#still waiting for it to bloom so i can see if it's pink or orange flower -_-

[tripleyeeet]

I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER (14)

SUMMARY: Upon waking up, you realize just how long you've been gone for.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,257

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (this time with comfort!), descriptions of death, probably incorrect lore about necromancers and how their powers work. :')

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, we're officially back in business baby, let's go! Sorry for the fillerish chapter. It's been so long that I kind of needed to keep things chill before the story starts up again. Hope you can forgive me??? <3 Also, thanks to @the-lady-amphitrite for letting me include their little necromancer Zamrie!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

It’s not uncommon for you to wake up breathless. With the presence of an unknown threat mixed with your history of nightmares, there have been countless moments upon gaining consciousness over the last few months that have felt like you’re dying. Gasping for air to no avail until Astarion’s hand meets your back to soothe your stress. 

At this rate, it’s practically inevitable, especially with the Absolute and all its developments. Each night you close your eyes, more often than not all you see is their hatred plaguing your thoughts, your mind forcing you to stop and stare at whatever vision it’s decided to produce. As you lie still inside your bedroll, experiencing the false depictions of whatever horrors that occur, you’re left without much choice. Forced to lay and wait for that moment you’re jolted awake, wheezing in the dark. 

Despite the intensity, you know deep down it’s always temporary. A passing thought that runs through your lungs until you’re forced to reset at the sound of Astarion’s voice telling you you’re fine. That he’s here and you’re there and that regardless of the dangers that lie ahead he’ll always remain. 

When you awake that day, however, gagging at the air that rushes through to the back of your throat, you can’t help but feel the weight of eternity. As you shoot upwards, desperately clawing at the base of your throat, it’s as if you’re trapped inside this unfamiliar limbo, struggling to gain a sense of self as you blink and breathe and—

“That’s it, just like that, dearie. You got it.” 

The voice that cuts through the darkness is light, their careful tone hitting your ears far gentler than anything else you feel. Closing your eyes, you can hear them humming under their breath, low and slow; working to match your own as you glance around the room, unable to properly see. 

“Pesi, can you get her friends, please?” 

Inhaling deeply, you suddenly feel a sharp pain erupt through your chest as the stranger speaks. Targeting your left side, you feel it push through you like a knife, catching every layer of flesh as you lean forward and groan at the impact, feeling a hand grace your back. 

“It’s alright, just take deep breaths, okay? Nice and slow.” 

Opening your mouth, you cough and clutch your chest, allowing the painful feeling to bloom outwards, each shot of pain targeting the span of your torso before filtering out. 

As it happens, you force open your eyes and glance at the blurry mess of colour in front of you. A figure doused in sunset tones —pinks and oranges with hints of purple that slowly filter through to reveal a bright-eyed tiefling smiling in your direction. Overall, her skin is doused in shades of peach and decorated with various tattooed dots that primarily sit beneath her violet eyes that scan you anxiously. 

“I’m Zamrie. A friend of Gale’s,” she tells you. 

In response, you go to speak but all that comes out is a plume of stinging air that rakes through your esophagus, making you cough and reach for your throat, feeling nothing but numbness at the ends of your fingers. 

“It’ll feel weird for a while I’m afraid.” She offers you a sympathetic smile, gripping your shoulder as the expression across your face twists with confusion. 

How does she know what it feels like?

Suddenly, she lets out a laugh, gently digging her fingers into your skin, massaging the tension that you just now notice is there. “I know, I know —you’re probably wondering how I know how you’re feeling,” she says, making your confusion only strengthen as she nudges your legs aside to make room for herself. “Rest assured though, I’ve lived and died a thousand times, so I’m basically an expert when it comes to the after effects of a good necromancy spell.” 

Necromancy? 

Your eyes widen —your thoughts whirling through you like a disoriented storm, crashing into the inner walls of your head. Looking around in a panic, you hear Zamrie try to pull you back in, whispering words of reassurance in between more quiet hums that only spur your anxiety. 

Shoving away her hands, you attempt to slip off the bed then, your legs wobbling at their newfound position, causing you to stumble forward, landing on your hands and knees. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Almost immediately, the tiefling abruptly rushes to your aid, reaching for hands that only work to slap her away, prompting her brow to furrow as she watches you struggle to move. “C’mon dear, don’t be proud. Just let me help you.”

You shake your head and groan, feeling your chest begin to ache all over again —the remembrance of your reality beginning to settle as you lower your head in pain. 

You died during the battle against Ketheric. Died. And as you sit there, now keeled over in pain, remembering all the horrible details of that blade pushing through your flesh —of the helplessness you felt staring into Astarion’s weary eyes as Shadowheart worked to drag him away— all you can think about is how careless you’d been. How stupid and reckless and overall selfish for thinking that you could do anything on your own like that. 

Gritting your teeth, you feel the numbness in your fingers slowly begin to subside the longer you kneel, granting you the opportunity to ball your hands into fists before pressing them angrily into the floorboards. Groaning loudly, you then punch the wood with what little energy you have, feeling your eyes begin to well up at the thought of your friends. At the thought of them potentially following in your footsteps into a world where everything meets nothing. Where every existing thing about you ceases all at once, leaving nothing but a shell for those to mourn. 

Releasing a shaky breath, you stare at the floor beneath you, praying that nobody did. That instead, they managed to succeed despite your failure and that they’re already on their way to Baldur’s Gate. 

“Where…wha—“

“Shhh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay, yeah? You’re alright.”

Grunting in frustration, you shake your head and look at Zamrie, feeling the tears begin to spill as you glance at her face, noting the stress that graces her features before the shock of loud voices erupts through the doorway, prompting her brows to raise before she turns her head. 

Following her gaze, you look up to see everyone huddled at the doorway, staring with varied looks that upstart your tears, realizing how worried they must have been. How angry and betrayed they must have felt watching you do something so painfully stupid. 

As you sit there, glancing at each of their faces, you can’t help but feel your heart break at such a realization. Taking in Karlach’s glassy eyes and Gale’s expression of pure relief —all of it quickly becomes too much to bear, forcing your head to drop again, allowing the threat of tears to overtake you. 

All at once, the awareness of their love becomes apparent then, causing you to sob until all you can feel is the presence of arms and hands —bodies of all shapes and sizes wrapping around your frame like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. 

All of them envelope you differently. While Shadowheart and Gale press themselves firmly against your back, Lae’zel’s hands are reluctant yet firm from a distance, taking refuge on your elbow with tight fingers, while Wyll and Karlach have completely pushed themselves into either crook of your neck, wrapping their arms around to pull you close. 

Feeling the warmth of their skin and the heaviness of their breath, you can’t help but give in to the fearful thoughts that plague your mind. The way they hold you close, bracing for an impact you all but knew was bound to come, you let the stress of the last few months overtake you, reaching for whatever body you can find so that you can dig your fingers into the fabric of their clothes. 

Immediately, the worn leather of whoever you're touching reminds you of war —of all the battles you faced thus far, struggling to maintain that same momentum you first started with. Running your fingers along the wear and tear, you feel a weight inside your stomach begin to swell, its unfamiliar heaviness making your face scrunch in discomfort, realizing this might be it. Having died and come back, there’s no way you could possibly keep going, right? After revival, you’re too weak to keep up —too broken and frail. A newly inhabited shell, replacing something that used to be much stronger. 

At this rate, you’d only hold everyone back. Either that or make another big mistake that could cost more lives and obliviously that’s not an option. Not after how far you’ve gotten. Not after risking so much with what little you have. 

“I can’t believe we’re hugging right now.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Karlach who speaks first. Her voice quiet against the crook of your neck sends a chill up your spine like any other, causing you to let out a shaky laugh. 

You can’t believe it either. 

“She’s a bit out of sorts still,” Zamrie says then, forcing your eyes to glance up at her smiling face. “She’ll need to rest for a few more days. The process of revival is pretty taxing on the body. Considering you’re essentially reconnecting a detached soul to an already decaying body, you’re lucky you managed to preserve her as well as you did.”

As she pauses to let out a laugh, the majority of your friends sort of look around in discomfort, listening as Zamrie continues her long-winded spiel about the process of revival. All in too great of detail. 

Almost immediately, it makes you a bit sick, listening to the grotesque ways your body was essentially put back together at the hands of her and Withers, forcing you to close your eyes as your head begins to spin. You realize then that you should probably lie down again. Considering there’s more than likely a rough road to recovery ahead of you, you assume most of your time spent over the next few days will be in bed, drifting between sleep alongside Astarion’s—

Feeling a sudden panic rise through your chest, you look around to see him nowhere, causing your mind to slip further out of control, resulting in you pushing and pulling —desperate movements taking over your body as you work to distance yourself from the hold that currently binds you. Sensing your stress, the group quickly distances themselves in response, a handful of nervous and reluctant stares watching as you plant one hand against the floor to steady yourself while the other moves to your throat. 

“Wh— where—“ 

You cough violently as the previous ache in your throat rips right through, interrupting your words in the form of a distorted wheeze. 

As it happens, you can’t help but think of the worst possible outcome regarding his absence. Imagining his lifeless body somewhere all alone, trapped beneath the rubble of an aftermath of battle, all you can see is his flesh. Pale skin stained with crimson, all torn apart to reveal the inner parts of himself. Amongst the rubble, you envision tendons splitting between broken bones —a lifeless face ripped with wild red eyes so empty compared to the life they once held. Tightly shutting your eyes, you imagine shattered fangs and cut-up lips left open in preparation for a dying breath you never got the chance to try and fix. 

Suddenly behind your eye, you can feel your tadpole wiggling violently. Rushing from one end to the other, its presence quickly wreaks havoc on your skull, forcing a groan to escape your lips, realizing someone’s there. That there’s a voice calling out to you, telling you it’s okay —that everything's fine and he’s safe, so please stop crying. 

Focusing on the voice, you hear Shadowheart’s tone eventually begin to push through, prompting your tear-stained eyes to drift to her, catching a soft smile. It’s subtle, as most of her outward emotions are, but regardless it speaks volumes. Reassuring you in a way that makes you smile back, mentally thanking her again and again until there’s a set of footsteps at the doorway. 

“What the hell are you all—“

His words are dripping in confusion. Rattling through your system like an echo of waves, the mere thought of it pulls you forward, forcing your body to crawl closer, watching the way his eyes glaze over once he catches sight of your crumpled frame.

As soon as he notices, he promptly pushes past all the bodies that separate you, breathing so hard that when he inevitably drops to his knees in front of you, clawing at the fabric of your tunic to pull you into his chest, you can feel it shaking. Rising and falling through the stress of his unbound anxiety, showing you just how much he missed you. How much he longed for your presence however long you were gone. 

Feeling him shiver against you, you immediately break, crying harder than you ever have before. Allowing the catharsis of your shared embrace to fill up the room with desperate sobs that leave both of you breathless. 

Gripping the base of his shoulder blades, you then maneuver your body until you’re completely wrapped around him, sitting on his lap, tugging at tufts of hair as you push your fingers through his curls. 

“Star…”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he speaks with disbelief, clutching you tight. As if the fear of this all being a dream has led him to believe that if you part somehow you’ll disappear entirely. 

Nodding against him, you press a gentle kiss to the side of his neck before pressing your forehead into the same spot, feeling him shift. 

“When did you wake?” 

You open your mouth to speak before swallowing hard, opting to use your Illithid. Not long ago. Where were you? 

Getting supplies. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Zamrie said—

Before he can finish his thought your hands are on his face, fingers splayed out to cup the delicate angles as you press your lips to his, feeling how cold they are. How the temperature bites against your own, forcing you to work for the heat you long for in the form of languid licks and nips that have you dizzy all over again. 

Hearing the background sound of footsteps followed by the shutting of a door, you can’t help but grin through the movement of Astarion’s mouth pushing open your own, realizing then that you’re alone. That for the first time in ages it’s just you and him and both of you safe from whatever evils lurk beyond the exit. 

“I’m still…very much…mad at you,” he eventually says, groaning between the kisses you steal through his frustrated tone —no longer caring if your behaviour bites you in the ass later. 

That’s fair. 

He snorts as he places a hand on the back of your neck, placing one last kiss to the edge of your mouth before pulling away, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I can’t believe you left me with those idiots. Do you know how boring they are? I swear, the minute we arrived in Baldur’s it was like—“

You roughly tug at the collar of his shirt to get his attention, widening your eyes. Wait, we’re in Baldur’s?

In response, he immediately huffs. “Gods, of course nobody told you. They were probably too busy hugging you to death all over again,” he says. “I swear, it’s been nothing but chaos since you left. Karlach’s been crying for weeks. Shadowheart and Lae’zel have been at each other’s —ow!”

You narrow your eyes and pinch his cheek. Astarion, what the hell happened? 

For a moment he just sits there, watching you with those angered eyes that make your chest tighten and your stomach flip, remembering then that none of it matters anyway. That for now, despite the lingering curiosity of it all festering at the back of your mind, wondering how long it’s been and how everyone’s truly fared, you don’t care. So long as everyone’s alive and well and the progress you’ve worked so hard to push through is still on track, all you care about is him.

Are you okay?

Even with his unwavering resilience, you know deep down that he hasn’t come up the other side unscathed. That regardless of what he might say in replacement of the truth, there’s something uneasy hidden beneath the surface. You can see it in his eyes. In the way they drop almost immediately at your words, his expression shifting from anger to confusion to a mix of something foreign you can’t quite place. 

Opening his mouth, you see the quiver of his lips. The wobbling motion of uncertainty before he suppresses his thoughts, swallowing hard at the presence of fear to say, “I’m fine. Now that you’re here.”

Frowning then, you trail your thumb across his cheek, tracing the peaks and valleys of his flesh, skimming thoughtful patterns across the expanse of his face, eventually winding up at his lips. Thumbing the lower one, you press your own together and look at him with tired eyes, surveying the age of a man who’s so obviously been pushed to his limits. 

Yes, but are you okay? 

He isn’t. Not in the slightest. And you can tell because the moment you ask he’s crumbling all over again, clutching your frame —pulling you in with far too much effort for someone who claims such nonchalance. 

Pressing his digits roughly into your flesh, it’s as if he’s changed completely. What once was a man of constant mischief —a man with unlimited lies and tricks up his sleeve to hide the truest version of himself— has now become too honest. Too candid in the way he presents himself as he clutches onto your frame, acting as if you’re the last sliver of light in a forever-darkened sky. 

It breaks your heart almost instantly, feeling the tremors of his body releasing all the pent-up anger and betrayal —all the sadness of a passing he was ill-prepared to handle. Fisting the fabric that rests against his back, you grant him access to your neck without hesitation, feeling him burrow inside, whispering all the thoughts he couldn’t say when both of you were separate and alone. 

Inside your mind, you can feel the pain of his Illithid showing you a memory. A flash of magic mixed with a broken man’s cry filtering through closed lips. Unlike anything you’ve ever heard, it punctures your ears like a needle, painfully pushing through until it’s all but cut off without warning revealing the face of your last dying breath before everything goes black. 

“We tried to save you sooner,” he whispers, placing a kiss to your neck, then to the fabric that rests against your shoulder. “But every moment between then and now was spent fighting those bastards.” 

You place a hand on his hair, gently running your fingers through before repeating the process, hearing him breathe. 

“We’d only just arrived this morning, I swear.” 

You smile then, pressing a kiss to his head, telling him that it’s okay. That he’s okay and you’re okay, repeating the words over and over until you can feel his body begin to loosen at the seams, granting you both a moment of relief before he tells you he loves you and you do the same. 

-

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan@satelliteapotheosis@waywardwitch-hel@pandimoostuff@mythoughtsofinsanity@ilovelovelylove@oneandonlyizabelle

TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

#i'll crawl home to her #a lover’s folly #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

[system-to-the-madness]

Cherry Blossom Fireworks 🌸 Itadori Yūji x Reader

Pairing: Itadori Yūji x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 346 Summary: Yūji and you attend a festival together

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

The fabric of the small plushy was cool and soft underneath your fingertips as you held tighter onto it, trying to chase away the chill that had started to set in. It was dark, only the lanterns in the blooming cherry trees lighting up the area. Around you, a crowd had gathered, the visitors of the festival eager to witness the fireworks in the night sky. You were leaning against a balustrade that separated the cobblestone path through the park from the pond before you. Moonlight and the shimmer of the lanterns reflected on the calm surface in whites and oranges between the pink of the fallen petals drifting on water.

Holding the plushy tighter, you looked up, searching for that familiar mop of pink hair in the crowd. Yūji, who had come to the festival with you, had disappeared a while ago, claiming he wanted to grab some cream crepes, but he had been gone for almost twenty minutes now, and the fireworks were about to start any moment. Where was he?

Just as the thought threatened to occur, that maybe he had just left, not feeling like pushing his way back through the crowd, you saw him waving to you. As quickly as the crowded place allowed, he made his way over, grinning broadly. He was dressed in a beige Yukata, holding up a crepe in his one hand, waving to you with the other.

“I made it,” he grinned, when he stepped beside you, leaning his back against the balustrade. “I almost thought I’d be too late!”

Not waiting for your comment, he took a bite off the cream filled crepe before offering it to you, practically shoving it into your face, so you would also take a bite. You leant back a bit, examining the pink, Sakura flavoured cream, before nibbing at the treat, earning some raised eyebrows from Yūji.

“Come on,” he scolded. “What was that? Take a proper bite.”

“But you bought it for yourself,” you protested.

“I bought it, so we’d share it. So come on!”

You rolled your eyes at him before reaching up with your free hand, supporting his, and leading the crepe back to your mouth, taking a bigger bite this time.

“See, not that hard,” Yūji grinned, seemingly not noticing the way your face heated up at the way your cold hand had brushed over his warm one. He always seemed to be running warm, you thought. While you were wearing your warmer kimono and still felt chilly in the spring evening, he was only dressed in a Yukata, and seemed perfectly fine.

Yūji took another bite of the crepe, before his eyes landed on the plushie in your hand, and he pouted.

“I really thought I could win the bigger one,” he mumbled, around the dough and cream in his mouth.

You looked down at the plushie too. You supposed it was a Sakura mochi, big, stitched on eyes and a cute, blushy smile stitched onto fluffy, pink fabric.

“It’s the perfect size, I think,” you smiled, lifting it up between Yūji and you, before booping it against his nose, making him giggle.

While he held the crepe out to you, feeding you another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder, what had been going on with the two of you. You were friends after all, right? It didn’t matter that ever since you had gotten to know him better, you had steadily developed feelings for him, and it also didn’t matter that you spent almost every day together. You were friends, so it was normal that you two would go to the festival together, right? But he had been acting different today, actually he had already acted differently when he had asked you to go with him.

He had been all bashful and had stuttered again and again throughout the evening, which was unusual for him. And you were acting differently too. Were you flirting with him? Was he flirting with you? First, he had insisted on sharing some yakisoba and some melon float. Then he had gotten competitive with some other high schooler over a stupid game in which he had won the Sakura mochi plushie, which he had insisted on gifting you. After that, he had let you hook your hand into his arm, and you had walked around the park, marvelling at the sight of the blooming trees all around you. You had walked so closely, that you had felt his warmth bleeding through the layers of clothes separating you. And now he was feeding you a crepe and you booped him with the plushie he had gotten you… What was going on?

You finished the treat in silence, both of you painfully aware of the other’s stolen glances. Just as Yūji had fed you the last bite, an announcement declated, that the fireworks would soon start, and Yūji turned to you excitedly.

“I love fireworks,” he grinned, as if he only just now had learned that there would be a show tonight. “Hey, are you cold?”

Apparently, you had not been as good in hiding your shivering from him as you had hoped to be.

“It’s okay,” you assured him, hoping your voice was not as shaky as your hands. “Just a bit chilly.”

Yūji contemplated you with a serious expression for a moment before he spoke up. “Want me to hug you?”

Confused you blinked at him. “What?”

Instead of a proper answer, he just opened his arms a little, inviting you to move closer. Any other day you would have laughed, trying to hide your embarrassment, and how much you really wanted to be held by him, but like an accumulation of the entire afternoon and evening, in which you seemed to have done nothing but flirt with each other, you simply gave in, hoping you wouldn’t regret your actions later.

Quickly you stepped forwards, wrapping your arms around Yūji’s middle, while he closed his around your back, pulling you against him. Like before, you couldn’t help but notice how warm he was. Warm and safe, his arms strong but gentle around your frame, his subtle scent mixing with that of the night air around you. He never smelled of any strong deodorants or perfumes or shampoos, you noted. He mostly didn’t seem to have any smell at all. Only when you hugged him as closely as you did now, although usually those hugs barely lasted a few seconds, only then did you pick up on that note that was distinctively Yūji.

“Is this better,” he asked, his voice more resembling a deep rumble in his chest than actual words.

You only hummed in agreement, nuzzling your face closer to him, relishing the warmth that he engulfed you with in the hug.

“Can I ask your something,” he asked, and again you hummed affirmatively. “Would you go on a date with me?”

This time you didn’t hum, instead let his words sink in before you turned your head so you could look at him.

“This wasn’t a date?”

He only blinked, a blush beginning to rise into his cheeks.

“What I mean,” you continued, “I know we didn’t declare this as a date, so technically it isn’t. But I can’t imagine a better first date than this, so we could make this our first date retrospectively.”

A smile tucked at Yūji’s lips as he thought about your words for a moment before he nodded.

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed. He seemed to want to say something else, but in that moment an explosion and the collective gasp of the crowd made you turn around in his arms, watching the first stars of the firework glimmer above the lake.

Yūji leant his head against your shoulder, pressing a chase kiss to your hair, as you watched the firework together which seemed to mirror the fireworks that felt like they were sparking inside you. But it was hard to focus on anything other than him, once he had whispered: “Would you also go to a second date with me?”

@delzinrowe

#sakura festival #itadori yūji x reader #itadori yūji x you #itadori yūji x yn #itadori yūji x y/n #yūji itadori x reader #yūji itadori x you #yūji itadori x yn #yūji itadori x y/n #yūji x reader #yūji x y/n #yūji x yn #yūji x you #itadori x reader #itadori x you #itadori x yn #itadori x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x yn #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #mad jjk #itadori yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ Kyoya Ootori X Reader

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is.

Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

summary: You were almost impressed at their acting skills. If they weren’t such a pain in your ass. 

word count: 9.7k

legend:

(f/a) = favorite anime

(f/s) = favorite scent

see masterlist!: masterlist

taglist: @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin 

The Twins Fight! (pt. 2)

Splotches of pink hair dye surround you as orange hair rakes through your gloved fingers, transforming from a deep ginger to a bright shade of bubble-gum. You heave another frustrated sigh as Hikaru once again turns his head from his seat below you in favor of telling you about this anime he has started watching recently. You sit on the bed above him as he rants about dragon-slayers and how the character had the same color hair as the dye splattered onto your fingers. 

“Hikaru, I need you to stay still, or else this won’t be even.” You interrupt him in the middle of his sentence, and he pouts and sharply turns back to the front of his room. It wasn’t like anything you had expected a teenage boy’s room would look like. It was clean, surfaces sparkling from their marble surfaces and the duvet on the queen sized bed was kept a pristine white. Nothing was scattered across the sheep’s wool carpet, and every one of their possessions had a place. It was obvious their maids were incredibly thorough, but there were still little figurines and color patterns that made this room unique to the brothers, orange and blue accenting everything it could find. 

“Whatever. You clearly weren’t even listening anyways.” His gravelly voice states, arms crossing over his bare torso. You both opted for the ‘shirt off’ approach so that none of the dye accidentally stained one of the immensely expensive clothes his mother designed. 

“This Natsu guy was your inspo for your hair color?” You ask, disproving his statement.

You can feel his face twitch slightly at being proven wrong. You laugh a little at his immaturity as he gives you the silent treatment. “You can talk. You just can’t be flopping around like a fucking fish.”

Ever the defiant twin, Hikaru shakes his shoulders, rolling them back and forth, imitating a koi fish that has leaped out of its pond. It rains pink dye as he messes around, and you suddenly want to kill him.

You throw your hands up so as to not get any dye where it doesn’t belong and wait for Hikaru’s poor impulse control to settle. 

“I hate you.” You groan as his whipping hair showers droplets of pink onto your leggings. He turns around and puts a hand to his mouth, poorly covering up his snickering laugh. 

In retaliation, you take the brush you were using to spread the dye over his strands and make one short swipe down the middle of his back. 

“h-HEY WHAT THE FF-” Shivering from the sudden coldness on his skin, Hikaru stands up quickly, turning around his left shoulder over and over again in order to get a good look at his graffitied back. Despite his best efforts, he was just spinning in circles. 

Belly laughs came from deep within you as you watched him resemble a dog chasing his own tail, his hair split down the middle with orange and pink. The mischievous twin stopped at your laughter and deadpanned at you, only making you laugh harder.

“Oh-Oh my god!” You try to speak through your absolute guffaws. “You look so stupid, hA!” 

“You’re literally the worst person I know.” His gravelly voice spouts an insult into deaf ears, as you were still too occupied by giggles to even care. 

As your laughter died down, the door opened, the creaking noise distracting you from the annoyed twin. 

Kaoru walks into the room, a plastic shower cap wrapped tightly around his head. He walks out holding his phone. The timer on the screen is going off, his favorite song playing lightly out the speakers. 

“(Y/n), can I wash this stuff out now? It burns.” He goes to fidget with the clear cap, spinning it around his newly dyed hair, the blue complimenting his golden eyes. 

“In a second, Kaoru, I need to do Hikaru’s otherside.” 

The sneakier twin pouts as he fully walks into the room. Kaoru’s eyes are drawn to his brother’s back, seeing it stained with pink. He lets out a laugh similar to the one he expressed in the club room this morning, his shoulders shaking with each breath. 

“Oh wow, Hikaru, love the new look.” A mocking tone laces his higher pitched voice, making Hikaru roll his eyes. 

“Like you have room to talk, nerd. Who would choose blue over pink?” 

“Blue is better than pink by far, you asshole, everyone knows that.” 

Hikaru scoffs and turns to face his brother head on. “Since when? I don’t know Kaoru, it seems that ever since you decided to dye your hair, you’ve somehow gotten even more stupid than before.”

Kaoru growls as he stomps closer to his brother. “You’re the stupid one! Who the fuck only dyes half their head?”

Hikaru matches his brother’s annoyance. “(Y/n) hasn’t finished it yet! And it’s going to look even better than yours when she’s done. Ya know why? Cause it’s pink!”

“Blue is better!” Kaoru steps even closer.

“No, it’s pink!” They are nearly nose to nose now.

“Blue!”

“Pink!”

You calmly raise a finger as you watch them argue. “Have you guys ever seen Sleeping Beauty?”

“Shut up!” They shout in unison, their adrenaline carrying over to you. 

Your hands fly up to a surrender position, not wanting to be brought into the middle of anything. “Shutting up.”

They continue to argue back and forth. You rest your head on your wrist, careful of the pink and blue dye on your fingertips. They’ve been arguing ever since you got here. They fought over who would answer the door, who would get their head dyed first, and how long the dye should stay on for. It was so aggressive and over the simplest of things, almost as if coming from nowhere. Like they were looking for something to fight about. 

When Kaoru asked you to come over to their house to help him with his hair, you thought you might be able to act as a mediator and help them work through whatever was going on between them. But then Hikaru wanted to piggyback onto Kaoru’s hair dye idea, and when you couldn’t dissolve that conflict, you knew you were an under qualified buffer for the two of them.

A ringtone rang through their bickering. They both froze in the middle of intense stances to turn to your phone vibrating on one of their nightstands. You hold your hand up in a ‘one-moment’ formation and walk over to check who it was. 

The twins watch in frustrated silence as your face lights up from seeing the caller ID. The light off the screen shines upon a soft but bright smile, the grin reaching all the way to your eyes. 

“Hey Kyoya.” Your smile only grows wider at his name, and their eyes squint in suspicion. You nod your head along to your conversation. Sometimes you compliment him, sometimes you bit your lip, sometimes your fingers even twiddle with the ends of your hair. They look back at each other with a knowing look, rolling their eyes in the process. 

“Yeah, no, that’s what I was thinking.” You speak into the receiver, your voice taking a delicate, calm tone as you speak to their director. Their assumptions are only confirmed when you laugh at something the Shadow King said on the other end. 

To them, there was only one reason that anyone would think Kyoya-senpai was funny. 

“Okay, yeah, bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.” There might as well have been a heart emoji plastered at the end of your words with the way a sigh unknowingly passed through your lips as you ended the call. 

They almost gagged as you looked like you were riding on air from just hearing his voice, dazed and zoned out in your own little fantasy. 

“Who was that, (Y/n)?” Hikaru and Kaoru speak in unison in a monotone voice, their eyes sliding to each other and back to you. 

Snapping out of it, you turn to them once more and smile slightly before standing and dusting yourself off. “It was Kyoya. He was just asking about our project.” You sigh, and the twins could swear there was romantic glitter shuffling off your shoulders. 

“You ready to get rinsed?” You say, turning to the twin with the shower cap. 

Kaoru nods and follows you out of his room, but not without turning back to his brother. A silent conversation passes between them as they meet eyes  before he disappears through the doorway. 

Find out what she’s hiding. 

“Is that too cold?” You say, taking one of the hand held shower spouts and aiming it towards Kaoru’s hairline, water cascading down his hair and dripping off the ends. 

“No, that feels fine.” Kaoru closes his eyes and sighs, enjoying the feeling of your fingers twining through his hair and the lukewarm water on his scalp. 

He nearly forgot his mission. 

Peaking one eye open, he decides to go for a more subtle approach.  

“(Y/n)?”

“Hmm?” You hum, concentrating on the task in front of you. 

“Have you ever liked someone?” 

At his question, you give him a side eye as you work more towards the back of his head. Shrugging, you don’t really think about it too hard. 

“I mean, yeah. I’m pretty sure everyone has.” You chew on the inside of your cheek awkwardly, not wanting to shoot down this abrupt change of topic in case it was something Kaoru needed to get off his chest. “What about you?”

The blue-haired twin can’t really shake his head from his posture on the rim of the bathtub, his bare back pressed against the porcelain as he leans his head back over the rim, allowing the stained water to rush straight to the drain. 

“Nah, not really.” He tries his vulnerability tactic, hoping that it will pull on your heartstrings and push open the drawbridge to the secret you’re so clearly hiding from them. “I mean, it’s always been Hikaru and I for as long as I can remember. We didn’t have a lot of time for anyone else.”

You nod, and he sees a sympathetic look crease your face. Good. 

He sighs, “But now that we’re fighting, I was thinking of branching out a little bit more. Finding someone else to take the asshole’s place.”

You roll over your reply in your head a million times, trying to find the right words between ‘yes, broaden your horizons’ and ‘but your brother is your best friend for a reason.’ But before you could say anything else, Kaoru directs your thoughts with another question. 

He tries again. 

“Do you like anybody?” 

You freeze your movements and turn to him fully. 

“Uh, no? Why?” 

Kaoru raises an eyebrow, and when you motion for him to sit up from the edge of the bathtub, he keeps his stare as he slowly leans forward, sitting in a criss-cross position in front of you as you kneel on the opposite side.

Your pupils scan him accusingly as he sits, and you notice his eyes widen a little too much to keep up his nonchalant, innocent façade. 

You roll your eyes as you throw a towel at him, figuring out why his questions were so sudden and direct.

“You really got to work on your act, Kaoru.” You say as he freezes with the towel in his hands. He huffs when he realizes you found him out. “What do you already know?”

You study him as a small smirk plays on Kaoru’s face as he sucks on his tongue, trying to choose the words that won’t scare you off right away. He raises the towel to the top of his head to begin to dry his hair. 

“Nothing, yet. Is there something that I should know?” 

You give him a ‘really?’ look as he stays true to his character, keeping his cards close to his chest. 

You hum a light note, busying yourself with packing up the dye and throwing away the stained plastic gloves. 

“No. I guess if you haven’t figured it out yet, then there isn’t.” You squint your eyes at him as he towel dries his hair, and suddenly you two are at a standoff. 

This wasn’t uncommon, the two of you waiting for the other to crack. Kaoru’s patience was miles long compared to Hikaru’s, and you both could go days beating around the bush and acting like you know nothing, until the other breaks. 

It was petty, but that was one thing you and the twin had in common. 

His jaw clicks once more before shrugging and standing to hang the towel on the rack posted on the wall and grabbing his shirt that hung right next to it. 

Kaoru looks at you once again and holds his hand out, offering to lift you up from your position on the pristine tile. 

“I guess there isn’t.” He says, and another smirk slithers onto his lips. 

You take a deep breath as you accept his hand, knowing that he sees right through you. His patience drives his technique, letting you slowly open up to him second by second, like a hunter watching its prey. It was a different kind of slyness compared to Hikaru’s, but it was slyness nonetheless. 

You and Kaoru go to walk out the door, but when you open it, Hikaru trips into your view, the door that he was just leaning on swinging out from under him. 

This motivates another eye-roll from you as you make eye-contact with Kaoru. “Were you eavesdropping, Hikaru?”

Having caught himself, and still only half his hair dyed, Hikaru gives you a brief ‘caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar’ look before going back to his usual visage. 

“Whatever.” He says, and completely walks away from the two of you, crossing his arms as he re enters his bedroom. 

“So you know nothing, then?” You ask Kaoru fleetingly as you pass him, following Hikaru into their space. 

Kaoru grumbles at Hikaru’s stupidity as he follows you. 

You laugh as you walk, their failed plan to catch whatever they were trying to get out of you clearly failing right before your eyes. 

But that’s when you got to thinking: since when were they making plans together? 

“Hold on.” You spin once you are fully back into the room, both boys who fell into step behind you freezing in their place as you point at them.

“Did you two just work together on some sort of scheme, or whatever? Some sort of set up?”

Still frozen, they look at eachother, then back at you before taking a step to either side, growing the distance between them. 

“After a whole day of fighting, did you two just coordinate?”

Mirroring each other, they both spin, turning their backs to the other twin and raising their chin in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You groan as their voices blend into another perfect unison, confusion utterly apparent in your expression. “One minute, you're at each other's throats. Next, you’re conspiring together on how to mess with me. Can one of you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Hikaru and Kaoru both chew over your question as they each take a look over their shoulder at the other. Twin telepathy happens right before your eyes as they come back close together, an arm wrapping over a shoulder, while another comes behind a hip. 

“We will tell you our little secret, but only if you tell us yours.”

An exasperated exhale falls out of your mouth as you look at the irritating boys in front of you. 

You deny them immediately. “Absolutely not.” 

But they didn’t let up. 

Immediately, the twins joined you on the bed that you sat upon, resting their heads on your shoulder, and you whined as you felt Kaoru’s dripping wet hair and Hikaru’s fresh dye soak into one of your favorite t-shirts. 

“Tell us, (Y/n).” They pleaded, and you swore they batted their eyelashes.

“Get off of me.” You stood, knocking them away from you as you paced. “Why would I tell the two of you who I have a crush on?”

“Ah ha!” Hikaru jumps from his spot and points an accusing finger in your direction. 

“So you do have a crush on someone!” Kaoru finishes, mirroring his brother’s position. 

A blush runs to your cheeks when you realize what you just admitted. “Okay fine! But it’s none of your business who it is!” 

“Tell us, tell us, tell us…” They begin to chant repeatedly as you become more and more annoyed with their immature antics. Can’t they just let you have one thing to yourself?

“I’m not telling you guys anything.”

A sigh emits from the boys. “Then I guess..” Hikaru starts.

“You’ll never know.” Kaoru finishes as they each cast a fake sympathetic gaze, looking at you like you were a poor soul. 

You scoff and brush past them. If they didn’t want to tell you, fine. That kind of line might’ve worked on Tamaki, but you were better than that. 

“Forget it. Here.” You reach over to grab the remote to the TV, being careful not to touch it too much and stain it with the dye on your fingers. “Let’s keep watching (f/a). What episode were we on?”

“We don’t want to watch anything, (Y/n).” Hikaru whines.

“We just want you to tell us.” Kaoru finishes, sulking as they make their way towards you once more. You are sat on the edge of the bed now as they look down at you. 

“You can trust us, ya know.” Hikaru grumbles from your right, half his hair still wet from the processing dye job you haven’t been able to complete. 

“It’s not like we are gonna tell anybody.” Kaoru puts a hand on your shoulder in earnest, but you squint your eyes at them, not sure if you can trust them or not. 

Of course you could trust them. No matter how much they annoy you, Hikaru and Kaoru have always been in your corner. No one else could irritatingly terrorize you but them. That was what they always said. 

You grasp your bottom lip in between your teeth, breaking your gaze from the twins and zoning out on the wall behind them as you roll over how you could turn this around. You did want to tell them, but only for the greater good. 

The greater good. A smirk develops on your face as you glance back up at the boys, and their genuine looks turn into something cautious. 

“How badly do you wanna know, hm?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, an eyebrow arching on your forehead as your canines peek out from behind your mouth.

“Bad enough to share your secret first? Before hearing mine?”

Both their chests hitched, air caught in their throats at your proposal. You just gave them a bet where there wasn’t a 100 percent chance of winning. There was no guarantee that you weren’t going to leave them hanging after giving away the plan that they have been playing out for the past 24 hours. There was nothing stopping you from blowing their cover, or using it as blackmail, all without giving them a single hint of what you had promised.

They would know. They’ve done it before. 

To you. 

“Awe, c’mon guys.” You nearly laugh at their calculating expressions as you parrot their persuasions back to them. “You can trust me, ya know.” 

Hikaru and Kaoru both deadpan at you, before looking at each other, connecting their twin-telepathy once more. 

“And there is no other way…” Kaoru starts, giving you another displeased look.

“...That we can get you to talk?” Hikaru ends, sighing out an annoyed exhale.

“Nope.” You reply as you shake your head, popping the ‘p’.

A clothed Kaoru and a shirtless Hikaru seem to weigh it more in their minds before sighing and sitting down next to you.

The bed creaked as they settled on either side of you. You gave them each an expectant look as they prepared their statements.

“It’s not a big deal or anything.” Hikaru prepped you for the news, and at this point, you knew exactly what was coming. 

“We’re faking the fight going on between us.” Kaoru admitted nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. 

Your jaw clicked as you exhaled another sigh, letting your head tilt back so much so that you inevitably flopped onto the comforter behind you. 

The twins leaned back onto their palms while you groaned. “I really hoped I was wrong.” You looked at both of them as they chuckled at your defeat. “I mean, of course I’m right, but I really hoped I wasn’t.” 

You flop your hands out in front of you as a way to punctuate your next question. “But why?”

They meet eyes before shrugging their shoulders and looking down at you again. “Meh, we were bored. It’s been fun so far.” Another groan emits from your throat as you put your hands over your face. 

“We’re surprised you didn’t catch on sooner.” Kaoru said as he opted for laying on the bed, propping his head up with an elbow as to not let his freshly dyed hair stain his duvet.

“Yeah,” Hikaru followed, mirroring his brother’s position, “seems like you’re kinda dense when you’re distracted by someone else.” A ginger eyebrow arches over a golden eye as Hikaru gives you the perfect segway to hold up your end of the deal. 

A strained look is apparent in your features as you actually consider just up and leaving the bedroom altogether. But that would break a trust deeper than some stupid crush, and that’s not something you were really willing to lose.

“Fine…” You cross your hands behind your head, stretching to prepare for your confession.

“I have a teensy, tiny, itty bitty, completely temporary crush on Kyoya.” 

You close your eyes immediately after speaking the ravenete’s name, wincing as you feel the bed shift around you as the twins process your news. 

But, when you open your eyes again, the twins are looking down at you with soft simpers. 

“Yeah, no shit, (Y/n).” Hikaru says, laughing at your confused expression. 

Kaoru is chuckling along with him. “We kinda gathered that.”

Your mouth opens and closes, but no sounds come out except an occasional bewildered squeak as the boys stretch themselves back into a seated position. 

You whip up, feeling completely betrayed. 

“You knew already? Why did you make me confess, then?” 

Laughing once more, they both turn towards you, pointing at you in a way that younger siblings tease their older sister. “Because look how much you’re blushing!”

A dry whine escapes from your lips as you slap your palms onto your cheeks, proving the twins were right as you feel heat on your cheeks. 

“You guys are the worst.” You moan, but a small smile escapes you from their antics. 

Their laughter dies down as they sit back down next to you, bumping their shoulders with yours as you hide in embarrassment. 

“It’s cute though.” Kaoru assures you, making you look up from your fingers and turn to your right. 

“Yeah, now that I think about it.” Hikaru points a finger up in the air as you turn to the left. “You and Kyoya together actually makes sense.” 

“You really think so?” A gentle, anxious expression takes over your features, and the twins giggle. They swing their arms over your shoulders, giving you a bear hug as you're sandwiched between them. 

“Of course!” Their antics cause you to laugh as well, and the air feels lighter around you as your friendship grows even closer than it was. 

A grateful grin glides over your cheekbones as you look at them, and you’re reminded why they are your chosen family. 

You get a glimpse of ginger hair and you remember why you were invited over here in the first place.

You playfully shake them off. “Ew, gross, get off of me.” Chuckling through your words, you reach behind Hikaru to grab the discarded bowl and brush. “Go ahead and sit down, Hikaru.” You say as you gesture to the floor in front of you. “I still have to do your otherside. With that split dye, you look like an off brand Todoroki.” 

Hikaru’s mouth twists into a frown as Kaoru chuckles. He shoves his brother before making his way back in front of you, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he still feels the coolness of the dye on his back from where you brushed it onto him.

“Fuck you, bro.” He mumbles as he settles, and you and Kaoru laugh again. The atmosphere becomes lighter as Kaoru picks up the remote. 

Shaking his head, Hikaru pulls his knees to his chest, elbows circling his calves and pulling them closer. Kaoru sits next to him, copying his brother’s position.

Kaoru presses play, and you slowly brush the bright pink onto Hikaru’s scalp, smiling a little. As the twins’ shoulders touched, you realized it was nice to see them sit together again. Be normal again. 

And so, as you all watched the anime and secretly stained each other with pink and blue dye, there were a few moments of peace. A rare thing in the Hitachiian household. 

Walking alone to the cafeteria was a weird experience for you. Sometimes, you and Haruhi would meet up and eat lunch in the music room. Or you, Honey, and Mori would group up before walking down the cafeteria. Other times, Kyoya would be waiting outside of your classroom and walk you down to the refectory himself so that he has time to go over the bills and the numbers with you before the club meets in the afternoon.

But, because you had stayed late in one of the computer labs to work on the coding for your up and coming invention, it left you no time to catch up with any of the club members as they made their usual way to the cafeteria. You just hoped Kyoya had gotten your message about running late. 

You pushed open the large, wooden doors to the cafeteria. This refectory was built with such an elegant intention, the sparkling peach tile paired with white pillars and molding. The dishes that were served with the lunches were made out of decorated porcelain, and the students here were literally fed with silver spoons.

Such a delicate, graceful place. 

So how in the world was it so chaotic?

Your flinch as a bowl of soup flies past you and crashes against the wall.

And just as you try and face whatever madness is going on in front of you, your face is suddenly covered in icing as cake splats across it. 

Oh. My. God.

Even though you can’t see due to the icing that is covering your face, you still feel the presence of five hosts suddenly appearing in front of you. You stand frozen as they watch you, holding your boxed lunch in front of you with bits of dessert slowly drooping from your head onto the tile below you. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” Tamaki’s voice resonates as hands grasp your shoulders and turn you slightly to the left. 

“What the hell is going on?” As you open your mouth to talk, strings of icing form as you part your lips, the sugar falling onto your tongue. 

“(N/n)-chan! You have to stop them, they’ve gone crazy! I tried to offer them cake, but I didn’t know who wanted the strawberry, and they got mad at meee~!” You heard the tears in Honey’s eyes and your eyebrows crinkle in confusion and sympathy.

“Who’s ‘them’?” You ask, but, unfortunately, you already know the answer. 

“The twins. They are still fighting.” Mori’s deep voice echos against the formerly pristine walls of the refectory. The same pair of hands that were originally on your shoulders, cradle the right side of your face as another wipes something over one of your eyes. 

Of course the twins would start a literal food fight in one of the most public places to make a scene. 

Last night, you were sworn to secrecy on grounds of both trust and blackmail. If you told your friends that it was all an act before they were ready to give it up, the brothers had full freedom to tell your secret to anyone they wanted, even Kyoya himself. 

The very thought made dread take over your entire body. 

Speaking of the ravenet, as your vision is restored when the icing is wiped away, gray eyes focus in front of you. Kyoya switches to your chin and your forehead, using one of his pocket squares to clear the most vital aspects of your face, still holding your face with his fingers.

“Because this square is made out of silk,” he begins, cupping the ball of icing that was accumulated from the accident into his palm, the pocket square becoming the only barrier between his skin and the chunks of pound cake. “It wasn’t really all that absorbent. The icing is still smeared every which way.” Kyoya gives you another observing glance, trying to see if he at least got most of it out of the way. His smirk turns into an amused one when he takes in your sugar-covered state. 

“But at least you are able to see.” With another charmed look, he folds his pocket square up and you’re alarmed to watch him throw it away. Only he could be so okay with ruining such an expensive piece of fabric like it’s nothing. 

Bringing a hand up to your face, you touch your cheek to still feel a film of the icing on your skin, but most of it was cleaned by the Ootori son.

He meets your eyes again, and something courageous sturs in him as he makes a horrible pun. “Looking sweeter than usual.” 

“Thank you, Kyoya.” Your heart warms at his words as you laugh slightly, but your attention is quickly grabbed by the noodles that whiz past your head.

“Here, Tamaki, can you hold this? It seems there is a situation that needs to be taken care of.” You shove your boxed lunch into his arms and march towards the twins. Unbeknownst to you, Tamaki’s eyes glaze over as he stares at your wrapped box, and then they glance at Haruhi’s, whose lunch looks almost identical to yours. 

She was the one who taught you how to make them, after all. 

The theater in Tamaki’s mind goes rampant with images of Haruhi making him one, and his train of thought goes off the rails as one thing leads to another. 

“I don’t care if my boxed lunch is in an embarrassing heart-shape!” The blonde suddenly bursts out into a dramatic pose, gesturing an open palm to Haruhi, who was currently caught in the middle of a Hitachiian food fight, and nearly dropping your lunch. “I will eat it!”

Kyoya catches the toppling lunch from his grasp and holds it securely in his palm, watching Tamaki critically from behind his glasses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s evident that your fantasies are completely incoherent.”

Shaking his head, he turns his attention back to you. He watches as you walk to the twins, your palms balled into fists from the tension in your expression. The food fight is still going on, and the interactions that ensue remind him of a comic strip, your depictions suddenly becoming more and more animated the further you are away from him. 

From a distance, he sees you tap one of the boys on the shoulder, and the blue haired one looks back. Kaoru jumps and they both stop throwing things at each other, scared at your angry face. 

Then, you’re scolding them. Kyoya isn’t an expert lip reader, but based off of previous interactions with you and the twins, he assumes you’re yelling at them to stop and ‘shut the fuck up.’ You have quite the mouth when you’re around them. 

You make a sweeping gesture with your hands as you make them notice the destruction they’ve caused, but of course, the twins aren’t listening. 

Hikaru’s mouth moves as he points to your face, most likely noticing the crumbs of vanilla cakes scattered across your eyelashes and cheekbones. 

Oh dear. 

Pink and blue heads jostle as the twins begin to laugh at you, breaking the last of your patience. Your lips move in what can only be described as a growl, and an irk appears above your forehead. Moving around to a frozen Haruhi, you pick her up and push her towards the club, moving her out of the splash zone.

As the twins laugh at you, Kyoya observes the stealthiness of your movements as you reach over and grab some soft food from their plates with your bare hands, and chuck each of the handfuls into their faces. 

This receives an amazed look from the Ootori son – as expressive as it gets for someone like him – and the cafeteria falls silent as they watch the three of you. 

Both Hikaru and Kaoru blink, their golden irises shining through the mushed grain/potato/whatever it was. Time froze as you each held a stare, daring the other to move one inch closer to the trays of food in front of you. 

All three of you call the others' bluff as Kyoya works to avoid the sudden onslaught of food that erupts from your table. Soup, pastries, fruits, smoothies, sandwiches, salads, hot tea, all being hurled into every direction. 

The ravenet’s jaw ticks as he makes eye contact with Tamaki, who meets his gaze as they give each other a ‘we-should-have-expected-this’ look.

Haruhi appears in front of the duo with her lunch in hand, an exhausted look on her face as she deadpans at the three of you from over her shoulder. 

“I think I’m gonna go eat in my classroom after all.” She says tiredly, and hurries away, leaving Tamaki and Kyoya to rush into the food fight head first and peel you three off of each other. 

Steam seeped into your lungs as you tried not to slip on the tile below you. Warm water cascaded down your collarbone and over your hips, collecting crumbs and splashes of various sauces from your skin. You inhaled a deep sigh before turning the shower dial to the right and stepping out of the small cubicle that your school calls a bathroom, grabbing the towel you rented from the receptionist off the rack. The floor shined with moisture and new polish as you made your way to one of the lockers, grabbing a new uniform from the shelves. 

After the food fight in the cafeteria, Kyoya had ordered an emergency club meeting to talk about the twins behavior. You were worried, to be honest. There wasn’t much that wasn’t your fault based on the events from this afternoon, and your head hurt from the absolute chaos that seems to follow the twins wherever they go. Or at least, more chaos than usual. 

So it was nice when Kyoya suggested that you get cleaned up before the meeting tonight as he picked leaves of spinach from the stained collar of your suit jacket. The steam and the (f/s)-scented soap helped you clear your mind from the stress of keeping the Hitachiian’s secret, and prepare you for the consequences of engaging in a food fight with the twins. 

You rolled down your shirt sleeves as you stepped out of the bathroom, your jacket draped over one elbow as you adjusted the cuffs. But someone in front of you cleared their throat, breaking your attention away from your apparel. 

“Hey.” You say lightly, a smile on your face your heartbeat picks up just a little over its usual speed.

“Good afternoon.” Kyoya looks at you over his black book with his usual sharp gaze, and you don’t miss how his gray eyes quickly scan your figure. He leans against the wall adjacent to the entrance to the women’s locker room. You get flashbacks to your physical exam, how he waited for you when you needed to return his jacket. 

He seemed to have a habit of leaning up against walls and waiting for you so you two could walk back together, and you weren’t complaining. 

“It seems the extra uniform suits you well.” He says as he closes his notebook, tucking it under his arm as you fall into step with him. 

“It does! I was surprised we had a spare.” You say brightly, maybe a little too eager to be talking to him. 

Once you realized that you had a crush on the ravenet to your left, you’ve had trouble acting normal around him. You take note of every stutter, flutter, and blush that appears in your persona whenever he is around. Your stomach turns as you pray that while Kyoya is extremely at reading other people like the back of his hand, his lack of romantic experience would keep him from picking up on your unintentional, embarrassing mannerisms. 

“After the Princess Ayanokoji incident., I felt it would serve well to have multiple spares of every kind of uniform in case we ran into another incident that was similar.” He smirks as he remembers the food fight. “I’m glad I was more prepared this time.” 

You laugh, and your body and mind calm down as you fall into the comfortable banter that is familiar when it comes to your best friend. 

“Me too. Although this shirt is clearly new…” You stretch the collar of your shirt, pulling the itchy, starchy fabric away from your skin. “It hasn’t been worn down at all.” 

Kyoya’s eyes drop down again as you fiddle with the fabric, squinting as they fall onto an oddly colored patch on the back of your neck. 

“(Y/n)...” His tone drops deeper as he tries to keep his composure. His jaw ticks as he gently moves your hands, shoulders tensing as he moves the white shirt farther away, revealing a pink splat on the side of your neck.

He’s seen the movies, and Hikaru and Kaoru have bragged on and on about the multiple dates that they’ve taken girls on that resulted in this exact kind of thing.

But who…with you?

He swallows. He thought that you had been acting differently in the past couple days because maybe, just maybe you had realized his feelings for you. The way you bounced up to greet him or the way you two would catch each other’s gazes during late night study sessions. 

Clearly, as usual, he was reading into it too much.

He cursed himself as his mouth ran dry. “Is this a, uh,” He cleared his throat again, forcing the words to be as calm as he could make them. “Is this a hickey?”

He tries not to stare at it as his thoughts uncontrollably spiral. Of course you were involved with someone else, of course he hadn’t done the best he could to-

A nervous laugh cuts him off. 

“What?!” You sputter, craning your neck and nearly turning in a circle so that you could try to get a view of the spot that was forever going to be out of your line of sight. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask the ravenet, turning back to him to see his shoulders slump lower than they were and a sigh escapes him at your immediate confusion to his question. 

It couldn’t be a hickey if you didn’t even know what he was talking about. 

Which means there was still a chance he wasn’t reading into things. 

“There’s a pink spot on the side of your neck.” Kyoya will forever know how to dig himself out of a situation where he was wrong; to confront it dead on. It was a rare occasion, but it still happened nonetheless. “At first glance, it looked like a bruise, but that seems to be the wrong assumption.”

Now that he took a closer look, the color was too bright of a pink to be produced from the skin. It was too artificial. 

He scolded himself for letting such a strong emotional reaction motivate his thought process. 

You breathe a sigh of relief and laugh. “Oh my god. I was really concerned for a second there.” You shake your head and move to one of the windows that both of you were passing, moving the collar of the shirt once again to glance at what your best friend was talking about. 

“Oh, I see what you mean.” You fix your shirt and continue walking by his side. “It’s hair dye.” Holding up your fingers, you feel a tingle under your palms as you invite him to scan the spots of pink and blue that hid under your fingernails and the sides of your knuckles. 

“The twins asked me to help them dye their hair, and things got a little out of hand.” Another giggle escapes you. “Clearly, they’re only way of handling arguments is to throw things at each other, and I was caught in the middle.”

Kyoya feels his ever increasing heartbeat slow when you explain yourself, relief flooding through his nervous system.

He smirks as you both round a corner and begin climbing the stairs to the music room. “You seem to be around them quite a bit lately.” 

“Yeah, it’s exhausting.” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows a laugh from your joke while you sigh dramatically. “I was just trying to see if there was anything I could do to get them to form some common ground, but, uh…” The other night flashes back into the front of your mind, an image of the twins holding their finger over the call button on Kyoya’s contact spurring you to not give away their secret. “I guess I couldn’t get through to them.”  

“We still need to find some sort of solution.” The Ootori son states as he reopens his black book, tilting it over slightly in order to give you a better view. “The club can’t afford to lose its Brotherly Love package.” 

Black ink scribbles across the page as equations and dollar signs scatter the paper. It was clear that Kyoya had been busy creating and calculating different solutions to the absence of the twins’ services. But, despite his efforts, you find red ink circling obscene numbers. Numbers that the club definitely could not come up with on its own. 

You meet his gaze and as much as he debates you on how much he cares for this club, you find a sense of worried alarm churning in his irises. 

“Give them a few more days.” You assure him, giving him your most comforting smile. “I’m sure they’ll get bored at some point, and everything will go back to normal.” 

And if it didn’t end soon, you would make it end. 

Kyoya gives a grateful smirk at your attempt to calm his anxieties about the budget as he pushes the door open. He holds it open for you as you pass through it, and the megane watches you walk past him, not being able to tear his gaze away from you.

You turn back to look at him, and although he could never show it, his heart lurches in his chest. 

A closed mouth smile follows the thought that he couldn’t let this club fail, because then where would he be, if not with you? 

Biting your lip, you look around the club room. Because you and Kyoya had been the first to arrive, you were able to continue working on your project while Kyoya typed on his computer. You both talked about everything and nothing, enjoying the comforting silence of each other’s presence and only talking when you felt motivated too. 

You had been sanding down the plastic on the shell of your invention when the rest of the host club walked through the door, save for the gingers in question. Haruhi and Honey sat next to you, intrigued by the peculiar mechanics you had laid out across the table as you waited for everyone else to show up. Tamaki sat at the head of the table while Mori took the seat across from you. 

But even as all of your friends showed up, the silence still remained. Honey kicked his legs below the table as he watched you work, sadly placing his head in his palm. His cheeks spilled over his hand, and there was a distant look in his eye. Tamaki also wasn’t pleased, and when you glanced over at him, sympathy filled your heart at the exhausted look that overtook his entire posture.  

You were about to say something, but Kyoya cleared his throat. 

“Looking at the numbers, if this situation isn’t resolved, I’m afraid we are going to have to stop offering our Brotherly Love package.” He pauses to look around the room, noting the absences of each twin. “We’re down one pair of loving brothers.” 

His eyes land on Haruhi as she sits to the right of Honey, unexpecting of the passive aggressive host smile that has taken over his face. “Oh, and Harurhi, I just want you to know there is no reason for you to feel responsible.” The Ootori son looks back to hsi computer, his tone too light and too forgiving to be genuine. “Even though it was your tactless comment that started this whole feud between the twins in the first place, right?” 

You gawked at him while Haruhi sweatdropped, both of you clearly picking up his sarcasm. You kicked him under the table, but he just rolled his eyes, not caring about what drama he may have stirred up. If you wanted to work with Kyoya, you had to deal with all of the blunt confrontation that comes with him. 

Haruhi looks down at her feet, still deadpanned. “Clearly he blames me for this.”

“Clearly, he’s stressed, and trying to find a scapegoat for a problem he can’t solve.” You assure her, still pointing a warning gaze to Kyoya. Just because you liked him doesn’t mean you couldn’t call him out. 

His jaw ticked, but there was no back-handed comeback. A white flag of surrender. 

As you returned to your work, Honey’s pout deepend. “It’s weird for Hika-chan and Kaoru-chan to be fighting like this. It’s never happened before.” The lolita boy has made a game of gathering the dust from your sanding into a small mound and drawing shapes into the particles. 

Haruhi lifts her head. “They’ve never fought before?”

You shake your head, focusing desperately on a sharp edge that won’t dull. “I’ve only known Hikaru and Kaoru for a couple of years now, but I’ve never seen them not together until now.”

“I’ve known them since preschool.” Honey pitches in, his high voice carrying back into the conversation. “We weren’t in the same year, so I never really got to talk to them. But I remember that the two of them always played together.” 

“It’s true.” A sad sigh blows out form Tamaki’s lips as the blonde leans his elbows onto the mahogany below him. “I mean, I met them in middle school, and they always stood out. It seemed like they kept everyone at a distance except each other.” 

You look back to the other night as you pause your engineering, how comfortable they felt around you, how easy it was fitting into their small circle. 

“They’ve really come a long way. Sounds like they were even more warped back then.” You say, meeting the blonde’s violet gaze. 

He nods, and you notice the absence of typing as Kyoya tunes more into the conversation. 

“But when you stop to think about it,” The prince continues, brightening up just a little bit. “Maybe this whole thing is good for them.” He shrugs, his hands and shoulders moving into a hopeful shrug.

“Maybe it means that the twins are broadening their horizons a bit!” His voice lilts at the way you turn your head slightly to look at the table in front of you. “We should really just leave them alone.”

Kyoya doesn’t miss the way your brow furrows. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” The ravenet’s voice ripples through your hesitance, and you look up to see the club staring at you with worry.

“I just…” You start, but you pause to take a breath. You know the twins are faking, and yet you haven’t done anything to stop them. Seeing it affect the club so much is frustrating, and as you notice Kyoya’s under eyes and Tamaki’s misshapen head of hair, you begin to worry. If you leave them alone, then how long would it be till they ‘made up’? The twins are so stubborn, how long would this last until they got bored?

You try to steer your friends in another direction. “What if they don’t fix it, ya know?” Please take the hint, you internally beg. “I mean, they’ve never fought before, do they even know how to make up?”

Haruhi nods beside you, drawing your attention. “They probably need someone to tell them when it’s time to give in and call it quits.” She gives you a stern nod, as if she’s already decided to take on the responsibility. “We’ll give them another couple of days.”

Your head pounded. 

Your face in your hands, you couldn’t see the absolute chaos going on in front of you, but you could hear it. The creaking of chairs and the shattering of porcelain as the twins toss objects back and forth, catching them and throwing them back to the other. 

The pulse at the forefront of your skull got larger, swelling and deflating dramatically as their pitches got more sporadic, and the light from the chandeliers floods through the cracks of your fingers as you find Honey at the top of the pile the brothers have formed in the center of the room. 

A disapproving face crawls it’s way onto your face as you groan and let your head flop forward on the table, the impact worsening the pain in your head.

To your left, Kyoya types on his laptop, and you turn your head to see his eyes drooping slightly, another effect of the twin’s escapades. The poor manager already didn’t get enough sleep as it was, and now all hope was lost for your crush.

And to his left, Tamaki slouches. Slouches. The man who believes that the quality of posture is directly related to his class and elegance bends his spine into the shape of a cashew, his cheeks bulging over his palm. You two meet eyes before you fold your head back into the crease of your elbow, welcoming the darkness after the light magnified your budding migraine. 

A weak, princely voice tries to break through the noise. “Don’t you guys think that maybe it’s time for you guys to stop fighting?” Another whine breaks from his lips. “It’s driving me insane.”

Hikaru turns to the boss, a vein nearly popping out of his forehead from the sheer effort of chucking chair after chair. 

You were almost impressed at their acting skills. If they weren’t such a pain in your ass. 

“It’s driving you insane?! You’ve gotta be kidding me! How do you think I feel right now?” The pink-haired twin’s voice grated against his vocal chords, his tone rougher than usual. “Everytime I look in the mirror I see his face! I’m sick and tired of being mistaken for you Kaoru! The truth is, I hate your guts!”

Your head spins as you whip it up, staring at the brothers. You knew they were acting, but those were harsh words. 

Kaoru scoffs, eyebrows cinching together as he yells back at his twin. “You took the words right out of my mouth!” 

His blue hair shuffles as he reaches into his jacket pocket. “In fact, I hate you so much, I brought this!” Kaoru whips his hand out, a familiar looking doll in his grasp.

You stand too suddenly, your headache increasing tenfold. “Beelezenef the curse doll?!”

Tamaki also stands, and his face goes white as he remembers his past with the club of dark magic. 

Kyoya pauses his typing at your sudden outbursts, watching the blood drain from both your faces.

A wicked smirk curls onto Kaoru’s lips as he pulls a sharpie from his pants pocket. “I’m going to complete the curse, Hikaru. I’m going to write your name on his back!” Evilly, he begins to scribble on the back of Beelzenef. “From this day forward, you’re going to experience nothing but misfortune and sorrow!”

Footsteps sound across the floor, strides too large to be seen as anything but urgent. You and Haruhi are one, a power duo as you finally reach the twins and do something you both have been wanting to do for a long time, even if you never admitted it. 

You each picked a twin, and as you stepped up to blue and Haruhi appeared in front of pink, you punched Hikaru and Kaoru in the face. 

The twins toppled, losing their balance from the force and tumbling to the ground below them. Behind you, you heard a princely gasp and a laptop slam closed. 

“Will you guys knock it off?” You say, seething from both ears. “What do you think you’re doing?!” You reach down and pluck the doll out of Kaoru’s hand. “You don’t bring something like this into a petty fight!”

Haruhi is as angry as you are. “Both of you are at fault, but what is really sad is that you’ve brought everyone else around you into your big mess!” 

“Yeah!” You chime in, trying to tell them off without revealing that you knew about this whole thing. “Look around you. Everyone is so sick of this.”

Haruhi points a motherly finger to the boys. “Now apologize to each other!” She takes a breath. “If you don’t make up right now, I’m never gonna let you come over to my house! Have I made myself clear?”

Oh fuck.

You whip around to your best friend as she fumes, unknowingly sealing her fate. 

Haruhi, you lovable idiot.

If the twins were only fighting to fill their boring lives, they needed something else to entertain them if you wanted them to stop. 

Who better to entertain them than their new toy?

The twins’ shocked expressions morph into twisted smiles, and their golden eyes flash with a sense of victory.

“So what you’re saying is…” They leap up, and you can imagine the whiplash your friends experience as they move in perfect sync, wrapping their arms around Haruhi’s shoulders as you’re pushed to the side. “...if we make up, then we can come to your house?”

The doll in your hand feels heavy as you turn it over, the Japanese script for “BLANK” written on the back.

“Not like this.” You whisper as you show the honor student. 

Her face blanches. 

The Hitachiian’s embrace suddenly, caressing each others faces passionately, rubbing the fact that they were able to make up so easily into everyone’s face. 

“I’m so sorry Kaoru, even though I was only following our script, I said such awful things to you.” The pink-haired brother sniffs. “I’m not fit to be your brother.”

Kaoru shakes his head. “Don’t say that Hikaru! I was so worried. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you!”

The overacting was too much, but you were glad the chaos had finally stopped. 

Honey walks over to you, the rest of the club having seen everything from a distance. “You’re kidding me! You’ve been faking it this whole time?!”

The twins, to your annoyance, just shrugged. “We were bored!”

Your eye twitched as you dropped the doll onto the floor. “Twins with too much time on their hands are the devil.”

:::

“So,” A deep voice sounds behind you as you watch the club activities. “How long did you know?”

You spin to see your favorite megane appear next to you. A teasing smirk is lightly placed on his face as he looks down at you from the corner of his eye, his glasses reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows in the club.

Around you, the club bustles, the previous tension from the twins fight completely dissolving as they get back to work, much to the guests’ delight. 

You debated denying it, but from the knowing simper on his face, you couldn’t find the use. 

A guilty smile made its way onto your face. “Only a couple of days. Dying hair is a bonding experience.” 

A rumbling hum passes through his chest as he looks at you. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Shrugging, you looked around the room. “I figured you already had your suspicions.”

“I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, (Y/n). You owe me another favor.”

Exasperated, you turn to him. “Wha-! I didn’t tell you because I physically couldn’t! That isn’t fair.”

His raven eyebrow arches. “Why couldn’t you tell me? Did they blackmail you?”

You blow air out from between your lips. “More or less.”

Kyoya almost laughs. He couldn’t think of anything from the background check he had done on you a year ago that would be bad enough for blackmail. “With what?”

“If I told you, that would defeat the entire purpose of me keeping a Hitachiian secret.”

Kyoya swallows, a new glint in his eye. A secret? About you? This would be fun. “Who knew you were so mysterious?” 

You laugh, and he sees you sparkle in Music Room #3. “I try to keep people on their toes.” You say, teasingly. 

Your eyes shine even more as you watch Haruhi correctly choose which twin was Hikaru even though they had you re-dye their hair last night, this time with swapped hair colors. 

“Haruhi is really making her way into their world.”

“She’ll be good for them. They need a star in their night sky.”

Just like Kyoya had found one in his. 

Next Time on Lavender Roses!

“Rejoice Haruhi! You’re going to have an underclassman! Someone new wants to join the club!”

“But he’s in elementary school.”

“I wonder what he’ll be like, all grown up.”

The Grade School Host Is The Naughty Type!

#kyoya ootori x reader #haruhi fujioka #hikaru hitachiin #honey senpai #kaoru hitachiin #kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #mori senpai #mutual pining #ouran fanfic #lavender roses #requests wanted #romantic #romance #ohshc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #humor #ohshc mori #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #requests open

[ailendolin]

Prompt list ask: 1. Mary and Annie

Thank you for the prompt, anon 💙

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

Warning: mention of child death

————

Rose

When Annie found Mary, she was in the garden among the roses. They were in full bloom; a sea of red, yellow, orange, white and pink, and Mary was sitting in the middle of its waves, her eyes unfocused and her mind very far away. It was a side of her Annie had only rarely caught glimpses of before, and every time she had, she’d found herself missing the shy smile that usually lit up Mary’s face when they were together. Today was no exception. Annie had no idea why it mattered so much to her, that smile; she just knew that it did.

She had to tread carefully, though. Mary was a gentle, sensitive soul. When she was lost in memories of times long gone, trying to cheer her up would not work, especially not by force. Annie had learned that the hard way. She’d been like a dog with a bone and only realised she’d crossed a line when Mary wordlessly got up and left her standing in the rain. Mary had refused to talk to her for a week after that – a week that had felt like a month to Annie. Rogh could barely string a sentence together and Humphrey, while pleasant enough most of the time, was just so terribly dull that she’d found herself bored out of her mind not even two days after Mary had given her the cold shoulder.

These days, Annie was more careful when she approached Mary when she was in a melancholic mood. She kept her steps deliberately light as she sat down next to her among the roses. Bees were buzzing all around them and happily humming as they went from one blossom to the next. For a breath or two, Annie sat perfectly still in their midst before she turned to Mary and carefully placed her hand on her arm to get her attention. “Mary?”

Mary blinked as if waking from a dream. “Oh. Where didst thou cometh from?”

Annie nodded at the house. “From inside. I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing out here?”

“Remembering,” Mary sighed softly before she turned her attention back to the roses. It took all of Annie’s willpower not to ask her what she meant. Instead, she followed Mary’s gaze to the white flower and its pink tips in front of them, wondering what her friend was seeing and silently hoping Mary would tell her. Patience was not her strong suit, not since she’d died and learned what true freedom meant. But for Mary, she was willing to wait. An eternity, if need be.

“Dids you have children?” Mary asked her softly after the silence had stretched along with the shadows the sun cast.

Annie shook her head. “No. The life I had – I did not want any children to be silenced like I’d been.”

Mary hummed in understanding. “I dids. Five babes. None lived beyond the age of three.”

Oh, Annie thought and felt her heart break quietly.

“My last child was a daughter,” Mary went on, still looking at the rose. “She was a pretty little thing, rarely cried. We called her Rose – ‘twas because she was a summer child, you see?”

“It’s a beautiful name,” Annie said softly.

Mary nodded and then, very quietly, said, “Tis her birthday today.”

“Oh Mary,” Annie whispered and wrapped an arm around her to pull her close. “Is there anything I can do?”

She felt Mary lean into her touch with a sigh that bore the weight of years of sadness. “We used to sing for our children when they were born.”

Annie could just imagine Mary and her husband gazing down at their daughter with love in their eyes as they celebrated her life. She could also imagine the underlying fear, the terror of, What if we lose her to winter and sickness like all the others? and desperately wished life had been kinder to Mary and her family.

“Let’s sing for little Rose, then,” she said with a smile that showed nothing of her own sadness she felt for her best friend. “So she knows she’s not forgotten.”

Mary gave her a grateful look, and as their voices rang out in the garden, the wind carried the melody up into the blue sky where the bright light that had once taken Rose was waiting for all of them.

#mary #annie #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #my fic #birthday prompts 2023 #ask game prompt ficlet

[soft-for-them]

As - Spock x plus size reader

Summary: Spock is stranded on a small plant almost like earth but not quite like it. This is were he first meets you, a god like person among the grass and rose buds. This is gender neutral because I always picture Spock as queer.

A part of my 800 follower celebration, based off As by Stevie Wonder.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: It's short but I like it.

The bright orange sun, so close to the plant despite the dwindling temperatures, slowly moves across the sky the flickers of yellowy sunny fire clear from where Spock sits on a hill covered in lush green grass and small clumps of clovers.

The plant he is stranded on isn’t so bad.

A little while back he was able to get his communicator back working and he knows his Captain and crew are coming for him, so for now all he can do is wait.

The planet he’s on is small, according to statistic five times smaller than earth but with the expansive stretches of meadows, long tufts of yellow fauna poking out of small ponds that are scattered around and the blush pink rosebuds slowly blooming, he gets the sense that he will be ok for a while.

His mind is rest assure, his body relaxed and calm.

He may not have been raised on earth but the small planet reminds him off the small beauties the earth holds.

He likes it a lot.

It’s like the plants are growing faster on the small planet. Just this morning when his ship crashed and his communications went down the roses where mere weeds poking out the ground but now as the sun moves indicating a new day they are ready to bloom.

The sunrise, even though the mini earth is small and the sun is large enough to not fully set like you’d imagine it should, makes the the sky glow with pinks and oranges so warm that it makes Spock happy enough that being stranded here isn't so bad, at least it isn't a danger zone of a planet like he'd originally thought.

Then, with tired eyes and the sparks of new light making his eyes water, he sees it.

He sees you.

For years and years you’ve been living a peaceful and content life on this little plant you created.

Time is yet a construct for it feels like yesterday you found a galaxy with just a sun and moulded stone and space debris into the small orb you live on.

You bring life to the cold rock.

Everything from the bright rainbows that peak at midnight that burn brighter than the specks of starlight in the purple night sky.

From the oceans and rivers that mould into the mountains, waterfalls flowing down from snowy peaks into pocket of sea filled with fish and sea life.

Even to the flying dolphins and whales that say hello to you every day, that inhabit small homes of the west side of the small earth to the aquatic parrots and swallows that lay there eggs in the deepest part of the ocean.

Life thrives.

The plant was moulded from your dreams, from the stories of earth your siblings told you, from the want to live in such beautiful terrain, to live a life with the humans.

But you fellow Q siblings, all brunette with pale white skin so thin and lean with cocky grins stretching out over their faces like the tricksters they are, always judged you for your so called silliness for wanting to live such life as serine as you do now.

For you never had the pale white skin that laid flat rather your skin shines a smooth (colour) over curves of plush flesh, nor do you have the same luscious brunette hair so straight and easy, neither are your smiles cocky but they are small and warm.

If Q were to see you he’s laugh at you his little sibling, for you might be centuries old you still have a lot to learn and live for.

But as you stand on the horizon just awake from your slumber, flowing white garments hanging off your hips and shoulders, hugging every lump and bump your body has, your eyes don’t gaze to your anthropomorphic friends but rather a human like figure just like you.

Many people say that Vulcans are devoid of emotions so strong.

Spock would say they’re wrong for as he sees you walking closers with a small but kind smile on your round face he realises that the breath has been knocked out of him.

“Hello there.” Your voice brings breath back into his lungs.

His emotions run high and his face flushes green, goose bumps scatter his skin as his eye lock onto you.

Spock cannot talk, he can only look on at you.

“I see you have crashed onto my Eden.” you point out, the ship in the distance all grey and burnt compared to the colourful dreamland you stand on, “You can stay for as long as you want, dear traveller.”

Never in his life has he been so struck by a person.

Sure Spock is a stoic man, often quiet and calculated but he just cannot fathom how such beauty can be tucked away from the universe.

You’re mother nature and father time all in one, you’re the god of the small planet but you look and feel so human, you make everyone you meet hearts flutter in emotion.

Spock with all his might wonders and ponder and thinks too hard as he looks up at you.

It’s almost like fate, though he does not believe in it, placed him here to see your beauty, that somehow the universe knew exactly where he wanted you to be placed so that he could finally meet the person who stole his heart.

#spock #spock x plus size reader #spock x reader #tos spock x reader #star trek the original series #star trek #star trek x reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

[hoshi-y]

Hello can i ask for an aoi(female) x reader where Akane(male) rejects us and then we get over him and start dating aoi? (it might be kinda funny if akane is abt to confess to aoi and when he sees us we’re like kissypooing or whatever you don’t have to do it tho) (do you think you could make it really dramatic too it’s totally ok if you don’t want to)

2nd Place, honey.

Genre : Angst

Characters : Aoi Akane

TW : None

A/N : I live for drama so of course 😋

I hope you enjoy 💗

My bad~

You've had your eye on Akane for a while now, I mean who wouldn't? He was absolutely gorgeous not only that handsome. He was always the top, prioritizes studying, and he had this slight bad boy attitude that you found kind if attractive

Daring yourself, you went ahead and left a note in his locker asking him to neet you by the rooftop at 4pm sharp. You wanted to confess to him as the sun goes down and when he accepts the sky will have orange to pink hues which was absolutely romantic

Again, daydreaming at best.

As soon as you placed the letter in his locker, he came out of the student council room with his bag, probably about to go home. You immediately ran to the rooftop with the other set of stairs and waited.

4pm, nothing. I mean he must be busy?

4:25pm, Still nothing..

4:54pm, You were now watching the sunset, alone.

It was the end of the day, almost all the club members have went home or stayed behind to help clean.

You dragged yourself down the stairs and caught a glimpse of your handwriting in the trashbin, you went towards it to confirm and it was your letter. The letter you wrote for him

It would've been nice if he just came to see you just to reject you it was fine.. But this? this hurt you.

You gripped onto the letter as tears blurred your vision, you grabbed your bag, changed your shoes. And went home

But don't worry, dear. Good Karma is still real.

Akane took a deep breath, fixed his appearance, grabbed the flowers and off he went to do what exactly? that's right! to proclaim his love for Aoi

For real this time

With his amazing stalking skills he knew and where she was, why where the flowers bloom so beautiful, as beautiful as her.

For the first time in a lifetine, he was nervous, despite all those confessions he made? I doubt he is. Akane walked out to the back of the school and sped walk to the garden to see her—

With you.

Aoi giggled as she wiped the dirt off your face "Your so clumsy dear~" You blushed at the nicknames as you placed the sapling into the whole she dug. "There we go, it'll grow into a big beautiful tree!" You cheered

Aoi tucked in a few strands of your hair as she leaned in and pecked your lips.

With the scene unraveling infront of Akane, its like he heard something shatter in him. He dropped he flowers and walked back inside

How dare you take Aoi away from him, he thinks. Probably plotting his murder towards you already

When school ended, you were on your way to the gardening club whike playing on your switch when suddenly someone harshly pylled you into an empty classroom making you trip on your own feet and falling on the floor

"Ugh.. What is wrong with you.." Holding your now stinging elbow. "Me? Whats wrong with YOU?" You looked up and came face to face with the guy who hurt your feelings. "I dont know what you're planning [L/N] But you're taking thus way too far!"

"What on earth are you talking about? I haven't even dine anything! Your the psycho pulling people into an empty classroom without warning!" You retorded standing up still feeling a littke bit if pain from you falling onto the floor

Akane scuffed as he grabbed your arm "Hey what the heck is your problem?!"

"What do you think your doing with Aoi huh?"

"What about her?"

"I saw you two kissed at the gardens when I came looking for her, what guves you the right to that without her permission?!"

You yanked your now reddened arm from his grip. "For your information SHE was the one who kissed me! Also, me and her are TOGETHER so get your information and facts correct."

Akane was now red in anger, he was probably redder than his hair by now. "Stop lying [L/N]! Your just salty I didn't like you back!" He stormed out of the classroom leaving you all alone.

He didn't wanna believe it, he wanted to hear it from Aoi herself, he NEEDS confirmation. He hoped and prayed to every good out there that this wasn't true.

°

°

°

"Its true Akane.. I confessed to [F/N] a few days ago.. It took me awhile to build the courage but they are now my S/O" Aoi says as she blushes hard just by the mention of your name.

Akane gently held onto Aois shoulders. "Stop lying to me Ao-chan.. Did they frame you to say that? Please tell me and I'll—"

"Akane stop! it's true! me and [F/N] are together! You know.. They sent me a text just a few minutes ago saying that you pulled them into a classroom and accused them of lying?! How low are you gonna go Akane??" Aoi ran away from him to look for you, who knows what else hes done to you.

Akane stood their in silence. All his hardwork to maybe become Aoi's number 1 went out the window.

It doesn't matter if he was there for her first, he'll most likely to become 2nd

And he has to hurtfully accept that.

Accept the fact that he'll forever always be in 2nd place

Im sorry it took so long 😞

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shoujo hanako kun #tbhk x reader #jshk #tbhk #Akane aoi #Aoi Akane #akane x reader #jshk akane #tbhk akane

[headingalaxys-sweet]

Neko’s Brought me to my Lover:

Germany 🇩🇪

Germany had just arisen from his still-warm bed. He stretches his limbs so that his muscles have a smooth transition from rest into high heart rate mode. He touched his toes and then lifted his arms to the sky. He then proceeded to change into the black sweatpants he used for jogging and a white T-shirt. He slipped on his usual black tennis shoes and began to finish his preparations for his daily morning jog. He gave his legs a few more stretches and he felt like he was fully ready for his morning run.

“Hans are you ready Katze?” He says in a soft but stern voice.

His grey/ blue eyes nodded in agreement. The cat was also ready to start the day off right.

Ludwig grabbed the green cameo-colored harness and secured it around his precious grey cat, Hans. Ince his cat was ready to go he snapped on his Apple watch to track his morning jogs progress and to count his macros.

‘Alright, let's make today productive.’

Ludwig began his journey into the cool morning air the sun was only grazing the darkened night sky lightly. The navy dome held within it a now collision between the two solar opposites. There was a brilliant reddish-orange that faded into yellow and progressed into cooler hues. Ludwig loved this time in the morning. The world was still quiet and cradled by darkness. When he left his home and began his jog he didn’t immediately start with a run. He took some steps and decided to take in the early morning glory and all it had to offer. The birds chirping and the wind beginning to nip at his ears with the chilled breeze. Peace. The only time where he wasn’t bombarded by the tremendous list of things he had to get done on his to-do list.

He strolled passed the surrounding houses on the pathway that led into the forest he liked to frequent on his morning jogs. The houses were all pastel or solid white. There were floral vines that cascaded down them like a lightning bolt of early Spring blooms of yellow, pink, and blue. While passing the cottages he could see that all but one had their lights on. They were dim and he could smell a green tea of sorts being brewed. While he could only smell the tea Hans could smell another cat nearby in the same house that the scent of tea was wafting from.

Someone else in the neighborhood enjoyed early mornings just as much as I did. How nice.

As Ludwig mused to himself as he continued to the forest Hans decided to wander away from their usual route.

‘Boring I want to do something cool today. Maybe make a new friend that I can make battle plans with.’ Hans begins to maneuver away from Ludwig and re-route himself towards the only cottage that was alive at 5:30 am.

Ludwig only realized his cat had plans when the harness’ lead was suddenly yanked from his left hand.

“HANS! WAS MACHTS DU?!?! WARTEN SIE!” (What are you doing!?! Wait!)

Hans made a mad dash towards the small home and broke in through the cat door in the back that led straight to the kitchen.

‘Mein Gott. Why? And this early in the morning?!’ He lets out a long sigh and begins his way toward the house. ‘I hope whoever lives there isn’t too angry that a rouge cat decided to show up this early in the morning.’

“MEWOOOOOOW.” Hans, announces himself to the inhabitants that live inside. He was greeted by y/n a 20-something that had a cat beside them while they were making breakfast of sorts. Bread, with some sliced meat, and some basic cheese and of course the tea.

“Hello, there little guy.” You were amused that a random cat with a harness decided to bust in your home this early in the morning. You chuckle at the sight. Your cat hides behind your legs and peeks out at Hans.

“Mew” your cat looks up at you.

“Hahah. It’s okay (cat name). It’s just another cat.” You giggle at your cat's reaction to the grey one that seemed interested in trying to meet your cute marble cat.

Hans allows you to pet him. He purrs and even lays down to let you rub his belly. Your cat however was staring at the events like: ‘Bruh. You kidding me right?’ She was not happy with Hans.

Just as you arose from the floor to pour out your steeping tea you hear your doorbell ring.

‘Must be the cat's owner. That was fast.’ You wander to the door to open it to reveal a sturdy-looking German man that was your age. His beautiful blue caught you in a bind.

oh …

“Morgen. Morning. Uh, I’m sorry to bother you this early in the morning but….” Ludwig lets his eyes swing low to the ground. He was caught off guard by how beautiful you were so in an attempt to save face he decided not to stare you down in the eyes. Plus it was hardly 6 am. So the excuse that he’s tired and just trying to get his cat might just be an excuse that could work and not scare you away.

“Seen your cat? Yes, he’s-”

“Mewwww mewwwww~” You hear Hans cry out to your marble cat.

“Want to just come in and maybe have some tea? It looks like your cat has taken a liking to mine” You let out another chuckle that Ludwig finds cute and he is in disbelief that you’re allowing him in. He trails behind you inside to your quaint kitchen where you quickly grab the tea before it got to the point to where it would be bitter and poured it into two mugs.

“Do you take milk and sugar with your tea? It’s Jasmine tea by the way.” You hand the mug to him.

“Just the tea alone will do for me thank you. Again. I’m so sorry about my cat he can be wild sometimes.”

“It’s fine things happen and cats are crazy. No harm no foul.” You retort you really didn’t care.

“Want to have some bread with this sausage? I found this nice bakery yesterday and it was epic and the supermarkets here are fantastic.”

A foreigner.

Ludwig was lost in thought as he watched Hans meowed relentlessly at the marbled cat that stared at him with disgust from the wooden high chair.

‘Verrückt Katze.’

You placed the food on the table and prepared your tea with milk and some honey and watched your two cats go at each other for the next couple of hours.

“By the way what's your name.” Trying to break the silence and ignoring the no answer to the previous statement.

Ludwig snaps out of his trance of watching the cats.

“Huh? Oh Yes, it’s Ludwig Belischmidt. And you are?”

“(First name, Last name) nice to meet you Ludwig.”

“Y/N what a pretty name. So I take it that you’re new ja?”

“Yeah from (Country name). I’m starting a new job here.”

And from there a new relationship between the two of you bloomed. Ludwig takes his time in courting you but it was sweet all the same. Even for your two cats who eventually learned to love each other.

#hetalia fandom #hetalia fluff #headingalaxys sweet #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia x reader #headingalaxys writes stuff #nekotalia #ネコタリア #nekoくらぶ #fic writing #hetalia fanfic writers #hetalia imagines #ヘタリア #ヘタリアaxispowers #germany x reader #hws germany

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 605

McCoy

McCoy squeezed Scotty’s hand tightly. He could feel the tension coming off of his fiancé. He had known suggesting going to town would be nerve wracking for Scotty, but Scotty had set his jaw and agreed it would be a good idea. They would take Francine to the park they had been heading to the last time they had gone to town.

McCoy had taken Scotty to a shop to get new tools then. They had planned to see the park, but Scotty had thought he had seen Khan. It had been a frightening situation and they had been rushed home to the palace.

It hadn’t been Khan.

And now it would never be Khan. He was locked away.

“Ok?” McCoy whispered.

Scotty nodded next to him.

“Oh my,” Francine exclaimed as they entered the park in the car.

“I’m sorry you don’t get to see it in bloom,” McCoy said, smiling as they parked. “Maybe this summer.”

“Yes, that’d be lovely,” Francine said, distractedly. She was looking out the window.

McCoy grinned at Scotty, who gave him a smile back.

He was glad for his thick sweater moments later when they stepped from the car. A cool breeze was blowing and ruffled his hair. He moved close to Scotty and slipped his arm around the Scotsman’s waist. Leaning in, he kissed Scotty’s cheek.

“We came here once last summer,” McCoy said to Francine as they began to walk.

“It was quite bonnie Mum,” Scotty agreed.

“We’ll go this way,” McCoy gestured to the left from where they had left the car. “We can walk the loop and make our way towards the lake. Well, it’s a big pond, but everyone calls it a lake.”

Behind them two guards followed. Two others were ahead of them. Though nerves tightened McCoy’s stomach, he felt safer than he had for many months. All their threats had been captured and safely locked away where they could do no harm.

Not many people were in the park. It was a popular spot for people on lunch breaks, but lunch was still hours away. An occasional person walking a pet passed by then, most without a second glance at the prince.

“These ones bloom orange with pink swirls in the middle,” McCoy said, pointing to a bush as they walked by. Dark green leaves had fallen below the bush, browning and becoming crisp.

“I sent ye pictures,” Scotty added.

“I remember,” Francine said, with a smile at her son.

“Prince Leonard!” a voice reached them from a distance.

McCoy frowned and turned to see where it had come from. He saw a young man hurrying towards them.

“Andre…” McCoy began, looking at the guard in charge of their security.

The two guards in front stopped. McCoy motioned them to keep moving. He tightened his grip on Scotty and kept them all moving.

“Your highness!” the man called again, picking up his pace when he saw they weren’t stopping.

Scotty’s face had gone pale next to him.

“It’s probably just some nosy person,” McCoy said soothingly.

“Of course,” Francine agreed and patted her son’s arm.

“Your highness!”

McCoy glanced over his shoulder to see Andre had stopped walking behind them and was waiting to keep the stranger from them.

“Prince Leonard! Do you have any comments on your sister’s relationship?”

“Ugh,” McCoy rolled his eyes. “Reporter. Ignore him.”

“Sir—” Andre’s voice said behind them.

“Is it true she’s dating your brother Mr. Scott?”

Scotty’s steps faltered next to McCoy. He had never been addressed so openly by a reporter before in public. Sure they had been followed and photographed, but never questioned. Another glance showed that Scotty’s paleness had flushed red.

McCoy’s stomach twisted, and his free hand clenched.

“Sir, you need to step back,” Andre said.

Francine had closed in on Scotty’s other side, whispering something in Gaelic at him.

“Why won't anyone say?” the reporter called after them again. “Is your sister pregnant? Is that why the secrecy?”

McCoy felt his mouth drop open in surprise. He looked over at Scotty and Francine looking back at him with the same expression. McCoy whipped around.

“You really think you can—” McCoy’s anger flared up and just as suddenly faded as Scotty grabbed his arm. He took a deep breath.

“Andre, get his credentials, please. Stay here.” McCoy said the second part to the Scotts. He motioned the guards in front of them to come back closer.

McCoy walked back to where Andre stood with the reporter. Andre held a card out for McCoy. He read over it quickly, knowing Andre had already memorized it.

“All statements regarding my sister and myself will come through the proper channels at the palace,” McCoy said quietly, but firmly. “I have no comments on any speculations, except to say your last question was completely out of line. I am asking you kindly to leave us alone. We just want to enjoy our time in the park.”

“Do you have anything to say about the recent trial of the Romulans who kidnapped you?” the reporter plowed right ahead.

“Again, statements come from the palace. Please leave us alone.” At that McCoy turned around and walked back to Scotty and Francine.

Taking Scotty’s hand, McCoy began to walk again, at a slightly faster pace.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Ye don’t have to apologize,” Francine said quickly.

McCoy sighed. It was always because of him. Because of who he was. He closed his eyes for a long moment, holding back the anger that threatened to fill him again.

“Well said your highness,” Andre said, coming back up behind them. “Though I’m sure he’ll still write about what happened.”

“I know,” McCoy said miserably.

Part 606

Scotty

Even though Scotty tried not to let the reporter spoil his mood, the event hung over them like a dark cloud for the rest of the walk.

Scotty stayed close to Leonard's side, somehow trying to calm his fiancé. He felt the anger emanating from the prince all too well. It had to be horrifying to always be followed.

Francine, however, was much better at lightening the mood. She asked many questions about the plants, telling anecdotes of her own about flowers and parks she had visited. Quickly, both Leonard and Scotty managed to relax, at least a bit.

However, the peace only lasted until they drove back to the palace. The whole ride Leonard was looking at his PADD and from his seat, Scotty could see that his beloved was reading the article that the reporter had already published.

"That son of a bitch!"

Cautiously, Scotty grabbed Leonard's arm.

"Mo ghràdh?"

The prince just rolled his eyes.

"Of course, he interprets it as if my reaction is a confirmation of his stupid fantasies!"

Scotty sighed heavily and exchanged a glance with his mother, who looked at them regretfully.

"Don't worry, Leonard. I doubt anyone will believe those statements."

Leonard didn't look too convinced, though. He knew this life all too well, after all, knew what such articles could trigger.

"Hey, how was your trip?"

Leah and Robbie welcomed the small group. A smile was on her lips; she probably hadn't heard about the article yet. When she saw the look on her brother's face, however, it faded immediately.

"Lenny? What happened?"

"Let's just say you shouldn't eat too much anytime soon," he just grumbled and Leah raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Without further explanation, Leonard handed his sister the PADD with the article still open.

Her eyes slid over the screen and Robbie, who had leaned closer, also skimmed the lines. With each second passing, his face grew redder and finally a hand found its way to his face.

Scotty could literally feel how ashamed his wee brother was.

Leah was blushing as well, but Scotty was sure it was for other reasons. The princess was angry. He saw a dangerous glint in her eyes and when she handed the PADD back to her brother, the move was made with full force.

"That's enough! I'm going to talk to Father right now. A statement will go out today!"

Without another word, Leah stormed toward David's offices, upset. Robbie was left helpless. Francine had stepped up to him and now put an arm around her youngest.

"Oh, dear... I'm so sorry."

Robbie was slow to shake his head. He seemed at a loss for words.

"Do ye... want to sit down somewhere quiet and talk?" Francine suggested gently, casting an uncertain glance at Scotty and Leonard.

"You're welcome to use the living room down here. It should be free," Leonard agreed, and slowly Francine led her son away.

Scotty and Leonard stayed behind alone, looking after them for a long moment before the Scotsman broke the silence.

"What... do we do now?"

Leonard sighed.

"Wait and see."

Aye... that was all they could do. Wait and see... and hope.

#star trek #montgomery scott #leonard mccoy #scones #au #against all odds

[beansmack2021]

Forever pt. 2 (Jack Frost x Twin!Reader)

Y/N L/N knew only two things. She knew her name, and she knew that she was chosen to be a part of something bigger than herself. She knew that because the Moon told her so.

Before, there was only darkness. Silence and darkness. Then, she woke up. She'd risen from among the flowers, her feet the last part of her to leave the ground. Her dress billowed in the warm breeze, and she was at eye level with... the moon.

It called to her, it told her her name, but nothing else. Something beneath her skin was begging to be released, grasping and clawing for the surface.

She slowly drifted back down to the ground, the grass soft beneath her feet.

The earth was humming.

Well, not really. But it was as though the soil, the roots of the trees, the seedlings in the ground were all waiting for her to do something.

She took a step, and where her foot had been was a small, yellow flower. She let out a laugh, taking another step and watching three more small flowers pop up in her wake. She walked around in a circle, more flowers blooming. Wonderful, beautiful, little, yellow flowers.

She stood still for a moment, and then started running. Her laughter cut through the silent night air, pink and white joining the yellow.

Eventually, she threw herself to the ground, her face flushed and her eyes wide and sparkling with joy. That was, until she looked to her side.

Next to her hand, among all the pink, yellow, white, orange and purple was a little blue flower. A bluebell.

She sat up, leaning in closer to get a better look at it. Just as she brushed it with her fingers, she heard a loud laugh.

Y/N looked up to the sky and a figure cloaked in brown flew past. She stood up, and before really knowing what she was doing, leaped into the air. Rather than just landing back on the ground, she felt a rush of the same warm wind push her forward, into the sky.

"Woah!"

She looked down at the ground as it got further and further away and saw what she'd done, pride surging through her.

Her attention was quickly brought back to the figure as she heard him laugh once again. She spotted him almost immediately, and as soon as she did, the wind pushed her toward him.

She was set down in the woods a few feet from the clearing he'd stopped at and slowly made her way out into the open.

"Hello?"

The man, though he seemed more like a boy now that she could see his face, gasped and turned to face her, holding out a long, curved stick like some sort of weapon.

They locked eyes for a moment, and she noted that his were icy blue. He had silvery hair, pale skin, and he was very tall and thin. He seemed familiar, though she wasn't sure how she'd know who he was if she wasn't even sure who she was.

"Who are you?"

He was confused and defensive, never lowering his stick.

"Y/N. Who are you?"

"I'm Jack... You can see me?"

This confused Y/N. Of course she could see him, why wouldn't she be able to?

"Yes. Can people normally not see you?"

"Nobody's seen me in forty-five years."

That couldn't be right. This boy didn't look like he could be any older than eighteen.

She took a step toward him, and he stepped back. He noticed the flowers growing beneath her feet and faltered. He looked back and forth between her and the little plants before realization dawned on him.

"You're like me? Well, I mean, you're not like me. You made those flowers grow, didn't you?"

Y/N nodded.

"I don't really know how. I don't really know anything. The Moon, it wouldn't tell me. It just kept repeating my name."

If the boy seemed shocked before, he was completely astounded now. He took another step toward her, finally lowering the crooked stick. Y/N realized that the stick was covered in a thin layer of frost.

"The Moon. I don't understand."

He turned and looked at the moon, confusion crossing his face.

"Why are we here?"

It was almost a whisper. It wasn't a question he'd directed to Y/N, but rather the big ball of light in the sky. He turned his attention back to her.

"How long have you been here? Where were you when the Moon named you? What else can you grow?"

With each question, he got closer and closer. With each step he took in her direction, she felt herself get colder and colder, weaker and weaker. She couldn't answer any of his question, she couldn't even see straight. She saw her breath come out in a puff of air.

"It's cold."

Her eyelids felt heavy. She was very tired all of a sudden. The boy - Jack - took a step back, concern replacing his confusion. Y/N sunk to her knees. Jack reached out, but quickly pulled away, taking one last look at her before he jumped up into the air and took off.

That was the first encounter Y/N had ever had with Jack Frost.

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

Y/N sighed and smiled as she took in all of her hard work. Dozens of fields of bright colored flowers, the leaves returning to the trees, and the snow slowly melting away.

She'd been bringing Spring for nearly 250 years. During that time, she'd run into Bunnymund a few times. Bunnymund, known to the humans as the Easter Bunny, relied on her every year to make sure it was warm enough for the children of the world to search for the eggs he left out for them.

They couldn't really see her, though she didn't mind. She was more than happy to help Bunny.

Only a few times has she failed, with no fault of her own. She couldn't help whatever Jack Frost decided to pull, whether it be a light dusting of snow on the ground or a full on blizzard. They'd also bumped into each other a few times, though they tended to work around each other.

She'd encountered Sandy frequently, as she'd do all of her busiest work at night, while he was about, making the children dream the happiest dreams. She was very fond of the short man, and he of her.

It wasn't until one night, when she was trying to redirect some tree roots that were growing too close to the topsoil, that Sandy approached her with real business. She was great at understanding what he was trying to say with his dream sand, but couldn't really comprehend what he was asking her tonight.

"Sandy, why would I need to go to the North Pole?"

He moved from image to image too quickly, she just didn't know what he'd meant. She was getting more and more confused, and he was getting more frustrated, until she saw a specific shape that he'd made with his sand.

The Moon.

"The Moon, Sandy? The Moon wants me there?"

Sandy nodded, thankful she finally understood what he was saying.

"Well then, I suppose I'm going to the North Pole."

#rotg #rise of the guardians #jackfrostxplatonic!yn #jack frost #jackfrost×sister!reader

[west-tokyo-incidents]

戦い疲れた兵士が静かに腰掛け This is where soldiers tired of fighting take a seat

休んで消える場所 then rest and vanish.

雲が降りてきて　さあ霧隠れ The clouds have descended. All is hidden in fog.

ほら月夜がめくれて二億年 Look—the moonlit nights have been peeled off across two hundred million years…

The air is... soft. It's like a fleece blanket thrown over a corpse.

You can still smell the rot.

The flowers around bloom in pastels of purple and blue. The grass sways in a soft mint. The hard edges blur together, like the fuzzy edges of a video feed. The soft yellows of exposed fat layers and pale white of bone blend in along with the scenery. The red of blood overpowered by the softness of other viscera, half digested plant matter a pleasant mixture of green and pink-red burst from a violently disembodied stomach.

"Hold still, soldiers." Dubois' voice comes hard and solid. He is a Paresse instance, taken from his time immediately following the death of his first master. He is the Captain of a small squadron who stand behind him, and he's seen things like this before. His group seem to relax slowly, and he snaps his teeth as he corrects them; "I said hold still. Not relax." Immediately they stiffen again, and cease motion.

Dubois' eyes are on the center of the clearing ahead.

Insect-like wings shimmer and flutter. A metallic mockery of a moth's wings, grafted onto the body of something once human. Feline and Linnaeus features are molded, lovingly, onto the body of one so similar to his songbird. For a second his eyes soften. His songbird, waiting for him back in the facility. But a twitch in this creature's hide draws him back with instant dedication. Muscle and sinew are held between this one's many mandibles, feline teeth twisted onto an insect mouth gnaw away at her grotesque meal.

She's so far away. Roughly one hundred meters away. And yet, the group can observe so much about her. Some from enhanced senses. Some from... something else.

Her slit pupils expand slowly as she takes in the group in turn. Her hair is a great mane, as if from a lion's head. Black antenna twitch above her, almost blending into her mane were it not for the alien way they shimmer.

Her body is a stark black against the shimmering, swirling pastel around her. A segmented tail behind her twitches and sways from one side to the other. Bright amber eyes peer out from under the shadow of her mane, unhindered by shades.

Another Fusataro instance in the squadron shudders... and her eyes snap to the motion. He freezes. He shouldn't be able to see her gaze meet his from so far away, yet still he does. Perhaps it's because their soul is the same, if separated by only time, circumstance, and distance.

As she rises to stand fully on her twisted legs, her eyes do not leave him. Her hand-claws drip with such a vivid red and the orange-red-black chunks of half chewed-gore fall from her mouth. The sound it makes on the ground is lost, muffled, hidden.

Her surroundings are so soft and peaceful... desaturated and gentle. And she is rich and colorful and deep and dark. Sharp. If this timeline is a camera, she is the focus which its lens is directed to.

As she rises to stand fully on twisted legs, her eyes do not leave her target.

Dubois lifts his chin, "Brace." He says it with such a cool demeanor... but the instant the last of that breath leaves his lips, she is upon them.

What happens next is a lightning fast barrage of noh and brute force. There is no focal point. A blur of violence and shimmering raven-black. A glimpse of teeth, the bright snap of muzzle flash. Four are lost in the span of a few seconds. The first to go being that of the one she'd made eye contact with.

Then she's gone. Swallowed by the flowers and foliage of their surroundings, screaming in pain with a pitch that ushers on nausea in the survivors. The forest shudders, like a cat woken from slumber.

Dubois takes a slow breath, then kneels to pick up one of his arms, severed in the rapid clash. Those who remain pick up their own pieces... or bleed out. After a moment of letting his arm re-attach, the Captain lifts a hand up to his chin and turns it sideways, turning and turning until his neck pops. All the while, he is watching the trees, watching the flowers.

"We need immediate extraction." He speaks calmly into a device on his throat, relaxing his head back to a resting position, "We have a wrath/sloth coupling with stage four Wandering infection." He unclips an empty cartridge of some sort from his weapon and flicks a new one out from his sleeve to insert it in the slot.

The forest moves around them, suddenly, jerked awake like someone roused by the sound of a broken window. The soft pastels turn to the sharp prism edges of broken glass. Gore comes into stark, jarring reality. Tongues swollen with squirming, iridescent worms under the stretched out surface, bodies twisted in horrible ways with awful moth-flowers feasting on the fluids, trees rotted with candy-like guts spilling out from their lightning-split bark, compound structures with stark eye-like appearances open from the centers of flowers. The soft, unfocused, dream-like blur of the world is gone, replaced by harsh and furious reality.

The heavily infected Paresse instance is awake. They hurt the one it holds affection for. And it is furious.

"Copy that. Stay where you are, I'm starting the extraction sequence."

Dubois stares down an eye opened directly in front of him, "Sorry, kin. I've got my own to get home to." He lifts his rifle up and fires.

#the song lyrics are from 'Welcome to the Star Inn' by Kikuo #great stuff #the facility #ress writes #cw gore #cw body horror

[unbelievable-ecological-articles]

BLUEBELLS

This time of year is really beautiful because all the flowers and plants are blooming, the sun is shining, the weathers getting warmer, and the birds and bugs are chirping and buzzing. One flower that is extra beautiful for several reasons is the common bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)! Years and years ago, British botanists called them such names as crowtoes, or cuckoo’s boots, or witches’ thimbles (which I’ll explain later). To me, none of these really make much sense looking at the flower, and bluebell suits them perfectly. Below is a photo of River going full-pelt crazy in a field of bluebells near Cambridgeshire (before she was put back on the leash so as not to crush any):

One obvious reason these flowers are so special is their unique colour. Their bright blue/purple stands out against the green woodland they grow in, and when they bloom they can transform the forest floor into a field of blue/purple dots. In fact, blue and purple are the rarest colours for flowers; this is because they need forms of anthocyanin (the blue, red or purple pigments found in flowers, fruit and other plants) that are more unstable than others. Plants find it much easier to utilise carotenoids (bright yellow, red, and orange pigments) and stable anthocynanins, to create the more common orange, red, yellow and pink shades. Below are some bluebells I found recently in the UEA campus woodland near the lake:

Another reason they're special is their rarity, which is due to both their fragility and scarcity. Almost half the whole world's bluebells are found growing in the UK. They are easy to crush underfoot and when that happens they will die back from lack of food, as they rely on their leaves for photosynthesis. When they do grow, it still takes 5 to 7 years to establish from seed to flower. For all these reasons, its actually against the law to pick, uproot or destroy bluebells, and whilst the common bluebell isn’t particularly rare in the UK, it is still at risk of disappearing altogether from habitat destruction, hybridisation with non-native bluebells (aka the Spanish bluebells, a much paler and scentless but more vigorous species), and the illegal trade of bulbs collected from the wild.

The third reason I believe these plants are so special is their inclusion in much British folklore. One such myth was the use of bluebells in witches’ potions, as a sort of measurement device - hence the name witches' thimbles! Another folktale said that anyone who accidentally walked into a field of bluebells would be cast under a fairy’s spell. It goes to show that even back then people recognised the rare beauty of this particular flower.

The best way to help preserve this beautiful British species is to be careful when walking through woodlands where you see bluebells. If you want to grow your own, you can buy the seeds and bulbs legally, and do so in your garden! Woodland Trust advise to enrich the soil with leaf mould, manure, or compost and plant the seeds. The hardest part is waiting seven years for the flowers to appear!

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

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

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT SAINT LOUIS

warnings: smut, 18+

-

Harry was doing his same script, he’s been starting every show but addressing the circular stage.

“Sometimes you’ll get m’face and sometimes you’ll get m’ass. Please, let me know if y’have a preference,” He gives the crowd a cocky grin, it widens when the audience goes insane with whistles and screams.

YN is standing off to the side, where she always stands with Harry’s friends and family who come and go - visiting them.

Harry’s eyes dart to his wife, when he sees her rolls her eyes at him, he points at her, speaking right into the microphone, “And you’ll be gettin’ the ass baby!”

The arena is near deafening with the fans who are fawning and cooing at the couples interactions, they all look back to YN.

She blows him a kiss and he dramatically snatches, smacking it right on his backside with a cheeky wink and purse of his lips.

He goes on with the show in his stunning red outfit that fit for Saint Louis perfectly - YN was matching him in a dark satin orange slinky dress that was undeniably sexy. It had Harry feeling her up backstage before he went on. ***

The fans loved that the couple matched at every concert.

YN loved watching her husband perform and after that comment about her getting his ass…well, it gave her some ideas for later.

The way the shirt he was wearing wasn’t buttoned enough so she could see the glisten on his chest, how the trousers hugged his perky backside like a sin.

It may be wrong, but everybody in this arena wanted him.

They want to hug him, kiss him, blow him, fuck him - but the only one who got that was her and she basked in it.

As Harry finishes with Kiwi, losing his absolute shit, YN and everyone else starts to head backstage. YN waves to a few fans and stops for a selfie or two before disappearing.

When Harry runs back to join, after dashing from center stage, he automatically finds his wife and wraps her up into a tight hug.

“Ew, bun. You’re extra sweaty, you definitely need to go shower,” YN crinkles her nose, pushing him off as he does stink a bit and is just sticky from sweat.

Usually, Harry would coerce his wife into joining him but they had quite a few friends who came to see the concert and YN was expected to entertain them.

“I’ll be thinkin’ about you, flower,” He teases, nipping her ear before chatting with their friends for a moment before he’s trailing off to shower and change.

-

YN waits a few minutes, enough time to guarantee he was already in the shower - soaping up.

She punches in the code to his locked dressing room, a soft smirk on her face as she steps over where he’s strewn the orange ensemble to purposefully piss off Harry Lambert - like always.

When she opens the bathroom door, she makes sure to be as quiet as possible - same as when she shuts and locks it behind her.

It a modern, standard shower stall and Harry is standing facing away from his wife - scrubbing his hair roughly to get the styling gel and grime out.

Harry’s shoulders are so broad.

His back is just…beautiful.

It’s so muscular, defined, and strong as he flexes his arms forward. Then her eyes trail down to his backside.

His bum was small, she loved to tease him and pinch it but it was muscular as well from those squats and wall sits he does in the gym.

After she quickly undresses, she steps in behind him into shower - pressing her chest up against his wet back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Harry startles, nearly jumping out of his own skin before huffing out a laugh and leaning back into his wife, relaxing - well more like melting as he puts his weight on her.

“Thought y’were some crazy fan,” He jokes, hand coming down to cup the hers on his waist but frowning when she pulls back.

“Against the wall,” YN murmurs firmly, pushing him gently until his chest is against the tile and the shower head is pounding on his back and shoulders.

Harry shuffles forward, willingly albeit confused about what was going on and his wife’s demeanor as the cold of the wall hardens his nipples.

“Baby? Y’alright-“

“Did you wash yourself up already?” YN asks directly, hands rubbing softly at his sides, squeezing where his mini love handles are.

“M’body? Yeah, why-“

She cuts him off again, lips on his shoulder blade, “You told the crowd and me that I was getting your ass. I’m just holding you to your word.”

And when Harry realizes what’s about to go down, he lets out a low, explicit moan that echos throughout the bathroom.

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” He babbles excitedly, it wasn’t like this was something rare for them. They normally incorporated ass play into their sex life.

It was something about catching him off guard, when he’s vulnerable, and the post-show adrenaline has already worn off - making him malleable and pliant for his wife.

“You want to be all cocky, arrogant on stage, right? But look at you now, whining for your wife to touch you,” YN teases sharply, hand drifting down to squeeze his cheek hard enough to make him squeak.

“Baby. I’m yours, I’m yours,” He gasps, voice turning into a raspy yet high begging tone.

It was a tone of his voice that nobody in that crowd had or would ever hear. No, it was saved for her when she had him like this, like nobody else ever will.

“You don’t think I know that, Harry?” His wife laughs, fingers moving to sneak between his cheeks, pressing tightly against where he’s aching for her.

She continues, “God, I think everyone knows your mine. You can’t keep your eyes off me during the concert, parade around your wedding band, make sure my tattoo is always visible.”

“It’s ‘cause you- oh fuck, s’cause y’my soulmate,” Harry moans, pushing back on her fingers - wanting more but she wasn’t willing, “Need more, darlin’, m’close.”

She really wasn’t even doing much beside pressing at him, pushing in just the tiniest amount but he was grinding his hips against the wall a bit and her tits felt so good on his back.

Sometimes when he came off stage, he had absolutely no stamina.

Normally he could last but when he was adrenaline high and had basically edge himself in front of tens of thousands of people, it wasn’t going to be a long event.

“That’s really sad, H. Reminding me of when we were teenagers and you couldn’t last,” YN ends her rude statement with a bite to his shoulder before dragging her teeth down a bit.

It was just fun to get Harry worked up, he still acted the same from when they were younger - he’d get bratty and demanding, whiney, his chest and neck bloom into a soft pink color, and his eyes are a bit wet.

“Still just as much of a fool f’you, tha’s why,” Harry puffs out, hands continuously clenching and releasing over and over against the wall - like he wants to just make Harry wife touch him, tortured by her teasing.

“Fine, fine,” YN simpers, as if he was being a pain but she slips down onto her knees - hands dragging down his back and then his lean, solid thighs.

But in typical Harry behavior, he turns back and looks over his shoulder, “Sunflower, y’knees? We can move out of the shower.”

“Shush up,” She accentuates her words with a heavy handed smack to his right cheek and she chuckles when he gasps out a quiet, “Fuck.”

YN cups his cheeks, spreading them and leaning forward.

As soon as her tongue hits where he’s hot and tight, his legs twitch, and he puts his hands on the wall to brace himself.

“Darling, baby, baby,” Harry mewls, pushing back for more and hissing when she licks into him - his ring-bare hand leaning back to thread into her hair.

YN was planning to draw this out but she only gets a few directed laps before he’s moaning obsencenly, loud enough to hear through the god damn arena.

And then he’s gripping his cock, giving one firm tug, and he’s coming with pants and unfiltered, inconsiderate shouts of pleasure.

“S’good, m’good wife. S’no one better than you. Y’the only one who makes me feel like this. Crave y’like a drug, flower,” He praises endlessly, he turns around and helps her up - kissing her harshly.

When his hand comes to sneak between her thighs, she shakes her head and murmurs, “We don’t have time, H. Everyone is waiting on us.”

He pouts with his swollen pink lips, “I’ll take care of y’are the hotel, promise.”

“Mm,” She agrees, scrubbing the leftover shampoo bubbles from his hair as he tucks his face into her neck and tries make himself smaller.

Harry always gets a little sheepish after she does anything that makes him feel vulnerable, needs reassurance from her.

“Only with you, m’yours. Y’own my heart, ‘ave since we were fifteen,” Harry murmurs into her neck.

-

When they get themselves together, dressed, and exit the bathroom into the dressing room.

Harry Lambert is irritated as he is picking Harry’s clothing off the floor and putting it back on the hanger.

The stylist gives them a look, a knowing look, as he hangs the trousers on the rack.

“Fuck off,” The singer huffs, tugging his wife by the hand out of the room and to the car waiting for them.

#harry styles #hslot #harry styles love on tour #hslot!harry #hslotrry #hslot Harry #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #erodsafishtacos masterlist #harrystylesfanfic #harry styles smut #husband!harry #harry styles husband #Instagram

[jalnandanz]

5 centimeters per second. — l.hs.

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

summary: close friends and almost lovers, separated by distance. more than a decade of no contact, but the both of them still hold a small, almost-dying flame of hope that one day, they may be able to see the cherry blossoms fall again. just like what they did years ago.

genre: angst, fluff, “right person wrong time” trope (IM SORRY)

word count: 4.8k (it was intended to be like 10k im sorry idk what happened)

warnings: very heavy spoilers for the movie “5 centimeters per second” (the plot is mostly based off that), the entire fic is set in japan, reader is the same age as heeseung in this fic, a huge time skip, very brief mentions of smoking and drinking, idk maybe get tissues or smth ??

a/n: and here we go!!!! this is based off my favourite movie to ever exist (makoto shinkai ur a genius and i love ur works). im honestly just a sucker for angst and,,, there’s not much to say here tbh but enjoy!!! (silently praying this does well cuz i put my entire soul into this...) ily ^o^ pls pls do give me feedback, lmk ur thoughts on this!! it would be very appreciated <3

THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD! if there any mistakes please do lmk!

prologue. cherry blossoms fall at a speed of 5cm/s.

“They say it's five centimeters per second.”

“What is?”

“The speed at which cherry blossoms fall. It's five centimeters per second.”

“You seem to know a lot of this stuff.”

“The cherry blossoms are like snow, right?”

She ran off across the train tracks, not sparing a moment to wait for him. The train barriers went down, blocking his path to the girl.

Opening her pink umbrella (the exact same shade as the petals that she had watched with him earlier), she said to him with a gentle smile, “It would be great if we could watch the cherry blossoms fall again next year.”

The sound of the train passing by in front of them interrupted all their thoughts.

ACT ONE: us in the past.

i. sakura petals cascade down gently, almost like how our love slowly blooms.

He clutched the fragile letter in his hands, reading through every single word.

“Dear Heeseung, summer is pretty hot here, but not as scorching as Tokyo. But when I think about it, I miss Tokyo's hot summers too. I still remember all the scenery there, and even though the air-conditioning was freezing cold in the shopping malls, I miss it. The last time I saw you was at our elementary school graduation. It's already been 6 months. I can hardly believe so much time has passed. I wonder if you still remember who I am?”

Of course I do.

-

“Dear Heeseung, thank you for the reply. I’m heartened to know that you still remember me. It made me so, so happy. It’s well into autumn here, and the leaves have turned a brilliant orange. I even had to pull out a sweater for the first time in months yesterday. I’m-”

“Heeseung? What’s that? A love letter?”

He snapped his head up, startled to find a classmate of his, his grip on the white paper tightening.

“Is it true that you’ll be transferring next month?”, she asked. He replied with a sad “Yes”, and she said, “I see. It will be lonely here without you.” he smiled sadly, and turned his attention back to the precious letter in his grasp.

“I’m actually writing this letter on the train, because school and practice have been starting very early these days. I cut my hair the other day… even my ears are visible. It’s that short. You probably wouldn’t be able to recognise me if you saw me in public.”

No, I would recognise you anywhere.

“I’m back!”, his mother called out from the doorway, interrupting his letter-reading. “Welcome home.” the drowsy sound of the washing machine played lazily in the background.

“I bet you’re changing little by little too, Heeseung.”

Around him, the lights from rooms of the building opposite began to go out like flames in the dark night sky,

-

“Heeseung, have you been doing well these days? It's getting colder. It’s been starting to snow here. Everytime it snows, I wrap myself in blankets at home. I don’t think it’s snowed in Tokyo yet, right? Even though I've moved away for months, I still look at Tokyo's weather forecast out of habit.”

He contemplated on what to reply with.

The next day, he asked his friends, "Hey, have you ever been to Tochigi?”

“Tochigi? No clue.”

“... that’s what i thought.”

-

He fished out the letter he hadn’t finished reading yesterday from his school bag.

“I was surprised to hear that you were the one transferring schools this time in your reply. We both got used to transferring schools when we were little… But still, Kagoshima? That's pretty far away , isn’t it? It’s no longer a distance where I can meet you whenever I want just by riding a train for half an hour. That makes me feel a little… lonely. I know you can’t help it though. Take care, Heeseung.”

ii. i love you sounds like a promise.

“Dear Heeseung, I'm so, so happy that we will be seeing each other on 4th March. It’ll be just about a year since we last met, won’t it? I don’t know why, but I feel kind of nervous. Thank you for agreeing to meet at the station nearest to my house, it’s a long journey so be careful. I will see you at 7pm at the waiting area of the station. Also, there’s a large cherry tree near my house, so I bet that in the spring… the petals will fall at five centimeters per second. I’m really hoping spring will come with you on that day, Heeseung. You know why.”

I do. 

His alarm clock beeped for 12am, 4th March.

-

It was raining heavily outside that day. Heeseung heard some of his classmates mumble, “It’s supposed to snow by tonight.” 

He was packing his things, getting ready for the long train ride. Running over to his locker and throwing his things inside, he pulled out a piece of paper, filled with an elaborate plan of his calculations. If all went right, he would be able to reach about 10 minutes before (name) did. 

His watch showed 3.54pm, he was 6 minutes before time. Good. He ventured out in the rainy scenery before his eyes, pulling the hood of his coat over his head.

He got on the train, standing near the window. He looked outside and all he could see were small buildings flashing before his eyes, and snow. Snow. It wasn’t supposed to snow now, not now. Why now? Why did it not snow at night like what the weather forecast said it would? 

His mind wandered back to when they were 8, and having the time of their lives.

“Hey, have you finished the book I lent you?”

“Yes, it was great! I loved it.” Not as much as I love you.

- 

“Look! It’s a crab!” She proudly showed him her creation of a crab made out of french fries. He stared in awe, eyes sparkling. But they sparkle more when I look at you.

-

“Heeseung! It’s the cat we fed last time!” she jumped up and down excitedly, squealing when the cat made its way towards her, weaving itself between her legs. She bent down to pet its head, apologizing for not bringing any food. She picked the cat up and spun around, face lighting up with joy. Have I ever told you that I love your smile?

-

They were so similar. Exactly one year after Heeseung transferred to this new school, (name) transferred too. They both weren’t the most fond of loud places, and preferred spending time in the library. Naturally, they started talking and soon became close friends, and he had even saved her from a group of bullies ganging up on her. She had done the same too.

They were so similar, and so… in love. Maybe it was an exaggeration to say that at the mere age of 8, but he truly did feel a connection with her. 

For some strange reason, Heeseung thought that they would end up going to the same middle school, high school and so on. He thought they would stay together, just as they were doing right now. How wrong he was.

iii. but every second felt like an eternity.

“Shinjuku, Shinjuku, last stop. For passengers who…” the announcement faded away.

Heeseung raced down the stairs to change train lines, reaching the train just in time before the door closed behind him. It was the first time he was at Shinjuku station. His heart pounded rapidly. He was finally about to see (name) again.

“This train will be stopping for 4 minutes to connect with the express train. For passengers headed…” 

Heeseung got off the train, waiting in line to catch the next train. 

He sighed as another memory freed itself from the cage he tried to lock it in.

-

“You’re transferring schools? But you went through all that trouble to get accepted in your current one.” 

“I'm moving to a school in Tochigi… I'm so sorry.

“No, don’t feel sorry…”

“I tried telling my parents I could go from where I'm at now but they said they won’t let me until I'm older. I’m sorry…” her voice cracked at the last few words.

“You don’t have to say anymore, I understand.”

“I’m sorry…”

Through the speaker, he could clearly hear how her heart shattered like glass falling from a shelf. Yet there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

-

At the terminal Heeseung transferred to, there were crowds of people coming home after work. The smell of fresh snow lingered in the atmosphere, the sound of squeaky rain boots from the commuters reached his ears like an unwanted melody. 

“Due to the unexpected snow, the trains headed to Oomiya terminal will be experiencing a short delay of 8 minutes in arrival. We seek your understanding and patience…”

Yet another delay. Until that moment, Heeseung had never even considered the thought of the trains arriving late. He looked at his travel plan, glancing back and forth from his watch to the handwritten words on the crumpled piece of paper. His anxiety grew even larger. 

“The train is currently running 10 minutes late. We apologize for any inconveniences in your busy day…” The dreaded announcement played, with Heeseung losing hope every minute. 

His watch showed 5.54pm.

“Dear passengers, due to the delay of the previous train, we will be stopping at this station for a while. We appreciate your understanding.”

The stations seemed to move further and further apart from each other, and Heeseung thought that he might never even be able to reach his destination. When the train finally moved, it seemed to stop at every single station for an unbelievably long wait, and time quickly passed by in a flash. He had more than 20 stations to go, and his watch showed 6.59pm. He had a minute left.

Tick. 

It was 7.00pm.

The wait was so painfully long, and Heeseung was so, so hungry. Everything was dampening his spirits, and he never imagined that such a long-awaited day had turned into his worst nightmare. Everything was going wrong.

The time on his watch moved like a flash of lightning, yet the wait on the train was like a snail moving. 

The time they said to meet had passed, and Heeseung dejectedly dumped his bag on one of the seats. He was scared that (name) was beginning to worry. He took out the letter meant for her from his pocket, gazing defeatedly at it. 

The day she called him to tell him that she was transferring schools, he decided to write every single thing he had wanted to say. He worked on that one letter for 2 weeks, pouring his heart and soul into it. He couldn’t wait for her to read it and couldn’t wait for her reply. in the letter, he had confessed his feelings.

Stuffing the letter back in his pocket, Heeseung got off the train, heading to the next terminal to change lines. Staring at the piece of paper filled with his plans yet again and gazing at his watch, he walked towards a vending machine. The time was 7.41pm, and he was feeling so utterly defeated.

He reached into the pocket of his coat to pull out coins to buy a can of coffee. Rummaging in it, he pulled his hand out. The slightly creased letter got caught on his hand and fell out of his pocket, flying out into the snowstorm outside. There was nothing Heeseung could do except watch the letter fly away, until he could no longer even make out the silhouette of it. He hit the vending machine with his fist in frustration. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared down at his shoes, standing there like a pathetic loser. 

Everything was going wrong. 

iv. all that remained was the lingering feeling of her soft lips.

Heeseung got onto the next train, still thinking back about the letter he had poured all his love and heart into writing. It was so sad that something so precious could be taken away so easily. 

“Dear passengers, due to the heavy snow, we will be making a temporary stop here. We apologize for any inconvenience…”

Heeseung stared at the black watch on his left wrist. 8.54pm. His face dropped as he removed the watch, placing it onto the small silver tray beside him. He was convinced that this was the worst thing that could ever happen, and that things could not get any worse. At least he found some stupid comfort in that knowledge. 

Thinking about her letters, he seemed to picture her always writing them alone, with no one beside her to keep her company. 

In the end, the train stopped there in the wilderness for almost 2 hours. 

The universe clearly hated him. 

He couldn’t do anything but sit there and wait. He was sure (name) would have gone back home by now.

Please tell me you have already returned home.

-

When Heeseung finally reached his destination, it was 10.50pm. (name) would definitely not be here anymore. He walked down the stairs, greeting the officer at the information counter with a defeated smile. 

Where would he stay now? What would he do? He travelled almost 7 hours just to be defeated by this stupid thing called time. 

He continued walking, dragging his feet behind him. Looking up, he saw a brief silhouette of a girl, his eyes widening in pure shock. He walked closer, stopping a few meters away from her. Her, who was sitting in front of a roaring fireplace, wrapped in a red scarf.

No… tell me you’ve gone home. Tell me you didn’t wait for me until now…

He walked even closer, stopping in front of the girl. It was her.

“(name)...”

She slowly turned her head up, vision blurring with tears when she saw his face. All she could do was hang onto his coat and sob.

-

He grabbed a rice ball from the handmade bento she’d worked on since this morning.

“How is it?” 

“It’s the most delicious rice ball I've ever had.”

“You’re exaggerating…!”

The pair sat in front of the fireplace, eating and talking. Maybe this journey was worth it in the end.

-

The pair walked into the slightly less heavy snow, their footprints making an imprint in the blanket of white beneath their feet.

The girl ran into the winter wonderland, stretching her hands out as she caught the small flakes of snow in her palms. 

“Hey, is that the cherry tree you talked about in your letter?” The boy asked. 

“Yeah. It's the cherry tree. Don’t you think it looks a little like snow?”

They gazed into each other’s eyes. ”It sure does.” Their lips met. 

As the snow fell softly to the ground, Heeseung was suddenly filled with a strange sadness. He knew that from that point on, they wouldn’t be together forever. All that could stay with him was the lingering feeling of her warm, soft lips.

That night, they stayed in a shack by the field, wrapped together in layers of blankets. They fell asleep side by side.

-

The next morning, the two parted. 

"Heeseung, I'm sure you'll be okay from now on. I know it."

"Thank you, (name), you'll be okay too!" 

The train doors closed shut, separating the two. 

"I'll write to you, I'll call you too!" He desperately tried to shout his last words, placing his palm on the window of the glass door. Matching her palm to his, she smiled, trying to hide her despair. The train left the station. 

He never told her about the letter for her that he'd lost, because his world changed after that kiss. 

She took out a pink letter from her bag, meant for him but never given in the end. She wistfully looked towards the never-ending blue sky, and for once she felt that there was still hope.

He, too, looked out towards the scenery beyond the window. Everything was blanketed beneath a thick layer of white snow. The blue sky was clear, still, filled with clouds. If Heeseung saw correctly, there was one in the shape of a flower. He wondered if she had spotted that cloud too.

There was a strange comfort in the knowledge that they would still be under the same sky, forever. 

ACT ONE: us in the past. END.

ACT TWO: the missile in the dark sky.

v. and yet i know it was love at first sight.

Sumida took in a large breath, trying to gain the courage to talk to him.

She walked over to where he was practicing archery, a smile dancing on her face when he saw her. “Good morning, Heeseung!” she chirped.

“Good morning, Sumida. You went to the beach again right? You’ve been practicing hard.”

Her face grew warm at the praise. “I wouldn’t exactly say that…”

-

She still hadn’t filled in the form.

Ah, the form. The one where they asked every student in school to tell them what they were aiming for in life. Be it a dream job or further education, Sumida had no idea at all what she wanted to do.

“Of course, you haven’t filled it out. Everything that’s on your mind is about Heeseung.” her friend said with a knowing laugh. She denied it strongly, a blush growing on her face at the mere mention of his name. 

That evening, she stared out towards the open sea. When would she be able to surf again? The thought worried her.

-

The next day after class, she stood behind a wall near the bike shed. After spotting him, she gasped and hid back behind the wall. Pretending to have run into him there, she walked out. 

“Sumida? You’re on your way home too?”

“Ah, yes…”

“Let’s go back together.”

Since the start, Sumida had always thought Heeeung was different from the other boys. She fell in love with him at first sight, on the day he transferred to her class. Every single day, she thought that her love for him grew even stronger. She didn’t know what to do, and she was scared every day. 

“Sumida? We’re at the convenience store, do you want to buy the packet milk that you drink every day?”

She nodded her head, and rushed inside the shop. After paying, she stepped out, only to see him staring at his phone wistfully. He immediately snapped the phone shut when he saw her, tucking it in his pocket. “Oh, you didn’t get the milk today?” She shook her head and told him that she wanted to try something new.

She found herself thinking about what happened earlier. Sometimes he seemed to be writing a text message, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but she hoped that the message would be addressed to her. 

-

The next evening, she was riding her motorcycle back home again, but this time by herself. Along the way, she spotted a familiar bike. Taking her helmet off, she got down the bike. She climbed up the small hill, only to see Heeseung writing another text message… again. 

“Oh, Sumida? I’m surprised you found me here. We didn’t see each other at the bike shed today.”

He’s so kind. I don’t deserve it.

They got on their motorbikes again, riding until they stopped at a red light. A huge construction lorry drove by, and it seemed to go slower than a snail’s pace. 

“They say it goes at 5 kilometers per hour.”

Something in Heeseung dropped. “They say it falls at 5 centimeters per second.”

It started raining.

vi. now i realize that you were never looking at me.

Tap. Tap. He was writing yet another text message… to no one. 

He wondered when he got this strange habit.

The next morning before school, it was finally clear enough for Sumida to surf again. She was finally in her zone. 

At school during lunch, one of Sumida’s friends asked, “You’re looking extremely happy today, Sumida. Did something happen between you and Heeseung?” she said nothing, and just grinned, a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

“No way!” Her friends gasped in surprise. She decided not to tell them.

She was going to confess to Heeseung today.

Yet again, she pretended to run into him at the bike shed. She mustered up her courage, waving to him. She got the same packet of milk at the convenience store, and decided that it was the right time to tell him. Pulling on his shirt, she opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. 

“Is anything wrong?”

“No… it’s nothing. Sorry.”

He nodded and they got on their bikes, but Sumida’s bike seemed to have stopped working. 

Heeseung noticed it and said, “We’ll leave the bikes here and repair it tomorrow. I’ll walk home with you.” She was about to refuse, but he had already started walking.

They walked side by side along the deserted path, not exchanging a single word. 

I have to tell him… but how?

She looked down at her feet, tears starting to form in her eyes. She trailed behind him, the tears turning into sobs. Heeseung turned around, startled to see her suddenly crying. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s nothing…” She still continued sobbing. Why? Don’t be so nice to me…

The pair stood there, no words leaving their mouths except for sobs from Sumida. Suddenly, a loud roaring sound could be heard. As they turned to look at the source of the interruption, they spotted a missile being launched into the sky. It seemed to go higher and higher, and never stopped. Then, once it was all out of view, all that remained was a cloud of white smoke. 

Sumida felt like she found the answer to everything.

She now knew why she had found Heeseung to be different from others, but at the same time, she finally realized that Heeseung was never really looking at her. That is why, on that day, she never confessed or said a word to him.

vii. because i will never be the one you desire.

Heeseung was kind. He was truly kind. But he was always looking far beyond her. He was looking far into the distance. She would never know what he was looking for.

She was sure she couldn’t give him what he truly wanted. 

Like the missile blasted into the universe on that day, he would only be looking towards the unknown.

Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year… he would always only look far beyond her. 

But even today, tomorrow, next week, month, year, forever… she would only look at him. She would only be helplessly in love with him. She would only desire him.

Even if they magically got together somehow, she knew that she would never be the one who he wanted most. She would only be a backup plan. She would only be a mere replacement. 

Because whatever he was searching for, whoever he seemed to be texting everyday, and whoever he wanted, that person would never be her. And she knew that, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. So she gave up.

She gave up trying to befriend him. She gave up trying to make him fall for her. She gave up hoping that he would somehow return her feelings.

She also hated him for giving him false hope, for being so kind to her, for comforting her all the time. However, she was thankful for him all the same.

It was time for her to stop trying.

Whoever you’re looking for, far beyond me, I hope you find them.

ACT TWO: the missile in the dark sky. END.

ACT THREE: last night, i had a dream.

viii. what if i had turned my head back that day?

Click. Tap. The sound of a keyboard reverberated throughout the small one-room apartment. Heeseung was typing and working on a document for his workplace, just as his boss had instructed him to. When he was done, he snapped the lid of the laptop shut, leaning back in his chair. His neck and shoulders ached. 

His phone rang, his girlfriend’s name on the caller ID. Deciding not to pick the phone up, he tells himself that he will break up with her later. Not now.

He decided to head out. Throwing on a brown jacket, he shut the door behind him. It was spring anyways, it wouldn’t be too cold.

Reaching the railway tracks, he walked past a girl. How funny. It was the same tracks as the one that they had promised to watch the cherry blossoms together at. And the girl... She seemed to recognise him. And he had recognized her. He gasped lightly, but never turned his head back. Once they were both on opposite sides of the railway, he stopped in his tracks. 

If I turned back now, I have a strong feeling that she would turn back as well.

He slowly looked over his shoulder, and so did she, and-

Whoosh!

The train zoomed past them, obstructing their view of each other. Just like years before.

The train never seemed to end. He looked down to the floor.

After it had fully passed by, he lifted his head up again, slowly and expectantly.

She was gone.

ix. and the snow falls like cherry blossoms on a vibrant spring day.

Heeseung was walking home from yet another dreaded day at work. The sky was already dark.

Out of habit, Heeseung took his phone out, beginning to type a message, yet stopped just before he hit send. Who was this message addressed to?

Stuffing his phone back in the pocket of his coat, he noticed it. 

Small flakes of white dancing down gracefully, one of them melting in his palm. 

It had started to snow. 

-

“(name), i really wish you’d stay til’ new year’s.”

“Mother, I’ll be seeing you in a month for the wedding anyways. It’s fine.”

“Alright then. Take care of him well, okay? Call us if you need anything.”

“I will.” (name) smiled as she boarded the train, waving to her parents.

-

The book wasn’t as interesting as she hoped it would be. Closing the book, she placed it neatly in her bag. Her engagement ring twinkled as it caught the sunlight.

She looked out of the window wistfully, as if she was searching for something far away in the distance. 

Last night, I dreamt of something. Back when he and I were both still children. It’s probably because of the letter I found yesterday while looking through my old possessions. 

-

Somewhere in his apartment, Heeseung held a cigarette in his hand. His phone rang again. Heading into his apartment from the small balcony, he stared blankly at the email. Speed-reading it, one of the sentences caught his eye.

“Even now, I still love you…” That’s what the girl he’d been with for 3 years said. Yet, he was sure that even if they had exchanged a thousand messages, their hearts wouldn’t have moved even a centimeter closer.

Because I’m still in love with her. 

x. the cherry blossoms stir and fall again as the train passes by.

Over the past few years, Heeseung has had so many thoughts. He didn’t know what these disturbing feelings were about or where they had surfaced from, so he decided to drown himself in work. Then one day, he realized that his heart was withering, and there was nothing in it but pain. He had completely lost all his feelings.

That day, he resigned from his job.

Kicking off empty beer cans from his floor, he put on a coat and walked out into the streets. It was cooling, and not too chilly. Perfect.

He walked into the convenience store, the bell on the door chiming behind him. He picked up a magazine, the front cover of it being the missile that was launched a decade ago. The one that he saw with his own two eyes.

At the same time when he was reading the magazine, she was standing at the train station, ready to go back home for the wedding.

-

Last night, I had a dream.

A dream of long ago.

Within the dream, the two of us were still thirteen…

Standing across the vast field blanketed in snow as far as the eye could see.

In the distance, the lights shimmering in houses were set sparsely, far and wide.

All that was left upon the newly fallen snow were our footprints. 

Just like that…

We wished, without hesitation, that one day…

The two of us would be able…

… to see the cherry blossoms together again.

The snow fell gently, cascading down like cherry blossoms from a sakura tree.

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[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #xmen imagine #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfic #peter maximoff x y/n #xmen x reader #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver fanfiction #quicksilver fanfic #xmen fanfic

[hannie-dul-set]

PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow​ (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

it’s not.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.

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