#or people avoid thinking i want to be alone id take another break but i only felt worse i just wish i had more friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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Bad Timing (Levi x Reader) Part 5

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend?

Work Count: 6.3K

You were angry. Of course Levi had to go and stir the pot right before the holiday season. The time of year when he spent the most of his hours at your home. Even though he spent most of his time at your house throughout the whole year, this amount of time typically doubled through the months of October through December. The remaining weeks in October were the worst. You both expertly avoided one another, Petra and Levi continued to see each other exclusively. This turned out to be bittersweet for you, the pros were that Levi was busy trying to please Petra to spend too much time at your house. But also it stung to see him with her, even though you had no right to feel jealous.

The two weeks after your kiss, you spent holed up in your room, your phone set on do not disturb. After binging Gossip Girls and all of the classic Disney movies, you finally decided that instead of focusing on romance, you would devote yourself to school. Thankfully you weren't the only person that favored school over social gatherings, you found yourself spending countless hours in the school's musty library with Armin. He was so easy to get along with, down to earth, kind, and most importantly, he was too shy to ask you about anything too personal. Today was one of those days, it was nearing the end of November, the trees had shed their leaves, bearing the naked bark. And the weather was constantly changing. Some days it would snow, others it would pour rain, but that was just the midwest for you. Glancing up from the textbook that had held your attention for the past two hours, your were pleased to see a flurry of fat snowflakes spiraling downwards. The window had frost creeping up from the corners, thank God, maybe the weather would finally settle and allow the snow to stick for once. You could feel Armin staring at you, his eyes piercing the back of your skull. a feeling you had become familiar with. Turning back to face him, he averted his eyes, a comforting pink creeping onto his cheeks with the embarrassment of being caught.

"It's really coming down huh?" you tried to initiate some light small talk.

"Yeah! Hopefully it will stick." Armin responded, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips as he returned his attention back to his homework. You hummed, glancing back down at the yellowing pages of the old history textbook, a frown marring your features.

"What's wrong? Need some help?" Armin asked, standing up from his seat and coming to stand behind you.

"Oh, well I guess I'm just confused about this law." you pulled the response from your ass. Of course you understood Roe v. Wade, you just didn't want to tell Armin that you were ready to leave. He always made this face that reminded you of a puppy that just got drop kicked.

"Roe v. Wade huh? I can help you with that no problem!" his baby blue eyes lit up, he pulled the nearest chair up to the table, the legs loudly scratching against the rickety library floors.

"Great, thanks!" you tried to sound excited, and you tried even harder to focus on Armin's summary of Roe v. Wade.

"Easy right?" Armin chirped, his finger hovering over the paragraph that explained the law.

"You're right, I think that I just need a break. My brain feels fried." you moaned, folding your arms across the desk and burying your head in your arms.

"Likewise." Armin agreed, dragging his chair closer to yours not very subtly.

"Want to go grab a coffee?" you asked, barely lifting your head to glance at him.

"Sure." he beamed, his innocent face completely lighting up. Your library had a small coffee shop nestled in the back, the cafe was run by students who had free periods. Granted the coffee wasn't the best, but it still did the job. You thanked the girl behind the counter as she passed you your steaming cup of dark liquid. Armin was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited for his order, you busied yourself with mixing in sugar and some creamer. Finally the barista gave Armin his latte and the two of you meandered back to your corner. You slowly began packing your things, hoping that Armin would get the hint and you would be able to escape the stuffy library. Armin noticed, you closed the book with a sigh and began stuffing pens and other writing utensils into your small pencil case.

"Ready to call it a day?" Armin asked his lips hovering over the steaming hot coffee.

"Yeah, I told Hange that I would be ready to leave by the time she finished with Science Olympiad." you sighed, gathering the assortment of books that you had pulled from the shelves getting up to return them to their rightful places.

"Oh gotcha, same time Thursday?" He asked hopefully, his light blue eyes meeting yours. You clicked your tongue and grimaced, shooting him an apologetic look.

"Ah I would but my mom has Thursday off so I was going to have dinner with her." you explained, watching Armin get that kicked puppy look, that look always had a way of making your heart hurt.

"Aw well have fun!" he waved you off, the sad look on his face replaced with a small forced smile.

"Thanks Armin, I'll see you in Chem tomorrow." you smiled sweetly at him as you turned to leave.

"Bye!" he waved goodbye to you as you pulled the large door open and slipped out. Sparing a glance at your watch you sighed, Hange should be done in the next 5 minutes. But knowing her she would take another 20 minutes to wrap up her Science Olympiad meeting. So you leisurely strolled down the empty stone corridor, your eyes trained on the large windows that lined the hallway and overlooked the courtyard. The library was on the second floor, which gave you a perfect view of the school grounds. The snow seemed to be falling faster now, the flakes were beginning to stick to the blades of grass, giving the lawn a patchy appearance. Hopefully Hange had remembered her snow scraper, surely the car would have a coating of frost on the windows by now. It would not be the first time that the two of you had to scrape ice from her windows using your credit cards or your school ids.

You turned your attention back to the stony corridor, you had almost reached the stairs. You began your descent, a hand loosely gliding down the cold stone banister. Your mind drifted to thoughts of what Erwin's plans were for this evening, did he plan to eat dinner with you? Or would he run off with Hange as he had been doing for the past week or so? You had noticed that the pair had been spending more time alone as of late, and you couldn't blame them. Erwin was already committed to Notre Dame, a prestigious school known for football and extraordinary academics. Hange had recently been accepted into Princeton, one of the eight ivy league schools, and she was ecstatic. This however means that they will attending schools in different states. You knew that they planned to continue dating despite the distance, personally you were a tad skeptical of long distance relationships, but you knew that they were both mature enough to continue seeing each other.

You paused on the landing between floors, the sound of laughter was echoing off the stoney walls.

"That was a dirty move Kirstein!" you recognized Eren's agitated voice, which was closely followed by the hearty laughter of Conny and Marco.

"Pay closer attention next time Jeager." Jean teased, a smile spread across your lips at the sound of your friends. Their presence motivated you to jog down the remaining stairs and turn the corner. Just at you poked your head around the corner your eyes landed on the group of boys walking towards you.

"Oi (Y/n)! Where's Armin?" Eren called out to you first and you waved.

"Still in the library." you jabbed your thumb back towards the stairs behind you.

"Classic." Conny sniggered as he adjusted his duffle bag on his shoulder. You pursed your lips as you took in their uniforms. They wore soccer jerseys and shorts, a matching set of forest green, the school crest, a pair of wings one blue and one white, rested above their left breast over their hearts.

"Indoor soccer?" you asked, nodding towards the ball tucked under Marco's arm. The boy nodded and tossed you the ball.

"Season just started." he stated proudly, you easily caught the ball and smiled at him. Marco was your age, but you didn't usually spend time with him outside of school. The two of you had grown close the year prior when you had been in the same gym class, but since then you hadn't spoken very much.

"How exciting." you murmured as you gripped the ball in your hands. The boys nodded and you tossed the ball back to Marco.

"What are you doing here so late?" Jean asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Studying for the Government test with Armin." you shrugged, tucking your hands in your pockets. Things had been tense in your friend group since you and Jean had began casually seeing one another. The two of you had gone out on a handful of dates over the past month, all of them enjoyable. But you knew you didn't want a full blown relationship, something you still needed to tell Jean.

"Ah gotcha. So will you be coming to Sasha's friendsgiving party this weekend?" Jean inquired, his eyes shined with a glint of hope.

"Oh, I almost forgot about that! Yeah I'll be there." you smiled, a rush of excitement running through you when you remembered the invitation you had received earlier this week.

"What are you bringing?" Conny butted in, licking his lips. You hummed thoughtfully, what would you bring?

"Maybe macaroni and cheese? Or a pie?" You thought aloud as you lifted a hand to cup your chin. Conny groaned and grabbed your shoulder.

"Pie, please for the love of God bring your pie." he begged, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You giggled at this eagerness, and nodded. Pies were easy enough to bake, and if that's what people wanted then you would be more than happy to deliver.

"Thank you thank you thank you-" Conny shook you as he thanked you profusely, Eren snarled and tugged the two of you apart, while Marco and Jean laughed.

"Knock it off baldy." he hissed as he tossed Conny back. You chuckled and waved your hands dismissively.

"I'd better go, Hange should be done soon." you sighed, your eyes straying to the nearest window, you gasped. The snow was coming down in thick swirls, the sun had dipped below the horizon, making it difficult to see much through the snow.

"Oh wow, that's a lot of snow!" Marco exclaimed as he turned to follow your gaze. Jean let out a low whistle, Conny squealed excitedly.

"Yeah I better get going." you called over your shoulder as you made a break for the west wing, which was where the senior parking lot was located. The halls were dark, you only crossed paths with one janitor who didn't even glance up at you. You paused at the door at the end of the hallway and squinted out into the blizzard. The parking lot was dark, a clear indicator that Hange had not arrived to warm up the car before you.

"Ah there you are, perfect timing!" Hange's booming voice startled you as it echoed through the empty hall.

"Oh Hange, thank God, please tell me you have your scraper." you fretted, Hange grimaced, giving you an apologetic smile.

"Yeah about that..." she muttered, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. You groaned and reached into your backpack for your wallet. You fished out your drivers license and your credit card and turned back to the snowy parking lot.

"Better get started then." you grumbled, Hange laughed anxiously and moved to open the door for the both of you.

"Right."

___

You flexed your raw fingers by the vents as they blasted hot air into the cabin of the car. Hange was rubbing her hands together furiously and blowing hot air on her own frigid fingers.

"For the love of God, just keep the scraper in the car year round." you moaned as you slid your id back into your wallet.

"Might be a good idea actually." Hange stuttered between the chattering of her teeth. You huffed, tucking your hands underneath your thighs in an attempt to regain the feeling in your hands. Hange shifted the gear to drive and slowly pulled the car out of the parking lot, the wipers squeaking against the glass as they swiped the relentless snow off of the windshield.

"So, what do you want for dinner kiddo?" she gushed, her coppery eyes glinting mischievously.

"I dunno, something hot." you jabbed back, shifting on your hands.

"Whole gangs going to be there!" Hange prodded, clearly attempting to get a reaction from you.

"Great, who's cooking?" you taunted, shooting her a smile to show that you meant well.

"Oh well I guess Nanaba could." Hange mused, pleased with your good natured jabs.

"Great I'm starving." you leaned back and closed your eyes. Hange chuckled and turned her eyes back to the dark road ahead.

The drive took longer than usual due to the heavy snowfall. The roads were slick with the fresh snow, which stuck stubbornly to the road due to the lack of traffic on the country roads. But you made it to your house without a hitch. Erwin's minivan was already covered in a layer of snow, and Levi's BMW was untouched, Mike and Nanaba had not yet arrived. Hange parked and the two of you quickly gathered your belongings and walked briskly to the front door. You kicked your feet on the mat before entering, the foyer already a bit wet due to snow being tracked in on shoes. You peeled off your shoes with Hange and carried your things upstairs, Hange following close behind. Hange slipped into Erwin's room while you dropped your bag in your own room. You hadn't seen your brother or his short friend yet which was odd, they usually hung out in the kitchen. You met Hange back in the hall, her glasses, which had fogged up when you had entered the house were perched atop of her auburn hair.

"Where are they?" you asked bluntly as you watched her scrub the spectacles with the hem of her sweater.

"Beats me, let's go make some soup or something." Hange shrugged, holding her glasses up to the light to inspect the lenses. So you jogged down the stairs and began pawing through the pantry through the abundance of canned goods. You frowned at the cream of mushroom soup and set it back into the pile before refocusing.

"Heyyy now we're talking!" Hange crooned, you turned to see her pulling out a frozen pizza from the depths of your freezer. You scoffed before turning back to the pantry, a frown settling on your features.

"How about tomato soup and grilled cheese?" you offered as you pulled out two cans of tomato soup and a loaf of bread. Hange shrugged and tossed the pizza back into the freezer, she then opened the fridge and pulled out an assortment of cheese. The two of you fell into your effortless rhythm Hange stirred the soup while you began to cook the sandwiches. Finally the front door banged open, Levi's combat boots squeaking as he walked into the house, he haphazardly kicked off the shoes and stalked into the kitchen and straight into the living room. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you watched him walk through the house, his arms full with kindling. Erwin followed closely behind, his arms also full of firewood. So that's where the pair had been. Hange fawned over them, greeting Erwin by dusting off bits of bark from his coat before turning to pat Levi's head. Levi swatted her sticky hands off of his head and glared at her menacingly.

"Hands off four eyes." Levi hissed, he ducked expertly underneath her arm and fled to the kitchen where you were flipping a grilled cheese. Erwin and Hange began the chore of lighting the fire while you took on the task of cooking as per usual. Levi frowned at the sight of the damp foyer and turned on his heel to grab the mop. You smiled at the sight of him mopping the floor despite the fact that people were still on their way and it would only end up messy again. Sure enough, just as Levi tossed the dirty water out of the front door and tucked the mop back in the closet, Mike and Nanaba strutted in, arms full of assorted baked goods and board games.

"Hey everybody! Hope we didn't miss anything!" Nanaba trilled as she tracked more snow into the front room. Levi heaved a sigh as he turned to grab the mop, you chuckled and took the container of cookies from her arms so she could take off her jacket. Mike nodded at you as he strolled into the living room where Hange and Erwin were still fumbling to light the fire wood.

"No, we actually only just got home about thirty minutes ago." you assured the blonde as she joined you in the kitchen. She smiled as she watched Mike kneel down to join Erwin and Hange as they blew on the small embers.

"What games did you guys bring?" you attempted to make small talk as you turned back to the task at hand.

"Oh the usuals, Sequence, Candy Land, Clue, etcetera." she waved a hand dismissively as she turned to stir the soup.

"Sounds fun!" you exclaimed as you tossed another sandwich on the plate. Nanaba hummed in response as she smiled stupidly into the soup. You pursed your lips and cocked your head as you studied her.

"Not to be that person but...Have you picked a school yet?" you asked with a small chuckle. She nodded,

"Yeah actually, just picked two days ago!" she beamed, turning to face you once more.

"Wow really?"

"Yeah! I'm going to attend Michigan State University with Mike!" she gushed as she set the spoon off to the side with a clang.

"That's great! Michigan is beautiful, and that's an awesome school." you matched her excitement and dumped the final sandwich on the plate and switched the stove off.

"Thanks! We're super excited." her words were so sweet and filled with love it made you feel sick. You nodded and turned to grab plates and bowls for everyone. Nanaba and Mike had only started dating about a month prior, in fact they had admitted their affections to one another back in October at your house. In a way you envied their effortless relationship, despite only dating for a month they made a great pair. You served yourself and moved to sit at the island in the kitchen. A cheer from the living room told you that the trio had finally ignited the fire, shortly after they piled into the kitchen and began to dish food onto their plates. Levi once again stuffed the mop and bucket back into the closet and feverishly washed his hands before serving himself. As he reached for a grilled cheese the sleeve of his hoodie scrunched up, revealing a new tattoo on his left wrist. Your jaw dropped momentarily, the sight of the fresh ink shocking you. In fact it was so fresh that the skin around the ink was still red and a bit swollen, glistening with the salve. He rounded the island and dropped into the stool to your left, and your eyes went straight to his wrist.

"Fresh ink?" you asked, propping your chin on the heel of your hand as you watched him bring the spoon to his mouth.

"Yeah." he replied, not bothering to elaborate.

"Can I see?" you pressed, Levi shot you a glare as he bit into his sandwich but still lifted his hand for you to pull his sleeve up. You gingerly tugged his sleeve up and a tiny 'awe' escaped your lips. The drawing was extremely minimalistic, the delicate black ink contrasting beautifully with his pale skin tone. It was a small tea cup, with a chip in its rim. Levi scoffed and tugged his arm back.

"That's a good one Levi." you gushed as you turned back to your own meal.

"Thanks." he grumbled as he looked everywhere but your face.

"Where do you get them done?" you asked before taking a huge bite of your sandwich.

"WitchHammer." he grunted, his patience growing thin. All of these questions reminded him of a particular brunette. You hummed in response as you entertained the idea of getting a tattoo for your 16th birthday that was coming up in the next couple of months. You already had an appointment at the shop to get your forward helix pierced on your left ear. The others were getting rowdy on the other side of the island, too engrossed in their conversation to notice the side conversation Levi and you were engaging in.

"Did it hurt?" you quizzed feeling a bit playful. You had missed Levi's bluntness and his shitty sense of humor.

"I would be lying if I said no." he retorted, his sharp eyes catching yours for the first time in weeks. You chuckled and nodded as you chewed your food.

"You think that I would look good with a couple tattoos?" you giggled, smiling broadly at the raven haired boy. He clicked his tongue and turned to take you in, his eyes raking over your form. Finally his eyes settled on your hands, his brows pinched together in thought as he stared.

"Personally...I like minimalistic designs, you could probably pull off some finger tats or hand tats." he mused, you glanced at your hands, interesting. You held your hands up to the light to get a better look and began to think of some small designs that you might be interested in.

"Tattoos are a big commitment, don't just get some stupid shit." Levi lectured as he lifted his cup of tea to his lips, you frowned he was one to talk.

"I know." you decided that tonight wasn't the time to argue with him, especially since this was the first time spending time together in weeks. He nodded but kept a skeptical eye on you as you folded your hands onto your lap and turned to listen to the other conversation. You frowned when you realized they were just talking about prom, awkward. So you decided to clean up, the exhaustion of the long day seemed to hit you like a truck and all you could think about was your bed and all of the work that was due on Sunday. You washed up quickly and waved weakly before trudging up the stairs, thankfully the others didn't seem to care that you were calling it a night early. You changed into a pair of flannel pjs and an old ACDC shirt that had seen better days. You sank into your old desk chair and flicked on the small lamp, you rummaged through your back pack and pulled out your laptop and a notebook. Sparing a glance at the small alarm clock you groaned, it was already well past nine o'clock.

You decided to pick up from where you had left off with your Government notes. Your handwriting started off neat, the ink gliding flawlessly across the lined paper. But by the time you had finished the notes and moved on to your chemistry homework, your handwriting had become rocky at best. You frowned at the smudged ink, the green hue bleeding into the once white paper. With a sigh you reached for your white out and continued to write out the reaction. Once you were finished with Chem, you turned your attention to your research paper for English. As you typed you could feel your eyelids drooping, the words seemed to blur and bend across the computer screen. Closing your eyes for a moment wouldn't hurt would it? A defeated sigh breezed past your lips as you folded your arms across the desk and rested your forehead against your arms to block out the blinding light of your lamp. You yawned and rubbed your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself up, though this seemed to be unsuccessful. As you slipped into sleep, you recalled the last time you had fallen asleep at your desk and how fucked up your back felt the following week. But your exhaustion won and your head slumped against your desk, any pain you felt would be a problem for future you.

Meanwhile, downstairs the upperclassman were well into their third bottle of wine and their fifth round of Candy Land. Erwin flicked the spinner and moved his piece accordingly, Levi sat back and sipped the dry red wine, Mike had his hand thrown over Nanaba's shoulders casually. Hange was leaning her head heavily against Erwin's shoulder and Levi swore he had never felt like such a loser in his whole life. If you were down here at least he wouldn't be the only person down here that was single. Hange howled as Erwin pushed his piece past hers, always the sore looser. Nanaba giggled drunkenly as she choked on her glass of wine. Levi rolled his eyes, his friends were past tipsy now, but not quite drunk, and this was usually when Levi would leave. He hated dealing with drunk people, they were messy and loud, the mere thought of any of them vomiting made him cringe. He waited until the spinner came around to him before he excused himself.

"Count me out." he held up his hand to deny the spinner as Mike tried to hand it to him.

"Awe come on Levi! We can't let Erwin win for the fifth time in a row!" Mike begged as Levi stood up and picked up his glass of wine.

"No." Levi denied, his voice growing colder. The group collectively called for him to stay, their voices a bit unsteady due to the alcohol. Levi shrugged them off and carefully stepped over Hange, she snagged his ankle and held him in a vice grip.

"No, don't go Levi! Finish this game please!" she whimpered as she pressed her face into his calf. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the sudden contact, Erwin chuckled and pulled Hange back and pressed a kiss to her temple. Yeah it was definitely time for him to go to bed, besides he needed to put some vaseline on his fresh ink. He slid into the upstairs bathroom, the sound of his friends laughing fading into the background. Tugging up his sleeve his hissed at the feeling of the raw skin coming in contact with the cold air. He pawed through the drawers, pausing at the sight of your feminine hygiene products. He usually used the downstairs restroom since the guest room was in the basement. He slammed the drawer shut and moved onto the next one, a relieved sigh escaping his lips at the sight of the familiar jar of vaseline. He swiped the jelly onto his tiny tea cup tattoo and rolled his sleeve back down, the soothing jelly immediately calming the irritated skin.

On his way out of the bathroom he noticed the small sliver of light that shined through your cracked door. He glanced down at his wrist watch and frowned, it was one thirty in the morning, you had supposedly gone to bed hours ago. He glanced down the stairs, from the bathroom he could see the open floor layout of the living room, where all of his friends were still gathered. He steeled himself and padded up to your door, he lifted his hand and rapped the backs of his knuckles against the surface. He frowned when there was no response, he gently pushed the door open and tentatively stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only light emitting from the small lamp on your desk. His eyes softened at the sight of you slumped onto your desk, but quickly hardened at the sight of drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. He sat his wine glass down as quietly as he could on your nightstand and raked his eyes around your cluttered room in search for a blanket. He spotted a quilt neatly folded on your window seat, he unfolded the blanket and draped it over your shoulders. Just as the blanket was settling on your shoulders and he was pulling his hands back, the door flew open. He jumped, spinning around only to be met with the sight of an unsteady Hange. The brunette's eyes widened at the sight of Levi's hand on the back of your seat.

"What..." her eyes narrowed and she pointed between the two of you.

"Is this?" she finished as she stepped into the room, her body swaying unsteadily. Good question, what was he doing in here?

"I came to shut off her light." Levi lied through his teeth, the truth was that he had wanted to spend more time in your presence.

"Lies." Hange hissed as she pointed accusingly at him.

"Tch, believe what you want four eyes." Levi grunted as he stalked across the room, meaning to make a quick get away before she drew too much attention to this fishy situation.

"Hey don't-" she lunged in an attempt to keep Levi from escaping, spilling her glass of wine onto the white carpet and onto Levi's crisp white hoodie. She caught herself on Levi, a drunk giggle bubbling past her lips as she clung to him. Levi staggered under her weight, his back hitting your wall with a dull thud. You grunted, slowly lifting your head from the desk you turned around to see Levi seething under Hange's weight as she pressed against him. Your eyes widened at the sight, Levi was trying to grab the glass from her hand to prevent further spillage, you were so distracted by the rare sight of Levi and Hange in such close proximity that you didn't notice the quilt falling off your shoulders. You blinked dumbly at the two of them as they grappled for the wine glass, Levi ultimately winning due to Hange's drunken state.

"Levi was peeping on you while you slept." Hange blurted, Levi slammed his hand over her mouth and snarled. You weren't surprised when Levis pulled his hand back with a small gasp, you could just make out the sheen of what you assumed was Hange's drool over his palm. The brunette cackled and staggered away from him and out of the room.

"I'm going to tell Erwin." she sang as she stumbled through the hall with her hand on the wall to guide her.

"Hange don't, it's okay really." you called after her, but your words fell on deaf ears as she rounded the stairs and disappeared.

"Damn it." Levi hissed, his eyes trained on the stain on the ground, he pulled the sweat shirt off of his skin, the alcohol sticking to his skin. You cleared your throat awkwardly as Levi pulled the sweatshirt off. You glanced at the stairs, no sign of Hange and Erwin yet, you could hear the sound of the group stumbling around the kitchen. Hopefully Hange had forgotten and favored grabbing another drink over causing trouble, so you stood up and crossed your room to quietly shut the door. Levi had his head against the wall, his eyes closed expecting an onslaught of accusations. Instead he was surprised to see you digging through your closet, pulling out one of your larger sweatshirts you tossed it to him. He caught the garment and eyed is suspiciously before tugging it over his head.

"Thanks." he mumbled, you waved him off and crossed your room to sit down on your bed.

"What's up?" you questioned, it was certainly out of character for him to be in your room. Levi shrugged and slowly crossed the room to drop down onto your bed next to you.

"Your light was on and I came in to shut it off." Levi replied nonchalantly, his eyes dull as he watched you slip under your covers. A chill ran up your spine, your room always got cold in the winter due to the large windows. After a moment of awkward silence you patted the space beside you, Levi quirked a brow at you but when you smiled at him he slid closer to you. He settled against the headboard with a sigh, you looked up at him, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. He turned and raised a brow skeptically at you, you giggled and turned to slip deeper under your covers. He scoffed but turned to face you, propping himself up on his elbow. From this close proximity you could smell the wine on his breath, you noticed that his pupils were dilated, and his cheeks flushed.

"Thanks...I guess." you muttered as you watched him reach into his pockets and pull out his juul and take a hit. You frowned as he turned his head away from you to exhale, he sighed contentedly and turned to face you once more.

"You're going to get me in trouble." you scoffed as he attempted to offer you the juul.

"You only live once." he smirked as he dangled the device in your face. You gently pushed his hand away from your face, he shrugged and took another drag.

"Are you sleeping over?" you questioned, he simply nodded and pocketed his juul.

"It's like three in the morning." he scoffed rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, I guess..." you trailed off, the house had grown quiet, hopefully Hange had been dragged to bed by Erwin and had long forgotten about snitching on Levi. You weren't sure what Levi was still doing in your bed, you knew that he wouldn't force himself on you, but still he had never spend this much time alone with you since the time you had kissed. Just as you were about to ask him why he was still in your room, you heard the sound of the front door opening and then quickly closing. Your mother was home, you shoved Levi's shoulder and motioned for him to get out of your bed, a surge of panic rushing through you. Your mom would kill you if she saw Levi in your bed this late. Levi grunted and rolled off the bed, landing heavily on the ground with a thud. You winced and pointed at the door, Levi opened his mouth to say something but ultimately turned and stalked towards the door. When he opened the door, he was met with the tired face of your mother. Her eyes widened at the unexpected sight of Levi.

"Oh, Levi.." she managed to keep her voice even as she took in his appearance, his hair a bit mussed, cheeks pink and wearing your clothes.

"It's not what it looks like mom!" you scrambled out of bed and pushed Levi away from the doorway so that you could address your mother.

"Really..." she narrowed her eyes skeptically as her eyes roamed over your pajamas and messy hair. You grimaced but nodded, she glared at you and heaved a heavy sigh, turning her attention to Levi.

"So your uncle told me that you wouldn't be coming to Christmas this year?" she swiftly changed the subject. Levi blinked, shocked that she had chosen to ignore the suspicious state she had found the two of you in.

"Y-Yeah that's true, I finally saved enough to visit my old friends in France for the holidays." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Is that so?" she hummed, leaning against the door frame and tugging her light jacket closer to her body. Levi nodded and spared you a glance, you looked surprised, but not upset.

"Well that sounds amazing, you'll have to send us a postcard." she mused, Levi nodded and shifted awkwardly.

"Yes ma'm." he responded, your mother nodded pleased with his response.

"How long will you be gone for?" she probed.

"Until January 8th." Levi answered.

"That's a long time." you quipped, Levi glanced at you and nodded.

"How exciting." your mother's response was genuine, she stepped aside allowing him to pass.

"Yeah." he muttered as he slid past and made his way towards the stairs. Once he was out of sight your mother turned to you, her usually soft features pinching into a scowl.

"Explain." she snapped, pointing a finger at the sizable wine stain.

"Hange spilled it, I'll clean it in the morning." you sighed as you eyed the large purple spot.

"Alright, just make sure that it gets cleaned." your mother leaned forward and kissed your forehead. You smiled at her, it was unusual that you got to see her after her shift.

"How was work?" you asked as you eyed her scrubs, noting a mystery stain on her shirt.

"Messy." she sighed as she followed your gaze.

"Did you save lots of lives?" you giggled.

"Of course." your mother jabbed.

"Get some sleep (Y/n)." she hummed, her hand burying into your messy hair to ruffle it affectionately.

"Goodnight mom." you called after her as she descended the staircase, she waved her hand and you slowly shut the door.

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

Text

“It’s everything to lose.”

taehyung x reader/oc (but also jimin x platonic reader/oc) genre: angst word count: 6K

a/n: well, this was a process to write lol. Basically, Peaches/reader and Tae are experiencing a mix of feelings due to their best friends’ (Jimin and Dear) break up. Fears of a possible relationship with each other are worsened, plus, Tae and Peaches are just sad because their closest friends are sad. Also, Peaches finally talks to Jimin for the first time after he broke up with Dear, so that’s a big part of this as well. And we get a brief moment between Peaches and Dear, our ride or die duo. Ok, that’s really it. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

Grasping the back of your neck, you massaged your muscles as you yawned, your eyes set on the coffee percolating into the pot. You loved your best friend, and of course you wanted to be there for her, but her post-break up antics were beginning to wear on you as you failed to get accustomed to running on five or less hours of sleep night after night.

Leaning over the countertop, you looked through your most recent texts with your other best friend, Taehyung. The conversation, which started with him bragging about an amazing waffle he had just eaten, had turned a bit sour as you both defended opposing friends in their recent breakup.

It was hard to find common ground with the man these days, as he was on tour with the antagonist of your friends’ little drama, and you were in a constant state of being the shoulder to cry on for the dear protagonist. A sigh slipped from your lips as you scanned through the messages, the grumbling of the coffee pot sounding in the otherwise silent apartment.

You: He dumped her through text while he was away on tour. That’s fucking ridiculous and it’s cowardly.

Tae: You don’t know what’s going through his mind though.

You: There’s obviously not much going through his mind.

Tae: He’s your friend too.

You: And he broke my best friend’s heart.

Tae: I know that. I’m sorry, I hate this whole situation.

You: Me too. I’m sorry and I hate it too.

Tae: Is she at your place again?

You: No, I’m sure she will be but right now she’s out drinking with those stupid friends she has.

Tae: Oh….

You: Yeah. I’m anxious as fuck. I wanted to keep her from going out but you know, I can’t do that. She has to do what she’s gonna do.

Tae: I’m sorry to add to your stress.

Tae: She’ll be ok, Peaches.

You: No, it’s ok, you could never truly add to my stress. You’re my comfort, Tae, you know that.

Tae: I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle like this.

You: I’m sorry you are too. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a good night, Dearest.

Tae: Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Craving for two seconds away from the ongoing story of your friends’ turbulent romance, you scrolled up on your text conversation with Tae, a faint smile appearing on your lips at the photo of a waffle the size of the plate it sat upon, followed by a photo of Taehyung shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

Tae: It’s definitely big enough for the both of us but since you’re not here I guess I’ll have to manage it alone.

Tae: I miss sharing breakfast foods with you.

Tae: Never mind, this is so good, I’m glad you’re not here to eat it all.

Your brief moment of relief was broken when your screen changed to display a caller you were not prepared to speak to. Guilt and anxiety settled into your stomach as your breathing hitched slightly at the image of his name and photo. The contact ID reminded you of simpler times, the man pulling a silly expression with his chin tucked into his neck to give himself two of them. He had called you a few times the past couple days, but you’d consistently ignored them, trying to avoid hearing the voice of the man you considered one of your closest friends.

You almost didn’t answer again. Looking to the room your best friend slept in, a serious hangover awaiting her on the other side of slumber, your thumb pressed on the green circular button on the right side of the screen.

Pausing a moment, you shook your head before raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice hushed as to not wake up the girl a few rooms away. A rush of air sounded through the phone, as if the man was sighing in relief, but that was the only response you received. “Jimin,” you sighed.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, defeat coating his tone. He must not have had the strength to pretend to be ok.

Another awkward pause ensued, both of you waiting for the other to break the silence first. With another sigh, you stood up straight, turning your back to the counter as you leaned against it. “Can you say something?” You asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted lamely, you licking your lips which became quite dry suddenly.

“You called me,” you pointed out, annoyance in your words that wasn’t intentional but was true to your current mood. “You’ve been calling me for days, but you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said shakily, and you were sure there were tears bubbling up in his eyes.

Hearing the sadness in his tone, you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conceal your own emotions in response to his tone. You weren’t sure your feelings even mattered right then. “Well I answered,” you told him, in a sort of assurance. Assurance of what, neither of you were sure, but it allowed Jimin a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, causing you to clench your teeth to hold back your pity and consideration for him as you turned back around to the coffee machine.

“Don’t thank me,” you told him, a slight anger behind your tone. “What do you want to say? I have errands I need to run.”

As Jimin prepared his words, going through his mind to figure out exactly why he was calling you, you patiently waited, halting your movements as your hand sat on the handle of the coffee pot. You knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, and though you were angry with him, you cared for him enough to give him that. “I just miss you,” he admitted, a crack in his voice indicating the earnest admission.

Taking in a shaky breath, you let it out in a wobbly exhale. “Of course I miss you too,” you said honestly. You refused to lie to him about that. “But I don’t want to talk to you, Jimin.”

His words tumbled out of him bitterly, but it was shrouded in frustration, which you believed to be with himself. “You were my friend first,” he said, uncertain whether he regretted the comment or not.

“I’m still your friend,” you told him adamantly, though your voice was still quiet.

“Then please talk to me,” he begged, almost desperate for the affection you normally showed him. Well, that you showed him before he broke your best friend’s heart.

“I can’t,” you told him trying to sound stern, but your exhausted state ruining your feeble attempt to put up a front.

A sniffle sounded through the phone, adding to the heaviness in your heart. “Why not?”

Holding the phone to your ear with one hand, you moved your other from the coffee pot to the top of your head as you scratched your roots in frustration and distress. “I can’t risk saying something awful to you,” you confessed through an unsteady voice. And that was it. You were angry with him, but you didn’t want to hurt him. “I love you, you’re one of my favorite people on this entire planet, Jimin,” you cried, your sniffling giving away your emotion to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he told you in a rush as you wiped away a tear.

“I see her every day,” you told Jimin in a whisper, ensuring your voice was too low for your friend to hear you if she suddenly awoke. However, you were sure the quietness of your voice was giving away that the woman he still loved was just feet away from you; just feet away from the conversation currently taking place, asleep in your spare bedroom. “I’m so mad at you, Jimin, god I’m mad at you,” your voice suddenly broke, no longer able to hold back the pent-up emotions. If Jimin’s thoughts had strayed to the girl nearby, the sound of your distressed voice surely brought him back to the present conversation; the present state of your friendship. “I need to process all of this before I talk to you because I love you and I can’t say something I’ll regret or something I don’t mean,” you explained as tears spilled over your lash line.

“I understand,” he said roughly, clearing his voice right after as if he was trying to pull himself together for your sake.

“I just-” You paused, holding your breath as you attempted to swallow more tears. “I need time so I can forgive you,” you told him sadly, clenching your fist together as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t apologize,” he begged, choking back a sob. “I get it, take your time,” he assured you. “I’m really sorry for doing this,” he admitted sadly. The man sounded regretful and broken, your pity for him swirling around in the whirlwind of emotions you were currently experiencing. “All of it.”

You knew that was true. You knew he still loved her. And you knew he felt immense guilt for what he did to her, you, Taehyung, your whole friend unit, but mostly her. That much was obvious.

“I do miss you,” you assured him through a small whimper, choosing to give him the reassurance rather than responding to his apology. “I won’t be mad forever.”

“I miss you too,” he told you sorrowfully. “I’ll be here whenever your feelings change.”

With that, you ended the call, leaving Jimin alone in his hotel room. Setting the phone to the counter, you wiped your face once more before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot, pouring some into the mug you had taken out earlier.

Thinking upon your conversation with Jimin, you wanted nothing more than to scream at him; tell him what an idiot he was. But you also wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he would be ok. You were my friend first. You scoffed, thinking of his remark, though a tear slid down your cheek. You wanted to be there for your friend, but how could you be when your other friend was just down the hallway, passed out after a night of trying to numb her heartache through the use of alcohol? He caused that pain. You were right to be mad at him… weren’t you?

It was almost astonishing how things, seemingly meant to be, could fall apart right before your eyes. Things weren’t always easy for Jimin and your friend, but they loved each other. One would think that love would be enough to get them through. But maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe fate isn’t enough.

Fate. Soulmates. They’re interesting concepts. Souls destined to find each other. But the rhetoric surrounding these notions don’t suggest that you’ll end up together.

But maybe if Jimin and your friend could see past everything that went wrong, they would find something worth fighting for still. It wasn’t simple, but it could be simpler for them.

Something also simple but not simple at all was you and Taehyung. More and more recently, you had been realizing how much you love him. Maybe you both were meant to be together too. Tied together by the fate of your souls. But seeing how things can fall apart, perhaps it’s more risk than it’s worth. Wasn’t it better to have Tae in your life in the role of your best friend than it was to complicate things and lose him? You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t let yourself.

You sniveled as you brought the coffee to your lips, making an attempt at a deep breath before taking a sip. Your emotions needed to be locked down by the time your friend awoke. However, that concern came too late as two arms wrapped around your middle, the surprise affection causing you to jump in start.

The presence of her limbs were tentative as he she carefully rested the side of her face against your back. Breathing out in a huff, you relaxed a bit. “Jesus,” you spoke softly, but your friend gave you no response. Alarm bells went off in your head as her body trembled just slightly against yours. “You ok?” You asked, setting the mug down carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against you, and as your mind went into high alert, your heart plummeted into your gut. Immediately, you turned in her arms, wrapping your own around the back of her head, holding her impossibly close to you. Sorry?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured her, leaving a kiss to the side of her head on the top of her hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

“My behavior last night could use an apology,” she admitted, causing you to smile slightly though she couldn’t see it with her face buried against your neck.

“Well, maybe that,” you teasingly agreed, thinking back to the few hours earlier in which you had to drive to the club she was at because she had broken down on the dance floor. All anger, if there was any to begin with, however, had completely dissolved when you pulled up outside the establishment to find her sitting against the wall in the cold, mascara stains down her cheeks as she sobbed about how much her heart hurt. “But are you even apologizing for that?” You asked her, realizing she must have heard you on the phone with her ex.

“Partially,” she cried harder. She knew the strain the breakup had put on all four of you, and though it wasn’t her fault, she still felt guilty. You knew she did. Her heart was too soft for her to not take some sort of blame.

Allowing her to cry in your arms, you moved your hand to the back of her head as you tried to make her feel safe. “You’re gonna be ok,” you whispered to her repeatedly in a gentle tone.

After a few moments, she pulled away to look at you, your thumbs moving to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, though more continued to fall, quickly replacing them.

“How is he?” She suddenly asked you, her lip trembling as she held back a sob.

Scanning her features carefully, you debated your answer. If you told her he was ok, it would make her feel pitiful for not being ok, plus it would be a lie. If you told her he wasn’t ok, it could possibly hurt her even more. Locking your eyes on her pleading ones, you sighed. “About as good as you,” you told her simply, holding back your own tears as she broke down, your arms wrapping around her shoulders to bring her close once again.

Placing a hand back against her head, you held her to you tightly. “Why does that make me feel worse?” She asked against your shoulder, her voice muffled from your sweatshirt.

“Oh babe,” you spoke softly near her ear, a tear slipping from the inner corner of your eye. “Because you still love him.”

You weren’t sure if you should have said that, but it was true. And maybe if she heard it from you, she would face those feelings. As she cried against you, your mind raced over everything that had happened that morning already. Everyone was so broken, and suddenly your mind found its way to Taehyung. Because he was the only one you wanted to talk to in that moment. He was your comfort.

But what if you didn’t have him anymore? Two people as meant to be as Jimin and the girl in your arms couldn’t even make it work. Add in your fickleness in love, and where did that leave your odds at success with Tae? You refused to break him, and you couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Hauling your groceries through your apartment, your phone started ringing in your pocket. Rushing to the kitchen, you set the bags on the floor before grabbing the device, finding Tae on the other side of the video call.

Accepting it, you waited for his face to appear on the screen before greeting him. “Hi,” you answered in a huff, Tae immediately chuckling at your hectic state.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Are you busy?”

“No,” you shook your head, dropping the phone to the counter just after speaking the word, causing the man to giggle further. “Just got home from grocery shopping,” you told him as you discarded your bag off your shoulder and onto the countertop. Taehyung hummed in response just as you propped the phone up against the side of your bag, situating it so he could see you as you stood in your kitchen.

“Did you get anything fun?” He asked, as you scanned the bags on the floor.

“Um,” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I got those cookies you like,” you spoke through your exhale, looking at him through the screen to take in his appearance. “You look handsome,” you told him, the man smiling slightly at you as you stared at his still damp hair atop his head, giving away that he had showered recently.

“You tired?” He asked suddenly, being met with your groan as you stared down at the groceries without moving. “What happened last night?”

“Well, she went out with those friends and of course it was too soon for her to be out partying and I had to pick her up at 2 am outside of the club because she had a break down,” you ranted to him as you knelt down to begin taking items out of the grocery bags.

“Jesus,” he sighed, your eyebrows raising at his response.

“What?” You questioned defensively, piling items onto the floor as you emptied all the bags.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried to evade your anger. “I’m assuming she’s not there right now?”

“No, she went back to her place for a bit,” you told him. “What was with the judgmental tone just now?” You pressed.

Looking up at the phone, you watched as shook his hair out with his hand. “It’s just, that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

Scoffing at him, you stood, not bothering to look at the phone as you brought some juice and a few other items to the refrigerator.

“I just mean, you deserve some rest,” he added. “A break maybe.”

“Well I don’t get a break because your best friend broke up with mine and she’s devastated,” you said coldly, shutting the fridge door and turning back to face the device.

“He’s your friend too,” he reminded you, his eyebrows raised, causing you roll your eyes.

“I know that,” you said in annoyance. “But you don’t see what she’s going through every day,” you pointed out, feeling protective over your friend and her broken heart.

Reaching to grab a box of crackers off the floor, you headed toward the cupboard as Taehyung told you, “You really should talk to him.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you nodded to yourself. “Tae, she’s my best friend,” you reminded him once more.

“I get that, but he’s your friend too,” he repeated, causing you to sigh. “He’s going through stuff too,” he added. You wanted to scoff, but if you were being honest with yourself, your anger towards Jimin had diminished significantly since speaking to him briefly that morning.

“Well,” you thought out loud, facing the man once more. Folding your arms over your ribcage, you shrugged. “I’m sure he is but he did this,” you said, trying to remain firm in your coldness.

You were met with the sound of Taehyung breathing out slowly as his eyes stayed locked on you. “That’s not really fair, he’s hurting too,” Taehyung defended his friend.

“I love Jimin,” you clarified. “But I don’t have time to think about him when she’s at my place all the time because she can’t handle being alone in her own apartment for a single night,” you told him, staring at him as you waited for him to respond. Taehyung ran his tongue over his bottom lip as you sighed. “I know Jimin is hurting, but she is too. And it’s bad, Tae,” you told him sadly.

Taehyung sighed as you stared at him through the phone, waiting for his next words. “I know, I don’t mean to be insensitive to her. I know he hurt her, I get that. I’m just here with him and he’s a fucking mess,” Tae huffed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted sadly, giving you a defeated shrug.

Stepping closer to the phone, you shook your head slowly. “I don’t either,” you admitted. You both sat in silence for a moment, watching each other through opposite sides of the phone, your remaining groceries still waiting on the floor.

Taehyung was the first to break the silence, asking, “What are you thinking?”

Sighing, you ran your hands over your face. “I don’t even know, I’m just-” you stopped yourself, not sure if you should speak your next words; because of the implication to you and Tae.

“What is it?” He pressed, resituating himself on the bed as he sat laid across a pillow, his head supported by his hand. “Peaches,” he said gently, causing you to relent.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have ever gone from friends to more,” you thought aloud, Tae’s silence feeling heavy on your heart as he tried his best to keep his face from giving away any emotion.

“You think?” He asked simply, his feigned indifference covering up the hurt you knew was there.

“It’s just a hard leap to make,” you explained, leaning against the counter on your elbows, holding your chin in your hands. “If it doesn’t work, this is where it leaves you.” Your eyes were glued to the phone as you watched him carefully. Suddenly, you felt angry at these fucking phone companies who couldn’t make a better camera or give you a better connection to be able to read the emotions flashing through his eyes and features more closely.

“Sometimes it works though,” he told you quietly, his voice nearly shaking, almost as if he was meekly defending himself.

A lump formed in your throat that you didn’t believe you’d be able to ever swallow, knowing you were the cause of the sadness he was feeling. “But if it doesn’t, that’s a lot to lose,” you argued, your voice faint as the emotions sat in your vocal chords.

“But it can work,” he said a bit louder than his last comment, his voice more assured as he licked his lips.

“Tae,” you sighed, cocking your head to the side just slightly. You both knew you were no longer talking about your friends’ experience with moving from friends to lovers. There had never been any confirmation from either you or Taehyung, but sometimes it seemed as though there was an unspoken understanding of how you both thought of each other.

“Look at Jin,” Taehyung countered, pointing to the fact that Jin and his old friend had successfully added romance to their relationship over a year earlier. “They’re doing really well, they’re happy.”

“Tae,” you called out to him gently, attempting to swallow as your eyes shined with emotion. When he responded with his silence, his sad eyes scanning over your features carefully, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to hold in your emotion. “It’s a lot to lose,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “It’s everything to lose,” you added, blinking a few times as Taehyung looked down to the bed and began picking at the comforter. A few seconds of silence went by and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you suddenly exhaled, feeling breathless and tired. “Dearest,” you addressed him softly.

“No, you’re right,” he said half-heartedly, keeping his eyes directed downward. “It is everything to lose,” he agreed with a small nod, looking up to you.

“Everything, Tae,” you emphasized, hoping he would recognize that he was everything to you.

“You really should talk to Jimin,” he changed the topic, his tone stronger as he seemed to easily move on from your unspoken confessions. Inhaling deeply, you nodded slowly, standing up straight before moving back to the groceries. Trying to shake yourself out of the conversation that just took place, you spotted the cookies sitting on the floor.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied before reaching for the package. “I’m not gonna save you any of these,” you teased, holding them up for him to see as his lips spread into a mildly amused grin.

“Well I didn’t save you any of the waffle so it’s only fair,” he played along, both of you pushing aside the tension between you both once more.

You would think about talking to Jimin, you meant that. But it would be hard to think of anything but Taehyung.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you sighed deeply as you tried to muster up some courage. Lowering your digit to the phone screen before you could change your mind, you nervously raised the device to your ear.

The rings were deafeningly loud as you awaited the answer, running your hand through your hair and chewing on your bottom lip; nervous gestures.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted suddenly, his voice appearing breathless as if he rushed to the phone.

“Why’d you do it?” You asked him, skipping greetings and pleasantries. A moment of silence encased the phone call before Jimin sighed.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore,” he said, a sob following the words as if he had been sitting on the edge of a break down for days; weeks. The confusion and heartbreak in his tone shattered your heart, filling you with guilt for evading his calls and texts for so long. “I don’t know if there was even a valid reason and I regret it so much.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” you admitted, thinking back upon their relationship and what they had revealed to you.

“Me either,” he barely spoke through his cracked voice. “I don’t know, it’s like, as secure as we made each other feel, it was like we could never fully rid ourselves of our own insecurities,” he explained through his cries. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” He asked as he held back tears.

“Oh Jimin,” you sighed, realizing what drove them apart. And suddenly, you had the urge to wrap them both up in hugs because in an instant, there was nowhere to place the blame you were previously placing on Jimin. It was both their faults, and also no one’s fault. Jimin had made the wrong move, your best friend didn’t make enough moves, and yet they were both just victims to their own intrusive perceptions of themselves.

“Our own shit just got in the way and-” he let out a harsh breath. “When I sent the text I immediately regretted it and I was just trying to convince myself that it was for the best,” he sniffled. “And I was about to take it all back and beg for forgiveness, fuck, I was thinking about leaving tour and coming back to her so we could fix whatever the fuck was causing all of this shit between us,” he paused as his cries took over.

“Why didn’t you take it all back?” You asked him.

You collected up the patience as you gave him time the time to think back on the breakup. “All of a sudden, she just stopped fighting,” he said sadly. “We were always fighting for each other, and she finally stopped. And I don’t know, I think it kind of cemented the idea that I did the right thing. It hurt, and it felt wrong, but she accepted the breakup and gave up.”

“Fuck, Jimin,” you held back your tears at the defeat in his voice. “She didn’t stop fighting for you, she just didn’t have enough fight left in her to take on your insecurities any longer,” you told him.

“What’s even the difference?” He asked. “Whether she stopped fighting willfully, or whether I took the fight out of her,” he scoffed, “I became too much for her.”

“I don’t think you could ever be too much for her,” you assured him. “Look, do you want me to speak to you compassionately or truthfully?” You asked, the question being met with a dry laugh.

“You’re always compassionate, but I want the truth,” he told you, you nodding though he couldn’t see it.

“You fucked up,” you told him, “but also I don’t think this is entirely your fault,” you quickly added. With a sigh, you thought out loud. “How do I word this?” you pondered. “You two are two of the most incredible people I’ve ever known and yet, you guys can’t fucking see it.”

Jimin scoffed, making you roll your eyes. “I said I was speaking truthfully, so just listen to me and try to actually hear what I’m saying for once,” you told him, the man agreeing to listen by giving you his silence. “You see how incredible she is and that makes you insecure because you don’t see yourself living up to what she deserves. And it’s the same for her, she doesn’t think she can be what you need and what you want, despite you assuring her constantly that she’s everything to you. And that holds you both back from being exactly what the other person wants,” you paused for a moment, letting the words permeate Jimin’s brain. “If you two could just be who you are and give each other that version of yourselves, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you explained to him. “She fell in love with you, she just wants you.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the pained understanding echoing in his single expression. “But I fucked it up, I hurt her and I don’t think we can fix it this time.”

“I truly do not understand how you can be so wrong about this all the fucking time,” you groaned. “She is in love with you,” you told him, enunciating the words carefully. “You hurt her, and you hurt her bad, but she hasn’t given up on you,” you told him. “Whether she admits it or not, she’s waiting for you to fix it,” you informed the man. “So fucking fix it. Stop holding yourself back and just be happy, Jimin.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Be happy,” you interrupted him. “Stop being so idiotic and just fight for your happiness. Fight for hers,” you begged him, frustration over both of your friends’ moronic actions getting the best of your patience. “You both deserve each other because you’re both the best,” you went on, trying to convey to the man how strongly you felt he and the girl you both adored belonged with each other.

“She still loves me?” He asked, being met with another one of your groans. “Sorry, I just, she does?”

“Do you still love her?” You asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to speak it out loud so maybe he could truly hear it.

“With all of me,” he admitted sadly, a sniffle following the words, allowing you to visualize the tears running down his cheeks in that moment.

“Do you really think that’s one sided?” You asked him.

“I really don’t know,” he admitted, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“It’s so simple but you guys make it so complicated,” you complained, the man giving you the slightest chuckle in the form of a single exhale. “You both lost the fight, but you didn’t lose the fight for each other, you lost it to yourselves. Does that make sense?” You asked.

“I think so?” He said, thought it came out as a question.

“You guys were defeated by your own insecurities. It’s not like you chose to give up on her, just like she didn’t choose to give up on you. You both just feel hopeless right now, that’s-”

“It’s not hopeless?” He asked, and despite the negative comment, there was a renewed optimism in his tone that lifted your lips into a faint smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s not hopeless.” You both sat in silence, nothing but your breaths sounding into the phone receivers. “I’ll talk to her,” you assured him. “If I get any sense that she doesn’t want you anymore, I’ll let you know and I’ll be full of apologies and you can hate me forever,” you told him.

“I could never hate you,” he scoffed.

“But if I’m right, which I know I am, Jimin, I know it,” you assured him, “then you need to find that hope and bring it back to her.”

With a sigh, Jimin agreed with a simple, “ok.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Fix it.”

“I hope I can,” he spoke softly, his voice still sad, but much less defeated than the start of the conversation.

“Hope is enough right now,” you told him.

“Thank you for finally talking to me,” he said, a hint of a smile evident in his voice.

“Thank Tae,” you corrected. “He talked me into it.”

“He really is the only one who can cut through your stubbornness, huh?” He asked teasingly, you chuckling lightly in response.

“I guess he is,” you agreed.

“Speaking of simple but making it complicated though,” Jimin noted, drawing upon your earlier words, and reflecting them back on you and your relationship with Taehyung.

“Tae and I aren’t complicated,” you negated Jimin’s observation, only to be met with a disbelieving laugh. “We aren’t,” you remained firm. “I know it seems complicated but, when it comes down to it, it’s the simplest thing ever.”

“Ok, break it down for me then,” Jimin asked for your elaboration. “How is it simple?”

“Because at the end of the day, we just love each other. So much so, that we’ll do anything to keep one another in each other’s lives,” you explained. “And that makes my relationship the simplest, easiest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Jimin hummed in return, thinking over your words. “That does sound simple, I guess,” he agreed. “But are you happy?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the question. Were you? Were you fulfilled with Tae’s role in your life as you went and dated other people, finishing each escapade craving for more, anxious for the night to be over so you could call Taehyung and hear his voice as he expressed whatever was on his mind? The truth was, no one was or ever would be Taehyung. No matter how great they were, no matter how smart, kind, funny, genuine they were, they would never be him. But Taehyung was in your life, and maybe that was enough. So, were you happy? Turns out that’s the most complicated question you could have been asked.

“This isn’t about me,” you told Jimin with a small smile.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said assuredly. That was true, for sure.

“But is that happy?” Jimin pressed, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“It’s happy enough,” you told him. “But one of us has to be happy, right?” You turned it back on him.

Jimin breathed out your name, but you dismissed him. “This is about you right now,” you told him. “If you fix things on your end, then we can entertain a discussion about my happiness, ok?” You asked him, though it wasn’t really a topic up for debate which he understood.

“Deal,” he agreed with a light chuckle.

Happiness, you thought. What was it? You were sure it was different for everyone. Just as you were sure it comes from many different sources. For you, though, your main source of happiness was seeing Taehyung smile. His happiness mattered most in terms of your relationship. And if he was happy being your friend and having you as his, then you were happy. Happy enough.

If he wasn’t happy… well, something would have to be done about that.

305 notes · View notes

jamiedc-they-them · 3 years

Text

One way ticket (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: An argument with your parents sends you to your best friend, and on a journey of self discovery.

The door to your house swung open, and a tired you walked in through it. You closed the door, your back resting against it as you closed your eyes. Today had been a hard day, lots of studying and deadlines.

However, part of the weariness now came from being at home. It was something you weren’t exactly thrilled by.

“Evening, dear.” Your mother called from the kitchen, your step father barely paying you any attention.

“Hi, mum.” You greeted in return. She gave you a smile. If it was your old dad, he would’ve said something.

But, they just had to fall out, didn’t they.

In your room, filled with posters of films and large posters of book covers and your favourite characters, you sunk into your bed, back hitting it first and you exhaled. For once, a moment of peace.

Your phone vibrated, and your reached for it. You saw the caller ID, and smiled.

“Dickhead.” She greeted in her usual manner. You could practically hear the smile on the other end.

“Maeve.” You weren’t as creative with the nicknames, but she didn’t care.

“Tough day?” She asked, there was some softer part to her tone there.

You let out a breath, “In a way.” Was your cryptic answer.

It wasn’t, however, cryptic to her, “Parents again?”

“They haven’t done anything yet.”

“That ‘yet’ is the concerning part, Y/N,” As she spoke, you heard the door to her home unlock. She was home too, “If they’re giving you any trouble, you call me, ok? Spend the night at mine. Nothing wrong with taking a break. Or just walking away” She assured you as you heard her keys hit the counter.

You always were a bit envious of your best friend, how carefree she was. If only your father didn’t cheat, maybe the month long that turned into a forever long break wouldn’t have happened.

“Yeah, he was a bit of a prick for doing that, wasn’t he?” Maeve’s voice was softer still when she spoke. Seemed you said some parts of that out loud.

You paused, hearing call up to you from downstairs, “That’s dinner. I’ll call you later.”

There was silence, she must’ve nodded and then remembered she was on the phone, “Yeah, sure thing.”

“So, son, how was school?” Internally, you cringed at the misgender, but didn’t correct your father. More importantly, neither did your mother. They had made their voices known on that want of yours, to go by something else, something they called a “none entity.”

“Good, yeah, thanks.” You answered, going back to your food.

“That it?” He asked, making you look up at him.

“Is what it?” It wasn’t meant to be a challenge.

He took it as one, though, staring you down as he spoke, “Was school just, ‘good’?”

“Yeah, I mean nothing really happened, mum can attest to that.” You answered, trying to be careful with your word choice. Your father’s choice of words explaining his action was what caused the break.

He looked to his wife, and she nodded, confirming it.

“You been hanging around with your friends?” You nodded, “They still…preferring to go by the plurals?” Again, you nodded, “Youth of today, doomed, I swear.”

“Because you don’t like a pronouns?” Ok, you shouldn’t have said that, and you immediately regretted it right after as there was a pause. It was sharp, and it was a direct pause.

Your father stopped eating and looked to you, “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I –” You started to apologise. But you knew you had crossed a line.

You were in your room the next moment, having ran up there yourself to escape your fathers growing wrath.

You found your phone, dialling the number you needed instantly, “Maeve – I… I don’t –“

“What’s happened? Are you safe?” Was the first thing your friend asked, concern leaking through the phone.

“I don’t – I…I think Mum’s calming him down. But--”

“You know the bridge?” You nodded, and Maeve seemed to know that you had nodded, “Meet me there.”

“What?”

“Meet me there.”

“Can…can I stay the night?” You asked. You heard her door open and close, and her breathing became more laboured as she walked.

“Of course you can.” She answered.

“Ok, bridge, right?”

“Bridge.”

“Ok, see you there.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had nothing with you, just yourself. You didn’t even have a jacket. You were still in your school clothes, but the night was cold.

Maeve was there, just as she said she would be. When you saw her, she was smoking, but eyes were scanning the water.

She heard you approaching, and turned to you. Her eyes softened at your figure. You probably looked lonely, and you looked anxious. You were.

She approached you when you stopped, bringing your timid figure into a hug. She didn’t say anything, she just held you.

You appreciated it massively, how she didn’t say anything, just hugged you.

It lasted a few seconds, but when she released you, you were teary eyed. You were scared, but you weren’t alone. You were scared still.

She gave you a sympathetic smile, “Let’s go home.” She said, arm looping into yours and bringing you with her to her home. Yours was behind you, not too far away.

Unlocking the door, she opened it up and ushered you in, closing the door behind the door and flicking on the light and taking off her jacket.

“Do you want something to eat?” She seemed to just know without ever being told the circumstance you were in. It made you feel for your friend, wondering how she was able to just know what you had gone through.

She grabbed a spare plate, filling it with the Chinese food she had picked up on the way home.

Together, you both sat on the couch, eating in silence. She didn’t seem to mind, but she did curl up, feet touching your own.

“Thank you,” She looked to you at your words, “For this, I mean. Thank you.”

She smiled, “Anytime. I know what it’s like to have shitty parents.” She said, despite the attempt of humour, you detected the sadness that was there.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” She told you. You both went back to eating, but she did grab a blanket for you both.

When you were done, you just started venting. You didn’t even mean to, it just all started to spill out. The whole time, she did not speak, she only let you talk and vent and rage about it all.

There were tears, your own tears as you spoke. Maeve passed you a new tissue every so often as you spoke.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. You can stay here as long as you –”

“It’ll just be for tonight, I’ll go back tomorrow.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but nodded in granting and respecting your wish.

“You can have the bed.” She said, and your eyes met her’s in an instant.

“No, Maeve –”

She held up a hand to stop you, “I’m not arguing about this, Y/N. I don’t mind you going back tomorrow, but if you’re staying, then you take the bed.”

“…Why?”

She rolled her eyes, “Because I know how to be comfy on that sofa. Besides, can’t have my best mate here and have them be uncomfortable, can I?”

You resigned yourself to your fate, going to the bedroom, but not before you both shared another hug.

As you went to bed, you saw a piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up, it was a form to be a guardian, but the name was blank as to who it was. So, you just left it.

You woke up in your school clothes, you hadn’t exactly had time to change. But ‘school clothes’ you were wearing a smarter shirt than usual and some jeans.

Maeve entered your room, toothbrush in her mouth, “Morning.” She said, even if it wasn’t as clear as it could’ve been, what with the toothbrush and all.

“Morning.” You said in return, getting out of bed.

She spat into the sink, before leaning against the doorway, “You can borrow some of my clothes. I’ll make sure they aren’t too embarrassing.” She said, lightly, before going to the drawer to find just that.

“Might as well go out, right?” You joked, referencing to the opinion your parents had on your identity.

She laughed, “If you’re up for it.”

“Mum will say what she says, but I can’t let her define me, try and make her understand it.”

Maeve just nodded, but there was some conflict there.

Your mother worked at school, she was a science teacher – it was where her view on your identity came from.

You had her today on the schedule, you liked science enough, but you knew this would be an…awkward session.

Maeve had walked with you. She had called Aimee and told her she would be with you today, and the other woman understood, giving you her love. So, arm looped in yours, Maeve and you entered school.

“First period, you ready?” She asked, putting her head on your shoulder for a moment as you continued going down the hallway to the lesson. You ignored the looks from people in the hallway. Otis had his mother to contend with, now so did you.

“As I can be.” You answered honestly. As you got the doorway, she gave you a wink, before she went in first. After a few moments, so did you.

It was to make your mother think anything other than the fact that you had gone to Maeve for help.

As you went to your seat, you felt your mother’s eyes on you the whole way. When she went back to teaching, you saw that she had a slight darkness under her eyes. She had stayed up. A feeling stirred in your stomach. However, you went back to looking at the lesson.

You did pay attention, just not all the time. Sometimes, you’d find yourself writing notes or just looking them up yourself in the textbook, just to avoid looking at your mothers gaze.

However, as the bell rang, you were one of the last to leave. The other, was Maeve. She sat on the desk, legs swinging as she looked between yourself and your mum.

She never hated your mum, or your dad. They had their flaws, but it was mainly their apathy to who you wanted to be that pissed her off.

Still, she didn’t voice it, which was something that was unusual for her.

Your mother looked up at you as you put a book on her desk. You looked nervous, eyes darting a little, but you managed to get the words out, even throwing a bit of humour in with your tone.

“Parlay?” Behind you, once she approached, Maeve smiled a bit, before it turned a little bit – just a little – more threatening to your mother, a warning.

As stated before, she didn’t hate your mum, just hated the discomfort it caused you.

“He’s not angry, not now anyway. If anything, a little impressed.” Your mother said. The little amount of praise, despite it being so little, stirred something within you.

Maeve saw how your shoulders relaxed a little. How you seemed to almost not expect it, but be deeply appreciative of it at the same time. She made a mental note, and her smile became more sympathetic.

“Talk about it at dinner?” You asked, your mother nodded.

“Talk about it at dinner,” She said, standing up and packing her own bag to leave for the teachers lounge, “And I can finally meet this girlfriend of yours.” You sighed, seemed you wouldn’t be able to fully escape their ideas yet.

As she left, you turned to Maeve with your eyebrows up, but a tired expression on your face.

“Dinner?” She asked, light smile on your face.

You laughed, putting your hands to your face before moving them around and interlocking them at the back of your head, you smiled at your friend, “Dinner.” You confirmed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had gone back to Maeve’s place without her. She had something to do with the clinic, which you understood and so she gave you her keys, telling you only to leave the door unlocked for her.

So, it was just you, alone in the home. You actually looked around it now, seeing the little things, like how the cups were stacked neatly, how the plates had been washed. She took care of this place, she cared for it. It was a shithole, but she stayed and looked after it.

If she stayed and managed to make this place work, maybe you had hope with your parents just yet.

Your thoughts went back to them, your parents. Maybe you had been too hasty, maybe they’d just accept you back with open arms. Maybe, for once, they’d be sorry. You had stood up to your father, that was new.

Maybe you’d still have a place to go.

The door opened, and Maeve entered, she tossed her bag onto the sofa and took her jacket off, giving you a smile as she saw you getting a drink.

“Sorry I took so long, Otis held me up.” She said, gently moving you aside and doing the same – getting a drink – for herself.

“It’s alright, he’s a good guy but can…I don’t know.” You conceded, not really knowing how to explain your other friend – a mutual one of yours.

“Much?” She filled, you nodded.

“Please don’t make a scene tonight.” Your friend took a sip of her water and looked at you, almost a little taken aback by your words. You further explained, “I need to go well, Maeve, please. I can’t have it turn into another row. I can’t have another uncomfortable breakfast, again.”

Maeve stopped you, “Wait, ‘again’? Your staying?!” She couldn’t stop the surprise that one.

You cocked your head, “Course I am. Why wouldn’t I? They’re my parents –”

“Not good ones.” She pointed out.

“They aren’t the worst.”

Again, she couldn’t help herself, “They aren’t exactly the best either,” She sighed, putting her glass down and approaching you, putting her hands on your shoulders, before using one hand to cup your chin and turn it up to face her, “You are so much better without them, Y/N. They don’t accept you for who you are. I’m sure in some way they love you, just like my mum did. But, you know what I did.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, you did know what she had done.

Part of you resented her for having the strength to do it. Still, you insisted, “I can’t just drop them like that, Maeve…How would I fund school? What about rent and –”

“We’d figure it out –”

Now it was you stopping her, or more so talking over her at her first word, “’We’?”

She creased her eyebrows, “Yeah, ‘we’, you think I’d just leave you if you did it?” She almost seemed hurt at the accusation she was now accusing you of.

“I just – I don’t think I can do that. I don’t even know how.” You confessed, voice sounding tired.

“I do, I know how,” Maeve assured as she nodded a few times, “It’s called ‘emancipation’.”

As she went to explain, the alarm on your phone went off. Looking at it, you saw it was a half hour reminder to get to your house for the dinner.

“Just…please don’t mess this up for me…please.” Was all you asked of your best friend.

Her eyes softened at the pain, the loss, and the fear that laid within them. She had more on her mind, more she wanted to say, you could see that clear as day. Still, she nodded, and said nothing.

You stood outside your door with your best friend by your side. You had walked together in silence, both trying to prepare as much as you could for this event. The main thing you had said to the other being that you looked nice. You both did, you in your normal clothes, Maeve in a dress. She had even redone her makeup.

You saw that hurt in her eye hadn’t fully left, but there was an almost apathetic look now. She was here to help you, not to appease your parents who she had plenty to say on.

You knocked, the door opening and your father stood there in smart, but causal wear. Seemed he’d put some effort into it too. Out of the pair, your mother had the better job, but it didn’t matter. Job meant nothing to how you were as a person.

He didn’t say anything, he only moved aside as a silent beckoning to enter. You both did so.

Maeve took time to look around. She didn’t comment, just looked around. She then met your eyes, a bit of life returning and you saw them soften a little, she raised her eyebrows; “Fancy.” Her gaze seemed to communicate to you.

You had no idea if she meant it or not, so you just smiled a thin one, trying not to show your nerves. Maeve, however, was good at reading people. So, as you went to the table in silence, she held your hand to provide some comfort.

However, as you both sat at the table, you saw your mother had seen the hand holding in a different light. Of course she did.

You saw her have a look on her eyes, almost a proud look. You felt Maeve tighten her hold on your hand, trying to supress a sense of frustration. It did pain you a little, but you tried not to show it. This was redemption with your parents, not a further regress.

Still, she didn’t say anything, she remembered the promise she made. And Maeve Wiley was not one to break a promise…to the best of her ability.

“So, you’re the mysterious Maeve we’ve been hearing all about?” Your mother asked as your father put food on the table. No, the irony was not lost on you.

Maeve looked to you, a silent dialogue going between you two. However, your communication was clear, “I’ve never mention you to them.” She knew it wasn’t in a mean way, just wanted confirmation.

She nodded, “Yeah, that’s me.” She said, bullshit smile on her face. The smile, however, eased your mother – hell, even doing the same to your father, for once he smiled and it was genuine.

You envied it. But, as you put your hands on the table, Maeve held one. To your parents, it meant the opposite to what it actually was, she gave your hand a squeeze.

“One step closer to being a man, my lad.” Your mother hadn’t been lying when she told you your father was proud. Christ.

You looked at your father with the same distaste you always had for him, but now it was less easy to mask.

So far, no food had been touched by anyone other than your mother.

“See? Even got the look.” He seemed to celebrate your hatred. Not revel in it, just celebrate it.

“’The look’?” You parroted back to him in a questioning manner.

“Yeah, every man needs –”

“Y/N doesn’t identify as a man, though.” Maeve spoke up. You moved your hands down to your side, keeping your eyes only on your best friend. You shook your head, begging her not to.

She, however, only kept her eyes on your father, a challenging and daring look in her eyes, “Y/N is a they –”

“Not this bollocks again. He got you doing it now, too.” Your father’s tone was filled with frustration.

“Yeah, I guess they have, haven’t they?” Her eyes squinted a bit, she seemed to be daring for him to try it.

“Let me guess, you two haven’t shagged either?” He sounded tired. Done.

Wasn’t quite the bite Maeve was looking for, but she still took it, “Y/N doesn’t feel that way about anyone. They don’t won’t a partner in that way, and that’s just fine.”

“It’s sick,” Your father looked to your mother, “Isn’t that right, honey?”

She seemed to just be enjoying her food, but when your father asked, she hesitated. There were a few look in her eyes, fear wasn’t one of them, but shame was as she spoke, “Yes.” Her voice was monotone.

“I think it’s time you leave.” Your father said, seemingly taking back control.

However, Maeve stayed put, “Not without Y/N.” She was firm in that.

“Get out, now, or I will call the police,” He then looked to you, “Is that why you brought her, to get it all out in the open these beliefs you have about yourself?” His tone was cold.

“N-No.” You managed to stutter out.

“If you lay one hand on them –”

“Him, and I won’t. I’d never hit my boy, I just need it to get through to him that he can’t think the way he does.”

“So, verbal then?”

“If you want to be a snowflake, then yes, verbal.” He seemingly had no problem with saying that.

So, Maeve stood up, and she gave you a pat on the shoulder and an apologetic look. Then, with a click of the door, she was gone.

Silence permeated the room, and now your father had his hands on the table and his chin resting on them.

“I don’t want you seeing her again.” Your father said, “Go to your room, I’ll bring some food up in a few minutes.”

You didn’t say anything, only getting up from the table, “Phone.” Your father said. You brought the item out of your pocket and gave it to him, before going upstairs.

You laid on your bed, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh. Could’ve gone better, but it definitely could’ve gone worse.

You heard a knock at your door. You gave yourself a moment to try to get rid of the tears that were pooling in your eyes and told whoever was there to come in.

It was your father, who was carrying a tray with a plate of food on. He placed it on the floor, before he stood at the door.

“You know I just want what’s best for you, right?”

It was bollocks, but you nodded, “It’s just…there are two ways of being. I’d rather you be Trans than be…this.” Harsh, but it was more honest, more controlled.

Again, you nodded. You hated the words he said, but you nodded.

“We’ll talk again, tomorrow.” He then left, closing the door more softly this time.

You picked up the tray, apathetic look on your face as you ate the food. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest.

This was your life, one filled with pain, but two parents that gave you a roof over your head.

You heard a knock at your window, turning, you saw the last person you expected to see. It was the face of someone else who gave you a roof over your head.

She waved to you. You put your empty plate down and looked to the door. He never did say you couldn’t leave. Then again, he also said you couldn’t be how you felt inside. So, you know.

Quietly, you made your way to the window, opening it with her help. Neither of you spoke, but she didn’t need to, she only offered you a hand – and a silent question along with it.

You looked to the door one more time, one that – outside of it – held only misery.

You took the hand that was offered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She held your hand the whole way home, leading the way. However, this time you worked with – an admittedly – shaky confidence.

She opened the door, going to her bed room to get her dress off. You, meanwhile, got a glass of water and sat down. You knew your dad still had your phone, but that was ok.

Maeve re-entered, now with pyjamas on, “What’s on your mind?” She asked, seeing a look on your face that told her you had a plan.

“Mum’s gonna be at school tomorrow. But, I’ve made my choice, I’m done with them. We just need to do that…what’d you call it, ‘emancipation?’”

Maeve nodded, “Ok, we’ll need some papers for the court. Plus, I have this,” At ‘this’ Maeve held up her phone and hit ‘play’ it was a recording of the meal.

It was proof.

“Ok, you got my back?” You asked.

“Always.” She swore.

So, off to school you went to execute your plan. You walked to the school grounds, talking and – for once, in your case – being happy and having a sense of agency.

You had made your request to the court and made some calls to friends, now you just had to hope your parents wouldn’t try and stop it.

“Otis and everyone else agreed? Just like that?” You asked, only having spoken to Eric while Maeve called everyone else.

“A noble cause worth fighting for.” She said with a smile, parroting your own one.

You believed those words, and you believed in your own course too, you believed in your own freedom.

Going to science, you saw your other friends now sat there, awaiting you. It started out as normal, just with you in a more positive beat.

That was, until the bell rang and your mother asked you to stay behind. Without having to ask, your other friend stayed as well.

“So, you’re applying for emancipation?” She asked, tone flat.

“That’s right.” You answered, sure of your choice.

“You know we’ll fight it, right? There’s no way you can take care of yourself out there. You can barely handle us. Besides, who else is going to take care of you?”

You felt a presence next to you, it was Maeve. However, you felt the others behind you.

“They will.” You said, standing strong, “And, yes, it’ll cost us, but we’ll fight it. Because it’s worth it. You were toxic to me, mum. And, I think I deserve better.”

With that, you and your new family walked out.

It had been a long battle, one filled with ups and downs, but the others stood by you, chipping in however they could.

Plus, Maeve found herself with a new sibling, so that was something. It felt nice, to be validated, to have your pronouns respected and your thoughts taken on board.

As you returned home from school one day, Maeve had left a bit earlier. You opened the door, going in and throwing your bag to the floor and laying on the couch, “Good day?” She asked, stirring the coffee she had made.

You looked to her with a smile, “Yeah, good day.” You confirmed.

#maeve wiley x reader #meave wiley imagine #sex education imagine #sex education x reader

153 notes · View notes

spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill.

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal.

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch4 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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markets · 3 years

Text

helloooo

so this post of mine has been gaining some traction lately and due to popular demand (aka one comment telling me to write it), i actually wrote an essay about it. is it good? probably not lol, but its like 3 double spaced pages long and i actually really like it, so id appreciate it if you checked it out!

it’ll be under the cut but first i just wanted to clarify some things: this is about their characters on the smp, not them as real people. so just pretend that theres a c! in front of every name i mention lol. also, im still about a month behind on the smp and havent watched every stream, so if anything is inaccurate/not up to date i apologize

Two Sides of the Same Coin: A Tommy and Tubbo Analysis

Over the years, many fictional characters have been deemed two sides of the same coin; two things that are closely related regardless of how different they may seem. Tommy and Tubbo fit that description to a tee. Their positive and negative qualities balance each other out perfectly, something that allows them to bring about meaningful change when they’re together but causes chaos to reign when they’re apart, a fact that Dream used to his advantage during the exile arc.

One of the ways they balance each other out is in their leadership styles. Tommy leads with his heart and tends to let his emotions take control, while Tubbo has been known to lead with his head and make decisions based on logic rather than what he’s feeling at the time. An example of this was when he exiled Tommy to avoid violence and trouble for his country in the long run rather than letting his lifelong friendship with him cloud his judgement. By themselves, anyone who leads with their heart or head alone is bound to run into pitfalls, but being together allows the good qualities of these forms of leadership to shine through and the bad ones to cancel each other out: Tubbo acts as a voice of reason for Tommy and helps him think rationally, while Tommy helps Tubbo lead with more compassion to avoid becoming, in his own words, “the next Schlatt”.

In addition to this, some of their greatest flaws complement each other as well. Tommy is constantly regarded as being too stubborn, emotional, and angry, qualities that made Wilbur believe he would never be president and are the reason why Dream is scared of him. On the other hand, Tubbo is known to be a pushover, a “yes man” who, despite being able to stand his ground sometimes, typically gives in to others too easily. Just like Tommy, this quality made many believe he’d make a horrible president. However, the complementary nature of their friendship allows them to help one another and balance out each other's flaws: Tommy helps Tubbo stand his ground and make decisions for himself, while Tubbo helps Tommy avoid doing anything rash. A great example of this last statement is the aftermath of Tubbo’s execution, when Tommy was angry and started looking for the button to explode Manberg, despite his hesitancy to do so earlier, saying “Where’s the button? They fucked up for the last time”. However, Tubbo put a stop to this by telling him to go with him to Pogtopia.

There are many more examples of how they balance each other out from the times when they have been together, but even more can be seen when they're apart. Their separation was the root cause of all the chaos that occurred during and directly after the exile arc. Without Tommy and his warnings against becoming “the next Schlatt”, Quackity was able to take the helm in most major decisions and pressure Tubbo into violent political plans, despite one of the main reasons for exiling Tommy being to avoid violence. Tubbo only stood up to him when he realized one of his plans directly paralleled his execution under Schlatt’s rule. Meanwhile, without Tubbo there to support Tommy, he ended up teaming up with Technoblade, another thing Tubbo sought to avoid with the exile. Tommy’s habit of letting his emotions take over, not to mention his post-exile mental instability, and Technoblade’s penchant for violence and the destruction of L’Manberg proved to be a dangerous combination, since Technoblade not only failed to stop Tommy’s rash behavior but also encouraged it.

It is highly likely that Dream was not only aware of these facts but also motivated by them. This can be seen many times throughout the exile arc, as well as right before it began. Not only was Tommy’s crime arguably worthy of no more than the originally proposed three week probation, if Dream really wanted to unfairly punish Tommy, there are many arguably worse punishments he could’ve chosen, such as execution, forcing Tommy to give him one of his precious discs (though it’s not likely that Tommy would’ve given in to that easily), or the destruction of L’Manberg. However, Dream likely knew that, by separating Tommy and Tubbo, they would do his work for him and destroy L’Manberg from the inside. After physically separating them by successfully getting Tubbo to exile Tommy, Dream took it upon himself to emotionally separate Tommy from his best friend as much as possible by talking about how much better things were in L’Manberg without him there, breaking his spirit, and feeding him lies, such as the lie about what happened to Tubbo’s compass or his sabotaged beach party.

In addition, there is a small detail in Dream’s plan that is commonly overlooked: his mention of Technoblade's house. Without looking too much into it, it simply seems like an offhand comment made to perpetuate the idea that Dream was his friend. However, if Dream’s primary goal was to keep Tommy as isolated as possible from everyone else, it would make no sense for him to not only tell him how close by another person lived, but also give him directions to them, even if the person was one of the people Tommy hated the most. From this standpoint, it seems foolish, but it could actually be viewed as one of Dream’s smartest moves. From this, it can be inferred that Dream was not only aware of how destructive a Technoblade and Tommy teamup would be, but also encouraged it. For this same reason, he let Tommy stay in hiding with Technoblade, even after he told Ghostbur he knew he had been there. By doing this, Dream was able to twist Tommy’s volatility and aversion to the rules, the very qualities that made him the only person Dream feared, in his favor.

For all his flaws, Dream is a smart man, and he was able to realize what many others failed to: Tommy and Tubbo’s bond was the heart and soul of L’Manberg, one of the only things keeping it running. Without them together balancing each other out, they became powerful forces of mostly unintentional chaos and destruction, collapsing the country they loved and playing right into Dream’s hands. They are two sides of the same coin: despite how different they may seem, they are closely related, necessary to each other's ability to flourish, grow, and survive, and cannot be separated.

TL;DR: DO!! NOT!! SEPARATE THEM!!!!!!!!

123 notes · View notes

purple-fireflies · 3 years

Text

try to slip past his defense (without granting innocence)

A/N: Soy Luna Grey’s Anatomy au -- some plot devices will be the same, others may differ. (This is just an excerpt, I'll post the full chapter on ao3 & tumblr when I'm done with it!)

Other notes:

The title is from The Fray’s “How To Save A Life” which is basically the show’s anthem song (that and chasing cars)

Sometimes, certain dialogue may be verbatim from the show (this is only for medical-related plot devices, ie meeting patients, assigning lab reports, establishing exposition, etc) so I’m stating here right now that that specific dialogue belongs to Grey’s Anatomy, and the characters belong to Soy Luna, but everything else belongs to me

Juliana never had the last name given in the show, so for story’s sake, it’s Bahiense.

She’s referred to as “The Nazi” but that’s not meant to offend anyone at all, it was the nickname given in the show, so I’m transferring it here.

In Soy Luna, Ámbar is one year older than Luna, but here she’s the same age as her

In Grey’s Anatomy, there are only 5 people in each group of interns, but for plot’s sake, there are 7 each

In the show, Benicio’s name was never mentioned, so for writing purposes, his last name is going to be Calisto

Luna sits up quickly—bad idea.

She winces at the light coming in through the window and groans at her headache.

And someone stirs next to her.

Exactly how much did she drink?

Enough so she doesn’t remember the name of the smirky boy staring at her, pulling on his boxers.

She is never drinking again.

And he needs to leave.

“You are?” He asks, grinning the grin that probably got Luna into this mess.

“Humiliated on so many levels,” She mutters, “And I’m late, as well. So if you could just, I dunno, leave, that would be perfect,”

“Or we could pick up where we left off?” He asks, with a grin that tells Luna he isn’t used to being rejected.

“No, seriously. I’m late. Which I shouldn’t be on my first day of work, so?”

Take the hint.

“Wait, so you live here?”

Jesus Christ, she’s going to be late.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it was my aunt’s house, but I’m selling it so technically, not for long.” She rushes out.

“I’m sorry,” He replies, actual emotion in his eyes.

“My aunt is still ali—you know, we don’t have to do the thing,”

“We can do whatever you want,”

Really?

“No, the thing. Where you pretend you care or ask me nice questions or whatever. Listen. I’m going to go upstairs and shower, and when I get back, you’re not going to be here, uh…”

What was his name?

He laughs softly, “Matteo.”

“Luna,” She replies, shaking his hand.

“Bye, Luna,” He says winking at her.

She smiles in response and jerks her head towards the door.

“Bye, Matteo,”

And that’s the last she has to see of him.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Each of you comes here hopeful. Wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors. The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play? That's up to you,” The chief, Tamara Rios, says as Luna stumbles into the room, causing everyone to stare at her.

Great job, Valente.

Luna walks around the room. She sees Ámbar, avoiding her gaze as if it was poisonous. She sees another girl, a brunette, looking around the room with wide eyes. She sees Simón, looking back at her, and resists waving at him as a kindergartner would. She walks around the OR a little more and sees two girls so close they might as well be stuck together, one a blonde and the other a redhead. She bumps into another boy, who just huffs softly and brushes her off.

Rude.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The resident takes 3 more interns, leaving Luna with the brunette she saw at the orientation.

“Only 6 women out of 20,” She says, sighing, as if mad at the statistic itself.

“And I think one of them’s a model. As if that would’ve helped with the whole respect thing,” The redhead interjects.

Luna and Ámbar share a look.

Luna turns to the brunette.

“You’re Nina, right?” She says, smiling.

Nina nods, “Which resident did you get assigned to? I got Bahiense.”

“The Nazi? Me too,” Luna replies.

The guy who bumped into her says, “You got the Nazi? So did I. At least we’ll be tortured together,” He says, trying to lean into Luna’s space.

Luna and Nina exchange a quick look saying, God, can you believe him?

A doctor comes up and calls out “Smith, Valente, Ponce, Simonetti, Medina, Sánchez, Álvarez,”

Ámbar walks up to the guy and asks, “Bahiense?”

He points down the hall.

The seven look down to see who he’s pointing at. It’s a woman slightly shorter than them, using a cane to stand up, ordering some other resident around.

The guy who bumped into her says, “I thought the Nazi would be a guy,”

Sexist much?

“I thought the Nazi would be...you know, the Nazi,” Luna mutters.

“Guys seriously? Maybe it’s just professional jealousy. You know, maybe she’s just brilliant and they’re so jealous so they call her the Nazi. Maybe she’s nice.” The redhead says, and Luna sees her nametag saying Jimena Medina.

The blonde next to her, Yamila Sánchez, Luna supposes, nods.

Which means the only one left that she doesn’t know would be...Luna cranes her neck to see his nametag.

Ramiro Ponce. Who is currently staring wistfully at Yamila.

Please.

“Let me guess, you still have hope left in your heart,” Ámbar says to Jimena, rolling her eyes as if it’s what she was born to do.

Jimena shoots Ámbar a dirty look (wow, Luna wishes her luck with that can of worms) and proceeds to try to shake Dr. Bahiense’s hand when she walks over.

Dr. Bahiense looks at her hand as if it’s infectious.

Jimena, undeterred, continues to say, “Right, well. I’m Jimena Medina, but you can call me Jim if it’s easier,”

Yamila, who seemed to jump out of thin air, says, “And you can call me Yam,”

Bahiense looks so unimpressed Luna thinks that if contempt alone was enough to murder someone, Bahiense would be a serial killer.

Luna shares a quick look with Simón, who gives her a reassuring nod.

Bahiense looks them all up and down, evidently annoyed with being stuck with their group (ouch).

"I have five rules. Memorize them. Rule number one, don't bother sucking up, I already hate you, that's not gonna change,” She starts, then moves to a bench, filled with different objects, “Trauma protocol, phone lists, pagers. Nurses will page you, you answer every page at a run. A run, that's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts forty-eight hours,”

Everyone rushes to grab their pagers, studying them before Bahiense starts talking again.

“You’re interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain, you run labs, write orders, work every second night till you drop, and don't complain!”

Bahiense opens what Luna supposes is an on-call room, “On-call rooms. Attendings hog them, sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me, unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, not only would you have killed someone, you would have also woken me for no good reason, we clear?”

Luna rushes to nod, writing furiously on her notepad, and then goes, oh.

She raises her hand.

Dr. Bahiense looks extremely pissed at Luna for having the audacity to have a question.

“Yes?”

“You said five rules. Those were only four.” Luna says, trying not to wilt against Dr. Bahiense’s gaze.

“Rule number five. When I move, you move,” She says after her pager beeps.

That’s some TV show shit right there.

They break into a run and watch as Dr. Bahiense runs down a couple of doctors.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The helicopter—yes, a helicopter—lands, and a doctor pulls out a teenager on a stretcher.

This is way too much for Luna on her first day.

“What do we got?” Bahiense asks, and Luna hears Nina correct the grammar under her breath.

As the paramedic puts the girl on the stretcher (while she’s seizing) he says, “Katie Bryce, fifteen-year-old female, new-onset seizures, intermittent for the past week, ID lost en route, started grand mal seizing as we descended,”

Bahiense stops, leaning on her cane for a second, and then it’s all business.

“All right. Yam, put her on the side, 10 milligrams diazepam,” Bahiense groans when Yam does it incorrectly, “No, no, the white lead is on the right, righty whitey, smoke over fire, a large-bore I.V. don't let the blood haemolyse, let's go!”

Yam injects the diazepam and Katie stops seizing.

Luna releases the breath that she wasn’t aware she was holding.

Another doctor, in dark blue scrubs, another doctor comes up in stark contrast to what she and the other interns are wearing. Luna catches his name very quickly. Gastón Perida.

Nina sucks in a breath as he walks past them, Luna realizes with a start.

“So I heard we got a wet fish on dry land?” Dr. Perida says, and Luna catches how Nina stares at him with intent.

Dr. Bahiense, her sudden brashness gone, replaced with respect as she says, “Absolutely Dr. Perida,”

Dr. Perida nods, his eyes brushing over the intern group, stopping at Nina, and he then continues.

“All right, Dr. Bahiense, I’m gonna shotgun her,”

“That means every test in the book, CT, CBC, chem. seven, a tox screen, Nina and Ámbar, you're on labs, Ramiro and Yam, patient workups, Luna, get Katie for a CT, she's your responsibility now,”

Wonderful. Her first day and she gets the really hard patient.

“What about me and Simón?” Jim asks.

Bahiense looks so tired when she stares at Jim, “Right, you two, uh. You get to do rectal exams. Okay?”

Jim and Simón have faces that say no, not okay.

Luna makes a face gloating at Simón and he just glares at her in return.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Ámbar peeks into the OR where Dr. Bahiense is. Bahiense comes out and looks at her expectantly.

“Um, Katie Bryce's labs came out clear, there's nothing in the results that explain her seizures,” She says, hoping to catch Dr. Bahiense to ask her what she really wants to ask her.

“And…?”

“ I heard every year the attending on-call picks the best intern and, and lets them perform a procedure, during the first shift?” Ámbar asks, glaring back at Dr. Bahiense when she tries to stare her down.

Ámbar Smith does not get stared down.

“Go away. Now.” Dr. Bahiense says, and Ámbar groans internally.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Yam sighs at yet another ill-tried joke Ramiro attempts.

Flirty in med school and flirty now.

Why should she even bother?

“We have one more patient to work up,” She mumbles and he nods, walking slower to keep up with her pace.

She places her stethoscope and hears for a heartbeat. “Everything seems to be in order,”

“So he’ll be fine?” The woman next to him—presumably his wife—asks.

“If you don’t count that my bacon days are over, sure,” The patient replies.

Yam shares a smirk with Ramiro.

“You'll have surgery tomorrow with Dr. Perida, I hear he's good, and after that, you can have all of the bacon-flavored soy product you can eat,” Ramiro interjects, speaking easily with the patients.

“Please, kill me now,” the patient jokes.

“Wish I could, but I took the Hippocratic Oath for a reason,” Yam replies absently, going over and signing his charts.

She blushes at the weird looks she gets and rolls her eyes at Ramiro’s never-ending smirk.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Katie. Won’t. Stop. Talking. Which isn’t helping Luna find her way through these halls.

Did she just miss the last turn?

“You’re lost,” the kid says, grumbling.

What do you think I’m trying to fix right now? Luna thinks to herself and just about stops herself from saying.

“I’m not lost.” Luna insists, then remembers she’s a doctor, “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m missing my pageant. How do you think I feel?”

“Right. You’re missing your pageant.”

This poor girl is in the hospital with seizures and the only thing that she can think about is her pageant.

Luna feels sorry for her.

“The Spokane Teen Miss? I was in the top ten after the first two rounds. This is my year. I could've won,”

Luna absently hums and realizes that they’re going the wrong way. Again.

She turns around and pushes Katie back the same way.

“You are so lost. What are you, new?”

Luna chokes back a laugh. Yeah, something like that.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Yam watches Ramiro try to give their patient a central line. It’s not working.

And it’s visibly hurting the patient.

She groans and pushes past him, about to put the line in when Dr. Perida waltzes into their room and raises his eyebrows.

“Out.” He says, his nice demeanor replaced with annoyance.

Do all of the residents and attendings just hate interns on principle?

Yam glares at Ramiro and pulls him out, watching from the window as Perida puts the line in perfectly.

“Bet you used to mess up a lot when you started out,” Ramiro tries to joke with Perida.

Yam just winces and nods at Dr. Perida as she leaves.

Ramiro at least has the decency to look sheepish.

This is going to be a long shift.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna sits, taking Katie’s patient history and generally listening to her incessant babbling.

“I twisted my ankle. I do rhythmic gymnastics, which is like, really cool. Nobody else does it. And I tripped over my ribbon, and I didn't get stuck with someone this clueless. And that was like, a nurse,” Katie says.

Luna bites back a retort.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Simón groans at the plate of food in front of him. The number of rectal exams he and Jim had to do was enough to take the appetite away from anyone.

“This shift is 80 hours long, you have to eat, Simón,” Ámbar mutters, her gaze hardening after leaving Simón’s eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Eat.” Ámbar insists, pushing Simón’s plate towards him.

“You try eating after performing 17 rectal exams. The Nazi hates me. I want to puke.” Simón says, his face contorting.

“Just don’t puke near me,” Ámbar mutters.

“The Nazi’s just a resident. Attendings hate me,” Ramiro replies.

“Did you know Luna is inbred?” Nina asks, and all heads whip to her immediately.

Partly because no one expected the shy ingenue to say anything.

And partly because Luna being inbred is very surprising.

Simón hurries to say “It’s not uncommon to be the kid of a doctor,”

“I mean royally inbred. Her mother is Lili Benson.”

“Shut up. The Lili Benson?” Jim asks.

Nina nods.

“Who’s Lili Benson?” Ramiro asks.

“The Benson method? Where’d you go to med school, Antarctica?” Yam says incredulously.

No one notices how Simón and Ámbar tense up as Yam continues talking. “She was one of the biggest women surgeons. She practically invented th—”

“She won the Harper Avery. Twice.” Jim says, rolling her eyes at Ramiro.

“So I didn’t know one thing.”

“I would kill to have Lili Benson as my mother. Scratch that, I’d kill to be Lili Benson.” Nina says, her eyes alight.

“Katie Bryce is a pain in the ass. I swear if it wouldn’t get me fired, I’d strangle her with my bare hands.” Luna says, walking over to their table, sitting next to Nina.

She seems to miss the wistful glance Simón throws her way.

She does seem to notice the way everyone’s staring at her.

“What?”

Nina opens her mouth to say something but stops immediately when Dr. Perida walks over.

“Good afternoon interns. It's posted, but I thought I'd share the good news personally. As you know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I'm running the OR today, I get to make that choice,” Dr. Perida says, and Luna feels a rush of hope.

Or. Felt. Seeing as Dr. Perida is clapping Ramiro on his back (it was kind of worth it to see him choke a little on his salad) and saying, “Ramiro Ponce. You’ll be scrubbing in on an appendectomy this afternoon. Congrats.”

Luna deflates.

She wanted that surgery.

She wanted it really badly.

“Me?” Ramiro asks, not quite believing it. Or maybe he’s just wilting under Yam’s intense glare.

“Enjoy.” Dr. Perida says, nodding to everyone.

Luna doesn’t fail to notice that he’s staring at Nina while he says that.

Nina doesn’t fail to notice either, if the blush on her cheeks has anything to say about it.

Ramiro looks like he’s still in shock.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“I’ve seen his file. Ramiro Ponce barely even made the cut to get into the program. He’s not your guy.” Juliana says to Gastón, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, he’s my guy alright,” Gastón responds, absently checking the labs.

Juliana sighs, “Every year you pick your guy, and every year your guy suffers most.”

Gastón smiles. Everyone who knows him knows his easy nature, his inclination to being on the side of less serious.

Unless of course, it has to do with work.

“Terrorize one, and the rest fall in line, Bahiense.”

“I get it. I respect it. But Ramiro? Ponce is a puppy. A cute little puppy that is waiting to be killed. He can’t take the pressure. Think about it, Perida.” Juliana says, walking away.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna watches as Katie’s parents stumble into Katie’s room.

The look of pure worry and fear on their faces makes Luna warm to them immediately.

A couple of hours ago, their kid was supposed to go on stage and wear a sash and be a kid.

Now they’re scared that their kid could be dying.

“Katie?” The mom asks, trying to hold her hand.

Luna falters, not wanting to break their little window.

“They gave her a sedative for the CT scan, so she’s just a tad groggy,” Luna says, standing up.

“Will she be okay?”

“Does she need surgery?” The parents ask at the same time.

Their urging faces make Luna wish she had an answer.

“Uh. You know, I’m not her doctor, I am a doctor, just not hers. Anyway, I’m not Katie’s doctor. I’ll go find him.” Luna rambles.

Luna finds Bahiense, “Katie’s parents have questions. Should I get Dr. Perida to answer them?”

“What? No. Perida’s off the case. The case is the new neuro attending’s case, Dr. Balsano. He’s over there.” Bahiense says, pointing to…

Oh god.

Please.

Not today.

This is not happening.

Matteo turns and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes clicking in recognition.

This is not happening.

Luna is not dealing with this.

She turns away from his gaze and walks away. What is she going to do?

She walks towards the stairwell and gets grabbed in.

She stumbles and Matteo catches her, running a hand through his hair, which Luna grudgingly admits looks not bad.

No. Luna. Stop it. Luna. No.

“Dr. Balsano. Did you need anything?” Luna asks, trying to not look at flustered as she is.

Matteo looks positively ecstatic at this turn of events. “Dr. Balsano? This morning it was Matteo. Now it’s Dr. Balsano.”

Luna dearly wants to slap that smirk off of his face.

“Dr. Balsano, we should pretend this never happened,”

“What never happened? You sleeping with me last night or kicking me out this morning because I don’t know about you, but both are memories I’d dearly love to keep.”

This guy really can’t take a hint.

“No. No. No. This is not happening. There are no memories of anything. I’m not the girl in the bar and you’re not the guy in the bar. I am your intern, Dr. Balsano.”

“I see how it is. You took advantage of me last night and now you want to forget about it.” He says, smirking incessantly.

“I most certainly did not,”

“I was drunk and vulnerable. Not to mention, insanely good-looking,”

“You’re not that good-looking,” Luna says, while her traitorous brain says Liar over and over.

“Sure I’m not. But last night, I was wearing my red shirt and I was extremely good-looking and you took advantage,”

He’s not entirely wrong about the red shirt.

“I didn—”

“Want to take advantage again? Say, Friday night?”

He’s smiling again, only this time it’s a smile, not a smirk.

Maybe Luna wouldn’t have said no if he wasn’t an attending.

“No. You’re an attending. I’m your intern. And I would seriously appreciate it if you stopped looking at me like that,” Luna says, glaring at him. It doesn’t seem to deter him.

“Like what?” He asks innocently as if he has no idea what he’s doing right now.

“Like you’ve slept with me,”

Matteo smirks.

“Dr. Balsano. Have you ever considered the fact that this is inappropriate?” Luna breathes.

He doesn’t say anything.

Luna sighs and leaves, the door slamming behind her.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Open. Identify. Irrigate. Close.” Jim instructs, and Yam sighs.

“Jim, I think he’d know,”

“He looks like he’s going to puke,” Jim shoots back.

Yam looks at Ramiro and says, “We have to go to the gallery now. Don’t screw it up.”

They walk up and take a seat behind Luna and Nina.

The intern above them says, “He’s going to faint. He’s a fainter.”

Yam fights back a if you only knew.

“Nah, I’m guessing code brown. Right in his pants,” another intern snickers.

Yam and Jim share a look.

Sure, she’s not a huge fan of Ramiro but he helped her a lot in med school. He helped Jim a lot in med school.

This is just savage.

“He’s going to sweat himself unsterile,”

“10 bucks he’s messing up the McBird,” someone says.

Oh god, they’re betting on Ramiro.

“20 says he cries,” Ámbar says, and sends an apologetic look at Luna.

“I’ll put 20 on him melting down completely,”

“50 says he pulls the whole thing off.” Yam hears herself say.

Luna grins at her, “That’s one of us down there. The first one of us. Where the hell is your loyalty?”

Yam breathes out.

The entire gallery, while it was buzzing before, is now silent.

“75 he can’t even ID the appendix,” Ámbar says again.

This time it’s Simón shooting her the look.

“I’ll take that action,” someone says.

Eric, Yam realizes.

The idiot from their bio class.

Nina elbows Luna when Dr. Perida says, “Okay, Ponce, let’s see what you can do,”

Jim breathes in quickly and Yam also holds her breath.

Do it right do it right please do it right.

“Here it comes,” Simón says.

“Scalpel,” Ramiro says and the nurse hands it to him, echoing the word.

Ramiro takes it and everyone cheers.

Perida motions for them to shut up as Nina says, “God, he’s quite a bit of trouble,”

Ramiro gets ready to cut as Perida instructs, “More pressure.”

Ramiro manages to do it without any mishaps and then proceeds to say, “Pickups.”

The scrub nurse echoes the command and hands him the instrument.

They go on for a little bit, and Yam thinks he might actually pull it off.

Until it goes downhill after Ramiro takes out the appendix.

Perida mutters an angry remark as all the interns in the gallery call him Double O’7.

Jim shares a worried look with Yam and asks Luna, “What does 007 mean?”

Luna sends them an apologetic look.

“License to Kill.”

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The cool air rushes into the basement that Bahiense’s interns have settled into.

The majority of them pile onto the gurney as Nina goes to the vending machine looking for some chocolate.

Luna winces at the whine that Ramiro makes as he walks into their “hideout”.

“They’re calling me 007 aren’t they?”

Luna groans and shoves Simón’s head off of Ámbar’s lap so she can fall asleep in it.

She’s too tired to deal with any human interaction that requires her to, you know, have any sort of emotional security.

“No one’s calling you 007,” Jim and Yam lie (but they do it in unison so like, props).

Ramiro shoots Yam an annoyed look, “I was on an elevator and Eric whispered 007,”

Ámbar pushes Luna’s head off of her lap and glares at Ramiro, “How many times do we have to go through with this? 5, 10, 15? Please tell me soon or I’m going to rim your head off.”

Ramiro sits on the gurney and groans “Eric whispered 007 in the elevator and everyone laughed,”

Luna picks her head up from where she’s trying (unsuccessfully) to fall asleep and actually feels sorry for the guy for a second but the aching limbs and pounding migraine make it kind of hard to console the poor guy.

“They weren’t laughing at you,” Jim says.

“You sure?”

“Would we lie to you?” Jim asks.

“Yes,” Ramiro, Ámbar, Simon and Luna say.

“007 is a state of mind,” Nina yells from the vending machine and throws a packet of chips at Luna as she walks back.

“Says the girl who finished first at freaking Stanford,” Simón yells at her.

Nina just rolls her eyes in response.

Just as Luna finally feels the call of sleep, her pager beeps.

She just wanted 5 minutes.

“It’s 911. Damn. I gotta go,” and Luna takes off at a sprint.

“I should’ve gone into geriatrics. No one cares if you kill an old person.” Ramiro continues after Luna leaves.

“Yes. Yes, they do care if you kill an old person. Plus. Surgery is hot. Geriatrics is… Well, it’s for freaks who live in the basement with their mom,” Simón replies.

“I have got to move out of my mom’s,” Ramiro mutters.

Nina and Ámbar share a grin.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna’s out of breath by the time she gets to Katie’s room.

She really has to go to the gym more.

“Finally,” Katie mutters.

Luna looks around, seeing if anything’s wrong.

Oh god, please tell me she has a good reason for this. She has a good reason. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Are you alright?” The nurse paged me 911.”

“Ha, it took me forever to get her to even pick up the phone. I had to go full Hulk.”

“Wait. So there’s nothing wrong? Nothing medically wrong?”

“I’m bored.” Katie shrugs.

Luna likes to think she’s a nice person. A little absentminded at times, but a nice person nonetheless.

Katie, however, is really testing the whole “do no harm” thing.

“I am not your babysitter. I am not your cruise director. You can’t just page me for anything.”

“Don’t be so overdramatic. My pageant is supposed to be on cable, but it’s like this hospital lives in the ’90s. I can’t find anything. If someone who’s not me gets the crown, I should at least get to see it.”

Luna takes a deep breath. She’s a teenager. You were also stupid as a teenager.

“Okay. This is a hospital. There are sick people here. Go to sleep and stop wasting my time.”

“I can’t sleep, my head’s all full.”

“Those are called thoughts. Run with them.” Luna says in a fit of anger.

She’s been working for almost 24 hours and she just wanted 2 minutes of rest.

But maybe she shouldn’t have snapped at a patient.

But that’s a lesson for another day.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna and Nina are in the ER when they hear a loud voice.

“4B has post-op pneumonia. Let’s get her started on antibiotics, okay?” An intern says to a nurse.

Someone didn’t tell the newbie not to piss off the nurses.

“Are you sure it’s the right diagnosis?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know. I’m only an intern. But here’s an idea. You go and spend 4 years in med school and then talk to me. She’s got shortness of breath and fever. It’s post-op pneumonia. Start antibiotics.” He sneers.

Luna rolls her eyes.

The same guy walks over to her and Nina, “God, I hate nurses. I’m Benicio. I’m with Jeremy. You guys are with the Nazi, right?”

“You know it doesn’t have to be pneumonia, right? It could be splinting. Or she could have aPE.”

He sneers again (does it ever leave his face?), “As I said, I hate nurses.” and walks away.

“Well, he’s an absolute idiot,” Nina says, shooting daggers towards Benicios across the room.

Luna’s about to respond, but her pager beeps again.

“Dammit, Katie.”

This time she walks.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

#soy luna #soy luna fic #lutteo #soy luna grey's au #simbar #yamiro #gastina #hope you guys enjoy it!

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pretchatta · 3 years

Text

swoon june day 15: masquerade

this wasn't supposed to be one of the mature ones but I think it's ended up being too suggestive to call it teen. oops.

rating: mature; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.1k words

---

For most beings, traveling inconspicuously meant wearing more clothes. A cloak, a hood or a full-face helmet made for a great disguise and could hide a person such that a casual observer wouldn’t look twice.

For Hera Syndulla, the opposite was true.

A twi'lek pilot was a rare sight in the galaxy. While her usual clothes blended in with most of the places she visited, there were always a few double-takes when people noticed her lekku. No-one expected to see a twi’lek in overalls and flying goggles, especially not a woman.

The result was that, for Hera, the easiest way to avoid attention was to remove clothes.

She would swap her cap and goggles for wrapping her lekku, wear something skimpy and revealing, and smear a bit of makeup over her cheeks. It was perfect – everyone looked right past her.

She hated it.

Her chosen aesthetic for today's recon was bar-dancer-on-a-break. Her skintight bodysuit felt like it was more negative space than material, with its low-cut neckline and several geometric shapes cut out of the sides and legs. The evening air was balmy enough that she didn’t need a jacket, and she felt very exposed. The chunky necklace she had accessorised with felt more like a slave collar than jewellery, and she shuddered as she wondered if that was why the look was so popular.

Hera resented the reason why an outfit like this worked so well. Her people had become almost synonymous with slavery, despite their numerous achievements as individuals and as a species. And yet here she was, donning the stereotype like a costume, reinforcing it to anyone who saw her. She just wanted to finish her recon, get back to the Ghost and take the whole lot off. In a normal way, not putting on a show for anyone.

Well, maybe she'd let Kanan watch. He was the only being in the galaxy she trusted to still see her as a real person afterwards. He would also never ask for it. If she ever did something like that for him, it would be because she wanted to do it, and because she knew he would take only what she was willing to give; he wouldn’t ask for more. A year of being more-than-crew had shown her just how selfless a lover he could be.

She shook her head to clear the train of thought as she approached the spaceport. It only took a few moments for her to realise she'd need to use the other advantage the outfit offered to get inside, for the place was crawling with stormtroopers. There had been a few on the main gate when she and Kanan had left earlier that day, but now she could see them patrolling the perimeter in pairs as well as actively checking the IDs of everyone trying to get in.

Hera sighed. She wanted to believe it had nothing to do with Kanan, but her hopes were not high. He was always finding trouble. Still, if she could get back to the Ghost then even if he wasn't able to meet her she could always fly out to his position and save him from whatever hairy situation he would undoubtedly be in.

She made her way around to one of the lesser-used entrances she'd been scouting on her recon, hoping for an easier way inside, but found it also guarded. The surrounding street was empty, however, and she could work with that.

Hera adjusted her well-padded cleavage in preparation for what she was about to do. Taking a deep breath, she fortified herself by squeezing one breast. The hard press of the small blaster tucked amongst the padding – the real reason she’d sewn extra into the bodysuit – reassured her that at least she wasn’t going in unarmed.

The two troopers standing guard noticed her as soon as she stepped into the road. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked, she drew her lekku over her shoulders to twirl the end of one between her fingers. The troopers watched her approach.

"It is okay to go into the spaceport?" she asked with wide, innocent eyes. Her old Ryl accent came back to her easily, adding to the charade.

"We have to check your ID before you can go in," said the shorter trooper. He stood perfectly straight, holding his blaster a little higher than his fellow guard, who was leaning against the wall somewhat more casually. Hera guessed the one speaking to her was newer to the ranks of the Imperial army, and she hoped he wasn’t still sticking to the regulations so diligently that he would prevent her from doing what she needed to do.

"Oh… I have left my ID at home today,” she pouted, tilting her chin up and subtly pushing her chest forward. “I only want to visit my sister who runs that little food stand just inside for lunch. I won't be going anywhere – I have only ten minutes left of my break.”

The trooper was shaking his head. “We can’t let you in without ID.”

It would’ve been nice if that alone could have worked, but she hadn’t expected it to. She took a half-step closer to him and lowered her voice to a sultry purr.

“There is no way I could persuade you?”

He shifted nervously. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, glancing at his companion. “Like, credits?”

Another half-step closer, and she managed to tilt her head so that she could look up at his visor through her false eyelashes, even though they were a similar height.

“I don’t have any credits, but I’m sure there is something I can do for you,” she murmured. She was exaggerating the accent, rolling each resh and turning every thesh into a senth.

“Uhh… You – you mean…” he stammered. Hera heard a soft snigger from the other guard. Hopefully he would find this amusing enough to let her drag the rookie around the corner. She only needed to separate them; the rest was easy from there.

She cut him off by pointing down the road. “There’s an alley where I can show you what I mean. I think it even has a clean patch of ground that will not get my knees dirty.”

“Your – your knees–”

"Tell you what, kid,” the taller one said, finally pushing himself upright from the wall. “You watch the door and I'll sort out her payment."

That worked too. It didn’t matter which one went with her; stormtroopers were easy to take down individually when they weren’t expecting an attack.

They left the bewildered rookie to his post as Hera led the more seasoned soldier to the alley she’d pointed to. As they rounded the corner and out of sight of the door, she tossed one lek over her shoulder and turned to face him, breathing in deeply so that her chest rose noticeably. Now she knew where his attention would be focused.

Her fist swung up in a quick jab to his neck. She was aiming for the gap between his helmet and shoulder armour, where a hard enough blow should incapacitate him for at least a few seconds. Her other hand went for his blaster to disarm him.

But he was faster than she anticipated. Much faster; it was almost like he was ready for her. One gloved hand caught her fist, stopping it in its tracks, while the other dropped the blaster to the ground completely. Hera immediately twisted out of his grip and pulled out her own gun. She’d hoped to do this quietly, but making a scene was better than getting arrested.

The trooper quickly stepped back and pulled his helmet off.

“Woah, stop, it’s me!”

Hera was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Kanan?”

“Yes! Could you maybe put that down?” He indicated to her blaster, which was still pointed at his head. She dropped her arm to her side.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, dropping her accent to speak like her usual self again.

Kanan looked sheepish. "Well, I was hoping for a-"

"I mean in stormtrooper armour, guarding the spaceport!” she interrupted. “And do you really think I was going to go through with that? I didn’t even know it was you under there!"

“I thought you’d recognise my voice!” he protested.

She looked at him incredulously. “Not coming from under a bucket! And not when I wasn’t expecting it!”

"Okay, yeah, I realise I maybe didn’t think that one through,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But when I heard they’d increased security I was worried about you, so I was keeping an eye out to make sure you could get back to the Ghost. I thought you'd try one of the side entrances and this was the closest one to where you were going to finish your recon."

She opened her mouth to berate him again but realised it was actually a pretty good plan. Not to mention sweet – it couldn’t have been easy to take that guard’s place. He was lucky to have found one with a rookie for a partner. Maybe he hadn’t caused whatever it was that had got the Imperials worked up, either.

“Alright, your thoughtfulness has redeemed you.” She tucked her blaster back into its hiding place, noticing how his eyes followed her hands for a few moments before snapping back to her face when she continued. “Let’s get out of here.”

"You sure you want to go right now? We’re probably not expected back out there for a while yet..."

She could tell he was at least half-joking.

"Really?” She gave him a raised eyebrow. “I was lying about the clean patch of ground, you know. This alley is filthy, and I want to change."

"Okay, okay, I get it." He at least had the decency to look chastened, but she wasn’t really upset with him. She just wanted to go home.

"Just stun your friend and we can get back to the Ghost, love," she said gently.

He gave her a small smile before putting the helmet back on and retrieving his blaster. A few seconds later she heard the stun blast and followed him back to the road, where he was dragging the rookie’s unconscious body away from the entrance to hide it behind some crates.

Inside the spaceport, no-one stopped them. She was just a citizen with an escort, nothing to worry about. The Ghost was exactly as they’d left it this morning, and Chopper only needed a little encouragement to open up and let Kanan in. When the ramp closed behind them, Hera sighed in relief. It was good to be home.

She had to remind traffic control that she would have already had her ID and intent checked at the entrance to the spaceport. They begrudgingly gave her clearance to take off, and she heaved a deeper sigh as the Ghost entered hyperspace. They were away, no-one was watching her now, and she could be herself again. Kanan and Chopper didn’t count; they both saw her for who she was. They were as much her home as the ship.

Beside her, Kanan pushed himself out of the co-pilot’s chair. "I'm going to get out of this armour, then I'll fix that squeaky vent in the ‘fresher that you've been complaining about."

She heard him cross to the door.

"Oh, Kanan, could you hold on a moment?" she called over her shoulder.

He paused with one hand on the door control. "What is it?"

Hera engaged the autopilot and got out of her chair to slink over to him.

"I know I said I wanted to change, but there’s a problem,” she began, stepping close to him and lightly running a finger over his chestplate. “See, there's a stormtrooper guarding the door, and I need to figure out a way to get past him."

She glanced up at Kanan and saw he was grinning. "Maybe you could offer him something," he suggested.

She pushed herself up onto her toes so that their faces were level, her eyes on his mouth.

“I wonder what he might accept,” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his own.

Then she closed the gap and kissed him with a slow, simmering heat. His arms came up to hold her, one hand stroking along her back. It worked its way around to her side, sliding up until his thumb brushed the side of one breast.

He broke away abruptly with a serious look in his eyes.

“You put the safety on your blaster, right?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Why don’t you check for me?”

His answering grin was accompanied by both hands sliding up her sides, and then he was giving a very thorough and enthusiastic check for hidden weapons.

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars: rebels #star wars rebels #pretchwritta #fic #swoon june

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biscuit-buddy · 4 years

Text

kuzumochi. (18+)

Endeavor x Reader (Smut, Birthday Fic, 3.1k)

A/N: holy shit guys this got so much longer than expected i’m sorry if it drags at all i just had so much i wanted to get out! Also its 11:22pm so its technically still his birthday. ha.

What do you get for the man who could already have whatever he wanted at the snap of his fingers? Being the number one pro hero meant that Enji already received truckloads of expensive things, tickets to exclusive events, and the newest technologies simply because of his status. You knew this because everything he received went through you after being thoroughly checked at security. Eight months as his personal secretary offered you a glimpse into his extravagant world and honestly left you with a small bite of bitter jealousy. Some of the things that passed over your desk could pay the rent in your measly apartment for the next year, and you were sure he never gave most of it more than a second glance.

Your pen tapped lightly against your bottom lip as you stared at the pad of sticky notes on your desk, nothing more than illegible lines, dots, and scribbles covered the top one. With a sigh of frustration, you detach it from the stack, crumple it and toss it in the trash. Today was the first day of August, and the mental countdown to your boss’ birthday plagued your thoughts. While your job was comfortable as is, the cold treatment from the man you worked for grated on your every nerve. You’d think after nearly a year in his employment he’d begin to warm up to you, maybe even bother to remember your name. This was your chance to finally stand out to him if only you could think of something that the hero could possibly want for his birthday.

As much as he’d probably like a break or a vacation, you were in no position to provide that for him. He obviously didn’t want for anything material either. Does he even have a sweet tooth? You wondered silently as the tapping of your pen resumed against your face. I can’t even imagine a guy like him eating a cupcake. You know what? Actually I can and it’s hilarious. I bet his mustache would burn the frosting and-

“Ahem” Well, speak - or think- of the devil and he shall appear. Endeavor himself stood at your desk with an impatient look on his stern face. The goofy smile you’d been developing at the thought of the massive man eating sweets was quickly wiped off and your back straightened at an uncomfortable pace.

“Daydreaming on the job?” he asked, but you got the feeling he didn’t really want an answer, so you just bow your head in apology. In an embarrassed mumble, you replied, “Sorry sir, won’t happen again” and he gave a huff in response, not unlike that of a great dragon. You held back another smile at the fleeting thought of smoke puffing out of his nose in discontent, as he handed you a manila envelope stuffed to the brim with some kind of paperwork.

“I need this hand-delivered to the Hawks Hero Office immediately. This is sensitive information I’m trusting you with.” You gingerly accepted the packet, but couldn’t avoid the brief touch of his massive hand sliding past yours. You noted briefly just how warm they were, though you shouldn’t really be surprised. Courier work isn’t exactly in your job description but lately, you’ve been desperate to suck up anyways, plus some fresh air couldn’t hurt. You stood and gave one more quick bow, “of course sir, I’d be happy to deliver it” He seemed content with your answer and turned to walk through the frosted glass double doors that led into his office without so much as another word.

Honestly, that had gone better than most of your interactions in the past. Pleased with the slight development in your relationship you gatherers your purse and the envelope and headed for the elevator. Floors passed monotonously as you continued to float gift ideas around in your head, this was looking to be harder than you initially thought.

Once the lift reached the lobby you made your exit, pushing past a crowd of workers who seemed to just be returning from lunch. They laughed boisterously and made no notice of you squeezing around them. Finally, you made it to the front door of the Endeavor Agency and swiped your employee ID badge on the terminal next to the front door alerting the system that you had left the building. Fresh warm air tickled your skin as you made your way onto the sidewalk and began the trek to Hawks’ Agency. It wasn’t particularly far, only a few blocks away and the route was dotted with storefronts boasting all kinds of wares from cake to clothes to flowers.

In theory, one of the displays you passed should have given you an idea but once more you found yourself coming up blank as you approached your destination. The young man at the front desk smiled politely when you entered “Hi there, do you have an appointment?” his eyes flickered between you and the computer screen in front of him.

“Actually I’m here on delivery for Endeavor” you waved the yellow folder a bit to accentuate your statement “something about sensitive information?” This really wasn’t part of the job you signed up for. Face to face interactions with strangers is so damn awkward. Luckily the receptionist probably dealt with people like you all day and didn’t bat an eye before saying

“Of course, his office is on floor 22 but if he’s not in there, try the roof. I’ll let security know you’re heading up” and he began tapping at the keyboard with one hand while making a ‘go on’ gesture toward the elevator with the other. You thought about boarding but instead made your way to the staircase. I already walked this far, might as well make it a cardio day, and give myself a good excuse to order takeout for dinner. You were truly a genius, maybe it was time to apply at NASA instead of working your ass off for Mr. Hothead.

Twenty-two floors was a bit more of a workout than you thought it would be, and when you finally arrived at the top you were mildly sweaty cheeks ruddy and more out of breath than you’d like to admit so you take a moment to calm down before opening the doors and walking past the security guard. He gave you a sideways glance but kept his mouth shut as you knocked twice on the office doors.

The lack of a verbal response clued you into the fact that he was likely on the roof just as the receptionist had said, so you hung a left and let yourself sprint up one more flight of stairs. Once you made it through the door marked ‘rooftop’ you spotted the winged hero perched near the railing. You announced yourself so as not to startle him,

“Excuse me, Mr. Hawks? I’m here on behalf of Endeavor, he asked me to deliver this to you as soon as possible”

He wheeled around at the sound of your voice, and his eyes lit up with amusement at your disheveled appearance. “Hey, thanks! I was kind of expecting the big man himself but you’re certainly a nice surprise” he winked and took the folder from your hands “Nobody told me Endeavor hired such a cutie to be his secretary, ya think I have any chance of poaching you from him?” Despite your earlier thoughts about NASA, you had no intention of leaving your current position so you just laughed.

“I’m flattered but unfortunately I’ve got some oddly placed sense of loyalty for him”

“Oh I get it” he cocked an eyebrow “I would too if I was you, the guy’s a size queen’s dream after all. Gotta love the whole naughty secretary dynamic too”

You sputtered at his bluntness “Oh god no nothing like that I-”

“Aw, I’m just teasing kid, how couldn’t I when you come up here looking like that” He gestured to your flustered appearance and you immediately regretting taking the stairs moments ago “Besides, I’d be surprised if you got him to warm up to you enough to remember your name let alone bend you over his desk” He was spot on, you had to sigh at that.

“You’re right there, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even notice if there was an entirely different person sitting at my desk tomorrow”

“Heh, yeah, sounds like him. But you know, his birthday is coming up maybe a gift will put you in his good graces” another effortless wink was shot your way and despite him being the one with wings, the attention really ruffled your feathers. It’s like he had a secret mind-reading quirk or something.

“I thought of that, but I have no clue what a guy like him would even want. It’s not like shopping for your mom, where you can just give her a picture frame that says ‘Live Laugh Love’ and she cherishes it forever ya know?” Hawks snorts in amusement at your comparison. You’re right and you’ll defend that if he asks, but he doesn’t.

“In that case, I’d be willing to let you in on a little secret, some little known Endeavor lore, a true exclusive if you ask me”

“I’m not a tabloid Hawks, just tell me already” this guy messes around a lot for being the number two hero, its an incredibly stark contrast from his only superior.

“Okay, okay, you gotta lean in though, he’d kill me if I leaked something so personal” you lean in closer as instructed and he whispers into your ear, “his favorite food... is kuzumochi” You pull back in visible disappointment.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, he goes crazy for the stuff. Honest to god I’ve seen him inhale an entire batch in like five minutes. You want him to notice you? Then this is the best possible way, trust me.” and for some crazy reason you do. This could actually work, if it’s really as much of a secret as the blonde claims, you’d certainly stand out among the other gifts he’s sure to get.

You thank Hawks and turn to leave with a newfound confidence in this new plan, but not before he makes you promise to tell him how it goes after the big day. As you exit the winged hero’s agency building the work phone you were assigned chimes with a new email letting you know that you can go straight home after the drop-off, and your grin widens. Even better, now you have time to stop at the grocery store on the way home, the decision already made to go big or go home. You were bound and determined to make the kuzumochi from scratch, and it was gonna be the best damn thing your boss had ever tasted.

*******************************

The rest of the week dragged on in a painfully average way, the only thing keeping your mood afloat was the surprise dish you had been working on every night. You’d gone through multiple test batches, determined to get the flavor and consistency just right. The work paid off on the night of the 7th, just in time when you completed your best batch yet. With a content sigh, you washed your hands and packaged up the kuzumochi like a damn professional. Finally, you were able to take a long hot shower and climb into bed early with the anticipation of tomorrow bubbling in your chest.

Morning came quickly and your daily routine was done with care, then you grabbed the gift and began the short commute to work. Brain on autopilot, it seemed like no time at all until you were seated at your desk and logging in to the company’s computer system. The pristinely packaged gift was nestled into the corner of your desk, waiting for the perfect moment.

This moment came just before lunch when a mildly scuffed up Endeavor breezed past you in a huff and headed straight into his office. This is it you thought Sure, he’s a little pissy at the moment but this’ll cheer him right up. And with that, you knocked once on the office door and peeked in. The sight of him slumped in the leather office chair in front of the massive floor to ceiling window, eyebrow cocked at your intrusion made your heart jump just a little. How can one man be so damn intimidating? You cleared your throat and began to speak with entirely false confidence.

“Sorry for barging in sir, I just wanted to give you a birthday gift. It’s not much, but I hope you’ll accept it” the whole situation reminded you of confessing to your crush with a box of chocolates in middle school, and it’s funny how some things never truly change. You presented the box to him and to your surprise he actually reached out to take it.

His scrutinizing glare never let up as he untied the silky ribbon and lifted the lid, but once he recognized the contents his expression shifted quickly to one of surprise.

“Is this... kuzumochi?” His gaze fell on you and it had nearly physical weight.

“Yes sir, I have it on uhm, good authority that it’s one of your favorites” should you admit that Hawks told you this bit of information?

“Why?”

“I’m sorry? Its… well, it’s your birthday, right? I wanted to get you something that would stand out.” It felt silly to admit to his face.

“And why would you need to stand out, Y/N?” You had to keep your jaw from hitting the floor when he so casually dropped your name, the name you were sure he hadn’t even known. He decided to let you mull over the question as he took a bite of your carefully crafted treat, you could hear a small satisfied hum in his throat and it gave you chills. He beckoned you closer, “it’s delicious, would you like a taste?” when you hesitated he added, “it would be awfully rude to refuse your boss on his birthday, especially after all the trouble you’ve gone to making these”

A heavy step carries you over to his desk, like lead weights attached to your ankles. As you approach he rises out of the chair, a new unreadable look replaced the one of irritation you had been so used to all these months. “Come closer,” he said when you stopped just short of the desk. He’d never spoken to you like this before, and it sent chills down your spine. A few more steps took you around the desk to where he stood, and you barely flinched when he placed a large palm on the side of your jaw, the other held a piece of kuzumochi near your mouth. His intent was clear, he was going to feed it to you by hand. “Open” he commanded softly and you couldn’t deny him if you wanted to, so you complied.

The sweetness melted over your tongue, you truly had outdone yourself here. And once the piece was securely in your mouth, a warm thumb brushed over your bottom lip where his eyes also happened to be resting, completely content in watching you chew and swallow. The intimacy of the situation wasn’t lost on you. You recalled something that Hawks had said about a ‘sexy secretary dynamic’ and once again he was right. When the taste had completely faded from your senses, you looked up to finally meet your boss’ eye. The intensity in them shook you to your very core.

“I’ll ask you again, why do you think you need to stand out?” at this, his hand dropped from your lip down to your waist “Were you hoping for some kind of special attention?” the depth of his voice made your thighs clench, knowing full well where this conversation was heading. He noticed the action and quirked his lips into the faintest smile, one full of mischievous intent. One large step forward for him pushed you back onto the sturdy wooden desk. “I can’t possibly disappoint my favorite little employee then, can I?”

You barely had time to brace your arms behind you before his hand moved over again to res on the top of your thigh, and the one that remained on your jaw guided you into a kiss. It began soft, Endeavor was no fool. He tested the waters, your willingness, before jumping right in. The second you started to kiss back it was full speed ahead. The man was experienced for sure, he knew exactly how to coax your mouth into a dance with his own. Once his tongue pushed into your mouth it was all over for you, you’ve become a slave to the feeling.

All too quickly he broke the kiss, and you had half a mind to whine at the loss of contact. When you opened your eyes you noticed he was leaned over towards the box of kuzumochi that started everything. Odd time for a snack but okay. And when he returned to face you he did have another piece in his mouth, as well as the red ribbon you used to tie it in his hands. Your mouths met once again, this time he pushed the food into yours with his tongue. While you’re distracted with the odd sensation of kissing and eating at the same time you hardly notice the way he pushed both your arms up above your head and deftly tied your wrists together with the ribbon. When he was sure they were secure he let them drop and find a home around the back of his neck.

You swallow the kuzumochi just as he turns up the intensity, completely claiming your mouth with his own. This time, he pushes you even further back until you’re laid completely flat on the desk. His fingers rake up and down your sides while his hips press against yours. You can feel his growing excitement pushed up against you and the feeling has you nearly moaning. Nearly isn’t good enough got the number one though, and he starts trailing kisses down your jaw and further until he reaches the junction of your neck where he bites and sucks like his life depends on it. This finally brings forth the noise he was chasing, and when you go to cover your mouth from embarrassment is when you finally realize that your wrists are bound.

Your boss’ attention is directed elsewhere though, as he reaches a hand under your skirt, past you panties, and begins to stroke your folds. You both realized how wet you’ve become at the same time, and now it’s his turn to moan. One large digit enters you as his mouth travels further south, now nipping at your collarbones and chest. Your wrists slip from around his neck and his free hand strokes upwards from your side to push your arms up over your head. Completely exposed to him he continues to ravish your skin and curl his finger in and out of your cunt. Quickly you come undone around his finger and he removes his mouth from you long enough to drag the digit along his own tongue.

“You’re even sweeter than the kuzumochi, here” he pushes the finger into your mouth and you diligently suck the rest of your juices from it. “Good girl.” The praise itself makes you moan once again. When he’s satisfied with your work he begins to remove his pants and you finally get a glimpse of what you’re working with. You nearly get up and walk out right then, because the man is massive.

“Just relax, I’ll start slow” he reassures and stays true to his word. After a long moment of adjusting he’s fully sheathed inside you and you swear this is what heaven feels like. The moment he begins to move you know you were wrong. If that was heaven you must have finally ascended even further, to wherever gods go when they die. Endeavor fucks you hard and slow against his desk until your eyes are rolling back in your head and you can see every constellation on your eyelids. And when it’s over, you’re shaking like a leaf.

He pulls out, not giving a second glance to the fluids leaking out of you and onto the floor, and begins to untie your wrists. Both of them are red and raw from the friction of the ribbon, and he places a tender kiss on each of the marks. One more kiss on the bruised patch he left on your neck, then he’s hoisting you upwards in a sitting position. Still unsteady but slowly coming back down to earth, you feel a soft tissue wipe at the mess between your legs while a strong hand continues to keep you upright rests at your side.

When you look up to meet his gaze, your confidence is no longer an act. “Happy birthday,” you say and for once he breaks out a genuine smile that makes him look ten years younger.

As he rests his forehead against yours he replies, “It’s not over yet” but before you can question his meaning the intercom system next to his computer rings and a voice announces “Mr. Hawks is on his way up, sir” and you choke. You did promise you’d tell him how things went.

#endeavor x reader #endeavor #enji x reader #enji todoroki #bnha #mha #happy birthday endeavor

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