog in gucci loafers). fingers following directions on a well-traveled map, tracing over the outline of your chapped lips, up to the apples of your rosy cheeks, to your temples, and entangling into long locks of tangled hair, braiding, massaging and scratching when you've had a tough day, exhausted, hypnotized, harry.

lips against your ear, hushed whispers meant for only you in the midst of a thundering crowd (one too many neat tequilas and risky texts), cold rings sneaking underneath your shirt and spanning out against a piping hot back, the vibrations from the bass thumping beneath you joined by the organ in your chest, sweaty palms and shaky knees as rivers of suggestions flood from his earth to yours, promises that will be proven true later in seductive, blue moonlight.

his sudsy chest cuddled snugly behind your back, sinking beneath bubbles of lavender and rose because he couldn't just pick one scent, your missing puzzle piece, pruny fingers tracing shapes onto your knee beneath the water, vibrations from his giggles when you mistakenly guessed the shape as a dinosaur (it was a banana), warm puffs of breath against your neck, sopping scrunchies stacked on the ledge next to a half empty bottle of red, lips painting across your shoulder down your arm to your fingertips coating you in bright yellow, affection, admiration, addiction.

the prickles of the new addition to his face scratching up against you in the most agonizingly amazing way as his face buries between your thighs, the magic of that mouth of his, pixie dust, an arched back, an eager tongue accompanied by glistening, cherry lips, pleadings of "never shave again."

him buried inside you in the early hours of the morning, legs anchored around his waist, miles and miles of his soft, tanned skin washing against your own, nails digging into the toned ridges of his back, chestnut locks falling onto a sweaty forehead, scorching lips dancing over every inch of you over and over until he reaches that one spot, moans and exhales and crumpled sheets, your temple resting on a swallow, fingertips tracing a lone butterfly, clutching onto the cold metal of a cross, lazy smiles, bed head, halfway closed eyelids, a tranced daze basking in fresh, crisp sunlight.

taste

you can still taste him.

the bitter taste of whiskey coating his tongue as it encircles your own in the back of a taxi, wrinkled suit jackets and bunched up satin, fingers toying with buttons and zippers, giggles when his nose bumps against yours carelessly, a clouded drunken haze of city lights and sparkling sequins.

minty toothpaste covered lips smushing against yours because he just "couldn't wait," spearmint, foamy smiles wiped away on plush towels.

juice from a ripe watermelon dribbling down his chin and leaving a sugary path along his exposed neck and chest, glistening in the afternoon, summer heat, lapped up teasingly by your tongue, causing widened eyes and a harsh gulp, the reflection of heart shaped sunglasses rippling in a crystal clear pool.

a warm cup of coffee sitting on your bedside table, placed there by your lover before he leaves for a run, waiting for you in the early morning glow of your bedroom, the scent from a fresh pot still lingering in the air, the steaming liquid slowly cascading down your throat during his absence.

coconut chapstick coating his lips, stolen from your side of the vanity, even though he has countless of tubes himself he claims using yours "is more moisturizing" when in reality he just likes keeping a part of you with him at all times.

saltwater droplets clinging onto his skin, coating your lips as you leave trails of kisses along his chest and sunburnt cheeks, awaking him from his nap in the shade, waves crashing behind you, seagulls chirping and trying to steal crisps, low grumblings of "what's this fo?" accompanied by a dimple and a smirk ("just cause").

smell

you can still smell him.

the candle burning in his dressing room on tour, the one you bought him that you immediately recognize when you visit him for the first time since he left, a warm batch of butterflies brewing in your tummy when you notice the almost completely burnt through wick, apples and cinnamon.

his detergent, leaving your clothes coated in a fresh linen scent because "no way yeh leaving mine with laundry to do, love" a pair of his boxers that he knows you love to wear folded neatly on top of the rest of your belongings and sent off with a pillowy peck to your lips and promises of "see you tomorrow."

his body wash and hair product duplicates in your shower, dancing with daisies in the steam surrounding him, persisting in the small, tiled space for most of the week, even in his vacancy. sometimes you'll accidentally on purpose grab his bottle of shampoo with your eyes closed, using more than intended (harry goes through shampoo much quicker now).

the diffuser in his bedroom, spewing out vapors of a eucalyptus blend he ordered online after extensive research ("it helps with clear breathin' and relaxation"), another scent that can only be described as pure harry, later encompassing your abode as well due to your incessant claims of how much you love it (one night you came home from work to a perfectly wrapped package on the foot of your bed, a diffuser and the same eucalyptus blend hidden inside).

his cologne perched on your dresser, tom ford, tobacco vanille, harry in a bottle, sneakily spritzed on your sweatshirt when he's not looking (he notices every time), lingering on your pillow case, his purple robe hanging next to yours, and your hand towels, tokens of him dolloped throughout your apartment, a tornado of familiarity swirling you into his galaxy. the same scent filling your nose as it buries into his neck, arms wrapped around him in an ages-long bear hug, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the soft fibers of his sweater tickling your skin.

sound

you can still hear him.

the warm drip of his honey voice in the early hours of the morning, raspy and deep from his slumber, pooling in the pit of your stomach growing thick and heavy until releasing with moans and whispers lost in the rising sun.

that laugh of his that doesn't bubble up often, the one you cause more than anyone else, buckets of giggles that leaves behind tears, crinkled eyes, and hands over tummies.

his thick accent that repolishes itself after he's made a trip to london, mumbles of "bugger," "oi love," "rubbish," and your favorite, "absobloodylutely" leaving his cherry lips more often than he realizes.

his moans. your favorite kind is when you're riding him, locked in a sweaty, pulsating embrace—twisting here and turning there and doing the things you know drive him absolutely mad—those moans that erupt from deep inside him and uncharacteristically replace his typical, filthy language because you're doing him so good that he's left speechless in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths.

his voice as it echoes in the acoustics of the shower, the soft patter of the water serving as his own orchestra, notes belonging to rock anthems of the 70s or sometimes his own verses that have been freshly inked in his worn-in journal (occasionally you'll record him singing the new ones—unbeknownst to him—to listen to when he's away for too long).

the clinking of his rings together when he's in full-on discussion mode—using his hands as he elaborately details a story of his childhood or a conversation he had with jeff today or why he thinks salsa shouldn't go in the fridge or the reason behind this lyric and that chord progression.

his keys clanking against the ceramic dish by the door, the sweetest symphony to your ears because he's home.

and finally, the sound of those three words—smooth as butter rolling off his tongue effortlessly, a hurricane crashing and splashing against you, three strings lifting you off your feet and soaring into the clouds, green eyes and rosy cheeks pulling your heart strings, sweet sugar crystals floating from his lips to yours—"i love you."

physically, he's gone, probably off writing another album, undoubtedly doing much better than you are. maybe he's even moved on, cuddled up into another woman's side, whispering things in her ear, tangled up in her sheets.

but in every other way imaginable, he's still with you.

five senses, five million memories.

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

Text

Till You Make It | F.W | CH5

Fake It | The Masterlist

Warnings // SMUT 18+, Hufflepuff!Reader, implied sex, teasing, lingerie, relationship, consent, sexting??

a/n // So im posting this one a day early as there is a chapter 5.5 coming out tomorrow which is pretty much just pure smut <3 once again i have to thank @starlightweasley my partner in crime for being my muse while writing this!!

When Fred left that evening after dinner, the under-the-table events still plagued your mind as you threw your head back against your pillow out of desperation. Fred made it very hard for you to concentrate on anything other than him or the feel of his fingers. Substituting his hands for your own didn’t help either, you fell asleep with your lips parted in half pleasure and half agony from missing the man who had been plaguing your thoughts. Chest heaving, shivers running down your spine and fingertips moving only left you breathless for him. You thought that maybe that desperate feeling would leave you when you woke the next morning, to be left in the night but as you walked to a day of appointments, your mind was truly somewhere else, somewhere with him. Each fleeting thought as you hem a skirt or completed your seams only brought you to feel his hot breath fanning against your skin or his stupidly delicate touch, having to take a deep breath just to pull you back to the reality that he wasn’t right there, he was across the street no doubt laughing and joking away like the memory of last night wasn’t plaguing his every thought.

You were far from the truth. He wanted to storm into your shop like the first time he kissed you, hearing only your choked back moans like a sweet symphony in his brain. George tried to get his attention, only holding it for a few moments before he was distracted again. Fred was meant to be stacking shelves, but the sight of a current Gryffindor quidditch player donning their sweater made all of his thoughts of you race back.

<< Morning, doll x

>> Fred Weasley I hate you.

<< No kisses? What have i done :(( x

>> You left me frustrated you absolute git

<< There’s no reason to call me that, petal x

<< I could’ve left you much worse off x

He watched as the typing bubble flashed up on the screen before disappearing a few times. Smirking to himself as he locked his phone, pushing it into his pocket knowing full well what he’d done. You were sighing to yourself as you sipped on the now lukewarm coffee, tapping out the perfect message to retort back at him, but nothing seemed to fit, no matter what you say he would have the perfect witty response to chime back. It hit you, if he wanted to play games you would play along.

>> Wanna see the set I’m working on Freddie? x

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, as he pushed a box of spare products onto the shelf in the stockroom. He checked the message only to feel his heartbeat about to burst out of his chest as it raced that bit quicker. He was alone but the thought of anyone just walking in or catching a glimpse of the picture on his phone drove his feet to his office as he tapped out his message to you.

<< I’d love that xx

You smiled to yourself as you laid out the garment on the table for him, making sure that it was smoothed out to perfection before snapping the perfectly innocent picture to send to him. You knew that he was expecting more skin, a lot more skin in fact. In his head he was about to receive a tempting photo of his girl, for his eyes only.

>> (1) Attachment.

He tapped open the picture with shaky fingers, unaware of what to expect when the image flashed up on his screen, eyes gazing over the lacy fabric not on your body but on the worktop. Tease. He quickly realised what you were doing, huffing to himself as he let his head fall back against the headrest of his arm chair. If you kept up this teasing to and fro you’d drive each other mad by the end of the night.

<< Why don’t you put it on for me, petal? xx

Two hours had ticked by since his last text to you. He found himself checking every notification, praying it was you, even considering sending another message but he stopped himself. He tried as best he could to focus on his work; taking stock, doing orders and serving customers. Another hour had passed and still no response. He couldn’t ignore the friction in his boxers at the mere thought of you, mind running wild once again, his thoughts alone pulled him through to lunchtime when he could finally see you.

The way he stormed into the shop, seeking you out in the back room, eyes dark with hunger as he stared you down made your heart flutter. His brow was furrowed and he looked like a man who was starved. You liked the effect that your little charade seemed to have on him, biting the inside of your lip to stop you from smiling.

“I don't find your little game funny, love." You simply cocked an eyebrow up at him before continuing with your sewing, the whirring of your machine filling the thick sexual tension in the air. There was an undeniable chemistry between you both, that was visible from the way you latched onto each other so quickly. You loved to see this side of him, less dominant but yet so desperate and needy.

“Uh huh,” you hummed nonchalantly as you pulled the material in the right direction, sending the machine whirring once more. Giving him the silent treatment was enough to send him wild. The sound of your machine muffled his steps as he drew closer to you, gentle touches over your exposed shoulder sending shivers along your skin. Your body wanted to give into him, let him have you right across your desk right here and now but the game was all too fun.

“The silent treatment, really doll?” You looked up at him with a smile as he uttered those words, your hand moving to hold his, pulling yourself up from the chair to fall into his hold, staring up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. You pushed yourself up onto your toes to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, breathing in the calming scent of his cologne and you did so.

“Didn’t you like the lingerie, Freddie?” you asked him innocently as you bat your eyelashes, he leaned in to try and kiss you properly but you quickly pressed a finger to his lips, pushing him away cheekily as you giggled.

“Buy me dinner first at least.”

And he did, he bought you several dinners in fact. You made sure to dress up nice for him, let him get hot and needy before making him wait. It had now been a month of torture for the poor boy, letting him get by on no more than kisses and a few lingering touches. You wanted him to feel that same way you felt after the night at Lee’s. You swore he would’ve stopped you by now, out of pure frustration but he continued enduring his own torture just as much as you continued dishing it out.

Being invited to watch the Star Seeker’s last game of the season and coincidentally the last game before her wedding, filled you with pure joy. You invited Fred, not that he needed inviting telling him that it would be a nice date, to which the smitten boy agreed. You held hands in the stands as you both cheered alongside George, who was beaming with pride, listening to Lee commentating the game over the arena speakers.

“You know Freddie, this reminds me a lot of our Hogwarts days... I miss being up in the commentators box, it had a much better view, though for what I was looking at, I think I’m in the best seats now.” You leaned up to press a kiss to his ear as you spoke, causing him to chuckle as you moved to press your lips to his, only to be met by his finger against your lips as he mimicked how you had treated him in your shop all those weeks ago.

“Just one kiss?” You pouted at him as he pulled you into a kiss, your heart leaping. Here Fred was, kissing you in front of everyone; his friends, family, press and every soul in the stadium but he didn’t care. The whole world could watch but he could only ever focus on you.

It had been a week now since that event, Fred was still on edge with all of the teasing, he had grown to expect It now, waking up to a cheeky message or a voicemail, That was if he wasn’t waking up to your arms wrapped around him. He was smitten by this point, absolutely enamoured by your very presence, he would do anything to make you smile.

“Joining Lee and I tonight, Freddie?” George asked with a small knock to his brother’s office door. He pondered on it before it struck him. If Lee was out, you were all alone, the thought made his heart skip a beat. The days you’d both stopped yourselves, making out like teenagers on the bed before realising your best friend was only in the other room always seemed to kill the mood.

“You know what, I don’t think I should be mixing with alcohol… A month sober and all.” Fred pled a fair case to his brother, a feasible enough excuse over the want to have a night with his girl. Even that sounded nice in his head, you being his girl. George nodded, suggesting a dinner instead, to which Fred shook his head again with a small laugh.

“For the love of god, go out, get smashed and please get Lee laid… he’s driving me mental.” George nodded, laugh falling from his lips as his hand reached out to pull the door closed behind him as he went to leave, mumbling a small ‘noted’ and gesturing a salute from behind the glass.

As the evening fell, the rain came with it - a light dreary drizzle and not heavy downpours but still rain nevertheless. You managed to beat the raindrops before they fell, returning to what you called home to strip off the day’s work clothes. Between appointments you’d finally managed to finish and perfect the gorgeous red set that you had started working on all those months ago, discarded on your dressing table as you pulled on a fresh pair of joggers and Fred’s sweater which he had let you keep in all this time, grateful for the company of his scent as you realised this may be the first time you had been alone in the night since you’d left Joe.

A knock at the front door made your heart pound out of your chest. Half of you wanted to ignore it but the curious half wanted to see who it was. Peeping through the looking glass to be met with the messy ginger locks you loved so much prompted you to pretty much swing the door open and jump into the unsuspecting boy’s arms, your legs wrapping around his torso.

"Hi handsome, thought you were going out with George and Lee?" You peppered kisses all over his face as you held his face in your hands, fingers splayed against his cold skin yet his actions were more than inviting. You soon found your back pressed against the wall, soft quick kisses soon replaced with deep, passionate ones, lips locked together as if your lives depended on it. His foot kicked the door closed his hands keeping your thighs in place as he asserted his dominance over you.

"I wanted you. Fuck, I've wanted you for weeks now, doll." You moaned and hummed against his lips with every kiss. It was electric the way his fingers touched you, everything from the cool sensation of the wall against your back to the heat of his shallow breaths fanning against your neck. You were nervous, wanting nothing but absolute perfection with the angel you cared so deeply about.

Fred really was an angel to you, he helped you feel like a person again.

“Please say something,” Fred whispered, forehead now pressed against your own. You hadn’t realised just how deep in thought you were until he spoke again, you could have swore you heard his voice crack ever so slightly as he uttered those words of vulnerability. You nudge your nose against his with a smile that leaves a reassured sigh escaping his lips just before you move once more, pulling him into another kiss, immediately feeling him relax as he closes the space between the both of you, effectively trapping you against the wall.

“Isn’t it obvious that I want you too, Fred?” He chuckled, holding your weight in his arms as he carried you through the halls to your bedroom. He pretended to drop you twice, both times you hit him on his chest, laughing together in the most gorgeous way, creating a harmony of giggles. Each time he feigned your fall from his arms, droplets of rain fell from his soaking hair onto your face.

“Oh yeah? Obvious is it?” His large hands gave your ass a playful squeeze before placing you on the bed. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, pushing his wet hair back and out of his face. You caught how his eyes stared so lovingly at you, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he gave you his signature toothy grin. You stand from the bed, grabbing a towel that was hooked over the door to dry his gorgeous ginger locks.

"Sit down, let's get you dried." He blushed as he sat down on your mattress, tilting his head up towards you ever so slightly as you find your place between his legs while his hands rested gently on the backs of your thighs and you swore to yourself that you had never felt such fireworks linger upon your skin as they did with Fred Weasley. Those hands you had admired for so long, those hands that gripped onto his bat tightly during your school years and hit away bludgers and all had you swooning as you gripped the towel. You draped the towel over his head, giving his hair a rough towel dry and letting your fingertips press against his scalp gently through the soft fabric. When you left him to go and hang the slightly damp towel up once more, his gaze caught a glimpse of something bright in the corner of his eye. Upon further inspection from afar, that something bright was a beautiful red lace that had been thrown on your dressing table in a moment of relief after you had finished it. He stood, making his way to them out of curiosity, his fingers taking hold of the soft lace, immediately recognising the feel and the pattern. His breath hitched, gazing upon the sensual piece that had nonchalantly been draped upon your dresser, his gaze hadn’t left the fabric and he hadn’t even noticed you were staring at him with a lingering look in your eye, your heart beat beginning to pick up once more and this time it wasn’t because he was pretending to drop you.

"It's the material you first kissed me on." You pointed out, holding your hands together in front of your stomach that was now experiencing somersaults and that familiar feeling between your thighs welcomed itself once more as you swallowed thickly.

"I know… Is this for m–"

"Yes."

"Put it on then, petal. Do it for me." You could have sworn your cheeks were as red as the lace he was handing you, gripping onto the soft fabric with shaky hands. This was far from how you could have ever imagined your first time with Fred to have come about, a rain-soaked boy showing up at your door and taking your breath away with his kiss. The months of teasing were finally catching up and you had to take a moment to process it all as you retreated to your bathroom. Part of you wanted to change in front of him but more of you wanted it to be a surprise and if you were honest to yourself, part of you needed a moment before you faced him. To look at the reflection of a woman you hadn’t recognised in a long time and say ‘it’s okay’ because it was okay. This was Fred… it was Fred and you, no one else.

There was something different about the way you pulled the straps onto your bare shoulders, the way your hair frames your face as you dressed. A smile spread across your lips and you blushed to yourself, how long had it been since you had felt like this? Something like this was truly paradise felt on earth amidst the darkness you had long been suffering within. Joe wasn’t here, you reminded yourself as you exhaled and glanced towards the door and you felt reassured by your inner thoughts.

He had begun to pace about your room as he waited for you to return, feeling an unfamiliar wave in his stomach. Never in his life had he been nervous about intimacy with a woman, but when it came to you he couldn’t help the fluttery feeling that consumed him with every step. Fred had to remind himself that it was you, not anyone else, not Cherry, his exes or one of his lame one night stands. Lastly, it wasn’t the woman he had been pining for ever since he could remember… the one who chose his brother instead of him. It was a woman who he truly felt something for, a something that he didn’t want to ruin. He hadn’t even noticed your return, staring out of the window as he was consumed by his own thoughts. Your arms snaking around his waist as you pressed yourself into his back, snapped him away from his feelings of nerves and self doubt because he had you there.

“We still don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered softly as your cheek pressed against his damp t-shirt, his hands coming to cover yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze as he let out a deep exhale. He didn’t have to worry around you, he didn’t have to fear that it was Cherry’s touch masked as yours. He knew that it was you in the way he could have sworn your hearts beat together. There were no words that could have ever described the way you made him feel.

“I want this.” he mumbled, as he shook his head, mostly at the way a leech like Cherry still was able to plague his thoughts in his most vulnerable moments. Turning in your arms, your eyes meet his face which is plastered with a deep smile, biting the inside of your cheek when you realise that you are stood half-naked but pressed against the fully clothed man. Against the man who had plagued your daydreams years ago and now your thoughts at night. He took your hand in his, stepping away for a moment before lifting your arm over your head to make you twirl in front of him. The sight of you took his breath away, solidifying the thought in his brain that you truly were a goddess. Fathoming that you were his to kiss and hold made his heart race out of his chest.

“You’re beautiful.” He managed to only just choke out the compliment as his other hand found your jaw to pull you into a kiss. Nothing had ever felt so right to him than the crave of intimacy with you right now, you let him guide your bodies, your skin now flush against the cool sheets while he leant over you. Standing up briefly he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned torso that made you feel weak, counting yourself lucky that you were laying down otherwise you would have surely buckled at the knees.

Fred knew that the minute he had the opportunity to, he would take his time in worshiping every dip and curve of your body, no matter how long or tedious the process was. His hot open mouthed kisses started at your jaw, it was intoxicating to feel him mumble praise between each kiss, telling you about just how breath-taking you were to him and how much influence you had on him. His kisses along your neck left marks not to claim you but to show you just how much he cared without having to say the words. His lips travelled down to pepper kisses down the valley of your breasts, his slow pace made you grab his face with both hands.

“Don’t be a tease, Freddie.” He chuckled, his hands wrapping around your wrists, pulling them away from his face so that he could press a sweet kiss to the insides of your palms, the hint of a smirk hanging off his lips as he did so. His fingertips grazed over your skin as they ran down your arms, sending goosebumps firing over your skin. His laugh sent every good feeling of pleasure through your veins. His hands went to his belt, immediately he thought of all the ways that this could go wrong, the image of your pained expression and the way you cried into his chest sinking his heart once more. He pondered for a moment before he asked, hardly above a whisper, ‘do you want to?’ before gesturing to the belt buckle.

You felt your heart stop, remembering how you had stopped yourself going this far before, feeling a sense of calm fall over you as you reached to undo the belt buckle. You knew that this gesture alone was enough for you to realise that Fred really did care about your comfort, he wanted you to feel as if you were in control of the situation, not forced or pressured but completely at your own free will to pull away or stop but you didn’t. You slowly unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops before setting it down on the bed, smiling up at him.

“No more teasing, yeah?” You nodded, pressing your lips to his again as your hands found the back of his head, giving the now damp hair a gentle tug.

No more teasing.

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @pansydaisy @vogueweasley @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @darthwheezely @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @loony-loopy-lupinn @rip-us @hopemalfoyweasley @pigwidgexn-deactivated20210125 @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana @starkidpotty @mollydarling-hphm @amwithers2001 @asthmax @sarcasticallywitty15 @whizboingies @rosietoesy

#Fake It Fic #Till You Make It Fic #Fake It Till You Make It #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter #fred and george #george weasley fic #harry potter fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley x y/n #george and fred weasley #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #harry potter writing

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

the art of losing isn't hard to master. (though it may look; like disaster).

pairing. ⤳ bang chan x reader.

genre. ⤳ angst.

alternatively. ⤳ a mystery trope. :3

word count ⤳ 2.07k

note ⤳ sorry for the long title hah. this is inspired by jaurim's song 'twenty five, twenty one.' and the title is a quotation from elizabeth bishop's poem 'one art'.

"I don’t want to see you again."

Chan knows you don't mean it, not even one bit. From the way the sentence comes out all shaky, the way you're pretending to stare off into space in sudden contemplation when really you just didn't want him to see you tear up.

But it still hurts.

It hurts so much that he almost regrets breaking up with you, finds himself wanting to take the words back as swiftly as he'd uttered them in the intimate setting of your favourite café.

Almost. If he says something now, he can taken it all back. Just one word. An explanation. And he can gone back to basking in the warmth of your affection in that selfish manner that he always did.

He doesn't, though, he can't.

Not when he was starting to notice just how absorbed you were becoming with your relationship, minimising your own priorities to make sure the bond lasted, giving up applying to your dream college because it meant you'd be moving away from him.

Sure, it sounded like some heroic bullshit sacrifice in his head, like something infuriating drama protagonists do - but there was not a speck of doubt in him pertaining to the department of seeing you happy.

Even if it had come to this.

Even if losing you was the expense he had to incur to get you to love yourself more than you loved him.

Chan, however, doesn't tell you that. Knowing how stubborn you are, you'll certainly not let go without a fight.

It's easier this way, he thinks, if instead he says he can't do it anymore - and lets you believe it.

"Okay." He says, finally finding his voice and these words, he really means it, "Anything for you."

...

It's the sheer irony that baffles him.

There was a time when Minho used to mock Chan about keeping blind faith in settling down with you, pointing out that, even if it was through harmless banter, it was an absurd thing to want out of a highschool sweetheart.

And the former is also the first one to stop beating about the bush, to tell it as it is, "You're a fucking asshole." Minho says, plopping down beside him. He sounds more disappointed than angry.

A movie plays on before the pair and Minho wastes no time in stuffing his face with popcorn, flaunting that he had no intention of explaining his comment, as if it is just that obvious.

Chan remains silent, baffled by the fact that this the first time he's on the receiving end. He usually acts as the one who dishes out words of wisdom and scoldings when necessary.

When he heard you were going away for college just the next morning, he was both ecstatic and horrified. Ecstatic because things were going according to plan. Horrified because that meant he wouldn't be seeing you at all, even if chancing upon you had grown obviously less frequent than it had been when you were together. It meant he wouldn't find you lounging absently at a local café while your eye brows furrowed, fixated on a particular page, it meant that there would be no accidental brushing of shoulders when you'd end up going to Jisung's parties, it would mean completely falling off of your radar.

However, Minho's outburst acted as a vague consolation, albeit he understood it was wrong, it indicated that you weren't doing well either, it indicated that you missed him like he missed you, it meant that you still loved him.

The idea of forever and always had been embedded in his ideology too deeply to apply reason.

He is always going to love you, you are always going to love him. He knows that much. He believes that much.

That alone is enough. That has always been enough.

...

It's too early in the morning and he is positive that this is an abysmal decision.

But the little care he had for rationality, always in your department was not new.

You push a suit case out of the door, there is an Uber waiting, the sound of rain hitting pavement is at such great volume that he can hardly hear his rapid footsteps.

When you crane your neck his direction, Chan stops walking further, but he is too near to go unnoticed.

"W-What are you doing here?" The question comes from you. He notes that you almost sound...hopeful. Like you would go right back in and snuggle into the comfort of your covers if he asked, like you'd forgive him if he asked, like you'd love him despite the distance that'd keep you apart if he asked.

Chan doesn't ask.

"I just... wanted to see you off." He lies, it's taking a whole lot of self restraint to not go up to you to engulf you in his bone crushing hugs, to uproot you off of the security of your toes. He only seems to stare, feigning nonchalance.

The I'm sorry, the truth, sits atop the tip of his tongue and he inwardly promises that he'll tell you someday.

...

Chan doesn't, of course, anticipate this.

When he finally conjures up the courage to send you a follow request after bashfully asking for your username and twiddling his thumbs over your Instagram icon, the acceptance and follow back request notifications almost reduces him to a giddy child who was allowed to watch cartoons way past their bedtime. The unanticipated pleasure that comes with getting something you had no expectations whatsoever of getting.

What is more shocking, he notes, is just how much your life has changed;

or at least, seems to have changed.

There are endless photos, shots of bright neon tones of a typical college party where you're holding up a solo cup to the air and grinning big enough that your eyes are closed, Chan smiles at this.

His enjoyment is, although, quite transient when another pop up in his notification bar reminds him that you've made your most recent post just a few seconds prior.

Curiously, Chan scrolls upwards, careful not to accidentally like any old photos.

This picture is different, the premise is a concert of some sort, he can tell from the banners, the condensed congregations of people around you, mouths awkwardly paused in uttering lyrics - the disturbing part, is the long, bleached blonde stranger behind you, his gangly arms looped over your chest, your back pressed against his front, while his chin is propped up onto the gap between your neck and shoulder. There is no caption.

You look the happiest here. He knows this. The familiar childish glow of your face whenever he'd crack a dumb pun was etched vividly into his memory.

Uncharacteristically, Chan finds himself putting down the phone on the table so Jisung would notice and elaborate without him asking.

And his endeavour is satisfied, "Oh, that's Hyunjin." Jisung explains, before rolling his eyes when Chan kept looking at him to say more, "They're just friends."

It’s only when Chan lets his breath go, does he realise that he was holding it all along.

...

"Long time, eh?" You smile at him, it's an easy, carefree smile, not the tight lipped ones you'd shoot his way weeks after the breakup. That elicits a weird feeling in Chan, he wants to understand why, know what brought this change.

Were you just that happy to see him? Did you remember that your first date was also on a New Year's Day, just like today? Or was he just lingering in the past, all alone?

Even though Hyunjin's invitation to the party was a nuisance, his delayed presence sparked a hopeful event for Chan, now that you were home for the holidays, he needed a proper chance to finally tell you all that he was holding back and do anything, everything to make up for it.

He imagined all the stories from those photos on your feed, musing over your brief conversations through DMs but back in his room, with a blanket pulled to your chin, while he threw a free leg around your waist.

Chan nods slowly, rummaging through the snack shelves. "Yeah. I can't believe it's been a year already." He prepares a mental conversation in his head as he finally secures a bag of Lays.

You smile slowly, looking down at your chipped nails, "Me neither."

In the living room, a loud pop song is playing, the two of you divorced from everyone, a countdown almost commencing.

From behind the kitchen counter, Chan opens his mouth to ask you about something but can't remember what, the last ten seconds rolling to ten, nine, eight, seven -

"I've been looking everywhere for you." A foreign voice comes but the stranger, on the contrary, is not unrecognisable.

His hair is the same long blonde, he's tall, his eyes are hooded but bright with kiddish excitement, his mouth naturally pouted. And when he says this sentence to you, your face, almost immediately, lights up.

The dramatic exclamation is exaggerated with sets of long flailing arms, Chan wants to roll his eyes at the cheesiness, had it not made you laugh.

You only get to turn your body partially before Hyunjin walks over to your position, he cups your face with one hand and the other traverses to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. It's as if you've completely forgotten about him, as if you're the only two people in the world and Chan, a wistful member of the audience merely permitted to have the luxury to watch.

It is then that Chan realises that Jisung was definitely misinformed. Friends don't do this, friends don't look at each other like this. six, five, four, (But he can't look away, can't look away because he has to face the music, bite the bullet, to accept it for what it is. The spectacle is only but a morbid reminder of how taking people for granted always proves to be fruitless.)

Three, two, one,

"Happy New Year." Hyunjin's mouth moves with brief soundless words, he looks like the happiest man in the world and there's not a doubt he is, with you...

And when he kisses you like that, it's anything but perfect, he keeps grinning against your mouth like he can't believe this is happening.

The lonesome spectator senses himself thinking that you've never looked a fraction of happy with him as you do with Hyunjin.

Every sound falls back into muteness, all but the ringing in Chan's ears. Every planned syllable deems his tongue to a limping, incoherent mess. He bites it down.

All Chan understands is -

there is no going back from this.

..."You know I never told you." You hold up your fingers to his face, there's a giant indent of a wedding ring against the skin. The ornament catches light and glints.

Chan hums, finding that he was just as enamoured with your smile. After all this time. "Told me what?" He asks, eyes flitting behind your head to see Hyunjin picking out your favourite drink in a memorised fashion, a matching accessory banded around his finger as he points to a menu displayed above. It's only a matter of minutes.

You giggle, as though it's the silliest thing in entire the universe, the equivalent of admitting you used to believe you'd grow a tree inside your tummy if you swallowed apple seeds, "This is going to sound stupid."

You look downright embarrassed when you press your palms against your face and gaze at him through the gaps of your fingers, then rest them back on the table, "Don't get me wrong..like, of course it hurt, at first. And I was so angry at you..." you chuckle, embarrassed, " But if we never broke up, I can't imagine where I'd be right now...if it wasn't for you I don't think I'd be the person I am today." You explain lightheartedly, it's time and familiarity that makes bringing this topic up so easy. Like it means nothing at all. "So I guess I just wanted to say...thanks?"

Chan smiles, a genuine smile, even if it has a melancholic quality to it, all he ever wanted...really was for you to be happy. And you are. Most certainly.

So he doesn't tell you more, doesn't tell you about almosts and rain hitting pavements and forever and always.

But he reaches out and pats your knuckles and says - because he means it the same still, "Anything for you."

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Found Out

CW: Not much! Just some brief references to death and to pet whump

“Remind me why I’m watching fucking youtube videos of fucking gymnasts today?” Will asks, laid out on the couch with his legs over Mari’s lap as she fiddled with her phone. Brooke and Laken have half the carpet in the student lounge for their dorm covered in papers, markers, and pens, working on some kind of poster for a party Brooke is throwing.

“Because,” Becka - she’s in a bunch of Will’s classes and is doing printmaking for her major, which makes her officially cooler than Will himself - says, sitting legs-crossed on the floor looking up at the lounge TV, then down at the laptop open in front of her. “Akio Nakamura literally grew up like two hours from here, he trains right near here!”

“I have no idea who that is,” Mari says without looking up, huffing a hint of soundless laughter. Will sits himself up a little on his elbows and turns to look as Becka finally gets the cast to work. Youtube pops up on the TV screen, the video frozen right at the start, with AKIO NAKAMURA, 20XX Musical Floor Routine just underneath.

Paused and ready to begin is a screenshot from the video, of a short, heavily muscled teenage boy grinning over his shoulder at someone off screen.

“He’s the favorite for the U.S. team for the Olympics this year! I always follow gymnastics and figure skating, basically that’s all I care about, but Akio is the best. He is definitely getting the gold this year.”

“Oh, definitely,” Brooke says, with an exaggerated nod. “Definitely the gold, uh-huh.”

“Yes,” Mari cuts in. “I care very deeply about this and also agree that he will get the gold. Um. Whoever he is.”

“Fuck off, guys.” Becka flips them off over her shoulder without looking back and clicks, a narrator - presumably Nakamura himself - explaining the floor routine he’s about to do, that when he’s not competing he’s always liked to build himself a music-based routine, and this recording has been around for a long time and he’s just getting around to loading it up.

“For a long time I never touched these old recordings - you know, it just, you’ll see why later - but I think it’s probably time. And I really liked what we did.”

“We?” Mari asks.

“Sssshhhhh.”

The same teenager from the screenshot steps out onto a large mat in a gymnast’s leotard, taking position. His team is lounging in the background, talking to each other, to the coach, practicing their own moves. They’re a mix of blondes, brunettes, redheads, and people with black hair, a bunch of kids of varying ages, heights, weights, and looks.

Will squints at a redhead in the corner of the screen, watching Nakamura take position from just in the corner, bouncing on his toes, rolling his shoulders, in a constant nonstop motion. Something about the redhead looks vaguely familiar, but the video is a little blurry from casting larger onto the TV and hasn’t settled into crispness yet.

“Wait, I thought dudes didn’t get to use music,” Ben says from the table over in the corner, where he’s been steadfastly ignoring everyone else while reading a book and claiming it counts as hanging out if I’m physically here, okay, trust me, I’m an introvert. He looks up, now, with some vague hint of interest.

Becka sighs and hits pause again. “They don’t,” She explains, patiently. “Male gymnast floor routines are all about strength, and rhythm isn’t really important. But Akio likes to use music and he does these videos where he does the same kind of floor routines the girls do? I think just for fun. But he has a whole youtube channel and there’s a bunch on here, and he’s been putting up old ones from way, way back. I guess some friend of his who died is in them, so he just got around to looking at them again.”

“Lovely. And you’re inflicting this on us because…”

“Mari, seriously, it’s so cool to watch. Just fucking deal with it, or keep scrolling.”

Mari grins, nudging Becka with her foot. “Kidding, Becks. I’m watching, I promise. Hey, where’s Chris?”

Laken shrugs without looking up from their current work very carefully gluing an intricate paper cutout down to the posterboard. “Dunno. Had something to do with his brother, I think.”

“I swear, I’m a twin and I don’t like my brother as much as he likes his,” Brooke says, rolling her eyes, and Laken snorts, eyes slightly crossed as they very carefully pull a small line of glue in a perfect spiral with the paper.

“Guys, for the love of fuck, just shut up and let me watch this.” Becka waves her hand backwards, and Laken and Brooke share a look and an eyeroll, but the room goes quiet. Becka hits play again, and the music kicks on, something bright and upbeat nobody in the room recognizes immediately.

Akio rolls his neck, gets a grin on his face, and takes off across the mat, tensing at the last half-second before he seems to jump and fold forwards at once, backflipping once, twice, before he spins in the air and lands with his feet in perfect position, arms up - then he winks at the camera and rocks his hips, and Mari, Will, and Brooke all let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and laughter.

“Good God, that boy just had fun with his pelvis,” Mari says, mock-scandalized.

“Watch, just, just watch-” Becka waves her hand again and the group watches Nakamura dance across the mat, matching the rhythm of the song exactly, dropping into a split and then back up again like gravity is something he can simply turn off whenever he wants. He folds himself over backwards and walks on his hands before he’s back up on his feet, with a quick spin and another hip-rock, backing his way into the marked-off spot in the corner. There’s another running set of flips and jumps and Will is watching, and it’s crazy as hell, sure, but his eyes keep getting drawn to that boy in the corner.

Wearing the same leotard, the boy is dancing along with Nakamura, matching all his in-between-moves perfectly, a bright, shining smile on his face, clapping every time Nakamura nails a flip or a jump, edging his slow way up to just at the other corner on that side.

“Hey,” Ben says, but his voice is too quiet, and the drums are louder suddenly, like someone just turned the speakers up. Will hears him, though, and looks over to see Ben making the exact face as what Will is feeling.

Except…

Ben swallows so hard Will can see his Adam’s apple move.

“All right, so in this one, one of the kids I used to train with, Tristan Higgs, and I had kind of planned out a bit at the end - okay, watch Tristan right… about… now.”

Nakamura lands a jump, moves into a dance, and the redhead runs up onto the mat, takes his own position with his arms up, and shoots Nakamura a brilliant smile before he takes off himself. He’s short, and heavily muscled, but that smile is unmistakable.

While the redhead runs, Nakamura dances to the side, watching him with a grin.

“What the fuck?” Ben says from the corner, slamming his book shut and standing up, walking closer to watch the screen. “Do you guys-... do you see that?”

“They can’t do this in competition,” Becka says, misunderstanding the sudden silence to be awe, confusion at the routine itself. “It’s too dangerous. But nothing happens, they just have fun.”

The redhead does three backflips and then spins, hits his landing perfectly - the team throws up a deafening cheer - and he launches into the dance right as Nakamura is back in position for his next run.

They move around each other fluidly, for a while dancing nearly together. The group watches them move back to back, the redhead’s hair flashing coppery in the gym’s lights as he briefly drops it back onto Nakamura’s shoulder before spinning away, the team cheering them on and singing along with the song.

Ben’s eyes meet Laken’s. “Do you-... do you see-”

Laken looks away, shifting around, staring back down at the poster they’re working on alone now. “Yeah,” They say, voice slightly husky. “I see it.”

“But-”

“Let it go, Ben.”

“Laken, that’s Chris.”

“Holy shitballs,” Will says, “You’re right. It is Chris. Becka, fucking-... fucking pause next time they get his face on screen.”

“No worries, they’re almost done.” Becka blinks, puzzled, and the group watches Nakamura and the other boy do simultaneous flips across opposite sides of the mat, finish with a spin, and salute each other, before collapsing into laughter. “Does Chris do gymnastics?”

“No,” Laken says, before Ben can answer. He glances over at them and they shake their head, minutely, barely a motion.

The redhead starts to jump up and down, his hands flapping in the air, spinning in circles, as Nakamura laughs and runs over to him, saying something. The two high-five and hug before the redhead starts bouncing up and down again, clearly proud of himself, proud of Nakamura, just fucking thrilled.

“Laken-”

“I said let it go,” Laken snaps, and Ben’s mouth snaps shut.

Mari says, hesitantly, “Chris never said he did gymnastics.”

“Chris’s name isn’t Tristan fucking Higgs, either,” Will points out.

On the video, Nakamura’s voice is back. “We used to do that all the time. I’ve got about three more I’ll probably post. For the longest time I couldn’t even look at them, but… I don’t know. He was so fun. Rest in peace, man. We still miss you.”

“That can’t be him,” Will says, pulling his legs off of Mari’s lap and leaning over. Becka pauses with the screen stuck on the jumping, happy teenager, his hands blurred mid-motion. “That can’t be. Chris isn’t named Tristan.”

“He’s also not fucking dead,” Mari says, breathless. “But-”

“But it looks just like him, he even does the, the thing with his…” Will hesitantly flaps his hands by example. “When he’s happy. Just like that.”

“His hair’s red at the roots, too,” Brooke says, a little thoughtfully, nervously. “Um. Chris is adopted, right? Maybe…”

“Nobody changes a fucking teenager’s first name,” Will says, shaking his head. “I’ve met his brother, he wouldn’t do that. He’s like a giant teddy bear person. If Chris wanted the fucking Ritz that guy’d try and buy it for im. But, like, what do we know about Chris?”

“Not much,” Ben says, staring at the screen, stomach flipping. Ben knows more than anyone but Laken, thanks to Dylan being a fucking piece of shit about the pet thing. And he knows, he thinks, what he’s looking at now. “But-”

“I’m done with this,” Laken says abruptly, pushing themself to their feet. “You guys keep playing fucking detectives all you want, but that’s not Chris. I’m out.”

The group stares after them as they leave, and there’s a long, long moment of silence that draws awkwardly out, everyone trying to see if someone else will be the first person to speak next.

“Um, I’m-... I’m gonna go talk to them,” Ben says, grabbing his book on the way out, catching Laken just outside the elevators. “Hey, wait-”

“No,” Laken says, hands in their pockets, jammed in there like they’re trying not to choke someone. “Go back in there, Ben.”

“That is Chris,” Ben says, soft and insistent. “That’s him before they-... before he was-”

Laken doesn’t answer him. Their jaw sets, and the black eyeliner seems to make them look flintier, hardened. “We don’t know that.”

“Yeah, Laken, we absolutely do. You telling me that smile isn’t one hundred percent your boyfriend’s smile? You going to tell me there’s some other identical fucking redhead who stims like that when he’s happy who was at a gym literally across town, whose friends from then think he’s fucking dead, and it’s not your fucking boyfriend, who was oh just coincidentally a pet for some rich asshole-”

“Don’t say it,” Laken snaps. “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”

“We should show him the video, Laken.”

“No.”

“What if it-... what if it helps-”

“What if it doesn’t?” The elevator dings and the doors open. Laken pushes away from Ben and steps inside, turning to stare at him, their expression baleful and oddly vulnerable, both at once. “What if it just makes shit worse for him? He’s-... he already has these nightmares… Don’t you think Chris has had a hard enough fucking time without us throwing that shit in his face, Ben? His past doesn’t belong to us.”

“Show his brother, then,” Ben says, and Laken looks away from him as the doors start to roll closed. “Show his brother, okay? Please? Promise you will, it might help Chris to see-”

Laken doesn’t look back up. The doors cut them off from view and Ben watches the floor count tick down as it moves, before he turns and goes back to his room, flopping bonelessly on the bed.

“God damn it.”

That was definitely Christopher fucking Stanton in that video.

Wasn’t it?

Ben pulls his phone up, lying on his back, and types into the search bar, Tristan Higgs gymnast. Some old scores and meets come up, but no pictures. Nothing he can use. Then he deletes that search and types instead, Tristan Higgs death.

What pops up first is an old news article from fucking years ago about some kind of double-homicide after a break-in. Ben reads it, staring at the words, but something like dread slowly closes its claws over his heart.

The sole survivor of the attack was the couple’s fifteen-year-old son, Tristan, who has been placed in the care of relatives while law enforcement follows a series of tips…

Ben finds a Facebook page for the gym that was in the Nakamura video. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. They have an Instagram, and he scrolls and scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. He must sit there for a goddamn hour looking at fucking gymnastics bullshit he doesn’t care about. But then he finds it-

Throwback Thursday: the whole crew has pizza at Vanni’s Pizzeria after a great meet back in 20XX!

There he is, right there towards the front with Nakamura’s arm around his shoulders, shorter and significantly more muscular, with a bit of red hair flopping over one eye.

Christopher fucking Stanton, smiling at something just to the left of the camera, just like Chris always does.

He screenshots the photo and sends it to Laken. They send back, pretty sure I told you to go fuck yourself Benji.

Ben waits. Thirty-five seconds after that, Laken sends another text.

Okay. I’ll show Jake.

Ben tells himself to close the apps. That he has reading to do, and other things to care about. Then he spends the next five hours learning everything he can about Tristan Higgs, anyway.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

#chris the strawberry blond romantic #tristan higgs #laken mamani: frankly I want to date them #ben is a good bean #memory loss #not much to tag for here #past pet whump reference #the secret series #is referenced here #new identity #bbu #box boy #box boy universe

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kinktae · 4 years

Text

flesh and blood || 2 (M)

You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.

pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader

word count: 5.9k

genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut

warnings: lots of TV watching, mentions of conspiracy, joon doing some illegal shit, mentions of murder, & smooching

A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead.

01 | 02 | 03

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PART TWO

Zombies were nothing like hamsters, you had come to find out over the past few days.

It seemed like an odd comparison, but it was the only other pet experience you could call upon. Your hamster, affectionately named Anarchy, was an impulse decision on your part, a running theme in your life it would come to seem. Nevertheless, you and Joon took it upon yourself to ensure she lived up her whopping two years of life, setting her up the biggest tank you could find and spoiling her with chew toys and salt licks. Anarchy was the perfect pet; she didn’t whine or grunt, didn’t eat all the chocolate in your fridge and she certainly didn’t follow you into the bathroom every time you needed to pee.

Your zombie friend, however, could not have the same said about him.

Namjoon and you spent many a night perched on the couch discussing very important zombie matters – Are steak saturdays a bad idea with a zombie in the house? Does he have a name? Should we be charging him rent? – while the zombie in question sat directly in front of the TV, completely consumed by the black and white film Namjoon had put on for him.

“Why can’t I just put some of my foundation on him?” You tried to reason.

“They’ll know he’s wearing makeup. Your foundation is cakey as hell.”

“What about— wait, what?” You blinked, surprised.

Namjoon shifted uncomfortably, flashing you an apologetic look, “Oh, sorry. I thought you knew.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at your TV to find that the zombie boy had not moved an inch since the last time you looked.

“Hey, brains.” You called out, feeling playful. “How would you feel about getting a spray tan?”

“Y/N, this is serious. I really don’t think he should ever leave the house.” Namjoon sighed, pulling your attention back onto him.

“You want to imprison him? He’s a person! He has to leave the house or he’ll go stir crazy. I know I would…”

Your best friend shook his head, and although you still felt like you had a case to argue, you knew that the discussion was over.

“I know, but if we’re seen outside with a zombie… It’s just what’s best for everyone, Y/N. Better safe than sorry.” Namjoon shrugged.

Leaning back into the couch, you crossed your arms over your chest. Of course, he was right, but that didn't make it any less unfair. Even if the zombie man had yet to utter a complaint since arriving at your place, you couldn't help but feel responsible for his well being. He saved your life after all.

A noise coming from the sitting zombie caused you and Namjoon to jump; it was a sharp, high pitched sound, unlike you had ever heard come from him before.

Shockingly, you looked over at the zombie to find the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as the scene playing out on the television reflected in his dark eyes.

"Did he just..." Namjoon gaped.

"Laugh?" You finished the shared thought, a warm feeling falling over you. "Yeah. Sounds like he just did."

Namjoon hummed, tapping a finger against his thigh contemplatively. Suddenly, he stood up, heading out of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" You inquired.

"To start a Project Z chart. My groundbreaking research begins today!" His voice informed you from somewhere in the apartment.

You grinned, chuckling slightly. Bringing your knees into your chest, you wrapped your arms around them. Project Z, huh? Alright. Count you in.

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A thump against your foot pulled your eyes from your computer screen. You were sat in the living room, legs tucked under the coffee table as your ass took comfort on a pillow you placed on the floor.

"Hi, there!" You cooed, poking your head under the table as you greeted your hamster Anarchy. She had been roaming around the room in her giant clear hamster ball, one of her favorite ways to keep you company while you did your work.

The grey colored rodent continued forward, wheel rubbing against the length of your legs as she ran. Snatching the ball before she could get any further, you brought her up to eye level, her little nose sniffing at you.

"That's enough ball time for today, don't you think?" You asked her rhetorically.

Suddenly, your phone began to sound, the familiar tune of Monster by Lady Gaga ringing out for the kitchen.

"Brains!" You called out towards your zombie roommate, who was sat in his usual place in front of the TV. He wasn't actually responsive to your nickname for him, but thankfully, the volume of your tone caught his attention enough to turn and face you.

You placed Anarchy back onto the floor.

"Watch Anarchy." You pointed at your pet before pointing at him. "Don't let her roll out of the room."

The undead boy showed no sign of understanding, his eyes merely locking onto the contained mammal. He hadn't shown much interest in your hamster up until now, the TV taking up all his attention of course.

Thank god he was already a zombie because the amount of time he spent in front of that damn screen would have surely rotted his brain by now.

Assuming that his attention would not shift away from the rodent now that he was intrigued by it, you made your way out towards the kitchen, where you had left your phone to charge. You cursed as you watched the way the screen of your phone changed, the phone call ending before you could reach the device.

Grabbing your phone, you swiped it open, only to see that it had been Namjoon to call you.

Your eyes fixed on your phone, you sent him a message as you walked back into the living room.

[12:56 PM]

To: Joonie – sorry I missed ur call... did u need something?

You let out a small yelp as your toe hit itself on something– you knew exactly what it was as the sound of plastic rolling across the room rang out.

Your stomach sank heavily as you located the ball, not because you had just sent your hamster whirling across the room, but because the ball... was empty.

Your eyes widened as they found the ball's lid, lying ominously on the floor.

"Anarchy? How did–" You breathed before you realized you had left the zombie alone with your beloved pet.

A chill ran over you as you eyed him; he was once again watching the TV, cross-legged as if nothing was wrong.

"Oh my god..." You gaped. "Did– Did you eat Anarchy?!"

He didn't react to your voice and before you reason with yourself, you gripped his shoulder angrily, forcing him to look at you.

To your surprise, you were met with not just wide zombie eyes, but with the sight of Anarchy cupped carefully between his palms, very much alive. You let out a breath of relief, sinking down to sit beside him.

So your zombie friend didn't have a taste for rodents. Good to know.

"Sorry." You apologized reflexively before a chime, followed by another, called your attention.

The zombie watched carefully as you began to fiddle with that strange device he sometimes saw you occupied with.

You read the texts carefully.

[12:57 PM]

From: Joonie – just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK lol

[12:57 PM]

From: Joonie – was gonna ask if you wanted something but im otw home. c u soon!

You were just about to put the phone away when something stopped you in your tracks.

Tap.

A finger poked at your screen, and your eyebrows raised to find the zombie leaning in close, attention fixed on the set of texts sent in by your best friend.

You gawked at him for a moment, unsure if he was capable of reading and understanding the words in front of him.

After a few silent moments passed by; you cleared your throat, deciding to read the texts to him.

“Just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK haha.” You narrated.

To your surprise, the zombie boy let out a grunt, poking at your screen again. Confused, you followed his finger to see what exactly he was pointing at.

Tap.

His finger hovered over the acronym Namjoon had sent. Was he asking what it meant? You could imagine zombies weren't well versed in text slang.

“The letters J and K stand for just kidding.”

It felt silly talking to him like this. You had no clue if he even understood written language – or verbal for that matter.

If the boy understood what you said, though, he didn’t show any sign of it. Once again, he tapped his finger against the message, accidentally causing the word to become highlighted.

“Yes, yes, I see it.” You said, growing slightly frustrated at the clear lack of mutual understanding between you.

Tap.

“Okay, enough of that…” You sighed.

Ten minutes passed by uneventfully; Brains was watching his favorite show again, having had handed your hamster back so you could put her back and continue your work.

The sound of the front door opening caught your attention, accompanied by the rustling sounds of the grocery bags Namjoon was carrying.

"Welcome home!" You greeted, not peeling your eyes from your screen.

"Can I get some help, please?" Namjoon's disembodied voice called out, stealing a sigh from you.

Begrudgingly, you closed your laptop, trudging over to the kitchen to help the scientist.

Offering him a nod in greeting, you began sifting through the bags he had heaved over onto the kitchen counter, on a hunt for any frozen foods that needed to be stored immediately.

"Did you buy–"

"Chocolate?" Namjoon finished for you, tucking away a tub of ice cream into your freezer. "Yeah, duh. You only reminded me eight times before I left."

You flashed him a sheepish smile, pulling a plastic container of strawberries from a grocery bag.

"Did you get any work done?" Your roommate wondered conversationally. You shrugged.

"I guess. This article Seokjin has me working on for the paper is dull as hell."

"And how is our zombie friend? Did you guys bond with me gone?"

“Obviously. I mean, we're practically best friends now." You teased, rolling up a now empty bag. Namjoon gasped suddenly, a hand over his heart in pretend offense.

"You're not trying to replace me are you?" He sniffed fakely.

"Well, he does get along with Anarchy. He took her out of her ball and held her and everything." You shrugged, a small smirk pulling at your mouth.

The fridge door shut sharply, Namjoon's eyes narrowing in distaste, "You're telling me that little rat likes an undead stranger better than me? I can’t even put a hand in her enclosure without her trying to gnaw off a phalange!"

"Stop calling her a rat, she's a hamster!" A laugh escaped you, ever amused by the way your pet despised him.

"Interesting that he didn't eat her though." Namjoon continued, the two of you were nearly done putting the purchased food away. "I'll make sure to note that in his chart."

"I was surprised, too." You nodded.

"Learn anything else interesting that I should write down?"

"Not really. Just that he really likes the acronym JK. I read your text out to him and he wouldn’t stop tapping at my phone when I showed him it.” You explained, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans casually.

The groceries were all stored meaning your moral duty as a roommate to help put them away was officially completed.

“Really? Interesting..." Namjoon hummed.

"Is it?" You mused.

"This could mean he understands transcribed text."

You thought back to the way the zombie had shown little to no reaction to Namjoon's words before shaking your head in disagreement.

"I doubt it."

"You said you read it out to him right? Maybe it’s zombie slang for something. Or at least sounds like it.” He pressed.

You pondered that idea for a moment before responding, “You think zombies have their own language? I haven’t heard a sound out of him other than the occasional grunt or groan.”

“Why not? If animals are able to communicate within their own species, why not zombies? Nonverbal communication occurs in the animal kingdom all the time.” Namjoon explained, once again proving himself to be the smarter of you two.

Suddenly, without warning, he began to make his way over to the living room; you cocked your head in confusion before following him.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, worried he was going to harass the unsuspecting zombie again. Often you'd have to step in and remind Namjoon that the zombie wasn't a test rat that he could just poke and prod at whenever he wanted.

Said zombie was, of course, exactly where you had left him, sat upright on the couch looking stiff and unnatural as ever as he watched his TV with a blank expression.

“I’m gonna test out a theory.” Namjoon declared without warning, and to your disbelief, he let out a loud grumble.

“J...K…” He groaned out, voice clearly trying to imitate that of a zombie’s. Oh, god. Your best friend was an idiot. He really was.

Just as you were about to hit Namjoon on the shoulder for being such a dumbass, the seated zombie unexpectedly turned towards the two of you, clearly responding to the word.

He stared at you both with wide, unblinking eyes before letting out a huff of his own.

“Holy shit.” You breathed silently.

“Well. I think I just spoke zombie." Namjoon whispered. Neither of you dared to take your eyes off the walker as a small ounce of fear began to set in.

What exactly had Namjoon said to him? Was it possible to offend a zombie? Should you both start running now?

And as if you weren't taken back enough, you completely lost the ability to breathe altogether when a corner of the zombie boy’s mouth twitched upward, flashing you both a crooked, yet unmistakable smile.

“Is he... smiling?” You turned to face your best friend only to see that he was smiling back at the zombie.

“Remind me to put zombie whisperer on my résumé.” Namjoon grinned smugly.

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"No, this is mine. That one is yours." You huffed, grabbing back the stolen candy bar.

"Mine." JK repeated, reaching over for the very item you had just taken back from him. You let out a groan, throwing your hands up in defeat.

"I take it he's not grasping the concept of ownership?" Namjoon glanced up from whatever hospital file he was looking over.

"That little brat knows what I mean, he's just greedy and stubborn." You accused, glaring at the zombie who had already peeled open the wrapper of your chocolate.

In the past two weeks since you first brought home the stubborn zombie, there had been much development on his part. For starters, Namjoon and you had deducted that his name must be JK as it was the only word he responded to every time without fail.

Along with that discovery came the shocking utterance of words on his part.

Y/N. Joon. No. Mine. Sorry. Candy.

Each one was just as jarring as the one before, even if simple. Namjoon, although disappointed your name was JK's first words and not his, was thrilled. Language reacquisition was certainly something reports on zombies failed to notice.

"Hmm... wonder where he picked that up from..." Namjoon muttered sourly. At his words, you frowned.

"Excuse me, are you suggesting something mister?" You raised an eyebrow at him challenging.

Your best friend let out a laugh, "You say that as if you aren't the most hard-headed, unyielding human being to ever walk this earth."

"Bold words for someone who can't even go to sleep unless a nightlight is present." You scoffed.

"Hey!" Namjoon slammed the paperwork down onto the coffee table, causing you to roll your eyes. The zombie frowned, eyes flickering between the two humans. "That was a low blow! I could have brought up the fact that you're in your twenties and still can't drive but some of us have class, you know."

"Driving is scary!" You defended, turning your nose up at him. "Besides, why do I need to drive when I have a chauffeur?"

"You ass, I am not your chauffeur–"

"Joon." JK's gruff voice rang out suddenly, silencing the room. His eyes glared at the tall human openly.

Namjoon looked taken aback at the zombie's sudden call, his eyes flickering to you for reassurance, but you hadn't a clue what was happening either.

"...Yes?" He finally replied, voice hesitant.

The zombie immediately dropped the chocolate, hand coming up to point at you instead. You quirked a brow, noting the way he had yet to take his cold eyes off Namjoon.

"Sorry." JK demanded.

You let out a laugh.

"Wha– Are you kidding?" The scientist marveled. "Hell no, I'm not apologizing to her."

"Joon. Sorry." The zombie said once more, a clipped tone behind the word.

You were a giggling mess, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you watched your roommates interact with amusement.

"Why just me? Y/N should apologize too!" Namjoon whined.

JK held the man's stare for just a beat when swiftly, he grabbed the file that he had placed down onto the table.

"Woah– Hey, naughty zombie! Give that back."

"No." The zombified man responded dryly, only causing you to laugh harder.

JK glanced your way for a moment, taking note of how pleasant the sound before once again turning to Namjoon.

"Yeah, Joon! Say sorry." He could hear you tease beside him.

"Yeah." JK repeated after you, his head nodding in a way that was convincingly human-like.

"Son of a bitch. He's like the undead male version of you." Namjoon griped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ultimately, he cried uncle.

"Fine. Y/N, I am so sorry, please forgive me." His eyes flew back to JK, extending his hand out pleadingly. "Now can I please have that file back?"

JK frowned, wanting to say something but lacking the necessary words to express himself, so instead, he turned towards Y/N.

You were already looking at him, elbow perched on the table as you rested your chin on your open palm. You were smiling in the way that always made him feel funny; your eyes shiny and amiable.

You gave him a nod, which was all the reassurance he needed before he finally handed the file back over to the man he had stolen it from. Namjoon snatched it back eagerly, pulling it into his chest in case either of his roommates tried to pull that same stunt again.

"Monsters. Both of you." He said in a flat tone. You chuckled, heeding his words no mind as you spotted the abandoned chocolate lying on the table that the zombie had set down.

JK watched with a frown as you took the candy bar from him, his noise of protest dying in his throat the moment he saw the way your lips wrapped around the sweet treat.

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“Y/N.”

“Hm?” You replied, still concentrating on the apple you were slicing up for the zombie. As willing as he was to keep eating candy all day, you didn't want Jungkook's insides to decay any more than they already had.

Jungkook.

The sudden discovery of the zombie's full name was an unexpected one. It happened last week on a night much like others. You had just finished drying up his sheets and pillow cover, the fabrics warm and heavy in your arms. You had noticed your zombie friend had been particularly pensive that day, not chatting much which certainly was unusual for him nowadays. So as you walked into the living room, you weren't surprised to find him sitting at the couch staring out at the metal bars that ran along the length of the window as he appeared lost in his thoughts.

"Here you go. Nice and warm." You had announced, dropping the sheets onto the zombie's lap. He was yanked from his thoughts by the sudden weight.

"Nighty-night, sleep tight, don't let the zombies bite." You chimed breezily. The childhood rhyme might not apply in this particular case but you found the humor in it enough to say it to him every night.

The zombie gave you a slow nod, causing your brows to furrow slightly. It really wasn't like him to be this quiet. Lately, it had almost seemed as if he couldn't shut up; he was a human parrot, regurgitating and repeating every word that caught his interest, even occasionally forming sentences.

Namjoon deduced that this must be something of a second term speech emergence– or as you understood it, just a fancy science term meaning JK was rapidly learning how to speak.

A soft click rang out as you flicked the light switch on the wall off. The moon was bright and full tonight, it's light seeping through the window as it painted a wash of blue on the zombie and the couch.

"Y/N."

His voice was small; if it weren't for the quiet of the night you doubt you would've caught the call at all.

"Yes? Is everything okay?"

There was an undeniable melancholy in the air. It seeped through his tone and engulfed the room.

"I remember."

The words stunned you and after a silent beat, you were walking over to him, sitting down on the coffee table across from him.

"What? What do you remember? Tell me." You urged softly.

You watched as he swallowed shakily, eyebrows furrowing as his jaw opened and closed, fighting for a response. He could see it all, flashing from one scene to another in the back of his mind. There was a family that loved him. A pretty girl that made his chest tighten like it did when he was near you. A car accident. A morgue. Screaming. A group of six boys taking him in. Men in black uniforms pinning them to the ground as he hid and watched.

It was suffocating.

"JK?" You called out worriedly, noticing the way emotion clouded his eyes and how his breathing was becoming ragged.

"Jungkook." A name came out raspily as if saying it out loud was painful.

"What?" You blinked.

"Jungkook." He mourned, tears falling from his eyes. "I remember."

Your heart sank as his face twisted up, and before you could stop yourself, you stood and pulled him into you, his face finding the crook of your neck as he began to weep. You let out a breath, your hand petting the back of his head in hopes to comfort him, his hair still damp from his shower earlier.

Needless to say, when Namjoon came back from his night shift to see the two of you curled up asleep on the couch together, he had many questions.

“Y/N, come here.” Jungkook's voice insisted, causing you to huff.

'No please, huh? Typical man.' You thought to yourself bitterly as you placed the knife in the sink, scooping up the plate of freshly cut apples as you made your way over to him.

"Here. Apples. Eat." You ordered, placing the plate down in front of him. Jungkook had graduated from sitting on the floor to the couch while watching TV, truly an astonishing character development on his part.

"What are they doing?" Jungkook ignored you, completely captivated by whatever he was watching.

Pressing your lips together, you watched the scene unfold on the screened box.

“They’re kissing.” You said, glancing back at the fascinated man that sat beside you, unsure of how to approach this subject.

"What?" Jungkook cocked his head, clearly not familiar with the term.

“What they’re doing? Yeah, it’s called a kiss.”

The romantic lead and his female counterpart were locking lips under an umbrella as rain poured around them, uplifting music humming in the background. Just the kind of grand romantic movie ending all pre-apocalypse movies seemed to have.

“Kiss.” Jungkook repeated, testing out the word.

“Yeah, you do it with someone you care about. Someone you’re close with.”

“Do Y/N and Namjoon... kiss?” He muttered.

Your eyes grew, quick to shake your head vehemently, “Huh? Oh no! God no. We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” The zombie pressed.

“Yeah. We’re close and care about each other but… definitely no kissing.” You shuttered. You had known Namjoon for too damn long to even entertain that idea.

“No kissing. Just friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded, seemingly content with the information he was just given. "But why do they kiss?"

You shifted in your seat. Was this what parents felt like when it was time to give their kids 'the talk?'

“Well… It feels nice. And I guess it's a way of showing someone you love them.” You shrugged shyly.

“Love."

Jungkook seemed to be merely repeating you rather than pressing for an explanation as he turned his attention back to the movie.

“Confusing.” Jungkook concluded.

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong.” You mused through a laugh, bringing his attention back on to you and the way he couldn't help but smile every time you heard you do so.

And there it was again. That strange, tight feeling in his chest that he had yet to find a word for... up until now.

"Y/N."

Turning towards him, your world froze the second his lips found yours. They were soft and warm much like the hands that cupped either side of your face.

Pulling away from the kiss, Jungkook opened his eyes, heat finding both your faces as you gawked at him with wide eyes.

"Sorry." He apologized suddenly.

"Y-You just..." Your words failed you, there was no possible way to wrap your head around what just happened.

You brought a hand to your lips, fingers running along your bottom one before covering your mouth altogether.

"Gosh. You have to ask before you kiss someone, brains." You turned away from him, tone of voice serious as if to scold him.

Jungkook nodded quietly, unsure of how to reply, especially when he could see the way you smiled behind your hand.

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You were trying to sleep, you really were. But unfortunately for you, when your, admittedly good looking, zombie roommate kisses you, it tends to consume your thoughts. You felt like you were overthinking everything despite the fact that you knew nothing.

Was it a misunderstanding on your part? Did you explain kissing in a way that confused him and he was just trying to express his gratitude towards you for taking care of him for all this time?

Or did he... love you?

God, you sounded ridiculous, you know you did. How could a zombie even understand an idea as complex as love? Why was this even affecting you so much? Why did it matter?

Your thoughts were bordering on dangerous territory right now, and in desperate need of a distraction, you rang up Namjoon.

"Joon!" You greeted the second he picked up.

"Uh, hey?" Your best friend replied warily. “Is everything okay?"

"What? Yeah! Of course, I mean, why wouldn't everything be okay?" You replied, heart racing as you swung your legs against the side of your bed.

"Well, for starters, you're calling me at three in the morning? Why aren't you sleeping?"

Namjoon often went to do work late at night at the hospital for his internship; usually, it meant you got to see little of him in the mornings as he was passed out cold but this time it actually worked to your advantage.

"Oh, I'm just... thinking, I guess. How are things at the hospital?" You diverted quickly.

"It's kind of a slow night," Namjoon revealed and you could almost picture the way he'd shrug, "but I'm guessing you didn't call me to ask me that. What's going on, weirdo?"

You let out a sigh. He was your best friend, after all. Of course, he'd see right through you.

"It's just... Jungkook. He's just so different from everything we thought we knew about zombies."

"I know, right? He's nearly completely fluent now, don't you think?"

"No, it's more than that." You furrowed your brows, laying back on your bed. "He's just– I mean he's got... emotions and preferences and memories. I think he might even... Ugh, nevermind I’m just overthinking.”

"Did... something happen that I should know about?" Namjoon mused. You bit down on your lip, unsure of how to answer.

"We know he's different from the others but–" You chose to ignore before he cut you off.

"But what?"

Staring at your ceiling, you sorted through your thoughts– thoughts that you had been toying with for a while now.

"What if there are more like him? And if so, where are they? Have they been killed? What role does the DEAD Team play in this?"

"Hm. I don't know... but let me see if I can find out." Namjoon said, causing you to sit up in surprise.

Of course! Research was Namjoon's whole thing. If anyone could find out more about this, it was him.

"Okay, yeah! Let me know if you find anything." You replied.

"And Y/N," Namjoon began suddenly, his tone shift slightly. "If you’re right... Wait. Nevermind, let's, uh, just not talk about this over the phone anymore, okay?"

"Oh... okay." You blinked in confusion at your best friend's nebulous words.

"Good night, weirdo."

"Night." You muttered back, hitting the end call button as you tried to suppress the uneasy feeling in your gut.

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The feeling of someone yanking the covers off your body jolted you awake. Squinting, you tried to orient yourself, the lights in your room blinding your tired eyes.

"What the fuck?" You grumbled, eyes focusing on the hovering body that soon revealed itself to be your boisterous best friend.

"Morning, sunshine!" Namjoon chimed.

"Ugh, what time is it?"

"Around six in the morning!" He answered before taking a seat on your bed, dropping a pile of what looked to be meaningless junk next to your body.

“Can I just say, finding anything outbreak-related that isn’t Anti-Zombie propaganda is fucking difficult… Luckily for you, I happen to be a genius with a lot of friends in the computer programming field.” Your best friend explained cockily.

“Oh shit." You rubbed at your eyes before taking in the pile. "Find anything good?”

“Oh, yeah. Turns out you’re not the only one who thinks there is more to the zombie story. I found an archive of a forum of people like us sharing stories and conspiracies about the Great Outbreak and the government’s involvement in it.”

“Really? How have I never stumbled upon that before?” You pondered.

“That’s just it. It was an archive, meaning the forum doesn’t exist anymore, it was shut down. The whole site was shut down actually, seemingly out of nowhere. Unfortunately for whoever took it down, once someone takes a step onto the internet, there are always footprints left behind. Nothing is ever really gone forever.”

You let his words sink in, still on sleepy brain mode.

“So... do you think the government took the site down?”

Namjoon flashed you a look as if to say well, obviously.

“A lot of the thread was purely he said she said stuff, but I did find some compelling pieces of evidence. Most notably… this.”

Namjoon reached into the pile and pulled out an old copy of a newspaper, placing it on top for you to read. Printed on the first page was a picture of a family you didn’t know, consisting of a mother, a father, and two daughters. On top of the picture in all bold was the title, “FAMILY KILLED BY ZOMBIE DAUGHTER.”

You vaguely remembered hearing about this story on the news when you were younger. But even then, you hardly gave sensationalized news much thought.

“Anyway, the youngest daughter, Shelby, died some time ago from some form of cancer. There are records of her parents taking her in to get that sketchy ass drug if you remember–”

“Immortuos, of course.” You nodded.

“Yeah. Obviously, she ended up dying and coming back to life. However, instead of letting the DEAD Team take her into custody, her family somehow managed to sneak her out of the mortuary her body was being stored in.”

Your eyes grew in size, “Are you serious? Wait, how do you know this?”

Namjoon rummaged through the pile, pulling out a piece of paper before holding it out to you. You stared down at it.

“Is this… a credit card statement?”

“Shelby’s father’s credit card statement.”

You shifted back away from the paper, sitting up in your bed. You were looking at a dead man’s credit card history. Weird.

“How the literal hell did you even get your hands on this?”

“I have my ways.” Namjoon smirked. You nodded, impressed at just how much your best friend had gotten away with.

“Anyway, look at this. Five days before the entire family’s reported death, the father bought four plane tickets.”

Four plane tickets?

“Well, that doesn't make sense. If it was just the oldest sister and her parents, they would only need three.” Your brows furrowed.

“Right. But with Shelby alive again…” Namjoon hinted.

“Four tickets.” You marveled, finally understanding. “They were trying to run away.”

You shook your head, “But wait this newspaper says Shelby killed her family, right? So what really happened? Why didn’t the family make their flight?”

“So there’s speculation that the government heavily monitored the immediate family of the recently undead after their resurrection. People on the forum theorized that the government caught wind of the family’s plan and killed them off before they got the chance to flee. Clearly, they thought the family knew something they shouldn’t have otherwise they would have just taken the girl. I mean think about it, do you really think a six-year-old could overpower her sister and two adult parents? ‘Cause I don’t.”

You sat in silence for a second. It made sense. The zombie girl was already back with the family so it would be the perfect guise to fall back on: ‘Naive family takes back zombie child only to be eaten alive!’ That would certainly deter other families from trying to do the same.

A thought crossed you suddenly.

“Hey, this happened in our town. You have access to the hospital's morgue records… do you think there is any way–”

“One step ahead of you.” Namjoon interrupted, pulling out an aged manila envelope from the pile, the word confidential clearly stamped onto it.

You held Namjoon’s eyes in disbelief, wondering how the fuck you had befriended a master level criminal, before taking the envelope into your hands and prying it open. Inside were four sheets of paper. Copies of autopsy reports, with each respective family member’s name on it. Your stomach dropped as you let your eyes roll over them, realizing each sheet of paper had been signed off the same way:

Cause of Death: GUNSHOT TO HEAD

Manner of Death: MANDATED HOMICIDE

Police Notified: NO

"Mandated homicide– whoever executed their deaths was ordered to do so. And if the police weren't notified then..."

"Yeah." Namjoon confirmed grimly. A wave of nausea rolled over you suddenly.

“The family knew what we know. That not all zombies are dangerous.” You breathed, swallowing dryly. “And now... they're dead.”

Your apprehensive eyes met Namjoon's, the air thick with the feeling that you two had just stumbled upon something much bigger than yourselves– something you would not come out of unscathed.

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.

Excerpt:

At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

So he’d live with it.

“Fuck!”

Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.

Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.

So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.

Fuck.

He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and Alex .

They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.

“Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.

“Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.

If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.

Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.

“Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”

“You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.

Michael scoffed.

Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”

The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.

Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”

“I don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”

That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.

A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.

“How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”

Alex. The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.

Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.

“Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”

Michael marshalled himself to answer.

“How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”

“Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.

“It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”

“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”

Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.

“I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”

“But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"

The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.

“All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”

“Thanks again, man.”

“Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”

As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?

It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.

“I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.

“Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.

“Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.

Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being Alex, weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.

So he’d live with it.

His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.

“Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”

But it wasn’t a spam call at all. Ortecho sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.

“Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.

“Well it’s about damn—”

“Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost died, what the hell?”

“Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.

“Listen, I—”

Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”

“…I know.”

Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.

He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael did know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.

“Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”

“Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me. Are you okay? ”

“I…”

What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.

“Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.

Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”

Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself. He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.

“There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”

That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and bereft he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t enough to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.

Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.

But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”

“I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”

“Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.

“Look, I should go,” she said.

“Okay,” Michael replied.

“I’m—really glad you’re okay.”

“And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”

“Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

She hung up.

Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.

Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.

Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.

But he should have—

Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.

We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G

Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.

All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.

Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.

Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?

The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.

Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.

Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.

As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.

And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?

He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.

Asshole.

What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.

Still, progress.

It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?

He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.

Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.

“Hey,” Michael greeted them.

“Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.

“Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”

“That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.

Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”

Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”

“I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.

Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.

Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.

“You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.

It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.

“You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.

Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.

“So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.

That didn’t stop Liz, his mind whispered, but he shook it off.

Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”

Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.

“And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”

Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.

He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.

“Seriously, though, are you going somewhere?” he asked again.

“…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.

“ Alex, ” Maria said in a scalded voice.

Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.

But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.

“Alex, I told you,” Maria said.

“I know. But—”

“No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”

For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.

Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.

“I’m not leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”

He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him: I’m here.

“I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.

Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.

Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”

Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.

“Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.

Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”

“Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to talk to us, not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”

Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.

Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”

“Did you? See something?” Michael asked.

“Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.

“Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”

“Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.

Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”

Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”

We. Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.

But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.

“Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”

“ Guerin, ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”

Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.

“I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”

As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”

“Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”

Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.

Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.

Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.

On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.

Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”

Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.

“I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.

“I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.

“How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.

Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”

“I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”

“No! No, hey, hey.”

They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.

“I just wanted to protect you, ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”

They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.

They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.

We’ll figure it out. Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.

“We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.

“Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”

Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.

“Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

#malex fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #roswell new mexico

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

The Runaway Princess | One

Okay, okay, okay so I'm dropping this preview here because I have yet to decide if this is going to be a long fic or a chaptered fic but I have the first part down and I wanted to share it. It's a young Zemo x OC fic (lightly OC? His wife in the comics is named Heike and I took that name and ran with it so she's my own design but with a ripped off name LOL).

If I decide to post the rest on here it will be on my DIzzy After Dark page because I'm planning this to be an NSFW style fic (bc why the fuck not) but this opening bit is 110% friendly to all ages I just wanted to introduce Heike because I fucking love her.

This story goes with the Zemo moodboard I made months ago and finally just got around to polishing. Here is the like to that!

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Synopsis: Heike is a Ballerina and a Princess, but before that she is an object, one toyed with by her very mother. She is to be married to a man she's never met, whom she has yet to even see a picture of (though that's of her own design), and is on the verge of one of the biggest moments of her career: dancing on the Marinsky stage.

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Heike Petrov (OC)

Warnings: Slight angst, eventual NSFW content that will be 18+ (not this part), fluff tho and lots of it, seriously this is all over the place

Word count: 2.2k

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The first drops of sunlight pour in through the arched windows, painting the glossy wooden floor in an array of sparkling pastels. They hit the paneled mirrors, bouncing off of the golden bar that runs the entire length of the studio, illuminating every surface in an ethereal glow. For just a moment— the tiniest fraction of time where there's no noise other than the slightest shuffle of silken slippers against mahogany and even, meticulous breaths— everything is perfect. Everything is calm.

Perhaps if Heike’s eyes were open she would admire the peace— the way her studio looks as though it’s been dipped in a bath of gold and oil paints. The way it’s just cool enough to keep the sheen of sweat from her limbs. The silence. Oh yes, she would certainly admire the silence. It’s all she’s ever longed for.

Her eyes are not open, though, and in her head her thoughts are excruciatingly loud— louder than they’ve been in ages. There’s no silence for her to admire behind the darkness of her eyelids. No gold, or oil, or peace. Nothing of the sort.

No, in her head she is on a stage. A loud, vast, practically thrumming stage.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

That’s nothing new, though— that’s her life. Her life is on a stage and her life is a stage. She is always doing and someone— but more often someones— is— are— always watching. Being on the stage is not new.

What is new is the particular stage that she is on this morning. The Mariinsky Stage. The biggest grande allegro in all of Russia. It’s the stage she has been preparing to dance on for almost all of her life— for almost twenty-five excruciatingly long years. In just thirty-six hours she will be performing in front of the world’s most important people.

Kings and Queens.

Princes and Princesses.

Presidents and Prime Ministers and everyone in between who can afford a ticket.

So, her family— her entire family— somehow that’s worse than anyone else.

A soft voice cuts through her pondering but not quite through the dread.

“Mi’lady, it is seven.” Already? Heike could have sworn she just put her slippers on a few minutes ago. “I am afraid it is time we start dressing you. It’s a special day— the Queen has, erm, reminded me, shall we say, that you mustn’t be late to brunch this morning.”

The Princess sighs, the Mariinsky beginning to fade from behind her eyelids. Of course her mother’s been pestering her lady in waiting again. Would it truly be a normal day if she didn’t? It isn’t as if Katerina is the kindest, hardest working, most tolerant woman in the castle— no, that would be absurd. Surely if she was then her mother wouldn’t treat her with such scorn— as though she’s lower than the dirt the country stands on. Only a touch worse than she treats her own daughter.

Oh— wait.

Cracking an eye open, Heike drinks in the woman before her. Scarlet hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and a worn smile. Worn but there nonetheless. She opens the other eye, passing Katerina what she can only assume— nyet, hope— is the same. She has no idea how Katerina puts up with the Queen. She can barely do it and she’s the princess. Heike knows it’s for her, though, so she tries her best to be the opposite.

She lowers herself to the floor, stretching her hands out towards her toes. “Three hours to get ready? Surely that’s too much time to throw on a dress and some heels, Kat.”

Katerina rolls her eyes, tsking and shaking her head. “Shush miss— you know this morning is different.”

The princess giggles, tilting her head to the spot on the floor next to her. Katerina sighs but it is pointless— Heike is well accustomed to her pattern of feigning annoyance. When you’re around the same person day in and day out for nine years, you begin to pick up on their traits. Like how Kat rolls her eyes but the left side of her mouth still ticks up. It comes with the territory— it comes with being best friends.

That’s what they are, really. Best friends. Heike’s only friend, truly. She knows it’s odd to become friends with your lady in waiting— it’s not lost on her the implications of such a relationship and of her status— but Katerina has never felt like her servant. The idea of even having a servant has always felt terribly outdated, at least to her. Kat is her friend— her sister. Well, if sisters were paid to be your sister. She would like to believe that the reason Kat sticks around, though, is because she feels the same way.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

Katerina slumps onto the floor next to her, rolling onto her back, her blue gown pooling in a graceful circle around her. Heike meets her eyes with another smile— this one much less coy. There is only so much that can keep the nerves at bay. Practicing her ballet was helping— a lot, actually— but now that she’s not moving— now that the dawn has broken into a more sinister form of daylight— all the raging thoughts have begun to simmer again. Now, it seems, they are boiling over.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Her voice is quiet, just barely breaching a whisper, but in their little bubble of mahogany and glass it is louder than ever.

Katerina pushes herself up onto her elbow, her brows creasing together. They have been having the same conversation for weeks, ever since her mother told her the news. Heike can practically hear what she’s going to say before it’s out of her mouth.

“It or him?” Heike winces at Kat’s bluntness regardless— usually they skirt around the real topic for a few minutes, warming up to it.

She supposes they don’t have time for that today though. Not when he will be sitting in their conservatory in three hours. Maybe even less. Maybe he is even here now, waiting, speaking to her parents and bartering a deal for her hand— no. She takes a deep breath, beginning to untie her slippers if only to keep her shaking fingers occupied.

“Baron Helmut Zemo—” Heike tests his name on her tongue. It tastes familiar— that is probably because she has been repeating it for weeks now, though— “he sounds regal.”

“He is royalty,” Katerina reminds, the left side of her mouth quirking up. “Just the same as you, Mi’lady.”

Heike sighs. “Katerina, please— I’m a dancer. A ballerina. None of the formalities— they make me feel… strange.”

Being a princess would mean that she is the daughter of a king and a queen— it would mean she actually got recognized as anything more than a pair of pointe shoes.

She doesn’t add that, of course, only pulls said pointe shoes from her feet, letting her toes stretch and curl in the cool air of her studio. Not for long— only until her fingers begin trembling again and then she is starting on the sides of her leotard, pulling at the little silk ribbons. Soon, though, even that is interrupted, a pair of warm hands wrapping around hers and halting her attempts to hide her fidgeting.

“You’re stalling is what you are. Just as you have been all week. It isn’t healthy, Hei. Talk to me— you always talk to me.”

Heike lifts her eyes back to her friend, meeting her worried blue eyes and feeling her shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, I know. It’s just— I—” She doesn’t know what to say— part of the reason she hasn’t talked about it is because she’s at a complete and utter loss. “I am tired. I think. But so are you— more so than I. So I shouldn’t complain.”

Katerina rolls her eyes again, squeezing her hands. “Mi’lady I am exhausted. Truly I am. But at the end of the day I get to go to my bed and I get to sleep. Just like you do. We both sleep, yes?”

“Yes, but what—”

“It means we are the same— which means don’t say that. We are friends. You are tired. I am tired. I can be tired and listen at the same time, believe it or not.” Kat shakes her hands, bringing them up to her chest with Heike’s fingers still wrapped in her own. “I know it’s hard but we must talk about this. No excuses.”

Heike tries for another smile but it feels more like a grimace— like all the muscles in her face are rebelling. “How are you so kind to me?”

Katerina narrows her blue eyes until all Heike can see is black. “No excuses, Mi’lady.” She scrunches her nose, her face softening from it’s accusatory glare. “But— on that note— you’re much more lovely than you give yourself credit for, Hei. You’re easy to be kind to. So, again, stop making excuses because if you don’t then you will be unlovable. I will stop loving you.”

Heike laughs for a quick moment and then straightens— Kat is right. Kat is always right.

“I’m nervous,” Heike admits.

It’s harder to push the words out than she thought it would be. It’s like her throat squeezes extra hard when she says it, her teeth and tongue acting a barricade to the truth. The words do manage to shimmy through but they take all the energy she has with them and she sags. Her whole body rebels against the notion that she’s worried. Princesses aren’t supposed to worry.

“I don’t even know what this man looks like.” Heike continues, gently pulling her fingers from Katerina’s grasp, curling them around her bare arms and closing her eyes— It’s easier to think in the darkness. “I suppose I could look but there is no point, I’ve made it this far without. No matter what I do he will still be here soon. His appearance isn’t really the point anyway. That’s what I keep telling myself at least.”

Heike mutters the last part but she’s sure she hears it.

Only a few measly seconds pass before Kat’s voice cuts through the darkness, as patient yet as pressing as ever. “What is the point then, Hei?”

Her. The point is her. It is not about whether Heike likes him— it doesn’t matter if she does, her mother has her ways of getting what she wants. The Queen— her holder. Gods, this man could hate Heike— take one look at her and despise everything he sees— and her mother would still, somehow, find a way to have them married.

Heike snaps her eyes open— she draws the line at having to think about a wedding. Her wedding. To a man who will probably hate her. That’s the point— marriage. Status. Everlasting, lukewarm relationships for the sake of kingdoms that are more an idea than anything else.

Again, Heike doesn’t say that, at least not all of it.

“What if he does not like me?” She can’t force her voice past a dull whisper, her hands— now that they aren’t being held steady— once again trembling.

Katerina’s face softens immediately, her eyes losing the glimmer of humor she had somehow been maintaining. It was probably for Heike’s benefit. People are always trying to keep her happy, like it’s some sort of crucial task. Keep Heike happy or it’s off with your head. Her— the princess— the burden. She doesn’t want any heads, she can barely keep track of her own at any given moment.

Case in point.

Katerina holds her arms open wide and raises a scarlet brow. Heike doesn’t waste any time in rushing forward and piling her body into Kat’s. Burden or not, there’s no way she’s about to refuse the best hugger in the castle.

The lady in waiting squeezes her arms around the princess, her words soft against her temple. “That is impossible. Impossible. You worry much too much— you always have. He will love you, Heike. I know he will. It’s impossible not to love you, trust me I would know.”

Heike snuggles deeper into her friend’s arms, soaking in as much of her lemon and vanilla perfume as possible. It’s the only thing that’s ever screamed home to her. She has been many places— danced on many stages— but coming home never meant the castle walls. It never meant anything because Katerina was always right there next to her, holding her hand or flicking her ear or snoring until the very last minute when they are being rushed off the plane and Heike is doing more of the waiting than anyone. She has always had the privilege of bringing her home with her— her citrusy, red haired home.

But for how long will that be possible?

She doesn’t ask— It is for her and her only to bear. “But what if he doesn’t?”

Katerina pulls back, much to Heike’s dismay, her hand slipping under her chin and squeezing gently. “The we run, Mi’lady.”

Heike’s heart softens. “We?”

Kat rolls her eyes, the left side of her mouth halfway to her ear— Heike supposes she should have seen that coming. “You are not leaving me here alone, miss.”

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

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Translations:

Bozhe, pomogi yey — God help her

#helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo #helmut zemo x oc #baron zemo x oc #zemo x oc #royalty au #marvel #mcu #mcu fic #dizzy writes #The Runaway Princess

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tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

Island Dreams - Chapter 10

Hello everyone! Chapter 10 is finally here and is a good 5k words. I hope you will enjoy. we finally get to know a bit more about Rowan and Lyria and yes, we get to meet her... have your rotten veggies at the ready.

Things are still a slow burn but our lovely are taking one step at a time... they have still too much to deal with. But we almost there. I promise.

Happy reading!

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A couple of days had elapsed and Aelin was on her way to the bookshop with a box in her hands and a smug grin. Once inside the she noticed it was empty. “Rowan?” She called but no reply came. Where the heck was he? “Rowan?” She shouted louder “The shop is open and there is no one around.” With a thus, she dumped the box on the desk and the backpack behind it and went looking for him and found him five minutes later in the back of the shop, deep in conversation with the delivery man. He noticed her arrival and turned “What?” He asked at her annoyed expression. “The shop is unmanned.” Aelin explained, pointing at it with her extended arm. “It was just for five minutes.” Was his excuse. She stormed away and went back to the front of the shop getting ready for another day. Quietly she walked around the shop and took great care in fixing some of the display that looked a bit sad, then she took note of what needed replenishing and restocked some of the most popular titles. They had a few busy days and hoped for a repeat because she was enjoying herself immensely.

“I am back.” Rowan had finally reappeared. “We have been quite busy yesterday, I was just replenishing some shelves.” With a big grin painted on his face he took her hand and dragged Aelin to her history display showing her that her book was now sold out thanks to her display. “I won the bet?” She jumped in excitement, clapping her hands in front of her. “You definitely did and I have to treat you to a massive lunch.” “Told you.” She folded her arms and he smiled back. “I admit my defeat.” Rowan’s hands went up in a yielding gesture. “Good, because I have a present for you.” She walked to the counter and grabbed the box for him while he joined her at her side with a curious expression painted on his face. “Open.” Aelin gave him the box. Rowan opened the box and froze when he noticed it contained a mobile phone. “I don’t understand.” He looked at her. “It’s for you.” Slowly he opened the box and took the mobile phone out “Aelin, this is an expensive gift. I would have bought one if it really meant a lot to you.” Aelin shook her head “No, this is a present from me.” Then searched his eyes “And there might be a little bit of a selfish reason in it.” His expression was puzzled. “The night of the storm, I woke up and I was terrified I wanted to call you and realised I couldn’t. Sometimes I am reading a book and I want to share my reactions with you in the moment and I can’t.” Rowan held the mobile in his hands not sure what to do with it, but Aelin went in his help. She began showing him all the buttons, then switched it on and set it up for him. “Enter you code.” Rowan looked at her, again as if she was speaking a secret language he did not know. “It’s a four digits code that you use to access the phone. You can also set up your fingerprint recognition, but we can do that later.” “When is your birthday?” He asked with curiosity. “September 15th.” “So, 1509 it is” Aelin laughed and entered the code for him. After that she spent half an hour going through all the functions of the basic apps and how to download more. Then she went to the contact list and added her phone humber. “This is my number. Now you can call me and text me whenever you want.” She turned to him and his smile had her toes curl. A moment later she was beside him and pulled him closer and instructed him to put his arms around her neck. Rowan complied and in addition placed a kiss on her temple and in that moment Aelin took a picture of them. That picture became Rowan’s home screen “Perfect,” she muttered, pleased by her job then she turned and gave the phone to him. “You are all set up. You will have to select a ringtone.” “I need to decide which song. Can I add any song I want?” Aelin nodded “Once you have chosen, let me know and I will do it for you.” Rowan played a bit with the piece of technology in his hands that still felt alien to him. “I also have another idea.” She said timidly “Facebook and Instagram,” and again Rowan’s face was one big puzzle and she thought there was something incredibly fascinating in the fact that he didn’t have a mobile until half an hour before and had no clue about the whole world of social media. He was a rare human being. “They are platforms where people share things. Facebook you share things about you and Instagram is for photos.” Rowan flinched. He was not keen on sharing his life on the internet. “But not for you. I have a feeling you would not like that. I was thinking about the bookshop.” She explained “We can create a Facebook page for the shop, on there you can share book recommendations, you can write reviews and talk about new books you get in. You can promote the shop. Instagram you can use it to share photos of the shop and also promote books.” She continued and saw interest dawn on his features “You can advertise your shop on the visit Outer Hebrides website, so if you have tourist browsing for things in Stornoway you will appear in the list.” Rowan was staring at her in amazement “I love the idea very much.” Aelin smiled and launched herself to his computer “Good, now go and deal withe the customers while I work my magic.” “As you wish…”

When Rowan came back from dealing with the customers he noticed that Aelin was very busy at work on his computer. “You know that I will need that soon?” “Paperwork can wait.” She replied not even lifting her head to look at him and Rowan used the moment to admire her a bit more. Everyday since they had started talking, she had surprised him. In every possible way. And now she had gone and transformed into his marketing agent “Why do you care so much?” He was curious. This was not her business but she seemed to have decided to help him in every possible way. “Because independent bookshops are something precious. You are the only one on the entire island. Or at least the only one this big.” Rowan smiled at her and her eyes seemed to turn even more blue. “Speaking of which… orders… You know you could have someone create a website for you and people could place orders online?” Rowan cringed a bit. He was so old fashioned it was pitiful “I don’t know…” his hand scratched the back of his neck. “Ro,” she said, coming away from behind the counter and stopping in front of him. He realised that he actually liked when she called him Ro. “Think about it. You could extend your business from Lewis all the way down to Barra. Other islanders could buy your books online and you’d post them. Of course the postage is at their expenses, but even large bookstore chains do that.” He could kiss her. She was brilliant and he could just kiss her. “I have a friend in London who can help you with the website. You can speak of the phone, he can send you ideas via email…” he noticed she stopped. “Please tell me you have an email.” Rowan rolled his eyes “I might not be evolved enough to have a mobile phone, but I do have an email address and I can use the internet and I buy things online. I am not that much of an underdeveloped oaf.” And he noticed that Aelin began laughing and her laughter was music to his ears. “Sure. Now stop talking. You got customers.” “Yes, ma’am.” and he flashed her a military salute. Once he was done he walked behind her and stared at what she was doing at the pc. “This is you Facebook page.’ And she showed him what to do. How to create posts and update pictures. “So, do I just… talk about books?” Aelin nodded and Rowan took a step closer to her. His chest was not hard against her back. He thought for a moment she would react badly but she surprised him when he felt her leaning into him. His right hand clenched and unclenched at his side resisting the urge to run his hand against her arm, to tuck her rebel strand of hair behind her ear. He restrained himself and just leaned his chin on her head and chuckled. “What? Making fun that I am shorter than you?” “No.” He chuckled again “Just loving that you are the perfect size to fit under my chin. Sooo comfy.” Aelin turned and slapped him gently on his shoulder “Stop mocking my less developed height. Not everyone can be a giant.” “Yes, Fireheart.” And he placed a kiss on the top of her head. “What did you call me?” “Fireheart, you know, like the Queen from Cursed Kingdom.” Aelin looked at him with an expression that he could not decipher. “You remind me a lot of her.” “Because I am hot like her?” Rowan did not reply “You have fire in you. Like her. You are both these amazing women, strong-willed and intelligent…” She was staring at him and he finally removed that lock of hair from her face and his hand lingered a bit longer on her cheek. How could he have fallen so badly for her in such a short time? His head bowed slightly, while his stare was fixed on her lips, imagining how she would taste. She looked up at him, they were so close he could feel her breath. He was about to close the last remnant of space, when someone came into the shop. The two of them jumped apart and Rowan cursed the bad timing. He wanted to kick out the customer and claim the kiss he was robbed of. He stared at her while helping the customer and could not believe that she was leaning into the kiss. She wanted it too. Did it mean she had made her choice? What about Elias? She was still seeing him and could not ignore the sting of thinking of her in the other man’s arms. He was jealous. That was crystal clear. While she was busy he went back to the computer and had a look at her project and he was impressed. She had posted some photos and wrote a lovely blurb about the shop. “What do you think?” She asked, sneaking under his arm so it then was around her shoulder. “I love it.” He said softly. I love you.

A few hours had passed and around lunchtime Aelin had begged Rowan to close and go to Maeve’s to claim her victory meal. Rowan yielded. It had started to slow down a bit so they could afford to close for lunch. “Come on greedy guts. Let’s go and feed you, before you take it out on me.” In response, she gave him a massive toothy grin and grabbed his hand.

By the time they arrived a Maeve’s they were much closer and Rowan had an arm around her shoulder and Aelin was snuggling against him. Her excuse was that she loved his smell and she was trying to cover her clothes in it. “Well, if that’s not a surprise. So I guess you two have finally finished to kill each other.” Said the woman walking them to a table in a corner. “Yeah, I decided that I can keep him alive a bit longer.” “Gee, thanks Fireheart, I am so honoured by your goodwill. I am thy humble servant.” Aelin smiled “Now, stop talking, Buzzard. It’s food time.” She grabbed the menu and began reading. “Buzzard?” Aelin lowered her menu and glared at him “Yeah, when you are mad you have this predatory expression. You look like a bird of prey.” He took the menu from her and hid it behind his back. “Give me my menu.” “The magic word…” “Buzzard…” she stared in his green eyes. “Fireheart…” he returned the menu to her. “I am starving.” And at that Rowan scoffed and Aelin pinched his arm. “What?’ He squealed at the gesture “You are always hungry.” “Now shush.” She told him placing a finger on his mouth. Rowan gave her a few minutes. She was hunched over the menu and her blonde hair had spilled freely in front of her. With his hands he pulled her hair away from her face “How can you read with this wild mane of hair covering your eyes?” Then he pulled all her hair on one side and started braiding it in a nice neat braid and aelin was impressed at his skills. “Hairband?” Aelin removed the hairband from her wrist and Rowan tied her braid. He had lost control. He was aware of that. But he could not stop touching her. He needed the contact with her. After a while Aelin finally made up her mind and placed her order and Rowan did the same, albeit a more normal quantity of food. Once Maeve brought the plates Aelin was ready to dig in as her stomach had started to growl in protest. They were chatting and eating happily when Rowan froze when the door of the cafe opened and noticed who had entered. Aelin recognised the woman as well and under the table Aelin grabbed his hand showing him support. She had noticed his reaction and she wanted him to know she was there for him. Aelin noticed that it was another one of Maeve’s colleagues who served the brunette and not Maeve herself. She had a suspicion that was his aunt’s way to express her displeasure at the woman without being overtly rude. “Rowan.” Said the woman walking toward them and sitting down at the empty chair at their table. Aelin wanted to bite her head off and kick her away for thinking she had the right to sit down with them. In challenge she brought the hand that was on Rowan’s on the table, right in front of the woman’s eyes. It was petty but she did not care. “Lyria…” he finally managed to say something. Lyria looked at Rowan for a second but then her gaze shifted to Aelin and in particular on the had she was holding. His hand. “So, who is your friend, Rowan? Aren’t you going to introduce me to her?” She leaned back on the chair almost in challenge. “I am his girlfriend.” And Aelin put an arm around Rowan’s shoulder and kissed his cheek to prove her point. Rowan in the meantime was stone-faced and silent and she knew she had to fight the woman alone. Well, bring it on. She squeezed his hand almost in apology and her heart ached at his expression. One moment they were having fun, a moment later he looked like a broken man. “What do you want?” He finally managed a sentence but his tone dripped hate. “So you did manage to forget me in the end.” She whispered, but luckily for them the place was quiet “Although I think your tastes have declined a bit.” Aelin was about to punch her. Who was this woman? How could she judge someone she had never met? “I thought you liked women with… more meat.” Lyria grabbed a couple of fries from Aelin’s plate in plain challenge and gave her a smirk that brought rage through her. “I am glad I finally found a real man.” She continued, not caring about the pain she was inflicting on Rowan “One who does not spend his time reading fairytales.” Eventually Lyria stood and went to collect her order, say goodbye to Rowan and leaned toward Aelin “Bye stick.” Aelin jumped up, ready to inflict a beating, but Rowan grabbed her hand. “Leave her.” His tone was strained and that’s all she needed to sit back down and swallow her pride. “She just called me a stick.” Aelin growled “I have curves and boobs.” She sighed and crossed her arms at her chest “What a bitch.” She grabbed one of her fries and dipped it in ketchup “And how dares she touch my food?” Rowan chuckled and finally looked at her. And what she saw in his eyes hurt her. He stood “I just… I need to get out.” He was about to leave but Aelin stopped him ‘I am coming with you.” Rowan shook his head “I need a bit of time alone. Please.” His green eyes were sad again and she just wanted to go to An Lanntair and slap the woman. How dared she treat him like that?” “Okay.” She touched his face and leaned in the touch and Aelin thought it was progress. At least he was not pushing her away. “I’ll call you later.” He kissed her cheek “I am sorry…” “Go. I’ll be fine.” Rowan nodded and left.

Aelin finished her lunch, paid Maeve and left the cafe with renewed purpose. She marched to An Lanntair. She entered the venue and walked to Lyria trying to fight the urge to punch the woman. “Out.” She ordered. Lyria looked at her confused. “Follow me. Outside. Now.” Her voice was a command. Once the two women were outside Aelin finally let go of her anger. “How dare you?” Her voice was full of rage “How dare you treat him like that? Do you have a heart? That man loved you. You were engaged to him. How can you be so mean?” “You are definitely not his type.” Lyria said with a bored expression. Aelin growled “What I am does not matter. What matter is how you treated him and I cannot stand that.” Lyria laughed “Gods, you are in love with him. You just fell for the most boring man alive.” Aelin’s hand clenched “he is not boring. He is a very interesting person, and he is funny.” Lyria’s mocking laughter reverberated in the street “Funny? Rowan funny?” “Maybe he was not funny because of you. Maybe you are the boring one.” Aelin spread her arms and challenged her “Maybe you are the one who is not his type. He likes them with a brain, by the way.” And this time she noticed a reaction in Lyria. “Well, if you love him so much he is all yours. I haven’t had any need of him in a long time.” Aelin was second away from inflicting some form of physical pain on the woman, but then she noticed Lyria’s expression change and a veil of softness appeared in the lines of her face “He was a good man before his injury, and I believe he still is. But after his injury he had to stop competing and something broke in him.” She looked at Aelin “I still loved him deeply at the time. The shop became his new dream. I followed and supported him for a while. He proposed and I said yes, the realised that I was in love with an old version of Rowan and I just left him.” Lyria sat on the bench in front of the community centre “He is a good man. He is sweet and caring. He is perfect for someone.” She finally confessed and Aelin could note a spark of the love she once had for him “But not for me. He became this man obsessed with family and after he proposed he started talking about the future. Our future. He wants the whole romantic deal. I didn’t and I still don’t care for all of it. He deserves to be with someone who can give him that.” Her brown eyes now bore into Aelin’s “And if you can’t give him that, don’t even start this relationship. I hurt him enough. He does not need more pain.” And with that she left and Aelin was stunned at the woman’s words. She felt like crying. She had to talk to Rowan but she had no idea where he went. A text could get her that answer but she doubted he would answer. He clearly needed time alone. So her steps took her down to the marina, she watched the morning ferry dock and people disembark, then with new resolution walked back to the bookshop and opened again without him. The afternoon felt wrong. Not having Rowan in the shop left her with a sense of emptiness. Later in the evening, Aelin was about to switch off the pc and close for the day when she noticed his screensaver. Recognition dawned on her. It was a picture of Butt of Lewis and, if her mind was not playing tricks, she had heard him once mention the fact that he loved that place. She had her answer. Quickly she closed up the shop, locked the door behind her and swiftly ran home. A gut feeling told her that Rowan was at the lighthouse.

It was half an hour later when she arrived at her destination, and when she spotted his car she knew she had been correct. But now doubt settled in her. He had clearly come to this place to stay alone and think and she did not want to intrude. But she could not remove from her mind the hurt expression she saw on him at the cafe. She had to do something. Try at least. And if he’d end shouting at her… well. She’d take that. She got off the car and slowly walked to him. His back to her he was sitting at the edge of the cliff and he was staring at the sea crashing against the cliffs. She was behind him when she heard his voice “I am okay.” He said gruffly. Aelin’s chest tightened. That was not the voice of a person who was okay. Quietly she sat beside him in silence. And for a while they sat side by side staring at the sea. He would talk when he was ready. She was not going to push him. “So, I opened the shop all by myself for the afternoon.” His head whipped to her side and she could spot a weak hint of a smile. “And we had a successful day. I placed a few orders for you and I think I got Miss McKinnon obsessed on a couple of series.” Rowan did not say anything, he just grabbed her hand and pulled her to him “Come here.” A moment later, Aelin was sitting between his legs, his arms wrapped around her and his chin on her shoulder. “I am sorry.” He whispered “It’s just…” Her hands were on his on her abdomen “Shh… no, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself.” His arms were tighter around her and she leaned into his chest. “I had a chat with the bitch.” She felt him stiffen at her admission “I gave her a piece of my mind.” “I have no doubt about it.” “Ro, what happened to you? She said you changed after the injury.” Rowan sighed behind her. For a moment she thought he was not going to answer. That was a far too personal question but she needed to know more in order to understand this wonderful complicated man. “I was good. I loved swimming.” He told her “There had been talks as well for me to compete in the qualifiers for the Olympics. I was living the dream. I was still in Glasgow and had to balance uni and a professional sport but everything was perfect.” The pain in his voice was now clear and deep “Then I got back here and I did manage to continue to train. Lyria became my girlfriend and she loved the spotlight.” He sighed again “What I told you the other day was not the complete story.” She squeezed his hand, she hadn’t told him her whole story either “I kept competing for a while and I did manage to get into the qualifiers for the Olympics. Then one day my life just crashed and all went to hell. During training in the gym I was doing weights. An idiot bumped into me. I dropped the weights suddenly and ripped muscles and tendons. I needed surgery and in a matter of days my dream of the Olympics was gone. Recovery took a very long time.” Aelin gasped “that bad?” Rowan nodded “Butterfly stroke was my specialty. It’s a complicated one and after surgery it became impossible to do it again.” “I tried it once. I looked like a demented whale. It was embarrassing.” And finally she heard Rowan chuckle. “I took it badly and for a while I was… cathartic. But Lyria still was beside me. Then the idea for the bookshop came. I had always loved books and I thought that was the way for me to follow a new dream. And you know the rest.” Aelin twined her fingers in his “It’s a nice dream.” “It is.” “I think Lyria always resented me for my injury. I was famous in town and she loved being stopped and having other girl jealous at her for being with me.” “So I assume her current boyfriend is a Hollywood star.” Rowan squeezed the hand back. “I doubt it, but definitely someone with money and a big job. She… likes to be spoiled, and me being a professional swimmer paid a bit more than being a lousy bookshop owner.” “You are not lousy.” Her head turned and searched for his eyes, to tell him how much she believed him. “She sounds very shallow.” Rowan sighed again and Aelin felt a pang of guilt for making him talk about a part of his past life that clearly still did hurt “She wasn’t always like that. She changed a while ago. Her company of friends had changed and they became a sort of bad influence.” The wind had started to pick up a bit but Aelin had no intention of going back home and she decided it was time to tell Rowan her complete story. Her full reasons for moving in the middle of nowhere. He had opened up to her, she owed him at least that. “My story is not complete either. I told you about my failed marriage, but there is another reason while I escaped.” Rowan kissed the top of her head “You don’t have to.” “Yes, I do. You told me yours and I need to tell you mine. I want us to be honest to each other.” He gave her a squeeze in response. “I told you I was a doctor. I was working in St. Mary’s Hospital which is one of the major trauma centres in London. I slaved to be able to work there. They had a limited numbers for interns and I did manage to get in. Once I was officially a doctor I started to slave to make my way up the ranks I kept working like a madwoman and did all I could to become one of the best. Then a few months ago our head of department announced he was going to retire. And I knew I was going to fight to get that job. I wanted to be the head of the cardio thoracic department. It was my dream, my goal. At the interview I thought I had the job. Two days later I get a phone call telling me that unfortunately the position had been given to another candidate.” Aelin breathed out to calm the rage. “I would have accepted it if they had chosen a candidate better than me. But they didn’t” “Let me guess. Daddy’s little boy or girl got it.” Aelin nodded “The son got it. This idiot who barely made it through med school got it because his dad pushed for it.” Aelin stood and began pacing feeling the need of release all the anger that surged in her every time she talked about that “I was in the middle on the divorce with Chaol. This was the last nail in the coffin. I kept going back to work but I hated it. So much.” With a swift movement Rowan stood and stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders making sure she was facing him. “Then one day I saw a picture of a Scottish island and I decided that I was out of there. I took a sabbatical. Two week later I was on a plane to Glasgow. A week later I was here.” And the tears came back in full force. Rowan’s arms went around her and she sagged against him and wept until she was spent. “I am glad you came.” That was as much as Rowan could manage to tell her that he was madly in love with her. Baby steps, he kept telling himself. They clearly were far too hung-up on whatever happened before and they both needed time to heal, but he felt like they were finally getting there. Having Aelin in his arms was wonderful enough. He was happy to take anything that she was willing to give him just now. Even if it was just embraces, caressed or holding hands. He would wait for her. “Ro, when I said girlfriend before…” “I know, it’s fine.” And he squeezed her tighter then kissed her head. “I have an idea that will cheer you up hopefully.” She looked up at him and gave him a big smile “I am all ears.” “Tomorrow is Sunday and you know everything is closed on the islands and so is my shop. So, how about an adventure?” Her arms were around his neck in an instant “Yes!” “Let’s go back in the car, it’s getting cold and I’ll tell you my plan.” Aelin ran and Rowan laughed. And a few minutes later they were on their way back. “So, we are leaving the islands tomorrow. We are taking the ferry back to Ullapool. There are a couple of amazing spot that I want to show you. We need to take the ferry at 8am which means check in will be from 6am. Will you manage?” “Are you kidding me? I’ll be up and ready whenever you need me to.” Rowan’s hand went on hers and smiled her back “Good.” Once back in town Rowan drove Aelin home, feeling overprotective and all. She got off the car and he followed her in front of the house. “I’ll come and pick you up at six, is it okay?” “Perfect.” “Wear something comfortable but also layers and a windproof jacket. The forecast for tomorrow is really good, but it’s Scotland.” Aelin nodded. He brushed his hand gently against hers “I’ll se you tomorrow.” Aelin kissed his cheek “Tomorrow then.”

Once she was in the house she squealed in delight and texted Lysandra with an update. She was giddy. And finally happy.

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #fanfc #throne of glass series #lysandra #aedion x lysandra #fluff #angst

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