#the hardest part of making these is trying to crack the ship name to reach my target audience
Beastification - Chapter 3
The batch brings Mr Beast back to Ord Mantell and Cid makes a curious request.
The Bad Batch x Mr Beast
Tags: sfw, Crack fic, slow burn, Mr Beast AU, crack taken seriously
CW: the y/nification of Mr Beast, mentions of child abduction, braindead Mr Beast, Mr Beast talks to an invisible camera, lore breaking content
Words: 1344
Will update on Wednesdays and Sundays
... | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Read on ao3
They finally reached Ord Mantell. Most of the journey was spent with Omega and Wrecker talking to Mr Beast about Squid Game. It seemed nobody except Omega understood what Mr Beast was actually talking about, but everybody listened. Wrecker obviously pretended he knew what the rescued man was talking about, and it seemed everybody except Mr Beast noticed this.
“Let’s deliver him to CId as fast as possible. I can‘t bear hearing another sentence about cutting out cookies.“ Echo seemed to be hanging on to his sanity by a thread. They had now left the ship and were well on their way to Cid‘s Parlour. „I can not tell what it is but something about him intrigues me.“ Tech spoke up. „His mind seems to be working differently from any creature I have seen before.“
„Yeah, there’s something about him.“ Hunter agreed. „I don’t like him. I‘m not even sure he has a soul.“ Echo stated. Hunter and Tech looked at him, then at each other. Maybe he was right.
“Ah, there you finally are. About time, if you ask me.“ Cid seemed to have been waiting for them for quite a while. Her glance caught Mr Beast walking in next to Omega, still talking about how Squid Game. „Mr, there you finally are! Come on, let's talk about payment.“ They left the batch behind in the Parlour to talk in Cid‘s office.
„Why‘d she call him that?“ Wrecker questioned, looking at his brothers. Omega slightly hit his arm to get his attention. „Hey, I told you before! That’s his name! His first name is Mr and his last name is Beast.“ The girl seemed incredibly proud to know this niche information about the man they just rescued.
Echo looked at her as if he thought he was about to lose his sister to a lethal illness. „She‘s right. I looked him up, apparently ever since he appeared on the radar, he’s been working with bounty hunters to abduct targets so they would get jobs to get those targets back. And he seems to not accept compensation for this work. That’s why Jabba held him prisoner, that’s why he kidnapped his offspring.The Empire is looking for him.“ Tech explained, not looking up from his datapad.
That last sentence made Wrecker feel worried. How could this fragile, delicate young man run from the Empire by himself? His delusional nature made Wrecker feel scared for his safety.
Hunter could sense Wreckers anxiety, not just from him obviously being close to tears, but first and foremost from the intense amount of sweat he was producing. „Wrecker, calm down, he’s gonna be fine.“
This was Echo's last straw. „You‘re actually worried about him? I‘m happy to never have to look into his empty, soulless eyes ever again!“ he snapped. Wrecker's mood turned from worried to aggravated. „Hey, how dare you say that! He has the most beautiful, sparky eyes I have ever seen!“ he yelled, pushing Echo back on his shoulder, trying his hardest to not inflict more damage, He needed to defend Mr.
Echo pushed him back „That’s not his eyes sparkling, that‘s the back of his skull because there‘s obviously no brain living in there.“
„Snap out of it, you‘re scaring the kid!“ Hunter tried to defuse the conflict, Omega hiding behind him, not wanting to watch her brothers fight over her favorite video creator. They stepped away from each other after seeing the scared look on Omegas face. Wrecker knelt down to her.
“I‘m sorry, kid. I don‘t know what got into me. I just felt like I had to protect him, dunno why.“ His gaze sank to the floor, defeated. „I know why.“ Omega put her hand on his shoulder to comfort her big brother. „You like him, I get it. But I think you like him in a different way than I do.“, Omega tried to cheer him up.
This made Wrecker incredibly flustered. He had already figured out he was probably developing a little crush on Mr Beast, but he didn’t want his brothers to know about that, especially considering he wasn‘t even sure about his own feelings yet. They had just met shortly before.
Wrecker blushed, tried to defend himself. „I-It‘s not like that. I just thought what he was talking about on the Marauder was interesting…“ „Wrecker, you clearly did not know what he was talking about then.“ Tech shot down the excuse immediately. „You clearly care for him.“
Omega, who still had her hand on Wreckers shoulder, pushed him back a little to get his attention back to her. „Come on, you have to tell him!“ She was beaming. Wreckers blush deepened. „I-I can‘t do that. He‘ll think I’m weird.“
Echo stepped back into the conversation.“You think HE thinks YOU‘RE weird? I‘ll be honest, I‘m not even sure if he can form a coherent thought in the first place.“ Wrecker looked at him like he was gonna give him a good ass whooping. He didn’t follow through on that though, not wanting to scare Omega again, who now spoke back up, wanting to help Wrecker process his crush.
You can do it, Wrecker. Just tell him what you like about him… What do you like about him?“ Now everyone curiously eyed Wrecker. What did he like about him?
“I like the way he‘s so passionate about his work. I like that he’s good with kids. I think the kid he stole from Jabba didn‘t even scream when he ran away with it. I like that Squid Game thing he keeps talking about, even though I still can‘t really tell what it means. And I like his eyes.“ Every sentence Wrecker spoke widened his smile.
„You like my smile?“ The batch turned around to see Mr Beast leaning against the doorframe that led to Cid‘s office, a warm smile directed towards Wrecker.
Oh oh. Wrecker felt like he was going to explode from embarrassment. This was not the time or way for Mr Beast to find out about his crush on him. What was he going to do now? “Oh, that's not- '' Wrecker tried to defend himself.
“If YOU NOW AGREE to face your BIGGEST FEAR for a video, I will give you ONE OF MY EYES! And if you DO IT IN SQUID GAME I might give you BOTH OF MY EYES !!” Mr threw his hands around while talking like he was a game show host. Did he think he was getting filmed?
The room went quiet after this sentence. Was actually serious about handing over his eyes to Wrecker? “He’s psychotic.” Echo half whispered towards Tech, he honestly did not really care if Mr Beast heard what he was saying because it probably went over his air-head anyways. Tech just nodded to signal acknowledgement as he was busy with his datapad.
Wrecker felt tears form in the corner of his eyes. Mr Beast was so giving, so selfless that he even offered his own eyes to him for the small request to see him dangling from a rope somewhere high above the ground with no land below in sight. Omega smiled at him. “He’s amazing, right?”
Wrecker stood up again, more confident now. “Maybe some other time Mr, I’m not ready to jump right now.” The confused looks from his brothers now wandered from Mr Beast to Wrecker. Was he going insane too?
That’s when Cid reentered the room as well. “We have a problem. Mr doesn’t seem to remember anything before getting captured by Jabba. He’s as vulnerable as a baby. You think you can take him under your wings for a while?” Echo’s jaw dropped to the floor. He felt like this was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He glanced over to Mr Beast, who was now talking to himself about finding a new sponsor for the video where he wanted to give Wrecker his eyeballs.
“This is a joke, right?” Echo asked Cid, arms crossed at this offense of a request. Hunter stepped in. “What would you pay us for it?”
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As The World Caves In
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Fem!Reader
Summary: Steve deals with the loss of his wife after the Snap.
Rating: R?
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: Grief, depression, feelings of loneliness, death, graphic depiction of a death
A/N: hi yes I wanted to get this out before TFATWS got out. I have never liked the ending Steve got in Endgame, so I wanted to write a new one for him!
Steve would like to say that he lost his wife like everyone else did that day.
He would love to say that she turned into ash like the rest of his teammates. He would love to say that they had some tear-filled goodbye before she turned into nothing. He would love to have that hope that might be able to come back.
But he can't.
Because she actually died that day in Wakanda. Right before his eyes.
It had happened after Thanos had tossed Steve aside. Y/N had charged at the Titan, angry at the purple being for hurting her husband. He caught her in mid-air, his golden gauntlet shimmering in the sunlight as it wrapped tightly around her throat. Steve had scrambled to stand up, his eyes on her.
Y/N coughed and sputtered, her face turning colors as she kicked, her fingers trying to pry the large gold covered fingers off of her throat. And while it felt like hours for Steve, it had only been seconds. Seconds. Seconds he had held her in their air, seconds she had suffered as the Titan cut off her oxygen. Thanos had smirked before tightening his grip, a sickening crack filling the air. Steve couldn't breathe as her body was tossed towards him. It seemed to move in slow motion, bouncing when it hit the ground.
When her body finally came to a stop in front of him, her head lolling to the side as the cloud of dust settled. Steve still had hope somehow. He prayed to the Lord above as he looked at her, hoping that she was somehow still alive. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes and blood trickled out of her mouth. There was a darkening bruise on her throat, her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Steve had been unable to move, unable to breathe. Within an instant, she was gone. His wife, the love of his life, ripped away from him in mere seconds.
And then his friends and teammates turned into ash all around him.
The worst moment of his life was when he watched his wife die right in front of him. The second worst is having to tell her brother that she was dead.
After Tony had come down the ramp of the ship, Steve had ran over to help him down that last view steps and over to Pepper. Stark told Steve that Peter was gone and in that moment of silence that followed, Tony's eyes scanned the small group of survivors for his adopted sister. Tears sprung up in the man's eyes as he looked back at Steve. The Captain's throat constricts with emotion, tears brimming in his eyes as he just nods, unable to get the words out. Pepper ran up in that moment, wrapping her arms around Tony just as tears rolled down his face.
Y/N is the only one they actually bury. Her funeral is a quiet affair, with only the remaining members of their team and Pepper in attendance. The couple had never talked about what might happen or what they would want if either of them died. Tony tells him that she would want to be buried next to their parents, so she is. He makes sure his baby sister has the best coffin money can buy, the best headstone-everything. Her funeral is the last time Steve and Tony talk to each other.
Steve gets an apartment she would have loved. It's right around the corner from the restaurant where they had their first date and a few streets away from the cemetery. There was those big windows that Y/N had always expressed fondness over. The apartment also had built in shelves that lined one wall of the living room area, which had been another selling point for him. One day Steve hoped that he would be able to fill them with her many books and tchotchkes, but now they stood empty, the shelves gathering dust. Her collection of novelty mugs weren't in the cabinets, no they were still wrapped up in newspapers within one of the many boxes. He had planned on unpacking all of the things that had once filled their shared room at the compound, but the boxes stay in the second bedroom, all piled up in the middle of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to go through all of her old things, didn't want to be bombarded with emotions and memories.
That first year is the hardest. Learning to live without her tears him to shreds. Steve hardly sleeps, hardly eats. He spends a lot of his time alone, dwelling over what he could've done differently. Natasha tries to reach out to him, but Steve distances himself. He tells himself that he needs to do this alone, needs to try to get through it by himself. Y/N always feels like she's just out of his grasp and he prays and begs to have her back with him. His prayers go unanswered.
Natasha appears outside his door on the one year anniversary of Thanos's snap and Y/N's death, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and Asgardian mead in the other. They sit together in the kitchen and drink as vigils and memorials take place around the world. For the first time, Steve talks about how much he misses his wife. The two heroes talk all night about each person they missed, both of them wondering aloud how were they supposed to live without them.
By the end of the second year, Steve is getting used to living without her. He hates it. He hates how much that ache in his chest has lessened. He hates that he can see a picture of her without a lump forming in his throat. Steve is able to talk about her more and starts a grief support group. Sure he sometimes wakes up and hopes she's there, but that's getting less and less frequent. Steve's afraid that his memories of her are going to slip away from him, terrified of forgetting her.
So he starts to draw her. He's desperate to hold onto every memory of her, so he fills up page after page, sketchbook after sketchbook of nothing but Y/N. The drawings aren't perfect, but he is able to cement those memories in his mind. Steve wants to make sure that he can remember her face without having to study a picture. So when he remembers something about her, he puts it onto a piece of paper. Y/N on their wedding day. Y/N when they were on the run and she fell asleep in the Quinn Jet. Y/N brushing her teeth early in the morning, her silhouette lit up by the almost golden bathroom light. Y/N the first day they met.
Natasha sees them once when she stops by to see him. One of the sketchbooks is left open on the table and she sneaks a peek when Steve goes to the other room to get a sweater. There on the page in incredible detail is a sketch of her best friend with tears in her eyes, her mouth open in shock. She doesn't know that this is the face she made when she learned that Bucky had killed her parents and Steve knew. Natasha looks away, her cheeks burning. She feels like she saw something too personal, too raw, and she shuts the journal before Steve returns.
When the third, fourth, and then fifth year rolls around- well Y/N has been gone longer than they were together as a couple. Steve has gotten used to her being gone. He's able to walk past the room holding all of the boxes without stalling. It gets easier to talk about her, easier to share stories about her to his group. He still misses her, it's just easier for him to live now. His wedding band never leaves his ring finger, needing to have a part of her with him always. Steve still loves her and he doesn't think he can ever love someone as much as he loves his wife.
And then Scott Lang reappears.
Steve wants to reverse what Thanos did, wants to bring back his friends even if that means he cannot bring back his wife. That ache in is chest returns as they put together their heist plan. Steve feels like there's a ghost following him around while he's back at the compound. His shoulders feel heavy again and he tries to put on a brave face as the people around him get hopeful. He tries to be happy, knowing that he will be getting his friends back and fixing what had happened, but he can't help but be upset.
-
Steve gets to see her when they go back.
It's after he knocks out the younger version of himself. Steve is standing over himself, breathing hard, and holding Loki's scepter tightly in his hands.
"That is America's Ass." He comments, looking behind him before back down to the unconscious man. He needs to meet back up with the others so that they can-
"It definitely is." A familiar voice calls out from in front of him. Steve stills, his breath catching in his throat before he slowly lifts his head. There she is, standing before him with a smirk on her face. Y/N is dressed in her navy blue suit, her hair messy from the battle she just went through. Her face is dirty, her lip split and there is a long cut across her cheekbone. His mouth goes dry and he's suddenly tongue tied, like he was when they first met.
Steve remembers how nervous and awkward he was when they were first introduced to each other. Y/N gave him a million dollar smile and just like that, he knew he was a goner. Steve had stumbled over saying his name, which had then made her laugh-God, that laugh. That laugh had made him warm all over, made butterflies swarm around in his stomach. And in the past five years, those butterflies had been dormant and now, now they're wide awake.
"You're not my Steve." Y/N announces as she walks towards him, studying him. Steve's heart is beating fast and he wants to reach out and hold her close, wanting to tell her how much he loves her. My Steve. God, he misses her. He misses everything about her.
"How can you tell?" He asks, a tiny smile appearing on his face. Y/N chuckles, taking seeing two Steve's surprisingly well. But then again, she had just got done fighting aliens and a literal god so he supposes that things have been weirder.
"My Steve won't even look me in the eye. He blushes when I look at him. When I look at you...you just look so sad. That's how I know you're not Loki." She answers, stopping in front of him. Steve studies her face, taking in every little detail because he knows that this is the last time he'll see her.
"I-I'm that easy to read, huh?" Steve retorts and she laughs again, nodding. God, he misses that sound. He misses her so fucking much that it makes his chest ache. Y/N's smile falters as she looks at him, watching as his smile drops.
"I'm not going to pretend what is exactly going on here, okay? Obviously you are going through something and it's pretty clear you are on a some type of mission." She tells him, motioning to the scepter in his hands. Steve looks down to his hand before looking at her. He knows that she should be calling for back up because by the way people keep speaking through her comm Y/N must know that things are going south.
"I'll bring it back, I promise." Steve replies and the smile returns to her face. Y/N glances down to the unconscious man on the floor before looking at him.
"I know you will. I never saw you, new Steve. And don't worry, I'll make sure you don't choke on your tongue." She teases, gesturing to the passed out version of himself. Steve's smile returns to his face as she continues, "But I do expect some sort of explanation when you come back."
"Of course. I'll be back before you even know I was gone." Steve says, wanting to say so many other things that he knows that he just can't tell her. He opens his mouth again when her comm once again crackles to life. Y/N's eyes widen and she gestures for him to leave. Steve's mouth snaps shut and he nods, quickly walking away.
Tony would later tell Steve when they're in 1970 that he started crying when he saw his little sister.
-
When his teammates return on the battlefield, she isn't among them. He knows she won't be coming through a portal, but some part of him still holds out hope for some reason. Yet, there is no sadness inside of him on that battlefield. No, rage has pushed all of that sadness aside, filling him up completely.
When he fought against Thanos and his army, he did so with every ounce of strength in his body. Steve wanted to avenge the death of Y/N, wanted to kill Thanos for what he did to her. Steve has never felt so angry in his entire life. He wanted to be the one who ended the Titan's life. He ignored the large gash in his arm and tore through aliens.
And in the end, it's Tony who takes out Thanos. He is the one who avenges his baby sister's death, but the price he pays his high. And Steve has to watch another Stark die.
He feels so guilty that he is alive and both of the Stark siblings are gone, both of them buried side by side, right next to their parents.
There is just so much death in his life, so much damn loss. And he's tired. Steve is exhausted. He hoped that bringing back his friends and the half of the universe that had disappeared because of the Snap would make him feel better, but it hadn't. No, instead that hurt has returned with full force. His chest feels like its about to cave in on itself, like his ribs piercing his lungs and heart-God, everything seems unbearable. All he wants is for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
And then, he is reminded that he has to return the stones.
And while every single part of the journey is noteworthy, he saves returning the scepter for last.
Y/N is sitting beside the unconscious version of himself when he returns. She turns his head to look at him, a smile on her face. For a moment, he considers staying here with her, reliving every single moment of their life and their relationship as it happens.
But he knows that he can't.
It wouldn't be right for him to stay here with her, knowing everything that he knows. Steve has had his time with her, time that he will treasure for the rest of is life. He knows that if he returns back to his timeline, there will be a lot of hurting that he will have to go through. Steve knows that it would be so much easier to stay here with Y/N, but he won't let himself do it.
So Steve explains to Y/N why he needed the scepter, leaving out her death and the death of her brother. After he finishes, she stays quiet for a moment, processing all of this new information. He just waits and sits there.
"Don't tell me what happens, please. I want the cards to fall where they may. I-I want to be surprised." Y/N tells him suddenly, glancing at the unconscious man before looking at Steve. The Captain understands exactly what she means. She must know somehow that she ends up with him, something on his face his showing his hand. Y/N had always told him that he had a shitty poker face. A smile stretches across his face, nodding. His wedding ring-hidden under his gloves-feels so much heavier, like its weighing his arm down.
A pit of dread opens up in Steve's stomach as his time draws to an end. He thanks and apologizes to Y/N as he hands over the scepter. She just smiles, telling him not to worry about it as she puts it back into its case. He must look as upset as he feels because before he leaves, Y/N wraps her arms around him. It surprises Steve, but he quickly wraps his arms back around her. Steve holds her tightly, letting his eyes shut. He knows that this will be the last time he'll ever hold her and he just savors it, wishing that it could last forever. Wishing that he could stay here forever.
But everything has to come to an end.
When he says goodbye, he knows that Y/N doesn't understand that this is him saying goodbye to her for the last time. Steve finally gets to tell her goodbye and even though he isn't able to tell Y/N how much he loves her, it's okay. It's okay because he will be able to tell her how much he loves her one day, even if that day isn't today. They'll be reunited again. He just needs to wait.
She tells him goodbye and he takes one final look at her before he returns back to his timeline, back into a world where she's gone.
That night, he returns to his empty apartment, the silence almost deafening. That hole in his chest has reopened and he is in so much pain that everything just feels numb.
He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, washing the day's events off of him hoping that this would also wash away the numbness, trying to pretend like nothing of importance had happened hours earlier. When he crawls into the same bed he has been sleeping in for the past five years-a bed she has never touched-he realizes how empty it is without her. He can't feel her here like he can at the Compund-No, here she doesn't follow behind him. No, this is a place she has never been so she can't be here. The apartment is suddenly too big for him-everything is too big for him. It's too big and too empty and too fucking quiet-
It's like the string that was holding him together the past five years has finally snapped and he just starts crying. The Captain's body shakes with sobs as he lays in that empty room. Steve had thought he had processed her death and grieved already, but he hadn't. Until this very moment, it had never fully set in that Y/N was dead. It was never fully real that she was gone. He knew that she was, but some part of him was still holding out hope that somehow she was going to come back. If Bucky could come back, surely she could have as well. But Y/N isn't Bucky and so she never came back.
It took until today for him to fully realize that she was gone. Y/N was gone and there was nothing he can do about it. There was no stones to gather, no traveling through dimensions for him to do. Steve had to live the rest of his life without the love of his life, in a time where he'll never belong in. That small flicker of hope that had been silently living inside of him had been snuffed out, leaving an empty dark space inside of him, leaving him cold and empty.
The only hope that remained is that they would be reunited one day in death, but until then Steve would be forced to carry around his pain where ever he went.
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Mostrami Amore.
Summary: Cha-young tries to move on from a certain mafia boss.
Author’s Note: Thank for to everyone who sent in prompts for Chayenzo, it resulted in this mess. I don’t have much to say, I considered making this into a multi- chaptered story but honestly I don’t have time for another ongoing story so if this seems rushed it was a little, I wrote it in one go today. Hope you enjoy this, I stuck in some of my favorite crack ship because I am weak and obsessed. Happy reading!
p.s takes place after final episode but han seo lives because this is my world and I get to play God.
Another postcard.
Their delivery becomes sporadic and she’s embarrassed at the giddiness that washes over her each time a new square is sent miles across a wide stretch of ocean, the view on the card most likely lackluster in comparison to the true rendering of Malta. She has spent many hours on her laptop searching for images of the small paradisiac island, yearning to see what he sees and feel just a tad bit closer to him. Most of her life has been spent in solitude with only her work acquaintances filling the void at times, so she expected herself to be more equipped to deal with his disappearance and subsequent absence. But nothing prepares her for those moments at the coffee shop, when she finds herself smiling across a table only to realize there is no miniature espresso cup in the hand of a very dangerous Italian Korean mafia member grinning back at her.
The smile melts off her face and she swallows the bitter cool sludge in her cup, the beverage tasting exactly as he had described it without him there.
Nights are the hardest, loneliness coils around her like a snake.
There was never any other fate for them, she knew that when Vincenzo murdered all their enemies this was their only real outcome. He would always be a fugitive on the run and she an accomplice if he were captured and questioned, it was in both of their best interests if he vanished from the face of the planet. But knowing that does nothing to qualm the ever present feeling of isolation that clings to her skin as she sits alone on her couch, downing makgeolli at a vicious pace. Trying to wash his taste from her mouth, that kiss on loop in her mind and the phantom grip of his hand on her neck.
It’s those treacherous nights without the plaza members that have become a second family to her and Han Seo following her like the lost puppy he is calling her “Noona” so freely and frequently until she forgets her own name, that she allows herself to feel exactly what she’s feelings.
Heartbroken.
Desperate.
Lonely.
Rage.
The last one she hides like a dirty secret in the closet of her heart, she knew what she was signing up for. She has no legitimate reason to be angry, or so she tries to reason with herself. But. This was the same man who had bypassed the security of one of the richest men in Korea and ultimately killed him without leaving a trace. She had watched him do despicable things, blackmailing, threatening, seducing, and murdering others as he saw fit and yet, he hadn’t used any of those dastardly ways to see her. That chance meeting at the art gallery had been the last she had seen of him, Then a few weeks later another postcard with the same message she had boldly uttered at the airport, it feels insufficient after having him in her arms again. She knew in that moment that they would never be enough again. She hadn’t even argued when Mr. Nam claimed he would leave this one on his table instead, she merely nodded and walked away to peruse the new sexual assault case she has taken recently.
It gets harder and harder to hear Han Seo regaling the wonders of his “hyung”, her anger boiling deep below the surface like magma waiting to explode and transform into something tangible and destructive.
“He told me that he has a room for me too. I wonder when he’ll let us visit.”
She nods absently, staring out the window at the sunlight twinkling in through the blinds but then his words register and the gears in her head churn before running the sentence back through to carefully process them.
“He---what? You spoke to Vincenzo?”
The human puppy pouts his lips before tilting his head and dealing a hard blow to her ego and her heart, “Yeah, he sends me letters. I got so scared the first time! He said the letter would self-destruct after I read it and I really thought that was true and I dived across the room to escape but I bumped my head on the table and then...”
He sent Han Seo letters.
She had received the same fucking postcard for months on end with the same message she had said to him, and he had time to write Han Seo letters. He hadn’t sent her even one in the time he had been gone.
“That fucking bastard!” She explodes interrupting Han Seo’s recount of his near death experience and he looks wide- eyed and taken back by her outburst, she almost soothes him before another wave of anger rushes through her veins. She had accepted the bare minimum because she thought this was all he could give her but it seemed she was being too naïve. He was Vincenzo Cassano after all, he could make anything happen. She had seen it with her own two eyes. If he wasn’t reaching out to her maybe that was a message and she was too blind to see it.
“Noona? Are you okay?” Han Seo looks absolutely terrified, eyes huge and quivering. She doesn’t bother answering, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee and stomping out of the office ignoring Mr. Nam’s calls behind her. She’s tired of being an idiot.
She throws herself into forgetting him, the same way he seems to have forgotten her despite his words to her that fateful night on the stairs.
I thought about you everyday.
Actions speak louder than words and she is done accepting his crumbs. She has never needed anyone, had even accepted when her own father wanted nothing to do with her; she has basically been prepping for this moment her entire life.
So she goes shopping with Miri, buying gadgets that she has no idea how to use but that the other girl makes sound like things that she definitely needs such as a new home security system, her break in still fresh in her mind. She grins at the pretty smile on the other girl’s round face as she explains the specification of the machines around them and she can see why Han Seo has such a huge crush on the girl, the pretty blush that blossoms on the other girl’s cheek after stating the fact out loud is adorable and she pinches said cheek much to her chagrin.
“You should worry about your own love life.” Miri teases but the words sting like acid on her skin and she turns away to hide the grimace on her face, but she’s not fast enough and the other girl catches her wrist halting her movement.
“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mr. Cassano?” Miri whispers the last part, looking around to make sure that nobody overhears them.
She forces herself to stifle her emotions, trapping them in the back of her mind refusing to let him have this kind of affect on her.
“I wouldn’t know.” She tries for a emotionless tone but even she can hear the bitterness in her own voice and Miri’s eyes fill with pity and it makes her sick to her stomach, “Don’t. I am going to be fine. Let’s just go.”
They don’t utter single word in the car ride home.
After that it becomes painfully obvious that everyone in the plaza thinks something is wrong with her and are teaming up to make her feel better. It’s the packed lunches that keep showing up on her desk without fail, her clothes being steamed and pressed for free, the way that they won’t allow her to be alone and there are countless spontaneous family game nights all ending with her drunk and being carried home.
Tonight Mr. Tak is the unlucky volunteer, dragging her limp body in her father’s house and she thinks of all the times that they drank here together and a certain person was the one hauling her body to bed complaining and grumbling but that distractingly fond smile on his face that he only ever seemed to shoot her way. Her heart thumped loudly as he loomed over her and leaned in close, getting her hopes up only to brush her hair behind her ears and softly tell her, “Go to sleep now,” and she had never been obedient all her teachers could testify to that but when he looked at her like that she was powerless to do anything else but listen.
“I miss him.” The traitorous words fall from her lips and vanish into the inky darkness of the night.
A deep sigh from the left of her, “We know.”
She feels vulnerable, the worst thing about having a weakness is other’s noticing too. She hates how weak she feels.
“I am going to forget him.”
The body supporting most of her weight tenses under her arm and she waits for his response, they all love Vincenzo- he had become their unexpected hero and leader in many ways. They would always take his side, she knows that.
“If that’s what you need to do to be happy. Then, do it. Loving a man like Vincenzo isn’t easy.”
She turns to look at him in genuine shock.
“What? You thought I would tell you to keep waiting with no end in sight? You should know by now, you mean a lot to us too. Your happiness is important to us too, we’re a family.”
“But we’re the Cassano family,” she challenges unable to accept that they could love her without Vincenzo attached, but Mr. Tak shrugs at the clarification, “We can be the Hong Family too.”
She feels her eyes swimming.
“I should go inside.”
She feels sober and more awake than ever, she stays up all night twirling the long strands of her hair in between her fingers.
Thinking.
Variety is the spice of life.
She doesn’t know where she’s heard that but it’s those sage words that are the catalyst for her spontaneous decision.
“Same as always? Silky with some body?” Her stylist peers into her eyes through the wide mirror and she hears herself say, “No I want a cut and some color.” Yu-jin raises one pretty tweezed brow but nods after a moment’s pause, “Okay. How short are you thinking?”
And that’s how she starts her day with long thick hair that grazes her lower back and ends it with a short bob that tickles her neck. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulder, metaphorically and literally and she loves the face that she sees in the mirror, her eyes looking brighter than they have in months. She feels more alive, like a snake shedding its skin and becoming a newer and fresher version of itself.
“Your hair?” That becomes the running theme for her day, shocked gaping mouths and hands reaching out for the hair that was once there. She merely smirks at their palpable surprise, especially Seol-jin who doesn’t recognize her from behind.
“I haven’t seen a pretty lady like you aro--Oh Ms. Hong! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, I am so sorry please excuse me!” The interpretative dancer bolts away leaving her to watch him bemused, she skips to Jipuragi with a pep in her step laughing loudly when Mr. Nam drops his coffee upon seeing her and the brown liquid goes flying and douses him in a sticky hot mess.
It’s an entertaining day to say the least.
Moments later when he’s finished cleaning himself up and changing into the cheetah print track suit that he insisted to keeping in the office, he mentions that a new postcard has arrived. She nods at the information, looking at her laptop and it’s only seconds later that she finally looks up and sees that he’s waiting for her response. She doesn’t have one.
Forcing a tight smile on her face she replies, “Oh that’s great. Just put it with the others.”
He does.
But she can feel his eyes on her, his concern heavy and tangible in the air.
She pretends not to notice and keeps clicking away on her laptop, only glancing over at the card once or twice. But it’s only out of habit.
Nothing more.
She starts going on dates with random men. Men she meets in coffee shops, on the streets, in bars, hell one time even the bookstore. She never meets the same man twice and they never get what they want but it does make her feel desirable and that’s all she’s looking for.
“Where are you going?” Han Seo asks her curiously, Miri by his side as she struts out the plaza new perfume on her skin.
“On a date. I’ll see you both later.” They both gape at her and can only watch with wide eyes as she sashays away, heels clicking with every step.
Word spreads like wildfire and no one takes it harder than Mr. An, who calls her a “jezebel” and cries at the front of the law firm for hours, she has to step over him to go get lunch shaking him off when he latches on to her ankles.
The others just look at her with sad eyes, filled with both understanding and disappointment.
Much to her surprise the lunch boxes keep coming and her clothes are still pressed and starched to perfection though.
She also starts taking self defense classes, Korea is much more dangerous than she had first suspected and she has to be able to protect herself because nobody is coming to save her. Not anymore.
It becomes a great outlet for her built up anger and her instructor praises her for being a fast learner. She grins and nods before flipping him and twisting his arm around his own neck in a modified sleeper hold. When he taps on her arm she squeezes tighter instead of letting go and he goes limp for a moment before she comes back to herself and releases him hastily with a quick apology, “Sorry!”
He rubs his neck, panting for air and she feels guilty, there's a tinge of that but most of all she feels powerful, more so than she has for a long time.
It’s crazy but she finds herself asking him for drinks after class and even crazier is that he agrees even with her marks still there on his skin, the area bruised and red. He looks at her like she’s challenge that he wants to conquer, she lets him believe that’s possible. It’s only a bit of fun anyway, she has no plans for anything serious.
Drinks turn into a drunken cab ride home with his hand on her thigh, hot through the thin material of her tights and they don’t feel right- too small and not rough enough but she’s moving on and she has no time to reminisce.
There hasn’t even been a postcard lately. Message, loud and clear.
When she shoves the keys into her door, he’s glued to her body leaving wet kisses on the long column of her neck and she tries to suppress the nausea that swims in her stomach, everything feels wrong and she hates herself for feeling that way. Why shouldn’t she fuck whoever she wants? He is probably doing the same thing, everyday on his beautiful private island. Kissing women that aren’t her and whispering dirty Italian words into their ears as he rocks back and forth, nary a thought of that Korean woman he knew once upon a time.
Fuck him.
She rocks back into the purposeful grind of the hips behind her, feeling the hardness that digs into the soft flesh of her ass and finally the door opens and they both tumble in haphazardly and he thrusts a hand under her loose shirt fingering at her breasts before a dark figure moves far too quickly in her peripheral and she hears her date cry out in pain.
She almost faints at the familiar sight of the one person she never expected to see, the hard glint of his cold eyes as he twists the same hand that had just been fondling her chest. The grip looks painful, the wrist contorted in an unnatural manner.
“What the fuck? You have a boyfriend?!” Her instructor cries out, voice high pitched falling to his knees as Vincenzo kicks his feet out from under him.
She rolls her eyes, of course he would come now when she is trying (and failing) to get over him.
Vindictively she answers the question, ‘No.”
But that makes Vincenzo twist the wrist in his grip even tighter and she can see the bones breaking so she takes pity on the poor man, he didn’t sign up for a murderous mafia leader after all.
“Just let him go. You have no right to do any of this.”
He doesn’t listen right away and absently she wonders if she’ll need to test out her new moves on him, it would be satisfying to deck him square in the face. She dreams of that as often as she dreams of their reunion. Her feelings are...complicated to say the least.
Then with a grunt, he throws the other man away like he’s trash and growls out, “Get out of here before I kill you.”
She tries not be get turned on by that. But it’s a hard sell, her body already getting revved up. He’s telling the truth.
The man wastes no time, jumping to his feet and bolting out the door without one backwards glance. Asshole, he was really just leaving her with a clearly unstable and dangerous man.
“We need to talk.” Vincenzo squeezes out between clenched teeth, and her blood runs cold but she stares him dead in the eyes tired of this game they’ve been playing, if he’s here to end things she wants to know.
“Okay. Then talk.”
She looks insanely beautiful, with her hair cropped so short bringing his eyes to the tantalizing length of her neck. His eyes close in on a spot of moisture on her neck, he feels his blood boiling imagining that bastard touching any part of her. She’s glaring right back at him, her chest rising and falling and he can’t help but check her out, it’s been months since he saw her in person the photo of her doing aerial yoga above his bed couldn’t compare to the tempest that is Cha-young in real life.
The flat plane of her belly is on display under the white crop top loosely stretched across her chest which leads down to her slim hips and legs wrapped in white spandex, leaving very little to the imagination not that he hasn’t imagined her in far less many, many times. Too many times to count. Spilling across the silk adorning his king sized bed with only her name on his lips.
She looks fucking hot.
That makes it even more frustrating because he can still clearly see that bastard wrapped around her like a snake and his hands going up her shirt---he has to take a deep breath before he breaks something. Or chases that asshole to break his face.
There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he owes her.
I missed you.
I love you.
Come with me.
“Who the hell was that?” He says this instead then watches her eyes glint over into nothing but pure murderous rage. Wrong move. But he couldn’t help it, green eyed raged taking away his decision making abilities.
“That’s all you have to say? Get out.”
He wasn’t expecting rose petals and trumpets when he returned but he definitely wasn’t expecting this, her cold glare or another man in his spot. He thought she would wait for him, just as he had done for her.
“Are you serious right now?” He counters, flabbergasted.
“Deadly. Get out.”
He clenches his fist, and then stomps out. Turning back but only to watch the door slam in his face.
What the hell.
It had only taken a letter from Han Seo to get him on boat that would take him to an open field and hours later he was soaring through the skies on a hot air balloon, on his way back to Korea. It was insane and he barely had time to explain to his family but Luca nodded at him like this was the only choice and told him that he would take care of everything, and he trusted those words more than he had ever trusted anything in his life.
“Vai a prendere la tua donna( go get your woman).”
He had nodded, gruffly patting the other man on his shoulder before hopping over into the waiting boat.
But he wasn’t so certain anymore that Cha-young was his.
She seems different. Colder almost, she leaves whenever I mention your name and she goes on dates now. I think she’s moving on hyung, what are you going to do?
Those words had been the scariest thing he had never seen. Scarier than every gun that had ever been pointed at his head. He thought what they had was something special, something that could stand the test of time and distance. He stared at the huge pile of letters on his bedside, all addressed to her. He had written one everyday since they had been separated, but each time he was too much of a coward to send it. In those letters he could say things that he could never say to her face, things like how much he ached without her by his side and how her smile was the only thing that kept him going. In those letters he could regal the ways he loved her, and how deeply she had been branded into his soul, every atom of his body belonged to her and her alone. He would kill for her, die for her, anything she needed or merely wanted he would provide it, all she needed to do was ask.
He could only share those feelings in the letters.
He walks for hours, until he ends up at his old apartment the familiar door greeting him and he sticks his hand in his pocket before he remembers that he gave the key away, with a sigh he starts to walk away before the door creaks open and he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months.
“Hyung!”
A warmth spreads across his back as a solid weight almost knocks him off his feet. He reaches one arm around his body, awkwardly slapping the face that is pressing into his collar.
“You really chose to stay here.”
He feels the nod on his shoulder, “Of course. It made me feel closer to you hyung, I missed you.”
He grunts in response, before turning around and tugging the younger man into a real hug. He had missed the annoying little leech too, he had missed everyone.
They are still in each other’s embrace for a moment before Han Seo pulls away, sympathy etched deep on his face.
“She wasn’t happy to see you.”
“There was someone else there.” He hates the words even as they leave his mouth and Han Seo winces, looking pained for him before tugging him into the small apartment. Everything is just like he left it. He looks around in awe.
“I’m sorry hyung. What are you going to do?”
That’s the golden question, he pondered it all the way here and he’s no closer to knowing the answer to that. Usually she is the one that makes the move, she has always been the brave one between them. He back steps and says things he doesn’t mean and she sees through him and smashes down all his walls. That’s how this has always worked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Let her be happy.”
A loud scoff reaches his ears, “Sure. Is that why you sailed across sharked infested waters and trusted a hot air balloon company run my former thugs?”
He smarts at the sarcastic reply and glares before flicking the cheeky brat on his nose, "I liked you better when you were stupid you know. Now you're a little smart ass."
The younger man looks even more youthful as he grins back at him, rubbing at his nose before shrugging. "I learned from the best."
He has no rebuttal for that so he tries to flick him again, giving chase when he darts off.
It feels good to be home.
He warns Han Seo not to tell anyone that he's here least they give away his location.
So he's not surprised the next day to find the cavalry at his doorstep hands filled to the brim with containers of food. There are tears, mostly from Mr. Nam who won't stop screaming his name and pinching his cheeks to see if he's real and Mr. An who wraps around him like a koala despite his very detailed threats. It's all chaos and so familiar that his heart aches but her absence is like a hole in his chest. Nobody mentions her but they all keep looking at the door, so it's obvious that she was invited but chose not to come.
Because she didn't want to see him.
"You're here to win her back right?" He doesn't know who even utters the words but when he glances up they are all looking at him expectantly.
He didn't know that was what he was indeed here for thought that she would happily welcome him back and they could pick up where they left off but she's made it clear that this won't be the case. This will be the most important fight of his life.
"Yes. I'm here for Cha-young."
He gets enthusiastic thumbs up and a loud giggle from the Yeon-Jin and Cheol-Wook’s adorable baby, her little hands too uncoordinated to do a thumbs up but she waves excitedly feeding off the energy around her.
He wonders how Cha-young would look with a baby in her arms, their baby it's a dangerous thought. But one that he can't get out of his mind once he thinks it.
They stay until midnight, forcing him to eat and drink too much soju until he passes out to dreams filled with a round Cha-young, belly swollen and protruding from her body.
It doesn't take much to learn her schedule(Mr. Nam hands him a laminated copy) and he has to put on a disguise but he enters the shop seconds after her, hearing her order that god awful sewer water she's so fond of.
"An espresso for me." He leans in too close, almost brushing her shoulder and she jolts at the sound of his voice, turning to stare at him as if she's a mirage.
"You're still here?" She whispers and then shakes her head and looks away as if she's hadn't meant to say the words aloud.
It hurts him that she thought he would leave without telling her but he can't blame her, he has been anything but consistent. Instead of answering, he leans forward to hand his credit card to the cashier who glances between them suspiciously before accepting the card.
Their orders are ready in seconds and he follows her as she walks to their table, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar sight.
She turns to him with a glare, "It's just the only available table."
He moves to pull out her chair and she starts at him tight lipped before sitting down. She's in a tight black suit today, two long slits on the side of her pants going all the way up to her thighs. He gulps down his drink to get rid of the drool pooling in his mouth.
"You're upset with me."
She stares at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet, it's not a look he receives often but she's always the outlier in his otherwise organized life.
"Astute observation." She quips back, sucking loudly at her coffee.
"Why?"
He considered how to go about breeching this subject and in the end had decided on going straight to the source, he had been under the impression that this was working for them.
Her face morphs into a person he hasn't seen for a long time, the Cha-young that would berate him and make him angry enough to curse in Italian.
"Do you think this little of me?"
He's completely lost, "What do you mean? What did I do that was so wrong? Wrong enough for you to cheat on me!" He's panting now, his voice has gotten loud enough to catch people's attention he can feel them watching their table, nosy and invested.
"Cheat on you?"
Cold as ice, her voice is. It almost makes him shiver.
"How could I possibly cheat on you? We're not together. You send me the same postcard with the same message every few months. I have no idea what you're doing in Malta, who you're with. You can't even be bothered to send me a letter, do you think this is a relationship? You think it's enough to pop up like this every once in a blue moon? You've told me nothing about how you feel about me but I'm supposed to be satisfied with whatever you throw my way?"
If he wasn't sitting down his legs would have already given out he's certain about that. Her voice is deadly quiet each word landing and chipping away at his confidence.
"I'm doing the best I can! You knew it would be like this after everything was over, why are you blaming me now? How about you, I don't know how you feel either!"
"I love you! Anyone with eyes can see that, I told you that at the airport too. And again when I took a bullet for you, you didn't think that meant I loved you? I was willing to die for you."
Shit.
It's not at all how he expected them to confess their love for each other, it's hard to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth as she bares her teeth at him.
"So why are you doing this? Why are there other men?"
Why aren't I enough? He wants to say but he's scared of her answer, terrified that she'll say that she can't do this anymore. That he just isn’t enough anymore.
She stares at him long and hard.
Waiting for something. But he doesn't know what.
"You haven't changed at all. You're still a coward, I'm not interested in guessing anymore. I’m done playing this game.”
She stands up and walks away, leaving her unfinished coffee on the table.
Unwanted just like him.
She doesn't see him for days and she accepts that her words had done their damage, she had cried until she fell asleep that night. Waking up with swollen red eyes that no amount of concealer would save but thankfully no one commented on her state.
She goes through her day on autopilot and before she knows it she's back home, ready to face her night alone again. She pushes the door open, half praying he'll be waiting for her but her hopes shattered when she turns on the lights and finds no one.
"It's better this way." She lies to herself, pouring herself an obscene glass of soju. She's going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this pain.
Her head is woozy and heavy when she hears a sound, suddenly alert she stills in her chair before rushing over to get a frying pan walking on the tips of her toes she prowls closer to the clicking sound, finding herself at the window peering at a long lost friend. Placing the frying pan on her window sill she pry opens the window, screeching when the audacious bird flies inside landing on her table as if he belongs there.
"Hey Inzaghi! Get your dirty bird feet off my table!"
He looks at her nonchalantly, making himself comfortable on said table and she sighs before shutting the window and drunkenly swaying over to him.
"What are you even doing there? Do you want to be my bird now, I won't be a very good owner. I won't remember to feed you. I barely remember to feed myself."
Despite being a bird he finds a way to roll his eyes at her before standing up and only then does she notice something on his leg. She looks at him cautiously before moving closer and untying the paper on his leg, the pigeon barely reacts before flying over to her couch. She sighs in annoyance, she's going to have to clean everything after this bird leaves.
She unwinds the string holding the paper together, unrolling the paper scroll. There is a message written inside: the rooftop. 9 pm.
Glancing at her clock the time shines at her.
7:34pm.
"This could be a trap."
It very much could be, she has enemies now. It was a small price to pay for taking down Babel but she's always looking over her shoulders now, so this note could easily be someone luring her to hurt her or get back at Vincenzo.
Inzaghi coos loudly at her as if he can hear her thoughts. This time he finds a way to look exasperated.
She stumbles off to her room.
She needs time to think.
"So she told you that she loved you and you didn't say it back?"
"I was shocked. She was growling at me and looked ready to kill me at the same time." He reasons back, trying to show his hyung his point of view. The younger man doesn't look even a little bit convinced by his logic.
"Okay and? That sounds perfectly normal for you too. You should have shot someone and wrote it back in their blood on the table."
He recoils in disgust at the suggestion, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually insane, why the fuck would I do that?"
Han Seo stares deadpan in return.
He puts up a hand trying to stop whatever response he has, "Don't say it."
It doesn't work.
"Pig's blood. Don't forget I saw it all, I've never seen Ms. Hong look so excited before. You're both crazy."
Well, that had been different. It was an old tradition, she simply had an appreciation for the classics.
"And I bet you're defending her right now in your mind. Noona is just like you, that's why you're made for each other. She's the gasoline to your fire."
"You know that would just make an even larger fire right?"
"Yes. I'm smart now remember? I know what I said."
He sighs falling into the comfortable familiarity of the couch, a spring digging into his thigh.
"Why didn't you say it back?" His stills at the barely whispered question, his chest constricting as he recalls the passionate confession. He had frozen, like he'd always known she was the brave one between them. Always doing the unexpected and the time was no different, her words had knocked him off his feet.
"Because I was scared."
Han Seo huffs at his honesty. He doesn't know where the words are coming from but he's tired of keeping it all in.
"Because if anything happens to her it'll break me, I thought it would be better if I kept her at a distance. I thought this was enough. I thought this would be easier. When I think about her I want to drop everything and just be with her and that...was too dangerous. I had to keep my distance."
There's a pregnant pause, just the sound of their breathing filling the void.
"Was it?"
"What?"
"Easier. Is this better? Enough?"
He thinks about Cha-young getting married to a faceless man, exchanging vows and sealing it with a kiss, happy and in love on their honeymoon wanton moans and screams from their room, learning that they're having a baby and her round and glowing with someone else's child smiling brightly as she rubs her belly and it's too much. He wants to smash it all into little pieces.
"No. It's not enough. I need her, without her nothing is enough."
"That's what you should have said to her. Don't glare at me I'm right, but I have an idea. I saw it in an American cartoon."
And that's how he lets his younger brother convince him to send a note to Cha-young using Inzaghi, the pigeon had shown up one night and he'd been so happy he almost kissed the bird.
"How will he know where Cha Young lives?" He asks skeptical even as he ties the note to the birds leg.
"I showed him a picture of her house. According to the cartoon, birds just know.”
He stares at the younger man, wondering why he's listening to this ridiculous plan.
"This is stupid. I should just text her, Inzaghi is never going to deliver this. He's just a regular pigeon."
"This is more romantic." He answers matter of fact.
"How is a pigeon delivering a message in anyway romantic?" He challenges already knowing from the shit eating grin he won’t like the response.
"The same way pig blood was." The brat counters and he doesn't get a chance to respond before Han Seo picks Inzaghi up and throws him out the window, "In the name of love!" He only barely stops himself from bashing his head into the wall, the younger man has to wrestle him to the ground.
It's stupid. They did all of this for nothing the cool breeze makes him pull his coat tighter around his body, exposed to the weather on the open space of the rooftop.
He checks his watch, 9:48.
She's not coming and the worst part is that he doesn't know if it's because that damn bird never delivered his message or if it's because she really doesn't want anything to do with him. The burden of not knowing hurts more than anything.
Expelling the air in his lungs he walks back to the single door that leads off the roof, twisting the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open.
Meeting the shocked face of one Cha-young.
They both just stare at each other before he speaks, "You came."
He can't believe it. Inzaghi had actually delivered the note, somehow the pigeon had found her house and she was here. He almost pinches himself to see if he'd passed out on the roof and this was just a dream.
"I didn't know Inzaghi was a carrier pigeon." She futilely tries to change the subject and he takes a step back, gathering the tattered pieces of his courage. The same courage that had propelled him to kiss her all those months ago on the stairs.
"I'm so happy you're here. I waited for you."
She stares at him like he has two heads before blushing, and avoiding his eyes.
"Come with me." He extends his hands and tries not to be too hurt when she bypasses it and steps around him instead.
At least she was here.
With a quick swipe of his hand he sends the message to his accomplices.
Now.
The lights come on, fairy lights decorating the roof top in a heavenly glow. She spins around in wonder, eyes nearly as bright she's so beautiful it's almost painful to look at her.
Then the music starts.
The soft notes filling the space.
When I walk down a road I don't know well....
She looks around in wonder, staring back at him she can’t believe what’s happening.
Then the letters start falling from the sky, all the letters he had written to her alone and missing her thousands of miles away. His plaza family smiles down at him, throwing letters from a higher building.
Cha-young stares up at the sky in surprise, hundreds of letters landing all around her.
It had taken a few days for Luca to send them all over and then another day to get the guts to do this, there was no turning back now. He had never willingly made himself vulnerable to anyone else, but according to Han Seo it was the only way he was going to win her back.
“She just wants to know that you love her too. Show her.”
He watches anxiously as she picks up a letter, stroking lightly at her own name on the front looking at him with stunned wet eyes.
“You wrote me a letter.” Her voice is revere and awe that he doesn’t deserve, not after everything he has put her through in the sake of protecting himself but he’s too elated to see her looking at him like that again, like he’s someone important to her.
“182. For each day we were apart. I told you I thought about you everyday, and every time I did I wrote you a letter.”
She stares at the letter in her hand, gently ripping it open and devouring the words on the page. Nerves shoot up and down his body as he watches her read his most private thoughts about her, her expressive face for once empty of emotions as she silently reads the letter.
He waits.
Breathless and terrified.
“Why didn’t you ever send them? They were mine so why did you keep them?” He hears an edge in her voice that makes him wonder if she’s only talking about the letters.
“Cha-young, I don’t think you understand.”
She breathes out loudly, stomping over to him until they are inches apart and he has no choice but to look into the deep pool of her eyes.
“I don’t! I don’t understand anything, I thought you had found someone else in Malta and the postcards were just your way of being nice. I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did, you were sending Han Seo letters but you wouldn’t do the same for me. What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you try to help me understand, you were gone for six months!”
There’s so much wrong with everything she said, how could he find anyone else when his heart beats for her? How could he forget her when everything he did reminded him of her, he saw her every night in his dreams. But he doesn’t make the same mistake this time, he says what’s important.
“I feel the same way. I love you Cha-young. I thought this was better for you, that this could be enough. But I was wrong, I missed you every minute of every--”
“Come home with me.”
He stops, stares, gapes and then stares some more.
“What? I wasn’t finished confessing though.” Actually offended that she interrupted his planned speech. He was about to recite one of his favorite Italian love poems for her and then ask her to dance.
She rolls her eyes dragging him towards the door, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? It’s been six months and you have been here for too long, you have to go soon.”
She’s right, he has a flight in two days for an identity he borrowed for his escape.
“Listen to her, just go back to her place and have a good night!” That sounds like Cheol-Wook and then they all erupt into applause and start cheering and hollering, chanting their names and then to his embarrassment they start chanting, “Go have sex! Go have sex!” complete with the monks banging on their drums and he doesn’t think he will ever live down this moment, especially when he sees Miri capturing it on the new video camera he had gifted her.
He flips them off as an eager Cha-young pulls him away their laughter following them all the way.
The car ride is too long on the way over and she wonders how quickly she can undress them both as soon as they reach, there is simply no time to waste.
But once they get to the doorstep he suddenly freezes, tugging her backwards into his chest.
“This looks familiar doesn’t it?” His voice is dark and smoky and she immediately knows what he’s referring to, and she refuses to give him any reaction.
“Are you seriously doing this right now?”
“You let someone else touch you. Here.” He runs a hand up her neck, briefly squeezing, “And here,” she gasps at his hands suddenly on her breast, squeezing harshly at the tender flesh.
“So what are you going to do about it?” She knows that she’s playing with fire, but that is their foundation. She has never aimed to cool him off or tone him down, she sees the dark side inside of him and loves it, encourages it and feeds on it herself allowing it to bring her darkness out too.
He kicks the door open, shoving her side and she delights at the rough treatment. She hopes that she is filled with his bruises tomorrow.
She doesn’t wait for his next move, pulling her shirt up and over her head before tugging off her skirt leaving herself in a barely there lace panties and a matching lace bra that is translucent, her nipples peeking through the sheer material. He stares at her transfixed, his hunger evident in his eyes and in the tent forming in his tight dress pants.
“Take those off.” She commands and he smirks before obeying, peeling the pants off his thighs standing in his button down shirt and tight boxer briefs that leave nothing to her imagination, every delicious inch of him visible. She steps forward bringing their bodies in contact, before thrusting her hand inside the opening of his briefs. He feels hard and smooth, liquid pooling at the tip and she twists her hand collecting it to ease her slow strokes up and down. His voice hitches as she fingers his balls and without warning she tugs his boxers off, leaving him bare to her eyes.
Mesmerized by the unencumbered sight of him, she drops to her knees using her hand to guide him to her eagerly waiting mouth.
His flavor explodes on her tongue and she swallows more, grabbing his hips to drag him deeper into her mouth until she can feel him in her throat, but even after her eyes start to burn and she feels herself choking she doesn’t stop, bobbing up and down hungrily, sloppy wet sounds filling the room in a filthy symphony. At first he lets her control the movement, pliant in her hands but as she increases her speed and suction he starts groaning and huffing loudly and then she feels his hand on the back of her hand, keeping her in place and when she looks up at him he looks wrecked. Eyes dazed and his face red and flushed, she ingrains that image in her mind, for when he’s gone and all she has are her toys.
She stares back defiantly before he draws himself out of her mouth, a single line of spit connecting them and then he thrusts back into her mouth roughly and she opens her mouth wider to accept the abuse, loving every second of it even as a her throat aches. He sets a frantic pace, his balls slamming against her chin and she doesn’t realize at first that his grunts have transformed into words, too much blood rushing to her head.
“Mine. Mine, nobody can---ah fuck! Nobody can see you like this. Only me. You’re mine.”
He fucks her mouth like it’s his to use and do what he pleases, and she’s wetter than she’s ever been listening to him claim her verbally and with the wet push of his dick in her mouth.
She starts grinding on the floor like a cat in heat and without preamble he grabs her under her armpits and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his dick sliding free from her hot mouth, “I want to make you scream.” He says this like a declaration of love and she throws herself at him, kissing the words off his lips. His tongue swirls in her mouth and she wonders if he can taste himself in her. It makes her hotter and she grinds her barely covered pussy onto his naked length, groaning at the friction even though the thin layer separating them.
He tosses her onto the bed and she doesn’t even remember them walking, his tongue and his wondering fingers had completely distracted her.
She lays sprawled across the bed as he stares at her, like she’s feast he can’t wait to devour.
“Nobody has been in here.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking a question or making a statement, but she feels that his jealousy is real. Seeing her with someone else had done something to him, guilt washes over her. If she had seen him with someone else she would have lost her mind too.
“Nobody. I never brought anyone home before, that guy was a mistake. I was just hurt and missing you. I’m sorry.”
He had abandoned her for six months and she didn’t owe him anything but his pain is her pain and they are stronger now, everything has been said.
“Good.”
Then he rips her panties away and buries his face between her legs, prying her wide open with his hands and lapping at her with his searing hot tongue. Immediately he has his wish and she screams, loud enough to fill the entire room.
“Already screaming amore? It’s going to be a long night, I want to make you hoarse.”
She doesn’t get a moment to respond before he’s back to licking and sucking at her most sacred part, fingers deep inside her as he thrusts and strokes alongside his tongue, his fingers and tongue moving in tandem and she tries to stifle the scream but a particularly deep fuck makes the sound erupt from her throat and her head feels dizzy from the overwhelming sensation.
He has boundless energy it seems, as time drags by and she feels her body tightening up as he systemically destroys her, he never takes a break or pauses, slurping up all the liquid that drips from her and the sounds of him swallowing are beyond erotic. When a hand runs up her stomach and squeezes at a bouncing breast she can’t contain her moans of pleasure, crying out as his fingers pinching the tight bud of her nipple.
“Please.”
He coos in her, “So pretty when you beg.” Then he sticks his tongue as far as it can go and she hears the rush of blood in her head as her body shakes apart and her release gushes from her body, twitching when he laps it all up her oversensitive body recoiling from the overstimulation.
She has never come like that before, most men have never put in the work necessary to make her come and she wasn’t one to fake it so her experiences with sex with someone else were few and far in between.
This feels like nirvana.
“You still with me amore?” The bastard looks so smug, looming above her naked arms on the side of her head, and she had no idea when he took his shirt off.
“I can’t feel like my legs.”
He chuckles loudly at the statement, grinning growing wider.
“Well I can assure you that they’re still there and they will look great wrapped around my waist.”
Raising to his challenge, although her body is still buzzing she wraps her legs around his waist, they feel like jelly but she finds the strength to follow through with her movement.
“I was right they do look great.”
“Well this would look great in me.” She counters, grabbing at his thick ruddy red dick jutting from his body and he rocks into her hand before knocking her hand away and taking himself in his hand.
“Do we need a condom?” He asks her, looking like he is ready to stop at nay minute if she tells him that they do.
“No.”
She has been on birth control since she was a teen and there’s been no one for her since she met him, and she trusts that it’s been the same for him.
“Thank goodness, I want to feel everything.” He barely finishes his sentence before he’s easing into her, slow and steady. She lets him continue for a moment before she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him in roughly, as deep as she can get him in this position. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.”
“Shut up and fuck me already.”
He grumbles at her calling her bossy, but she sighs when he draws out and slams back in with a quick snap of his hips.
“Yes just like that!”
He takes direction very well, repeating the motion until the bed starts to creak from their movements, he pistons in and out of her gone all semblance of gentle or slow, they have teetered into a speed that can only be defined as “break neck” and she feels her body sliding up the mattress as he pounds into her over and over again, she latches onto his neck eager to leave a branding mark on him and he groans at the suction, grinding harder into her and gripping her ass to force her to meet his vicious thrusts.
Absently she feels him peeling her bra from her body, the only remaining item of clothing that has survived their coupling and she knows exactly when he sees the scar. The grotesque knitting of skin that had left a permanent scar on her shoulder, she almost covers it up but when she peels her eyes open he is staring at her mesmerized.
“Don’t look.”
He leans down to kiss it, the softest more precious kiss she has ever received in her life.
He peppers more kisses all over, then strokes at it with a single finger.
“I should have realized, this was your confession. I was an idiot. I will never be that stupid again, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Anything.”
He puts her legs on her shoulder, nearly bending her in half before resuming his thrusts but they are less frenzied now, it feels like lovemaking. Her eyes prickle when he kisses her scar with every downward thrust, whispering, “Beautiful, so beautiful. Every inch of you.”
She cries out.
With every thrust he kisses her scar, making her feel lightheaded and naked.
When he moves them into a new position, her back to his front giving him better access to her scar, she loses herself as he whispers sweet nothings into her ears and litters the spot with warm kisses.
She falls off the edge with his lips on her scar and him deep inside her, warm bursts filling her up before leaking out onto the bed sheets.
“Today’s our last day.”
Waking up next to him is torture, she tries not to ingrain that in her mind but it’s too late it’s already there. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes at her words and then nods solemnly in agreement.
“Yes for this visit. But I’ll always come back for you.”
She smiles brightly, “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”
They don’t leave the bed except to get breakfast and that ends with her laid across the kitchen table getting taken from behind after teasing him. He can’t seem to keep his hands off her new hair, twisting the short strands in his hands and yanking on them. She catches him looking at her heatedly more than once.
Then they wind up in the shower, trying to clean up and getting dirtier instead, his hands tight in her hair and around her waist as he hoists her up to pound her into the wall. Making up for lost time.
They get messages from their entire family, Vincenzo showing her a message from Han Seo asking if he’s going to be an uncle soon. She promises to embarrass him in front of Miri very, very soon.
Both pretend they don’t feel the day fading away, bringing them closer to their goodbye.
Tomorrow he will be gone again, but there’s no guessing now. She knows what she means to him now and that’s more than enough.
She wakes up to an empty bed and a ticket to Malta, the ball is in her court.
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Chapter 1
Wc: 1.8k
@chokemeanakin request, my very first fanfic hope you like it <3
There it was this familiar feeling of fear, anger, and frustration creeping into my mind consuming my very soul and leave my body frozen.
I failed.
I needed a moment to realize what just happened, a moment I missed to dodge the shot that split my lightsaber in half.
Not that It was of great use to me, now that I was lying on a destroyed federation tank, probably deadly injured and without any support that could turn things for the better.
The stars dancing over me confirmed my worries and slowly a jabbing pain kept me from breathing in more of the burnt air that wavered over the battlefield.
That was it.
That was the end.
The end of a traitor, of someone who left her troops in the middle of a crucial fight only to hunt down a phantom, a specter. There were clear orders to be followed, there was a code that showed a Jedi how to lead, how to live, and most importantly how to survive.
Especially the last part seemed more reasonable to me, as I was dying on that piece of metal junk.
My vision began to blur and the sounds of the battle surrounding me became numbed.
I desperately tried to reach my communicator and I believe more color left my face when I felt the warm blood on my finger.
Tears formed in my eyes as I started to realize what I had done, in what position I had brought not only my troops but the whole galaxy, the republic ... and General Skywalker.
I winced at the thought of Ani, we were friends since we first met as younglings at the temple.
The mission we were sent to was most likely one of the most significant, it held the potential to capture General Grievous and end that monster once and for all. After a defeat of General Grievous and his droids, the Jedi council and chancellor Palpatine were informed by republic supporters that Grievous fled to the Outer Rim.
Palpatine made it clear that two of the most powerful Jedi should execute this mission to ensure certain success. The council was as confused as I was when the chancellor recommended me for this mission, of course, I was a Jedi knight but I was neither a master nor the chosen one, on the contrary, I had never felt strongly connected to the force or was especially skilled with the lightsaber. If it wasn't for the severity of the situation and the lack of available Jedi, the council would have never even considered sending me on this mission.
I closed my eyes and gasped at the pain that slowly numbed my body and my consciousness.
In the Carlac system, we finally tracked a sign, in hindsight obviously way too easy and after we landed on Carlac it didn´t take long and an army had surrounded us. Any communication was blocked and Anakin and I were separated right at the beginning of the battle.
The snow-covered planet made it difficult to keep an overview, heavy blizzards made it nearly impossible to see more than two feet in front of you.
Tiny sobs escaped me when I thought of him being out there alone facing this gigantic army of battle droids. In the Jedi order was no personal attachment allowed and that was the hardest price to pay in order of being a Jedi. He had to be dead by now, yet I didn´t feel any change in the force.
The tears burned in my eyes, realizing that everyone could be dead by now and my weak connection to the force could easily hide it from me.
My thoughts became disorientated and the aching pain had now reached every limb and bone in my body.
My eyelids became heavier and it started to snow again, flakes nearly as big as my hand, they really looked beautiful combined with the fading sunlight.
Something felt so familiar with that picture and for a moment it soothed my pain sending me into something between sleep and unconsciousness.
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The nightmare that haunted me was the same as I dreamt it almost every night for as long as I could remember.
Usually, I was wandering through a cave until I would spot daylight and hope to escape this hell only to stop before a dead end every single time. A horrifying scream fills the cave, echoes, and becomes louder and louder until I´d crouch on the ground. Desperation and fear would paralyze me until the cave would begin to crumble and collapse burying me.
This time was no different and with a loud gasp I opened my eyes, adjusting to the harsh mechanical lights that were directed on me.
I couldn´t make anything out in the glaring light, apart from the metallic room that surrounded me, and the fact that I was levitating in the middle of this room, held in some sort of slowly spinning electrical captivation.
It was a wonder that I survived the shooting before but there was no way I would live long enough to...my train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the door.
Battle droids of course and behind them a horrendous creature, half a robot and half Kaleesh.
"General Grievous", I stated, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.
His pestering laugh filled the room as he eyed me carefully.
"I´m a Jedi", my voice sounded horrible, an embarrassing mixture between voice cracks and whispering. Why was I even talking to him, I silently cursed myself.
"Jedi scum for sure, but what´s your name little Jedi?"
"Emerald", I answered slowly starting to feel the pain coming back.
"Is this even a name?", the droid next to Grievous chattered, "Never is that a name.", he continued clearly sure of himself, "We found her on the top of a tank, and her lightsaber was broken. I have it right here. Look at it yourself." he proudly held my lightsaber in front of Grievous face.
"What am I supposed to do with it you stupid droid?", the Kaleesh snarled. "You´re soon will look like that saber, Jedi scum. Droids, guard her." with that he stamped out, leaving me with that awful sound of "Rodger, Rodger" echoing through the room.
The thought of Anakin and the clones haunted me, there was no way I would give them up so easily.
This was my chance, a new sparkle of hope gave me life, the moment a somewhat brilliant idea came to my mind.
With my most suffering expression, which I didn't even need to fake that much I wailed "Oh, no. I´m gonna die, I can feel it. If I die now, Grievous can´t kill me. How are you gonna explain to him that you let me die when you were instructed to guard me." I sighed dramatically and slowly closed my eyes.
"Is she dead?", "Hey you, Emerald Jedi.", "I think she is dead", "We need to check, I was just promoted." the discussion continued until I roughly landed on the ground, hearing the two battle droids approaching to check on my health.
I quietly groaned at the aching pain that definitely originated from the left side of my body.
I felt the cold metal hand on my throat, clumsily checking if I was still alive. "I think she is...dead?!"
I calmed myself collecting everything that's left of my strength and grabbed the droid and ripped his head off. "Whaaat the", the other droid screamed in shock, still compensating why I was still breathing, which made it easier to grab his blaster and shoot it.
I gasped again, this time out of physical exertion, this little fight had brought me near unconsciousness again.
Struggling to set one foot before another I reached the door and opened it, trying to be as quiet as possible while sneaking out of the metallic hellhole.
There were only a few other droids, the base definitely didn´t seem heavily guarded, which was somehow strange.
"Grievous, you know that it is of utmost importance that the Jedi girl...", I froze and slowly approached the corner the voices were coming from. "Skywalker has to walk into our trap..." My heart made a little jump when I realized that Anakin probably wasn´t dead. "...Sidious ordered that she is only to be killed when Skywalker watches." I frowned and carefully retreated. The pain became more unbearable by the second and I still needed to find a way out of here.
Still, I couldn´t keep my mind from start rattling about what I just witnessed.
What in the force's name did they mean by setting a trap for Anakin. I wasn´t sure who the other one was, but I was definitely planning on figuring that out.
I needed to get to our ship and contact the fleet, call for help and inform the Jedi council about this.
I looked for something that would keep me alive and my luck had turned at least that's what I thought the moment I spotted a little something above me.
It seemed like there was some sort of container that had a medical sign-on. My shoulder made a terrible sound as I tried to reach for the switch to open it.
The pain that shot through my whole body caused me to abruptly slump down to the hard metal ground.
Before I could hit the ground hard, I was caught by a pair of strong arms that seemed familiar to me.
Could this be... "Ani?", I croaked and turned around, tears once again forming in my eyes as I saw his eyes full of concern and his hurt expression.
"You promised me you weren´t going to do anything reckless", he whispered and tried to sound taunting but his voice broke when he turned me a bit and saw my side.
I tried to form a laugh that sounded more like Grievous coughing, due to the amount of blood that came with it.
"Don´t worry it´s gonna be fine. Help is on its way, we-we contacted the fleet.",
My hand clutched for his that tried desperately to soothe my pain somehow.
"Ani, please hold me", I whimpered holding on to him even stronger. I couldn't read the expression that crept on his face but it scared me.
"They are gonna pay for this, every single one of them." he hissed and my stomach turned.
"Just look at me, Ani, please. It´s not that bad.", I whispered caressing his cheek and tried to smile. His expression softens and he carefully picked me up. "You´re so cold, Ems." I huffed and grabbed his hand pressing it against me, placing a soft kiss on his palm. A sad smile graced his face while he covered me with his robe. "See, I´m here, don´t worry.", he placed in return a kiss on my head.
"Ani, I´m scared." I whispered and I don´t know what hurt more the stabbing pain in my side or how his eyes became watery.
I ran my hand softly over his chest and buried myself into his strong arms. I barely felt the pain nor the burning sensation that had caused his touch.
And once again I drifted into sleep, only this time I felt as safe and warm as I never had before.
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Baar Bal Runi Chapter Ten
Series Masterlist
Pairing: The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive!Reader
Words: 4.1K
Summary: (Body Swap AU) You leave Garel spend a month in hyperspace. When you arrive on Oseon you have run out of fuel, food and money and Din must finally go out again to work.
Rating: T
A/N: Did anyone think the tensions were going down? Lol. They were not. This is sort of a strange in the middle chapter but you know what? It has lots a quality bonding and we love that.
The next morning you wake, and Din asks you to braid his hair again. So you do, you sit on the edge of your bed and he moves easily to settle himself between your knees so that you can reach him. You talk him through the motions again and pass him the ends of the braid to practice as you had before. He still fumbles with the unfamiliar movements, but you recognise the determination in the hard set of his mouth and shoulders when he tells you he won’t need your help soon. That he will be able to braid it himself. You believe him. When you finish he asks you if you dreamt of the cave again. Neither of you had. The child is up as well, as energetic as ever and trying to throw himself from the edge of your bed into Din’s lap. Din catches him with a playful growl before he can, a growl which makes the child squeal and giggle, and Din tickles the bottoms of his feet as he squirms.
The storm makes the sky almost black instead of purple. Had rolled in through the night, filled the air with static and pops of lightening. Half the streets had gone dark and empty under the torrent of heavy rain, so intense the sheets of water blur the world beyond the window into a haze of flashes. But it is not quiet, although there is no life in the streets outside for the first time since your arrival. There is no thunder like there had been in storms on Coruscant and in its place the planets itself groans beneath the weight of the storm. Makes the air creak and groan and there is the sound like the planet is trying to break apart beneath you. The current of the storm, crackling through the air and the rain and the buildings and the ground all around you. You can’t leave your lodgings at all, but Garel has systems prepared, underground tunnels and chutes run the width and breadth of the city and there is hot food and fresh water pumped in through the main grid below your feet. The large open spaces downstairs are filled with throngs of people, humans and aliens and droids, mingling and laughing and drinking through the four days and nights that the storm lasts.
The kid is restless, won’t sleep in his crib. You wake the first night to the sound of gentle murmuring from Din’s bed and you twist to see them in the dark, curled together beneath the covers. You fall asleep again to the creaking of the earthen walls and the sounds of soft spoken Mando’a. But the storm seems to make the world move strangely, like time and reason are suspended, and the sounds of people wondering the hallways through the nights never stops, neither does the distant chatter of the sleepless crowd in the common rooms below. On the third night, when the storm is almost over, something else wakes you from sleep, not Din and the child – the child is curled to your chest that night and Din is quiet. You think you have heard knocking, but you know any sound would have woken the Mandalorian before you. But you can’t sleep again, a heavy knot of dread in your stomach, filling your throat. You push yourself carefully up away from the child and edge towards the door, strain your ears to hear anything over the storm and the chatter. Realise you can see the shadow of someone in the crack of the light showing beneath the door at your feet. You turn back for your blaster before you are brave enough to yank the door open, ready to shoot.
The hallway is empty.
When Din asks if you dreamt of the cave the next morning while you braid his hair you think you should tell him about the shadow at the door, but you don’t know what you would say. So you say nothing and think maybe you had dreamt the whole thing. The knowledge of it sits heavy in the base of your stomach.
When the storm finally ends it brings news with it – New Republic ships are chartered to stop on Garel. It is a quick task to pack your things away and load the Crest of supplies. Din leaves you to check the ship while he makes the last arrangements for your leaving, and you chart your course, first to near the planet Chiron and then to the hyperlane to Oseon. And then it will be more than a month before you reach Barab. You plot every stop you will make for fuel, to restock on food. And while you are alone and scared you pull up the coordinates for the Green Planet in the unknown regions. Further and further from you every day. You look down at the Mandalorian’s hands – your hands now – until he arrives with enough food to last you at least three weeks. He stares at you with a heavy look when he finds you motionless in the cockpit, the Green Planet still flashing on the screen before you. You shut it off, grateful when he asks you nothing, slides into the pilot’s chair and begins readying the Crest.
Din flies most of the first day and you keep him company, sit in the co-pilot’s chair and play with the kid when he doesn’t sit in his father’s lap. Listen to the words Din says to him in Mando’a and try to pick out the ones you are familiar with, often find yourself lulled instead by the soothing melody of the language. Have to look away when Din glances at you and finds you watching. Excuse yourself to try and finish an upgrade you’d started installing in the spare fuel tank, more than a month ago now. You work on it, feel better up to your elbows in grease and at home and distracted by the job, until Din appears in the hull to eat.
“Don’t,” he says when you reach to turn out the light. “It’s fine.”
You hesitate, hand hovering over the control. And then you nod slowly and join him on the crates. Lift the helmet away and feel somehow more exposed without it in the light of the Crest than you had on Garel. And Din seems to sense it as well. He offers you food, fresh still because you are still so close to Garel, with a small smile.
After you eat Din covers the small mirror in the ‘fresher of the Crest with the same dark cloth he’d covered the mirror in the hotel with and you both shower. It isn’t easy, but it doesn’t fill you with the same dread it had, and you are getting to know him well enough that you are quicker to wash now. You don’t sleep well the first night, alone in the hull. Stare up at the blinking light above you with only a small amount of resentment and know it isn’t the buzzing of silence or the light which keeps you up. Both are quieter and dimmer than your hotel room had been. You miss the gentle sounds of the child’s cooing, and his father’s breathing in the bunk across from you. Miss the comfort of being close to them. It’s cold and dark on the Crest, and you wrap yourself deep into your covers.
Once you reach the hyperlane time starts to slip quickly through the fabric of space all around you. Din leaves the ship on autopilot most of the time, so different to how stubbornly he’d stayed in his vigil after the change, sits with you in the hull of the ship while you work on the spare fuel tank. At first he is mostly quiet company, except for when he speaks softly to the child, sometimes in Mando’a, sometimes in basic. Asks if it is okay if he allows the child to play with some of your tools or spare parts. You all eat together with the lights on, and the child laughs when you pull faces at him, slaps his tiny hands down in his lap and shuffles across the floor. Sometimes comes close enough to grab onto your hand and share a feeling with you. Din watches with undisguised trepidation at first, his eyes shifting between you and the child, until you begin to narrate the feelings to him. To describe the brightness of the child’s happiness, or the greedy impatience of when he wants more food. The skipping, jumping in your chest when he wants to play. Try to explain that you don’t always know the name for the emotion being shared with you – that sometimes it is a blend, or so different from the way you feel things yourself that all you can do is guess. That you are learning to understand him just as Din would have to understand his facial expressions, or cries.
You find yourself narrating everything you feel to him, finding the words to translate the way the child feels. And Din begins to question you, to ask what makes happiness different to contentment, what he feels like when he is tired instead of hungry. You spend hours with the child in your lap, Din sitting across from you and listening intently while you grapple with the infinite complexity of turning the heart into the spoken word. Sometimes the Mandalorian will reach across and poke at the child to make him giggle or distract him from mischief.
“He loves you, you know.” You say to him, when Din is letting the child play tug-of-war with his finger. You try to think of some way to explain the feeling like your heart is singing, but there are no words to contain it. “It’s very beautiful.”
Din allows his finger to be caught, and the child squeals in delight. Scrambles over one of your legs where you sit on the floor of the hull to try and draw the Mandalorian’s hand closer into himself. You chuckle and rub the child’s head, tap his little nose. Nothing distracts him from his victory and the child jumps and slips, leans himself up against your crossed legs, his little fingers clutched hard around his father’s hand.
“How long did it take you to figure out that was what it was?” Din asks eventually.
“His love?” The child kicks out, rolls side to side, still holding Din’s hand. His ears tickling your pant leg. “When he wants to play was the hardest. It’s such a specific feeling. But his love is so… so pure. It takes up everything when he feels it.”
You glance up just in time to see Din swallow, a harsh, thick swallow, and duck his head against his chest. His next breath shakes a little through his lips.
“There’s nothing similar to the love a child feels for their parent.” You tickle the back of the child’s ear. “And that is what he feels for you, Din.”
You look away from him, allow him a moment, and for the briefest moment you feel Din where he is sitting across from you, feel such a surge of powerful emotion your eyes fill with tears. Feel like you are going to break apart and be whole all at once. You do your best to concentrate on counting the even grating in the flooring, try to break from the intensity of the connection until it finally fades. Still leaves you with your hands shaking. And you see Din’s are as well, one still clutched against the child’s chest. The infant’s toothy smile makes you think once again that he knows – knows so much more than you give him credit for.
“You – ” Din his voice catches and he stops. Swallows again and clears his throat. “Not all love feels the same? You can feel the difference?”
You hum. “It doesn’t feel the same to you, does it? It’s the same. Some love is easier to understand than others. Some is… it’s more complicated. I don’t think everyone feels love the same way, sometimes it is very bright and warm, like with the child. Sometimes it is a much softer feeling. Or intense.” You shrug. “It’s not always obvious.”
Din looks up at you and in the low lights of the hull you can see the way his eyes are wet. He opens his mouth, starts to say something, but the child lets out a low cry and tugs at Din’s hand. He sighs softly, nudges the child with his hand. And when the child makes more impatient noises, tugs again, Din says something to him quietly in Mando’a. His voice sounds like he wants to be stern but is falling somewhere short of it.
“You call the child ad’ika.” You are feeling brave enough to ask him. Din looks up at you, his face coloured with surprise. “What does that mean?”
He blinks at you, stares blankly. “It – It means little one. Little son, or daughter.”
You smile and nod slowly. Mouth the word and repeat it mentally with all the other phrases you have learned. “And you call me Gotabor.”
“Yes.”
“And it means engineer? That’s what you said.” He nods. “Sometimes you say Gotabor’ika. Like ad’ika?”
Din shifts on the floor and doesn’t look up from the child. Rocks him back and forth with the hand on the child’s little belly. Catches the plasma screwdriver the child had been about to snatch from the ground beside him and hands it to you without thought or hesitation. The tips of the Mandalorian’s ears are a soft pink and spreading over the tops of his cheeks.
“Yes.” He watches the child astutely. “It… you add it to words to show familiarity.”
“Like friends?”
He glances at you and you see words almost formed. And then he looks away. “I would consider us friends.”
You laugh quietly, the sound is deep and rumbling, echoing around the Crest without the helmet on. Haven’t been wearing it while you eat or while you work. “I think so. I’ve thought we were friends for – for a while now.”
“I – ” He can’t seem to form the right way to say what he means. “You are one of my closest friends.”
You nod slowly. You are still holding the plasma screwdriver so you set it to the side carefully, far out of the child’s reach with your other powered tools. And then you turn back to the Mandalorian. Wait until he looks up at you, away from the child. You reach for his hand like you have wanted to, catch it and he turns his palm up to hold you back. Your smile broadens when you feel his fingers press firmly against your skin of your wrist. He seems to do it without thinking.
“I’m glad you found me on Batuu.”
He scoffs. “Even though we’re like this?”
You shrug and reach your other hand out to rub the soft hairs at the top of the child’s head. “I wouldn’t trade knowing you and the child for anything, Din.”
He says nothing, just stares at your face, his eyes flickering between the scar you know is on your nose and your eyes, down to your hands. He starts to say something more than once, but the words never form, never leave his lips. You wait for him patiently, even the child goes quiet against your leg, has stopped trying to get his father to play with him and stares up at you both with huge, dark eyes.
“Vor entye,” he says. “It means thank you.”
“Vor entye,” you repeat.
He nods and then leans across the small gap between you, his hand with the child, his other rests on top of yours. “Vor entye, Gotabor’ika.”
You know he means more than for calling him a friend. For more than the truth you had just given him. You hold his hand tighter, careful not to press him too roughly with your larger hands. There is another moment when you feel him, burning right through where your skin is against his, and the feeling lasts longer and lingers even after it has faded. You don’t try to decipher it, don’t try to think about what his heart has shown you and instead you repeat the phrase he has taught you again and again in your mind. Repeat all the others you have learned. You suspect, as with all the Mando’a you have come to know, that the phrase means something deeper than you can understand in Basic. The words turn over and over in your mind.
You move only when the child finally rolls out from beneath Din’s hand. You both shift back from each other, only slightly, hands still held. The child crawls up over your lap to slap both of his chubby three fingered hands down against the back of your bare hand and giggles. Turns clambering up onto where your arms are clasped together with Din’s into something of a game until Din finally growls playfully at him and lifts the child up under his armpits, makes him squeal in delight. Tickles his kicking feet until the kid is laughing so much his huge eyes squeeze shut.
.
Oseon is a crowded planet, has the strange feeling of lawlessness that comes with the Outer Rims, and yet it is more urban even than Garel had been. Nicer. There are no crammed market streets or dirty alleys. The Imperial Credits amassed between you are running low already, after restocking on Garel and paying for a week of lodgings. Once you pay for the three nights of docking at Oseon you have nothing left. The ship needs refuelling again after two weeks of light speed, and it will be longer than a month again before you arrive at Barab I. Food is beginning to run low. You feel out of place in the clean, wide streets of the planet, filled with richly dressed travellers and manned by shining droids. In the amour of the Mandalorian you feel at least some sense of power, feel untouchable when the crowds of people all around you clear to make way. Din stays close on your heels, tense and angry.
You spend your first day picking your way through every dock in the city, every mech shop and spare part stall asking for work. But Oseon has no need for mechanics, and not for anyone who doesn’t intend to stay. You manage to trade some spare parts which you had picked apart from the Crest’s spare fuel tank, now fixed. But the parts don’t sell for much. You buy lunch with the credits, enough for the child as well, and afterwards Din leaves you to seek work of his own. You continue your search – but there is nothing – Oseon has more droids than you can count, and plenty of skilled hands, drawn already from the steady flow of money from the tourists and the gamblers. But there is work for a bounty hunter. Not Guild work. There is no Guild presence on Oseon, and Din had not rejoined the Guild officially he tells you that night. Is edgy when he tells you about the job. But you have only paid for three nights accommodation and you have nothing to pay for more, or to get fuel or food. And it’s a simple job, he assures you. They don’t want the bounty alive.
“Who is he?” You ask over dinner. Push your food around your plate.
Din watches you carefully. “You don’t ask about the bounty.”
“Right.” You nod jerkily. “So we – we just go out and kill this man?”
“No. I go out and kill this man. You stay here with the kid.”
You stare down at your hands, clasped between your knees. “Din, you can’t go out on your own like this. Like that!” You gesture down to your body, the body he inhabits. “You don’t have any Beskar – ”
“I can bring in a bounty without my Beskar.”
You sigh. “That’s not what I meant. What if they were wrong? What if this man has someone watching his back, what if there are more of them and you’re alone out there?”
“Then I’ll deal with it.”
“Din – ”
He stands abruptly. “Do you remember what you said to me on Garel? We can’t both go. If something happens to me, I need to know the kid has you.”
Your retort dies on your tongue. You have to drop your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. Stare down at your half-finished food. It feels wrong and selfish to not be able to finish it when you are debating Din putting himself in danger just to earn enough to feed you. But you can’t make yourself eat more – aren’t sure you’ll be able to keep it down if you do. Your stomach churns. He rests a hand light against your pauldron and takes the plate gently from you and sets it to the side. Crouches down in front of your crate and ducks so he can catch your eye again.
“What if something happens?”
“We’ve done this before,” he reminds you. “I can handle a simple shoot and fetch.”
“Not – not like this.” You sigh heavily and lean against where Din’s hand is still on the armour. “You know the kid will always have me. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know. I’m not.”
You think of a hundred arguments, of a hundred ways to tell him you are scared for him to leave, and you open your mouth again to tell them to him. But no sound comes out. You just deflate slowly and wish that there was some other way. If there is one you do not know it. You have just enough credits for Din to hire a speeder bike, the fastest way for him to traverse beyond the edges of the city, and the best way for him to bring back the body. Has two more nights to complete the task because then your docking runs out and the ship would be impounded. You hate it. You hate the world for having to agree to this. Din is more than capable of handling it – you know it. Even without his Beskar and his strength he is just as smart and resourceful as he had always been. And you know he will be careful. But you think of the functions of the helmet which would let him see other enemies approaching, think of the protection of the Beskar against laser fire. Think of every possible way the coming job could go wrong. But saying them aloud won’t help.
So you agree.
Din sets off before the sun rises the next morning. He moves quietly, and tries not to wake you, but you had barely slept the night before and you sit up before he leaves. Have the strongest urge to wrap your arms around him and hold him in the Crest so he cannot go. But you don’t, only move from the bed when he lowers the ramp. Slip the helmet on as you stand as protection against the empty dock beyond. Din reassures you he will be back before your docking time is up and you only nod. He hesitates on the ramp, turns back towards you. He has his rifle strapped to his back, two blasters at his sides. He looks at ease, loaded with the familiar weight of weaponry, despite how much larger they all look against your body.
He says your name, not Gotabor. And it makes the nerves in your stomach tighten to a painful knot. You try to remind yourself you do not need to worry about him. That Din is perfectly capable. That he will be fine.
“Din.” His name sounds harsh through the vodocor of the helmet. Echoes off the metallic walls of the ship and bounces back to you. “Be careful.”
He steps back up the ramp, a thought crossing clearly over his face, and opens his mouth. You pad out towards him and the floor is cold under your bare feet. The early morning air is fresh and crisp without the rest of the armour on. You wonder if he is thinking that this will be the first time you have properly separated in two months, the longest time you will have spent apart since the change. You wonder if he is nervous that he will misjudge something, used to his own body and not to yours, and make some error which will end his life. If he is thinking about you being stuck in his body forever if he dies. If these thoughts had kept him awake the night before as they had you. But you do not know because he says nothing, turns back down the ramp and is gone.
.
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Secret of the Skeletor
Skeletor sneaks out. Some less-prominent former members of the Horde receive community outreach. More Skeletor stories!
*
Skeletor sat alone in the laboratory.
He had strict orders not to go anywhere or do anything. As one of Horde Prime’s drone bots, he knew the importance of rules. But ever since Entrapta had reprogrammed him with a name and a unique personality, he also knew the importance of breaking them.
Skeletor chuckled. He stood up, paused, then sat back down again and laughed some more as he pondered his options.
Just about everybody else in Bright Moon was busy. Even Wrong Hordak’s usual support group was canceled while he attended the queen’s cabinet meeting about Entrapta’s new interdimensional research findings.
This meant it was the perfect time for Skeletor to venture outside the kingdom. A community outreach day. He grinned. Pausing only to giggle again and leash his beloved robot puppy, Relay, Skeletor snatched up Darla’s ignition crystal and shambled out the door.
“Now for a little vanishing act!” he declared as he left.
It was going to be a good day.
*
Kyle braced himself as soon as he heard the ship engines come to a stop outside the window.
“Hey, guys?” he called to the other two inhabitants of their modest home. “I think —”
He was interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. “Strong, but not strong enough!” Skeletor yelled as he cheerfully kicked in the door. Rogelio, who had been going to open it, bristled in shock while Lonnie yelped and grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen, brandishing it like a club from behind the counter.
A long, stale moment passed.
“...It’s all part of the game!” Skeletor explained apologetically, as he turned and tried to replace the door on its hinges. “We don’t want to hurt anyone!” At his feet, Relay peered inside the room and barked, tail wagging.
All three of the former Horde soldiers relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, though Lonnie’s battle-ready expression did not change.
“Do you really have to do that every time you come over?” Kyle asked, poking at the loosely swinging door.
“Yes,” Skeletor replied honestly.
Rogelio shrugged and growled something indistinct.
Lonnie quirked an eyebrow. “What? You asked him to come here?”
“We both did,” Kyle piped up. He reached for Rogelio’s hand in reassurance. “We… kinda wanted to get some more information on Wrong Hordak’s support group.”
Dutifully, Skeletor produced a sheaf of pamphlets and papers detailing schedules and services and handed them over to the two young men. Rogelio accepted them all with a brief roar of thanks.
Lonnie shook her head, still frowning. “Oh no. I already told you, I am not interested. Going over there for wellness day was one thing, but there are too many people there that I still just… can’t be around. And he’s nice and all, but I don’t think Wrong Hordak really gets me.”
“Running away. So impolite!” Skeletor scoffed.
“That’s okay!” Kyle hastily added. “You don’t have to come with us. We’d never force you into something like this.”
“Running away sounds like a terrific idea!” Skeletor said.
Kyle looked at Rogelio. “It’s just, we’ve been talking, and I think we want to give it a try. Even if it doesn’t work out, we might be able to learn some stuff that could help. Taking the first step can be really hard, even when it’s the right thing. And we’ll be here if you decide you’re ready, but we’ll be here if you don’t, too.”
Lonnie’s expression softened, slightly. “Thanks guys,” she said, and meant it. She went to hug the other two. “Now, let’s see about making this robot fix our door.” She pounded a fist into her palm meaningfully.
“I think it’s time for me to leave and take care of another matter!” Skeletor squeaked, and beat a hasty retreat.
*
Darla hovered serenely above the water on the Salinean coast. While Relay napped in the captain’s chair, Skeletor strolled unhurriedly along the docks. He stopped in front of a small, shabby storefront and looked curiously at the sign above the door.
Sea Hawk’s Ship Disposal and Firewood Emporium, it read. You Crash ‘Em, We Burn ‘Em!
“I think I’ll make him my court jester, if he’s funny enough!” Skeletor proclaimed, and walked inside.
However, it was instantly apparent from the lack of off-key sea shanties being sung that the shop’s namesake proprietor was currently absent. This suited the skinny robot just fine. The real subject of his visit was the new part-time hire, who sat slouched at the register behind a gossip-scroll and an eyepatch.
Octavia brightened when she saw Skeletor enter. “Hey, I was wondering when you’d make it back here!” she called out. Skeletor waved in response and marched over, holding out a laden bag.
“I’ve brought you a present!” Skeletor announced.
Octavia’s good eye shone as she reached inside and pulled out a glittering, silver fishing net. “Oh, wow, Entrapta finished it already!” she gushed, holding the netting up to the light to admire it.
“That net is made of elastium!” Skeletor boasted. “It’s not only one of the hardest substances in the universe, it also stretches!”
“Hey, thanks for helping me commission this,” Octavia said, looking back. She smiled wistfully. “Entrapta really was the best part of the Horde when we were all there, you know? She was so nice to everyone, and Hordak was loads calmer, and all our maintenance complaints got fixed practically overnight!”
“That’s just peachy for you!” Skeletor said.
“Plus, it kinda took some of the sting out of having to take orders from the kid who did this when we were six,” Octavia added, gesturing to her eyepatch. “I had ambitions, you know? I was the first of our class to make Force Captain. I was going places! Of course, none of that matters anymore.”
Her sour expression melted as she looked back at the new net. “But that won’t stop me! With this I can make some extra money on the side selling seafood. Then I’ll buy this place from Sea Hawk — honestly, I think he forgets he owns it sometimes — and turn it into a crafting and antique shop, Octopus Cove or Mystic Isle or something. After that I’ll take over all the shops on the dock one by one, and then the beach tourism market will be mine! Ha ha!”
She cackled with evil glee. Skeletor joined in, politely.
“Too bad about the others, but at least I escaped!” Skeletor concluded, and left to continue his mission.
*
“Beast-Man!” Skeletor sang as the door opened.
“I still don’t know who that is, but it’s good to see you again too,” Grizzlor grinned. “Come on in, buddy!”
Skeletor followed the wolffish giant inside while Relay trotted happily at his heels. Grizzlor’s husband, fellow former Horde Commander Cobalt, was relaxing in their living room and waved when he saw the bot.
“Skeletor! How’ve you been?”
“Sitting down on the job?” Skeletor barked. “I’ll help you, if only to be rid of you!” He offered Cobalt a thick folder of paperwork. “Here, here it is!”
Cobalt accepted the folder reverentially. “Really? I knew it was a long shot asking Hordak for help, but all the red tape was getting to be such a nightmare that I just didn’t know what to do anymore.” He sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re crying for Hordak?” Skeletor huffed. “I don’t believe it!”
“I can’t believe that worked,” Grizzlor admitted. “I mean, I always thought Hordak hated me,” he added sheepishly. “Especially after that thing with the two neckties.”
Cobalt shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think Hordak ever really hated anybody. He just didn’t know what to do with anyone. Now, Shadow Weaver on the other hand…”
“Most unpleasant!” Skeletor muttered.
“Exactly. But I think Hordak did care, in his own way. He saw how scared we were of combat during the early days, in the Scorpion uprising. I think that’s why he kept me teaching the cadets and you on the easy patrols, Grizz.”
Grizzlor chuckled. “Aw, I can’t imagine you being scared of anything, big guy!”
“Oh, I wasn’t always like this!” Cobalt demurred, flexing his shoulders. “Back in my cadet days I was so skinny everyone called me ‘Mantenna’! Used to joke that I’d fall through a crack in the floor if I wasn’t careful.”
“Another piece of the puzzle!” said Skeletor.
Cobalt slung an arm around Grizzlor. “But listen, Horde or no, I’ll always be there for you.” He held up the adoption papers Skeletor had delivered. “And now, we might have something else to protect together.”
*
Skeletor’s last stop was a recently-refurbished tavern just inside the Crimson Waste. He nodded approvingly at the osseous architecture and then pushed his way through the curtain while Relay ran ahead, yapping.
Inside there was a wide, smoky space filled with outlaws and ruffians of every species imaginable. They all turned to look as Skeletor entered.
“That’s it! Kneel before your new master!” Skeletor bellowed.
Everyone immediately went back to what they had been doing. The chatter and plinky piano music returned. Relay found a small lizard and began to chase it around the floor.
“Skeletor! It’s good to see you back, friend!”
An enormous purple hand clapped the robot on the shoulder. Skeletor looked up into the smiling face of a towering barbarian.
“Can I get you anything?” Huntara asked, conversationally. “Minions to yell at? A ribcage chair to sit in?”
“Unnecessary! Because we’ve already found you!” Skeletor replied.
“Good, I was hoping you’d say that. Zed! Sunder!” Huntara called out. Two Horde clones who were staffing the bar — one seeming slightly shorter than the typical clone brother, and the other a bit older and wrinklier — glanced up at the sound of their names and hurried over.
“Keep an eye on the door, willya? I need to talk to bonehead here for a bit. We’ve got… business to discuss.”
The two clones nodded seriously, and Huntara escorted Skeletor to a secretive back room behind the bar. Inside there were many potted cacti, two comfortable chairs, and a little table with a miniature sand garden on top. It had a tiny, handheld rake for making soothing patterns in the sand.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Huntara sighed in relief, dropping into one of the chairs. Relay jumped into her lap and she patted his head gratefully. “I have so much to talk about! You know how last time I was telling you about Grox and all the things she was saying to me? Well…”
“Easy, don’t overexert yourself! It’ll only cause you to weaken more quickly,” Skeletor cautioned. He settled into the other chair and leaned forward, listening intently.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to, Huntara said. “I don’t feel comfortable in big groups and I can’t always open up to the people around here. So thanks for stopping by.”
Skeletor nodded. “I’m right here, old friend! Release the shadow beast!”
A weight seemed to leave Huntara’s shoulders. “All right. Now, like I was saying…”
*
Long after the stars had come out, the laboratory door finally swung open again. Entrapta and Hordak, looking exhausted but accomplished, strode inside with their arms full of rolled-up diagrams and data sheets from that day’s presentation.
“...And they listened to everything I said!” Entrapta exclaimed as they came in. “I can’t remember the last time anybody besides you paid attention to me for that long. It was kinda scary, but it felt kinda good, too!”
“They were fools if they never attended to you before,” Hordak purred, smiling proudly. “And I cannot imagine they would disregard you now. After all, you are talking about the prospect of rescuing —”
“Sounds like we’ve got company!” Skeletor interrupted, welcoming the couple back to the lab. He was sitting, hands primly folded, in exactly the same spot as he had been when they left. “I’ve been expecting you!”
“Oh. Hello, Skeletor,” Hordak sighed, reluctantly looking away from Entrapta. “Did you follow my instructions to stay put today?”
Skeletor crossed his fingers and nodded.
“Did you follow my instructions?” Entrapta whispered, after Hordak had gone on ahead. Skeletor nodded again, much more enthusiastically this time.
“Good robot!” Entrapta replied, with a wink and a smile. “Thanks for helping out!” Then she scampered away to keep up with her lab partner.
“Ha! My plan has worked perfectly!” Skeletor gloated. “Now I have the power!”
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Kryptic ↟ Deimos
thirty-five - in flames
masterlist
But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.
Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.
They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.
TIMOTHEUS GIVES THEIR NEW heading —Messenia. He overheard the Spartans speaking of a brewing storm, and Lesya knows who will be within the eye. Deimos. Tundareos, Timotheus, and Lesya sit around one of the lit braziers on the ship’s deck after the sun sets. It feels odd to have both her brothers back in her life —sitting next to her, smiling and laughing about their days of childhood in Athens.
But the stories end too quickly, tainted by the night the masked men in dark robes came, taking Lesya away. It was the night her childhood ended. “What happened after pater gave you up?” Timotheus asks. Tundareos told him little of what their sister endured at the hands of cruel people, thinking it best if she were the one to explain.
The question shouldn’t have caught Lesya off guard, but it does, after all, Tundareos had asked the same thing. She looks down into the cup of watered wine, seeing herself stare back with hollow eyes. It’s been years since she was under the Cult’s yoke and foot —still they control so much of her life. The Cult made her a monster, and even her attempts to disprove them only made the truth clearer. No matter what, whether it be for Kosmos, Sparta, or Kassandra, she is a killer, thirsting for blood and relishing in destruction. Maybe I still am Enyo under it all.
Her brothers wait in silence. Tundareos knows the tales, and it will hurt to less a second time to hear of what Lesya suffered through. Drawing in a slow breath, she begins the tale of a girl named Enyo and a boy named Deimos and how the Cult of Kosmos molded them to become the most fearsome warriors in all of the Greek world.
Timotheus remembers the night she came for his head, leaving empty-handed and giving him a warning he’d taken to heart. Lesya shifts, slipping her chiton off one shoulder to reveal the deep scars crisscrossing her back. “This was my punishment for not bringing the Cult your head,” she says —recalling the feel of Nisos’ lash biting and tearing flesh and long weeks of recovery afterward. Timotheus cringes. Part of him always wondered what became of her after that encounter. Now he knows, and his face contorts in anger. “But I’d do it again,” she tells him with a soft, kindly smile.
THE NEXT TIME Deimos and Lesya’s paths cross, Pylos is burning. Smoke stings her eyes, almost as badly as the stinging pain in her thigh where the broken shaft of an arrow remains. Gritting her teeth, she pushes through the pain —I have endured worse than this. Dispatching an Athenian with a dagger through the throat, Lesya searches, trying to find Kassandra or Brasidas through the thick haze. Across the battlefield, she sees him emerge from the flames —eyes set on the Spartan general as he thrusts a spear into a Spartiate’s belly and rips it free from his back. She breaks into a sprint, knowing what must be done.
Lesya collides with his side, throwing him off balance before he can reach Brasidas. They both roll through a burning blanket of heather. Deimos stands before her. He cocks his head this way and that —like a predator eyeing his prey. His gold-and-white armor streaked with black smoke and running with blood, face uplit by flames and twisted into a grim smile. There is a flash of madness in his eyes as he leaps for her. Bloodlust taking him. “Didn’t learn your lesson last time?” He grits out, sounding like a stranger in the months passed since that night on the Megarian beach.
He knocks her back to the ground, and Lesya scrambles for a fallen shield, throwing it up to take the next blow. His sword bites deep, breaking the bronze coating and crumbling the timbers below. She tosses the ruined shield aside, kicking out and back to her feet. Deimos’ sword lashes for her again, but she parries the stroke and strikes back —drawing blood from a slim cut running down his bicep. He stumbles, looking at the cut and the blood on his fingertips, not able to remember the last time he saw his blood drawn in battle.
Sparks fly as they hammer blow after blow, until exhausted, Lesya catches his next strike on the edge of her blade. They strain against one another, teeth bared and panting, both shaking —vying for the upper hand. Around them, the ancient trees groan and fall over in great roars of fire and smoke. When she edges the Damoklean sword slightly to one side, Lesya sees Deimos’ confident glower waver. But it is like fuel to his madness, and with a roar, he pushes back, swatting her blade aside. Lesya rolls clear of his swipe and stands, backing away. “Deimos,” Lesya warns, pressing her hand against her bloody thigh, “stop this!”
A mist passes his eyes —as if something about had thrown him into the past, but it fades and his lips curl into a mockery of a smile. The Cult has sunk their talons in even deeper. “You don’t understand,” he says, jabbing a finger down at the smoldering earth, sweeping his hand around the blazing cage of trees. “This is my home.”
She watches his body tense before he lunges for her again, blades locked in stalemate again. “You know I understand,” Lesya spits, pushing away from him. Of all the people in Hellas she was the only one who understood what it was like to be a tool —a weapon. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Her voice sounds like nothing more than a whisper above the roaring flames. The harsh glare in his tawny-gold eyes softens, the grim smile fades. He lowers the Damoklean sword and backs away as though he realizes alas what he’s doing.
“Deimos–“ her words are cut short by a harsh groaning, and then a crack as a burning tree starts to fall. Lesya watches as it leans toward her —eyes wide— before swinging down like an executioner’s axe. Deimos lunges for her. His weight landing atop her just at the tree crashes down, sending them both into darkness.
THE WORLD COMES rushing back in a hazy fog. Deimos stirs and finds his back aching and head throbbing. Laid out beneath him is Lesya —he spared her from the brute of the tree’s impact. Only a few feet away, he notices his sister sprawled out too, blood trickling down her temple. A group of men encroaches around them. He recognizes the long dark robes and can make out the terrible ivory masks surveying the aftermath of a bloody battle as the island still burns.
“Take the Eagle Bearer,” a low, rough voice says before stepping back where the two champions lay. “I’ll deliver Deimos to Athens.” Kleon would need his champion to instill fear and control over the Athenians again.
“What about her?” One of the men asks —Enyo could be at their mercy. It was no secret the Cult would benefit from having her among them again. But many of their ranks had fallen on her blade, and those transgressions could not be overlooked. “We should slit her throat and be done of it,” another says, that had been their plan years ago, but she slipped through their fingers and grew to be a thorn in their side.
Deimos rises, seizing the Cultist by the neck, face twisted in rage. The others step back, petrified —there is nothing, and no one to stop the champion from acting on his anger. “Touch her,” he hisses, tawny-gold eyes ablaze, fingers tightening around the man’s neck, “and you’ll beg for death.”
“Of course, champion,” the man sputters, lifting his hands in a show of complacency. Deimos sneers, pushing the Cultist back. He bends with a groan, slipping his arms under Lesya’s knees and around her shoulders, carrying her to the war galley, which will bear them to Attika.
Deimos pulls a canvas screen to, closing off a small space at the stern of the ship away from the rowers. He sits on his haunches, eyes skimming over his counterpart —finding a bloody wound on her thigh and several burgeoning bruises on her arms. Sighing, he reaches for the ties of Lesya’s armor, sliding the greaves from her shins and the vambraces from her wrists. He’s done this a hundred times over, but there’s something bittersweet now.
His attention turns to the bloody spot on her thigh, sullied by black ash and dirt, but he recognizes what caused the wound —an arrow. Carefully, Deimos wipes away the drying blood and dirt before prodding the wound with his fingers, checking if the arrowhead is still embedded in flesh. It’s not, she’d been able to pull it out cleanly. Dipping a torn piece of linen into a barrel of fresh water, he scrubs away the blood and binds it tightly to stay the bleeding.
Wounds tended, she lay unmoving —strangely peaceful. Deimos buries the anger he feels at himself, tries to bury the guilt too, but he cannot dig a hole big enough. It takes a moment to realize the dampness on his cheeks is not sweat —it’s tears. He reaches for her, hand cradling her cheek as his thumb follows the scar cutting through her brow, across her eye. Silently, he bids Lesya wake. She doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” Deimos chokes, pulling her into his arms and burying his face into her neck. It’s among the hardest things he’s ever had to say, but he knows he’s to blame, and there’s no water in Hellas capable of washing her blood from his hands.
[taglist: @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @kitkitvm @dynamicorbit @thepreciouspurrsian ]
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Hey! Could you write about a heated argument between Hux and a reader? And make it really angsty - but with a good ending?? :3
Secret Admirer
Absolutely! I hope you like it 😊
Requests are closed for now ✨ ( I think I have 4 or 5 more requests that I still need to finish? Once those are done, requests will be open again 👀)
Armitage Hux x Reader
Warnings: Language, and some angst 😏
The flowers are already at your workstation when you arrive with the general, too early for anyone else to be awake, let alone at work. Someone must have left them the night before. Hux seems just as surprised as you do, so you can cross him off the mental suspect list, but he watches you closely to see how you’ll react. Reluctance wells up in you as you move to your station, and a part of you wonders if you can simply ignore the gift; and by extension make Hux ignore it too.
Your relationship with him is new, and fragile. In fact, relationship might be too strong a word. Was there even a word to describe the connection you had developed? Occasionally making out in his office and eating meals together at odd times when everyone else was sleeping didn’t exactly scream commitment. And you weren’t really willing to have any conversation about what you meant to him, either. Why ruin a good thing?
“Flowers?” he asks, peering over your shoulder at the arrangement, and you nod noncommittally, moving them to the side to begin your work for the day.
“Who are they from?” He’s still behind you, leaning in close, and he smells so damn good that for a moment you freeze. It’s addicting, strangely so, and brings back too many memories: the edge of his desk cutting into your hips as he pressed against you, the feeling of his hands running over every part of you, so urgent it seemed like he might die if he stopped, the gentle thrum of his pulse as you pressed passionate kisses into his neck. That same smell overpowering your senses.
“I don’t know,” you clear your throat and your mind, shaking off the scent of cigarettes and leather, trying to focus on your work.
“There’s a note,” he says it casually, but his eyes are razor sharp as you reach for the small piece of flimsi tucked between the blossoms. Your eyes scan over the words written, searching for a name. After a minute, you fold the paper closed again, slapping it down on your desk.
“Well?” he’s irritated, and not in the fun way—where he pins your wrists behind your back and kisses you hard in whatever storage closet is closest.
“There isn’t a name,” you say, hoping pointlessly that he might still drop it if you’re uncooperative enough. Little chance of that.
“What does it say?” he asks again, and you give up, handing him the note. It’s not very long, but he stares at the paper for minutes, reading the words over and over again, and with each repetition his brow furrows more. The only three words that matter anyways are tacked on at the end. Your secret admirer.
“It’s not a big deal,” you say preemptively, hoping to curb whatever anger he might be cultivating, “they’re just flowers.” How does one even get flowers onto a First Order ship? Just thinking about the kind of planning that would take—the credits that it would take—makes your head hurt. If you had known that this was how your morning would start off, you would have planned to be here earlier. You could have thrown the stupid flowers away before Hux ever saw them, and banished the whole incident from your mind. Then again, if you hadn’t seen him looking so surprised, you might have foolishly assumed they were from him.
“Who do you think it is?” he asks, throwing the note back on your desk. He’s trying to look uninterested, but you can tell that it bothers him by the way he adjusts his gloves, in the rigidity of his posture. He’s all tensed up, mentally tabulating every person you’ve ever talked to, evaluating the threat.
“I don’t know,” you say, inching the flowers ever closer to the edge of your desk, trying to distance yourself from the conflict as much as possible, “and I don’t really care. If they wanted me to know, they would have put their name on the note.”
“Maybe a security droid caught them in the act,” he says, reaching for his data pad, “I’ll check the feed-” you cut him off, stopping his hand with your own.
“Don’t do that,” you say. There’s something edgy about the contact in its complete lack of intimacy or passion, and you let go immediately, like you’d been shocked. “If the person who sent me these wants me to know who they are, they’ll tell me.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t care.” The cracks are appearing in his apathetic demeanor and he’s dripping with irritation, not at the so-called secret admirer, but at you, for some reason. Like this is your fault.
“I don’t understand why you do,” your voice sounds too angry, even to your own ears, and you wish you could take the words back, but they’re already gone. General Hux stops for a moment, and you think that there might be genuine hurt on his face. You had tried so hard to avoid any conversation like this and now it seems it’s happening anyways, only much, much worse.
“It seems I shouldn’t,” he says, and any trace of emotion is gone, replaced with indifference again. He walks away without so much of a backward glance, and you wilt in your seat, staring down the arrangement with loathing, just barely resisting the urge to pick it up and throw it against the nearest wall.
The rest of your day is somehow worse than the already-terrible start. You try to stay focused, but your eyes keep wandering to the flowers, rekindling your rage, which dissipates every time the general passes by and is replaced with a swimming guilt. By the time your shift ends, you’ve planned at least fifty ways you could get rid of the flowers, each more violent than the next. You take them with you to your chambers—ready to rip apart each blossom one by one and shove them in a waste receptacle—but by the time you arrive, you’ve lost all of the anger that had been consuming you. There was no point in destroying the flowers; you weren’t angry at them, or at your secret admirer. You were angry at yourself. For hurting Hux, for letting him think that you didn’t care about him when in reality you cared too much.
You’d have to apologize, and sooner rather than later. Your stomach rolls with nerves, but you set the flowers down anyways, forcing yourself back out of your quarters and in the direction of Hux’s office. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be there—it is rather late—but you’re determined to find him. If he’s not in his office, you’ll have to check the bridge. And his quarters. Fuck, at this point, you’d check the trash compactor if it meant getting rid of the regret threatening to swallow you from the inside out.
Lucky for you, he’s in the first place you check, looking over some new stormtrooper helmet designs with Captain Phasma. He doesn’t look up at you when you enter, finishing some comment about the placement of the filters, and your nerves reach a fever pitch. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Did you need something?” he asks, and you don’t realize that he’s speaking to you, his eyes still latched onto the design in front of him.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, General, but I was hoping to speak with you,” you trail off, waiting, but neither of them respond, and you’re forced to continue, “… alone?” There’s a moment of silent communication between the captain and Hux, and you’re wondering if you should leave, maybe quit your job and move to a different ship. Stars, this is embarrassing. A lifetime later, it seems, the captain stands, stalking past you to the exit, but the cold black gaps in her helmet stay trained on you. It’s impossible to know what the captain is feeling, but you can be pretty sure that she knows about you, and what you did, and that she doesn’t approve. Shit.
The door slides closed and you’re left alone, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact. To make matters worse, the general seems wholly unaffected by your presence, if not a little annoyed.
“Was there something that you needed?” he asks again, and you force yourself to move, taking the seat across from him.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you begin, wringing your hands so hard it’s like you’re trying to remove the skin, “about this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, and I shouldn’t have said the things that I did.” You wait without breathing, watching him for any kind of reaction, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t give. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve told yourself that you just wanted to apologize, you know that’s not true. You want him to forgive you, and you’re not prepared for the alternative.
“What am I to you?” he asks after an eternity, and you let out an unsteady breath, trying your hardest not to get your hopes up. What kind of a response is that?
“You’re my commanding officer?” you say, even though you’re fairly certain that’s not the answer he’s looking for. You’re not about to give him everything right now, though, if he’s not willing to return it. Making the apology was already difficult enough.
“No,” he says, standing, leaning over the desk on both his hands. Stars, he looks good from that angle, distractingly good, and you practically have to peel your eyes away from his jawline, the way it flexes in frustration as he repeats the question, “what am I to you? What is this … thing that we’ve been doing? What are we?” Here it is, finally. Your chance to make things right. Earlier this morning, you would have preferred to give Commander Ren a hug from behind if it meant avoiding this conversation with the general, but now it’s your only hope.
“I don’t know, really,” you begin, biting your lip, “but I don’t want it to stop. And I’d really like it to be more. If that’s what you want, of course.” You spit the words out haltingly, waiting for his response. He stares at you for a moment, expression blank, eyes fathomless, and your heart drops out of your chest, the sting of rejection bringing tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over. Great. Crying on your way out of his office would be the perfect end to the galaxy’s shittiest day.
“I feel the same,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear, and you leap from your seat before you can stop yourself, pulling him in for a kiss, feeling your heartbeat explode out of your chest. He smiles against your mouth, and you do too, hardly able to believe it. He feels the same. He wants you.
He breaks the kiss to move around the desk, pulling you into his arms. It’s the first embrace of its kind—free of lustful hands and bruised lips—but it’s definitely your favorite. This is what you always wanted, to be held like this. Everything else had been a consolation prize, and now—lucky you—you get both.
“Do you know why I didn’t care who sent the flowers?” you ask, your words muffled against the front of his uniform and he chuckles at the sensation, relaxing his grip only slightly so that you can look up at his face.
“Why?” He’s still trying to shelter his emotions, but he’s unsuccessful, the smile he has refusing to leave. You’ll never get enough of his joy. You’ll never create enough of it, but this is a good start.
“Because I already knew it wasn’t you. And you’re the only one I want.”
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Razbliuto
Kylo Ren x Reader
Warnings: canonic typical violence, angst, mention of loss
A/N: Hello everyone! This might be a series, it might not be, but i just wanted to write some Kylo fic okay? Okay. Cool. This takes place somewhere between The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker!
Razbliuto [ros-blee-OO-toe] – noun. The feeling a person has for someone he or she once loved but now does not.
“You still call me Ben in your mind.”
His voice was steady, perhaps even uninterested behind that Godforsaken mask as he swept into the prison hold you had been situated in for approximately five days now.
You narrowed your eyes up at the man who was once your best friend, your partner in crime, before standing up. The one that would make goofy faces over Master Skywalker’s shoulder after you had been scolded for, once again, letting yourself center your focus on your anxieties rather than simply letting go.
“I figured my mind was a safe space for me to retreat away from the ridiculous amount of interrogation that you and your watch dogs have put me through over the past few days.” Despite your…predicament, you found yourself to be just as capable of confronting Kylo Ren with a tone as chillingly calm as his own. Dripping with disinterest, trying so desperately to disguise the fact that you were almost trembling.
He stopped in front of you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Not when you’re calling his name out like that in your mind.”
The fall of the Temple, albeit years ago now, was not something you were likely to ever forget. The putrid smell of smoke and burning flesh still filled your nose as you woke from nightmares now and again – it was only magnified here, what with the sterile walls and complete and utter silence between grueling interrogation sessions.
“Your name.” You said simply, trying to push him as far as you could. Maybe you’d make him angry enough to let you go, or even end it all for you. Maybe he’d wipe your mind and try to take you on as a student, like he tried to so many years ago. You had no way of knowing if you had been compromised and were almost positive that even though you ranked high in the chain of command with the Resistance, there would be no attempt to rescue you. No attempt to make a prisoner exchange. You weren’t even sure if they would take you back if you somehow managed to escape and you prayed that they would put you on an escape pod with no coordinates and let you float through space. It seemed like the best punishment for letting yourself succumb to the torture you had been subjected to – you’d never see your friends again and you’d have to live with your guilt until you finally met your end.
His hands came up to the mask, unhinging it with a mechanic hiss that felt as cold as his demeanor toward you. He lifted it up, then tucked it under his arm. “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, deep brown eyes so uncharacteristically cold. So unlike they had been the last time you had seen his face, on your knees and begging him not to leave with Snoke and the others he had managed to convince to come with him.
You steeled your jaw as you tried your very best to not let him on to the fact that seeing his face was the worst form of torture he could have inflicted on you. “Yes.” You growled, voice cracking despite your efforts to make the simple word drip with acid.
A knowing smirk traced his lips and it was enough to bring you to your knees for him all over again. “Ben Solo is dead.” He said simply, his posture not changing in the slightest. “He was gone the minute I left the ruins of the temple.”
His voice in all of its unmodulated glory and his eyes on yours brought back memories of running through the fields of Naboo on excursions that your master allowed every once and awhile. Your first kiss in the cockpit of his father’s beloved ship, the one that you had spent hours on after he and his wife came to save you and Luke from the carnage their son had inflicted on what was everything to the two of you.
“It doesn’t have to end the way it did last time.” He continued, taking advantage of your uncharacteristic silence. “You don’t have to walk away. You can stay and be with me and we can build something together, like we used to talk about.”
All you could see was the inside of that very same cockpit – how Han and Chewbacca sat rigidly silent at the helm of the ship. How Leia held you as she cried silently. How Luke had found a blanket for you and wrapped you in it before leaving to sit in the gunner’s seat, despite the fact that there was no imminent threat. He couldn’t bring himself to watch his sister cry, to watch you cry as you stared out into hyperspace with complete and total numbness. To watch the man he considered to be a brother white knuckle the controls of his Falcon, at a loss for words because the ship felt a little lighter with the notable absence of his only son.
“It still kills her, you know.” You growled suddenly, trying your hardest to ignore the part of you that screamed to run into his arms and kiss him with the force of a thousand suns. “I see a part of her die each and every day she wakes up and goes to the bridge, knowing that it’ll be another day that you won’t return to her.”
His jaw tightened at the mention of his mother, the one thing from his old life that could still make him keel over with the force of that pull to the light. It had dulled since Han Solo had died, but the reoccurring dreams of the last time his mother had looked over his face with the knowledge from his former master that there was a conflict in his heart, that look that could convince the most closed off of people that she saw into their hearts and knew and understood everything they felt? That was enough to make him question everything.
It was your turn to take advantage of the silence that ebbed from both his lips and his mind. “It kills her that she has lost everything, everything because you made the worst decision you could have. You are the reason that her husband and brother are dead and she clings to me, the closest thing she’s had to a daughter, like it’s her last chance at breathing in clean air.” She snapped, eyes hard. “She’s probably searching for me right now, has probably sent her best pilot –“
You were silenced when you surged backwards into the bench you had slept on ever since arriving on the First Order controlled ship. He wouldn’t ever hit you, or try to hurt you in any way, shape, or form, you told yourself. Pushing you back was his way of putting you in your place without raising a hand to you.
“The best pilot,” He sneered, looking down at you with total disdain. “You’re talking about isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. I snapped him like a toothpick and I know for a fact that General Organa wouldn’t ever dare send her pet back this way. Too great of a risk, even to save you.”
It wasn’t his words about Poe that cut you to the core, or even the insinuation that Leia would rather keep him safe over you. It was the fact that he was now looking at you like he looked at every other Resistance prisoner, as if you were nothing but the dirt beneath his boots that some unlucky bastard had the honor of scrubbing clear before he went to grovel at the feet of his master. You, who had once been the subject of his praises and sweet nothings and promises of his forever after you had both passed the trials? You were now just another piece of rebel scum. Nothing. Not when you turned him away and pushed him further and further toward the anger that made him bend toward the dark in the first place.
The thing was, Kylo Ren almost hoped that you would be the one to push him back the other way. To drive him back into his mother’s embrace because deep down he was so, so sorry for every single misstep he had taken since the moment he was born. For the disgrace he had brought to his family and for the disappointment that he knew lived in Leia’s heart and would continue to for the rest of her life if he never came back.
The desire kept him awake at night and he did his damned best to keep it from Snoke during the most invasive of probs from his master, the puppeteer pulling all of his strings. He was sure as hell scrambling with all of his might to hide it from you now as you sat before him for the first time in years. Same eyes, just broken and hardened with all of the carnage you had seen because of him.
“You know there’s only one way this ends up favorable for you.” He finally said, voice taught. He was teetering again and you were starting to become aware of it as you reached out to him with the Force, trying desperately to grasp for any fraction of the man he once was.
You shook your head. “I would rather die –“
He scoffed, tossing his helmet to the floor with a clang. “You and I both know that I wouldn’t let you die.” He said, leading you to believe that there was definitely a possibility that he was teetering on his allegiances. “You can either stay here or go.”
You opened your mouth to say that you would be more than willing to leave, but were interrupted before the words left your mouth.
“If you leave, you will tell me the location of General Organa’s secret base.” He said simply, flicking an invisible piece of dust off of his tunic. “Then your mind will be wiped and you will be a spy for us. At the end of the war, if you do well, you will return to me and rule by my side.”
You scoffed this time, opening your mouth once more, only to be silenced by his words once more.
“If you stay and don’t submit, you’ll be tried for crimes against the New Republic and we will eventually pull the location of the base from your mind.” He said simply, leaning against the wall as if he was simply telling someone what he wanted for dinner that evening. “If you do…” He trailed off, licking his lips. “If you stay and you give yourself to me, it’ll be just like it used to be.” He was desperate now as he watched you. Definitely teetering. “We can train together, get stronger.”
“You could come back with me.” You breathed, shaking your head. “We don’t have to stay here. You know she’d take you back in the blink of an eye.”
“That part of me is gone.” He snarled, trying to convince himself more than you. “But I still love you, Y/N. That part of me never went anywhere. If you stay, I won’t ask you to give me the coordinates of the base anymore. I won’t ask you to send your friends to their demise. I won’t make you fight them if you so choose and I won’t bring them up. This can be a new start for you.”
The tears in your eyes threatened to betray you and you quickly dwindling resolve as you shook your head once more. “You never use to speak in clichés, Ben.”
His eyes hardened once more at your words. “Never call me that again.”
“No.” You snapped back, sitting up straighter. “If you really still love me, you have to know that I only love the man I knew before he destroyed the temple. I don’t know a damn thing about you except that you have taken everything so, if you really want me to stay and…And submit to you? You’ll have to cope with me calling you by your goddamn name because fuck, Ben, you took everything from me!” The tears you had tried so desperately to hold back were now flowing freely as you stood, marching up to stand right against his chest. You thrust a finger into his face accusingly, eyes hard. “You’re taking everything from me right now – the friends that have come to replace you and your father and uncle? You’re giving me the ultimatum to either lead them to their deaths or still give them a fighting chance, but never see them again. How can you say that you love me, but make me choose between you and them?”
Kylo Ren tightened his jaw once more, studying you over and over again as he remained silent. Part of him was trying not to tremble from your close proximity, part of him was trying not to snap and give you no other option but to stay and submit or to stay and have your mind wiped because all he knew is that he wanted you back. Preferably chosen on your own accord.
“I’ll expect your answer in the morning.” He said after a long silence, taking a step back and picking up his mask. His eyes never left you as you collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving from the exertion of pent up emotions. The minute he stepped over the door frame, the door slid shut, leaving you in darkness once more.
The only difference being that now your nightmares would be plagued by a set of once warm brown eyes, dimples, and beauty marks dappled across a face that you used to kiss over and over again until your face and his were rosy.
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Friends Again CH 1
Hey guys, decided I’d post this here, too!
An obvious Disclaimer beforehand, B**TLEB*BES DNI
MASTER LIST found here
Now then. I started writing this about two months or so ago, had the idea in my head from the first time I watched the musical. The first two chapters didn’t have anyone beta reading it, and my writing is super rusty since I haven’t posted fanfiction online in 10 years until now. Here’s the quick summary from AO3!
Rating: M (for body horror mentions. other than that the content would be T for the cursing)
Warnings: Body Horror, Blood, they talk about how Lydia impaled Beej, some violence, at some point they will brush up on Beej’s child abuse from Juno (though it won’t be detailed), Bug eating, Beej pervs on the Maitlands just a little, Lot of cursing. (i’ll add more warning tags if you guys give me a heads up about anything I missed!)
Characters: Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz, Delia Deetz, Adam Maitland, Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & a few OCs made for the fic along with the introduction of my demon BJ oc, Antares!
Summary: It had been months since her face off against the ghost with the most, it ending on a very mixed note for Lydia. But, the events won't leave her dreams, and she is slowly coming to terms with her suffering from trauma because of her actions. Would it lead to her confronting them, and in turn, seeing the source of it all once more?
(fic in read more)
Eight long months had passed since Lydia finally decided to open herself up more to her father again. Along with accepting Delia as being apart of their new, weird, happier family. Lydia definitely saw the Maitlands as part of that family with how much they've done to help her, her father and her recently made step-mother. She would've been surprised with how fast those two had gotten married after the engagement if it wasn't for the whole near death experience by angry demon thing. They figured after that life was short, especially compared to the Maitlands and got married only a few months after they finally were settled in. Unfortunately for poor Lydia, the nightmares she had after her clash with her demon ex-friend still clung to her. They started about two weeks after everything happened. It was enough time for Lydia to let things sink in about what they did and even if he deserved it, how she killed a person. They happened almost every night, then every other night, and by month four had stopped. Then the month after they started up again and even though Delia tried her hardest, she just couldn't help with Lydia's mental health deteriorating again. So she began to see a family therapist. She had to leave out some details for obvious reasons and changed the story a little, but it was only helping so much. Every time she would recount the nightmare in vivid detail to her therapist.
'Everything around her was distorted, like it was the inside of a funhouse mirror. The colors around her varied from a mix of eerie, bright and ghoulish colors to more monotone colors blending into each other. Her heart was thumping into her chest as everyone played the part that she had given them. I'm doing the right thing, he won't stop. He's a demon so it's okay! That's all she was able to think about to justify her actions. The joy of being alive after their 'green card' marriage soon came crashing down onto the dirty recently revived Beetlejuice as he went off on one of his tangents. Going on about the mixed emotions of humans that were overwhelming him all at once. He started getting a look in his eyes, going straight to murderous thoughts just as she knew he would. Her breathing picks up as she grabs onto the broken piece of rebar from the poor taste of art that her father hands to her. She fixes her footing and screams as she plunges the make-shift weapon through the back of the demon, screaming as she used all the force she could muster. Everything becomes distorted around her after that; everyone else becoming shapeless blobs. Except for the dying Beetlejuice who stares off like he's gazing at an unknown force. In typical fashion he cracks a joke with his dying breathe. The blobs were all shocked at the action until Lydia told them why she did it. They started to move in an off-putting way to get ready to be rid of him when he would rise as the recently deceased.
Before it could play out just as it did in reality everything went black around her. Terrifying mouths appeared into the view everywhere she looked. The adrenaline that spiked when she stabbed him now was replaced from anxiety to dread as blood poured out from the mouths. Their laughter echoed with twisted and distorted voices. The blood swallowed up the demon before her. She tried to wade through the blood in vain trying to reach him as fear engulfied her.
"No... NO! Beetlejuice-!"
It's not supposed to be like this; he's supposed to go back to the netherworld, he's supposed to be okay! Everyone is supposed to be okay! She reached out, crying out his name in an attempt to save him,
"Beetlejuice!" She saw his body surface in the sea of crimson. It was carrying him further and further from her as her dress became heavier with every passing second. Blood coated her face as she kept an outstretched arm to try and grab onto him.
A cackle echoes from the darkness as a giant hand pulled him out of the blood, belonging to a woman she only was briefly introduced to. It was his mother, the head demon in charge of the more bureaucratic side of the Netherworld. Juno. His body is still, lifeless now, his hair color changed to a purpleish-blue.
" BEETLEJUICE !" She screams one last time. A giant sand worm jumps out of Juno's mouth and eats both the demon she cried out for, and herself. Then she wakes up.'
Well, at least she would partly tell the truth. She left out a lot of key details from her nightmare when talking about it, such as marrying a centuries or millennia old demon as a green card thing to bring him back to life. About ghosts in general. Lydia had to switch many things around, along with the murder. The story changed to her having a horrible fight with an old friend who she 'stabbed him in the back'. More metaphorically than in actuality being physically. Talking about her trauma to anyone outside of the family was really difficult. Which is why she didn't see the point to seeing a therapist in the first place. Thankfully most of the facts could be turned into metaphors with some hoop jumping. She finally got the story 'straight' with her family prior to opening up. What she would tell the therapist is she betrayed a friend who had mental health problems and was threatening her family. She told them she called the cops on him and made it out that his abusive mother beat the shit out of him. Then shipped him off to military school instead of him going to juvey. The therapist took the strange nightmares she would have as a vivid imagination of her guilt of betraying someone she thought as her friend before. She wasn't even that close to him, they only spent a few days together and she was more focused on seeing her mother again. Yet killing the man is something that made her stomach turn when she thought about it again. It was different than the thrill of scaring people with him from before. Sure he was 'fine' in the sense of he was just back to square one of being a ghost and a demon again. However she still took something away from him that was bigger than she thought before. Life. Even if it did make him go crazy after being alive for less than five minutes.
He didn't seem too bothered by it when he left following his melodramatic farewells. After feeding his scary mother to a giant sandworm of course. He seemed a little happier, even. Unfortunately she never really got true closure. Sure she gave him a small hug, even though that was a little hard because he smelled so bad. It was probably his clothes since the man looked like he never washed a thing in his life. After a two months of seeing them, her therapist suggested that maybe all she wants is closure to her traumatic experience. The therapist didn't recommend actually going to visit her 'friend' in case it would be too overwhelming for her. A phone call or something was suggested if she thought she wanted to talk to him. Tell him how much of a jerk he was before and how he took things too far. Tell him how she felt bad about the way she ended things. That was going to be complicated though for a number of reasons.
One, even if she did want to go back to the Netherworld which she definitely didn't. It was just like when she had her realization it would take possibly eternity to find her mother. What luck would she have finding Beetlejuice? Two, even though she saw him comically swing his mother's torn leg around after he took her out. What's to say she still wasn't 'existing' and back running the netherworld's social services for the dead. Or whatever it was she did. She didn't want to come face to face with that horrid woman again. She wasn't even sure if demons could die still and she had to have been a demon just like Beetlejuice. Sure she got eaten but once again she could've somehow came back. Three, her family would NEVER let her go back in there. Four was the most important though; did she even want to see him again? Could she even see him again? He certainly wouldn't want to after what happened. Even if they left on neutral terms he might be feeling a bit miffed that she stabbed him in the back. He was still a demon.
"Feelings are stupid." Lydia groaned, flopping on top of her bed dramatically as she gave a deep sigh. She had just gotten back from another appointment and curled up on the bed.
"I can't believe I miss when Delia would be the one 'life coaching' me. I shouldn't feel guilty for what happened; he deserved it. He was going to kill dad, possibly everyone. He tricked me into almost exorcising Barbara!" Lydia wrinkled her nose, kicking at the air with her legs as she grabbed onto her pillow then tore at it a little."That big, smelly jerk."
She sniffled a little then buried her face into the pillow. Why should she care. He only ever cared about his powers and about himself. Even if he stood up for her and saved her from his crappy mom. Who only was there because she ran into the Netherworld and abandoned everyone. In hopes of seeing her mom again. She wasn't at fault, though; it was just a big mess.
"Lydia sweetie, are you okay?" A concerned voice came from behind her door with a gentle knock following it.
"Is it okay if I come in?" Lydia lifted her head from the pillow then looked to the door. She gave a one shoulder shrug.
"Only if you want to, Barbara." She shifted, rolling onto her back as she stared up at the ceiling. Barbara phased through the door deciding she would practice on her ghostly abilities some more. Even if she still felt it a bit rude to not use the door. She walked over to the bed, then sat down on the edge of it while reaching out to gently stroke Lydia's head.
"How was your appointment honey?" She gave the sweetest, caring smile she could muster for the young girl as Lydia blew one of her bangs out of her face.
"Was okay, I guess; I don't know why I still have to go to these.." The goth teen closed her eyes, finding it soothing in a way to feel the cold fingers of her friend comforting her. Barbra quirked a brow at her, then stopped for a moment as she gently patted Lydia's head in response.
"Are you still having those nightmares?" Lydia inhaled deeply before sitting up as she swung her legs around.
"...yes." She spoke softly, just barely above a whisper as her gaze cast downwards. Barbara inched closer to her then wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders.
"Oh, Lydia. I know that man was awful. Yet, I understand if you feel bad for him. I still.. really do not like him. Although I hope he's found peace in whatever he is doing now, in the Netherworld. Even if I will never forgive him." A frown creased the lips of the ghostly woman as she knit her brows. "I'm just glad he left on his own at least. Only good thing he did while he was here. Besides saving you." She sighed then gave a shake of her head. Lydia looked up at her while playing with the ends of her lacy black dress.
"I know.. he. I mean, he wasn't.. I don't know. He's a jerk, yeah, a real asshole. But, I think he did care about us, even if it was a little. Scaring people with him was fun, I just didn't.. want him to kill my dad. Even if I was mad at him. Upset. I know now dad acted the way he did because he was hurting as much as I was. He just masked his grief differently than I did. But, I hated the tantrum Beetlejuice made. I didn't want him to hurt you or Adam." Lydia gently moved her hand over Barbara's hand, eyes softening a bit. Barbara moved her hand away from Lydia, opting to gently grab her cheek.
"You put too much on your shoulders, sweetie. You're a good kid. You were so brave.. we should've been the ones to protect you, though. Not the other way around. You know I don't hold anything against you for what happened. Adam and I should've not put our trust in Beetlejuice in the first place. What we should've done was shooed him away. But we were just so desperate. Losing everything in such a short amount of time." She moved her hand away, resting both of them now in her lap as she stared down at the floor. "Gosh. I wish I became more assertive sooner. At least now if anything like that happens again, we'll be better about it." She looked back to Lydia, giving her a comforting smile. Lydia nodded to her in response.
"Well, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not gonna make any more deals with demons I barely know again." Lydia snorted. Barbara gave a small chuckle as she bumped her shoulder.
"I hope you mean any deals ever again."
"Eh, we'll see." Lydia snickered, Barbara giving her a small scowl of disapproval.
"Lydia." Lydia laughed, then gave Barbara a hug.
"Okay, okay. I really need a nap now." She let go then smiled up at Barbara. The woman took the hint, getting up after giving a small wave. She turned around then phased through the door once more. Lydia kicked her combat boots off her feet, then got up and walked over to the door. She locked it just for some privacy and moved back over to the bed, jumping on it. A nap.. another nightmare? Her expression soured as she stared out to the window of her bedroom. The sky was cloudy, dark grays and purples covering every bit of the bright blue endless sky. She shifted her gaze to the mirror that was on the other side of her room. Reason number four. It would be crazy. She shouldn't even try. How could she be so sure that she could even summon him if he was in the Netherworld. It would be safer to try that than going back into it. Wrapping her arms around herself, her mind was battling all the possibilities of things that could go wrong. A thought occurred to her as she remembered the handbook for the recently deceased. She still had the copy Beetlejuice gave her. Maybe there was a chapter about how to deal with a demon besides marrying them and killing them. Hopping off the bed, she ran to her dresser, digging around in the bottom one. Just as she left it; under her old clothes she never wore anymore. Taking it out, she sat on the ground then began sifting through the pages. A faint glow coming from each one.
'This is crazy, what am I doing.' Lydia thought to herself after looking through a couple of chapters, sighing as she began to close the book. She couldn't endanger everyone. She didn't want to put them through.. hm. Hold on. Her eyes flickered as she noticed a color change in a page, big red letters spelling out the name of a new chapter. DEMONS, and how to handle them. Her fingers smoothed over the page as he brought the book into her lap once more.
"You can summon special demons by chanting their name three times, without breaking the pattern. If your demon guide however is unhelpful, and causing more problems than you need. You can send them back by chanting their name once more. Three times, unbroken..."
Her eyes widen as she bit her lip. If it was in this book, then it had to work, right? This was given to the recently deceased to help them after all. She thought back to after everything happened with Beetlejuice, remembering her dad now having crosses around the house even if that didn't really work when he used it before. However he had also acquired holy water and given Lydia some as a precaution. She thought it was silly, since back then she had no reason to believe Beetlejuice would come back. Now that she was faced with a new option, however. She slid the dresser drawer back in place, keeping the book tucked under her arm. She walked over to her bookshelf and pulled down a squirt gun that her dad had poured the holy water in. Would this actually work? If it didn't it probably would either piss Beetlejuice off or make him laugh at her. Or both. Either way she still liked the security of it. Maybe he'll be too entertained by her squirting him with holy water to hurt her or the others. Holding this in her hand meant that this was real. She was really going to do this. Walking over to her curtains, she closed them quickly. Lydia then went to her phone on the nightstand then picked it up. She turned the Bluetooth on, changing the volume of her music to the max. It wasn't uncommon for Lydia to listen to her music loudly some times. A good excuse to cover up whatever noise the demon would bring; the others wouldn't question it. Her dad wouldn't be home for a little while longer so she didn't need to worry about him. He was the only person who was ever bothered by her listening too loud.
"Alright.. you can do this, Lydia. Just. Just one quick conversation can work for closure, right? Right. This isn't the dumbest thing you ever did at all. Besides summoning him the first time.." She tossed the book on the bed, then held up her squirt gun. It might not even work, so that would be good. Right? This is just an empty attempt. Whatever it took to reassure herself she wasn't going to get killed. Sitting down on the end of her bed, she stared out at the mirror. Okay. You can do this, Lydia Deetz.
"Beetlejuice.." Everything seemed normal so far. Just the sound of her music, nothing eerie whatsoever. There was a chill however she felt against her neck, though she figured it was just her nerves.
"Beetlejuice." A gust of wind started knocking hard at her window. It had to have been the oncoming storm. Just another coincidence. Or so she thought. Her music started to change songs at a frequent pace. Shit. This was really happening. Was he really going to come? She gripped her squirt gun, gritting her teeth. She couldn't show fear. Lydia refused to let him have the upper-hand.
"Beetlejuice!"
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TITLE: AAXILIZTLI / SABER
GENRE: Crime & Romance
FANDOM: Mayans M.C.
SHIP(S): Coco & Original Female Character
STATUS: Complete
LENGTH: 3,057 words
Which Member of Your OTP takes UNO wayyy too seriously ; Coco is a total card shark and Maya can barely tell the difference between Uno and Go Fish. Which makes for a pretty interesting game of Strip Poker + 20 Questions.
“So… explain it to me one more time?” Maya sat with her elbows on the bar while Chuckie spread out a deck of cards between them. She was glad the guys weren’t back yet, even if she’d been waiting there for the better part of an hour. From the looks she’d seen the squirrely man receive it was obvious not all members of the club were comfortable with their resident helper. Only she seemed to enjoy the odd conversations and company that he would provide. “I think I’m a lost cause.”
“ I do not accept that, practice makes perfect,' they say. Practice makes perfect.” Even though he disagreed Chuckie's face kept an upbeat smile, almost puppy like enthusiasm that couldn't be dulled by her harsh self criticisms. Maya's lips thinned, trying to commit the rules of the game to her memory one more time before finally calling it quits. The whole thing had come up after he’d told her the club was having some kind of meeting at the Casino on tribal land...and she’d mistakenly admitted to not knowing the first thing about playing cards. Chuckie’s hands may not have been as dexterous as they once were but the man sure was able to memorize a set of rules, using the awkward wooden fingers to point out the meaning of different cards and different techniques used to win games. She’d be lucky if she could just remember their names.
“How’d you get so good at this?” The shock on Chuckie's face at the mild compliment was almost heartbreaking.
"Here and there and there and here. I'm not good though, not like your boy."
Dark eyebrows shot up at that remark but Maya didn't have time to comment before the sound of approaching engines rumbled through the sandy yard and sent Chuckie scurrying to complete whatever chores he'd been given before they left. She remained hunkered over the drink that he’d gotten her, finishing it quickly as the noise from outside got ever closer. Mostly laughs and camaraderie between the guys which quieted by only a fraction when they saw her waiting inside. With a brief nod Coco split off from Angel and Gilly, large eyes giving her a quick once over to judge her mood before a small smile spread on his face.
“ Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.” He dug through his pocket to pull out a cigarette and nodded for her to follow him back outside.
"I wanted to pick you up some lunch but Chuckie said you guys were at the Casino?" That causes him to side eye her for a moment and Maya quickly back tracks. "You win anythin?"
"I got some cash." He took a couple drags before pulling his hand away, making sure to blow the smoke downwind from where she stood. "So I can get food later, you don't gotta buy me shit."
Their relationship was still fresh and she could sense the hesitancy at her taking more liberties to get close to him than she had before. When they were only friendly (because could she really call what they were doing now dating?) she would never show up to the club’s base without telling him first. Or dare to hang out and wait around for him. The way he wouldn’t meet her eyes for too long caused a wave of unease in her gut...was he having doubts? Did she fuck it up without realizing?
“I know...I wanted to.”
Coco shrugged, his cigarette nearly half gone already and Maya let out a big sigh that finally got his attention, his brows pinching together in the only show of concern. The times he would go quiet and get lost in his own head were the hardest for her to get used to. Still, determined to derive some communication she charged on, “Well, anyways. I gotta drop some stuff off at a local gallery. They’re letting me put my shit up in return for a few shifts a week in the shop.”
“That’s cool. That mean you’re staying?”
“For a little while. I need to make more stuff before I can do another venue anyways.”
“Cool.”
Maya bit her lip, looking towards where her bike was chained up and then back at Coco. “Can I come by the house later? I know I don’t have to but I can bring take out?”
Maybe it was the slight wobble of insecurity in her voice that broke Coco out of his introspective stupor, or the words jarring him back into the present with the realization she was about to take off but he nodded, flicking away the remnant of his cig and pulling her against him in a lose one armed hug. It eased some of the tension that his sudden mood had brought on, the quick peck to her lips erasing the rest. “Sure. I’ll catch you later. Just, uh...text first.”
It didn’t take too long to complete her errands, the cumbersome portfolio she had strapped to the back of her bike only carried a couple pieces that wouldn’t take long at all to put up. But it did give her enough time to think and reflect on the interaction that had just transpired. At first he’d seemed genuinely happy that she’d been there waiting for him, but as soon as Maya had brought up the club business Coco had gone cold. Already she knew most of what went down with the Mayans was on a strict need to know basis and tried to steer clear of asking anything too invasive. But as Maya was finishing up putting up her paintings she paused with sudden realization.
She didn’t really know much about Coco at all. Sure, they had spent a fair amount of time together over the past few weeks, especially after coming to terms with the severity of their feelings. But none of that time was spent truly getting to know each other. Mostly they just hung out, smoked weed, and watched bullshit sitcoms or reality shows to pass the time. There was no real way for her to know if Coco’s earlier silence had been of her doing, or caused by something the club was dealing with. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t bother her a little bit, the same kind of insecurity knotting up her stomach as she texted him to ask what he would like her to pick up.
Thankfully, mercifully, Coco texted her back immediately with the okay to come over. She didn't know how she would react if he'd ignored her and left Maya to stew over his abrupt silence. By the time she's pulling up to his house and chaining up her bike the sun has already set. Maya's knuckles barely have time to rap on the door before it's being yanked open and Coco blinks wide eyes at her through the crack. He looks jumpy, posture tense as he moves to hold the door open for her so she can slip inside.
"Sorry, traffic was starting to pick up so it took me a little bit to get here."
"You don't got to apologize. Thanks." He took the paper bag of chinese food from her and headed into the living room, the smell of cigarettes heavy in the air. Her own dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on the coffee table, a slow smile spread across her face.
"Are those cards?"
"Yeah...why?"
"Wanna play a game of strip poker while we eat? I've never actually played it before but Chuckie explained the rules to me today."
His hands stilled where they'd been emptying the contents of the take out onto the coffee table. An odd expression on his face that seemed to be a mixture of amusement and distaste. "You had him tell you how to play that?"
"What? No, I asked him how to play poker," She came over to sit next to him on the couch, bumping Coco with her shoulder and letting out a peal of giggles at his assumption. "The strip part is only por ti."
“Hmm. Okay, but I’m not going easy on you because it’s your first time.” His chopsticks raised in her direction as Maya is already reaching for the cards to shuffle and set up the game. She pouts for only a moment before nodding, eyes lighting up as an idea hits her.
���Well, then every time one of us removes an article of clothing, they get to ask the other a question?”
He turns hesitant but nods anyways, expression going blank as soon as he’s got his hand of cards and the game has begun. The first couple rounds go simple enough, setting the mood and making it clear that Coco would keep his word. Though for every simple article of clothing she removed, a personal question was asked in kind. They started off easy -- Where were you born? Did or do you play any sports? What’s your favorite color? Maya realized quickly that her chances at winning anything were doomed, her face giving away every hand. Even when she did get lucky enough to draw a good combination, Coco would finally break his stony expression with a small smirk.
"I fold." He put his cards down face up and shrugged out of his shirt. His cards were still better than hers but something in her expression must have tipped him off to her confidence. Immediately Maya’s shoulders sank and she let out a disappointed sigh, prepared to answer an equally arbitrary question. “How did you get into the travelling artist thing? There’s gotta be other ways to do it.”
“Oh, good one.” She adjusted where she’d moved to sit on the floor, their food long forgotten as the game had dragged on. Enough time for Coco to have rolled a joint and begun to pass it between them. “My dad was a musician. He started travelling and touring again after my mom finally left him. It was just...an easier life for me than staying with her and my sister in a small town.”
His eyes bore into her, taking in her words and nodding in response. A blush rose to her cheeks and her shoulders caved inward with a small shiver. Only a few rounds in and she was already down to her mismatched bra and underwear, the wall AC unit sensing just the right time to kick on and cause a chill to run down her spine. Meanwhile Coco was still in his jeans and white undershirt, his one article of clothing standing in stark contrast against the small pile she had building. Perhaps that was why when Maya found herself finally divested of her plain black bra she was no longer in the mood to ask trivial, lighthearted questions.
“You said before you were in the military? The marines?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you join?”
He went silent. Usually when she asked a question he would break the still cold expression he wore while holding cards. Coco’s eyes remained locked on hers, instead of the usual attention he would be paying to her topless form. It was obvious he was thinking intently about how to answer and she didn’t want to rush or interrupt him. He abandoned the joint to pull out a cigarette from the pack on the table between them.
“I had shit to get away from.”
When that was met with only more silence, his expression turned dour. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and smoked in silence while his words turned over in her head. Maya tried her best to keep her expression neutral, the stakes higher than any card game. In moments like these it was almost impossible for her to guess what he might be thinking.
“I did some time. Got out and wanted something different.”
“Oh.”
“Why? You got anymore fucking questions?” She ignored the biting words and got up to sit next to him on the couch, stopping short of reaching out to place a hand on his arm. As it was closing the space between them didn't seem to comfort Coco. He leaned away from her slightly, no longer able to meet Maya's eyes.
"Nah. I'm good," She shrugged. "I don't wanna make you all uncomfortable and antsy. I'm not a fuckin' child and I'm not here to judge you, man. We all got our shit."
His head swung towards her, emphasizing each word with a jerk of his chin. As though they were being hurtled at her. "Why the fuck are you here. You don't got anywhere better to be than riding some fuckin' cholo dick? You like slumming it?"
"Basta, stop it." Her chin wobbled but Maya's expression remained determined. "I'm here because I want to be. Because I like you."
Silence falls over them once again as she refuses to take the bait and fall into his trap. Coco crushes the butt of the cig in the ashtray and all the fight leaves him. His hand clenched and released over his knee and finally she felt comfortable enough to reach out and place hers on top of it. He doesn't pull away which is all the encouragement she needs to press up against his side where it's warm. Even though she had managed to keep her calm Maya's pulse still raced at the argument they had just narrowly avoided.
Both of them had short tempers in the right circumstance and it could be a challenge not to react…But not when Coco was so obviously upset and dealing with deeper shit. All she really wanted to do now was to take away the darkness lingering in his grimace. Whatever heavy thoughts he has seem to get a little lighter as he reclines against the couch once again and brings one arm up around her shoulders so she can stay close. Both of her arms slink around his chest to hold him in a tight embrace and he lets out a long shuddery breath before relaxing against her. It must not be easy for him to open up and be any sort of vulnerable and she’s more than willing to reward him when he is.
“I do have one more question though.” He freezes for half a second before noticing her gaze is directed down towards the only article of clothing she’s still wearing. The switch in moods is so drastic that Coco can’t help but let out a small chuckle and shake his head, the arm around her shoulder folding so that he can pat down some of the waves of her hair.
“Yeah?”
“Do...you wanna fuck me?”
He doesn’t respond out loud, simply turns and shrugs out of the wifebeater in one smooth movement. Most of the time the fact that he’s been in the military remains somewhere in the back of her mind, a difference that she has very little interest in dissecting. It’s only when he moves that it becomes an apparent and undeniable part of him. In a moment she’s stretched under him, her head resting on the arm of the couch and his hands trace up her side and pause to cup her breast. Maya arches into his touch, arms wrapped around his chest to hold him close while his other hand abandoned its place clutching her hip to hastily brush her hair away from her neck. He groaned, pressing her even harder into the worn cushions and attacking her throat and collar with kisses and nips.
“Fuck, take your jeans off.” She rolls her hips up against him and he rewards her by grabbing her ass and pulling her close so that the only thing separating them was the damp material of her underwear and the denim of his pants.
“Patience, shit, I wanna wind you up first.”
Maybe it was punishment for all of the questions earlier or simply his own prerogative, but either way she couldn’t bring herself to complain when he pulled away to remove his belt and help to slip her underwear off. His hand was warm and large on her thigh, spreading her open so that he could slip a couple fingers inside to rub against her. The feeling of his teeth grazing her shoulder and his hand coaxing her hips into a rhythm. Just when Maya thinks she may be close to some relief he pulls her into a kiss and removes his hand, swallowing the sound of disappointment she makes.
Coco’s breath is warm against her skin, his pants slung low and he kicks them off before pinning her against the couch. It’s easy to slip her legs around his waist and help to ease him inside. He let out a soft groan and she answered in kind, peppering kisses along his shoulder while Coco drove into her. One of his hands reached up to tug back Maya’s hair and expose the kiss marked column of her neck. Her blunt nails scrape at his back as the quick pace of his thrusts pushes her over. His own orgasm isn't far behind and Coco all but collapses on top of Maya afterward, enjoying how her hand absentmindedly cards through his hair while they catch their breath. Even if they were just starting out getting to know each other as a couple, there was no denying that they already knew how to satisfy the other completely.
"So..that was fun." She sighed and turned to press her bare back against the warmth of his chest when he’d finally eased off of her. Coco grunted in response, one arm wrapped around her torso to hold Maya against him. Her eyes caught the abandoned cards and noticed how many of them had fallen from the table to scatter on the floor below. They probably wouldn't end up getting picked up and put away until morning.
"Let's just stick to Uno from now on?" Finally earning a laugh, the vibration rumbling against her and causing a chain reaction.
"Pretty sure I can still beat your ass in that, quierida. I'm game for whenever you want to lose." He pinched her pert rear end and earned another high peal of giggles.
"Okay, we'll see." There was a challenge in her voice but Maya knew he was probably right.
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Hiking’s fun and all that - Brother Billy x reader x boyfriend Steve
A/N: That gif melted my heart fr even tho Joe looks like a creep lmfaooo I miss being able to talk to him someone ship him over to me tyvm. Hope you like it!
Word count: 2700
Warnings: angst, cursing, reader x injury, cliffhanger
Masterlist.
Requests open!
The sun was tanning your skin and the dust was flying around as you walked down from the mountain you’d just hiked. Your boyfriend Steve was a couple feet in front of you. His shorts clinging to his muscular legs as his hair bounced up and down, feet planting themselves heavily caused by the steepness of the walk down. Although you loved any and every contact with him, today was just too hot to be all over each other in the middle of nowhere. It was more likely that you’d suffer from heat stroke than that you’d get to enjoy his presence that little bit more.
Hawkins has always had nice summers, but this one really hit it out of the park. A constant layer of sweat coating your skin, no matter how many times you’d shower. The only comfort was that there was no exception. Everyone was aching for the weather to cool down. A couple of days ago you’d gotten the notice to start being cautious with drinking water as the forecast didn’t predict any improvement any time soon.
This heat also gave you the perfect excuse to keep your boyfriend and brother from attacking one another every time they saw each other. It just was too hot to invest any energy in anything other than trying to cool down and after a couple of months of dating Steve, they were starting to become more tolerant towards each other.
Billy didn’t like Steve, Steve didn’t like Billy. You had no intentions to be the main figure that’d change that but... Shit happens?
The only reason they didn’t tear each others heads off, was you. Both loving you more than their wish to hurt the other.
The sun was slowly starting to set, which gave you an impeccable view of the small town you’d started calling home. You basked in the feeling of a slight gust of wind passing by, anything and everything that was the tiniest bit cooler than your skin brought you relief.
You’d gotten to the part of the trail that was surrounded by high bushes that came up to around your knees, all on the brink of catching fire you felt like. Steve stopped in his tracks and looked back at you. ‘You wanna walk in front of me or would you rather stay behind me?’ He asked, knowing you weren’t a fan of not being able to see the ground you’d plant your feet on. ‘Can I just walk closely in front of you?’ He nodded and waited for you to catch up, not being able to resist touching your waist as you passed him.
He always found little ways to touch you or show you his affection. Right now it was carefully guiding you down this damn hill you’d grown to resent in the last couple of hours. He took his hand in yours so you were assured he’d catch you if you fell. Your balance was probably one of the strangest things about you. It’d fluctuate so much. One moment you’d be perfectly fine and the next you’d be sat on your ass on the ground cause it decided to be like: ‘Naaaa not today.’
Your body was turned slightly as you started walking again. Instead of walking straight, you’d walk sideways causing more friction between your feet and the ground causing you to be more steady. Something you’d learned a long time ago when your family went hiking in the mountains when you were young. A time that you’d consider the best time of your life many years later. Back then, everything was simple. You had a loving mother, a loving father, and a loving brother. After the divorce, everything changed. Billy had started growing cold towards his father, feeling betrayed for giving up on his mother. The only thing that didn’t change was his love for you.
Out of the blue, a sharp stinging pain made it’s way up your leg starting at your ankle. You winced and stopped walking, slightly bending down in pain. ‘What’s wrong y/n?’ Steve asked worriedly, one hand on your back comfortingly as he held your hand tightly. ‘I don’t know. I think something bit me. It really burns.’ You groaned as you tried to stand up straight again. All of a sudden a wave of dizziness came over you and if it wasn’t for Steve’s arm around you, you definitely would not still be standing. ‘Woah easy, can you walk?’ You nodded grimacing, trying to focus on keeping the tears that were threatening to roll down your cheeks at bay. ‘Okay hold on to me, we’re not too far from the end of the trail.’
After about 5 minutes of hiking you halted Steve, really not being able to walk any further. The heat, dizziness and now nausea was starting to get too much. ‘Steve I literally can’t walk anymore. I’m so tired and I feel sick.’ Your weak voice said, struggling to reach the needed volume for Steve to hear you clearly. Thankfully he did cause he was stood so close to you.
He didn’t say anything but he bent down slightly, guiding your arms towards his neck and grabbing your thighs. You got what he was trying to do and in any other situation, you would heavily deny the gesture. However, right now you were genuinely feeling unwell so you obliged.
He quickly made his way down to the parking lot of the trail where his car stood parked in the shade of some trees.
He carefully placed you into the passenger seat and turned on the car, allowing you to listen to some music as he observed your ankle. Two small, identical punctures were visible, small droplets of blood coating your ankle in a line down the rest of your ankle and foot.
‘Y/n?’ He asked when he didn’t get a response to him slightly palpating the hurt area. You vaguely responded to your name and groaned out some incoherent words. That’s when he knew this wasn’t just a normal bite.
He kissed your forehead softly, muttering he’d be back soon and stalked over quickly to the phone booth a couple feet away.
He silently thanked you for forcing him to learn his number in case anything was ever wrong.
Anxiously tapping the device as it rang he cursed him for not picking up faster, he let out a sigh as he heard him pick up. ‘Billy, it’s Steve. You need to get to the hospital. It’s y/n.’ The other end of the line was quiet for all of 5 seconds before a worried, already on edge Billy spoke. ‘What? What the hell happened Harrington.’
‘We were hiking and she got bit by something. I’m sure it’s not a big deal but I’d just rather be safe.’ He lied through his teeth. Billy didn’t need to know how much Steve was freaking out. Especially with Billy’s reckless way of driving, Steve needed him to get to the hospital in one piece to be there for you. Plus, he figured maybe Billy would react better if he thought Steve didn’t know the severity of the situation and he let the doctors explain. After all, it’s not like he could’ve done something. Right?
Billy sighed and Steve heard him grab his keys. ‘Alright, I’m on my way. Take care of my sister Harrington.’ Billy said, being forced to put his trust in him. ‘Always Billy.’ Steve said reassuringly before hanging up and running towards his car.
Your face was covered in sweat, a pained grimace on your face the entire ride to the hospital. Steve assumed Billy would get there first, considering the hiking trail was a little bit out of town.
Steve’s screeching tires came to a halt right in front of the door of the emergency room and he noticed Billy immediately coming over from his spot next to the door, awaiting his arrival. He never even looked at Steve, straight up going for the passenger door, eyeing his sister worriedly. He crouched down enough to be able to look at you directly. ‘Hey, y/n. It’s Billy, don’t worry okay I’m here.’ You groaned in response, squeezing your eyes as you tried your hardest to open them. You managed to look at him through hooded eyes and you started to cry a little. ‘It hurts so bad. I can’t breathe.’ You whispered with great effort. Billy swallowed, trying to stabilize his voice before speaking. ‘It’s okay baby, we’re going to make it all better.’
He kissed your forehead as he picked you up, carefully minding your head as he took you out of Steve’s car. With Steve hot on his heels, he ran into the hospital where a bed was already waiting for you, thanks to Billy telling them Steve was coming with you.
As doctors began to run all kinds of tests, Billy and Steve were forced to wait outside of your room. Steve was sat down on one of the plastic chairs that were placed against the wall, fatigue coming over him as his adrenaline levels evened out, Billy was pacing around. Too nervous and worried to be still.
‘I’m sure she’s going to be okay Billy.’ Steve said, fiddling with a bottle of water as he took in Billy’s complexion. ‘You don’t know that.’ Billy said harshly. He still didn’t like Steve and sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend that he did right now.
Steve looked down in acceptance of Billy’s answer. A tremendous amount of guilt washed over him as he started talking. ‘I’m sorry.’ Billy looked at him, eyes rolling and arrogance evident on his face yet he didn’t say anything and motioned for Steve to continue. ‘It’s my fault. I suggested we go hiking today. I asked her if she wanted to walk in front of me. If I hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.’ Steve’s voice cracked and he rubbed at his irritated eyes, looking down again like a beaten dog.
Billy looked up at the hospital ceiling, not sure what to do with this apology. He knew what you’d want him to do with it though so he decided the answer that was the most abnormal for him. ‘It’s not your fault Harrington. I know she’d been bugging you for weeks to go hiking. It could’ve been anyone.’
Steve looked up in surprise but kept quiet, not wanting to push his luck. Even more to his surprise, Billy walked over to him and sat down. ‘I may not like you Harrington, but my sister loves you enough for the both of us, and that’s something I can respect. I’m not gonna make her hate me cause I can’t accept you. Hell, if you are good to her I might even consider not kicking your ass at basketball next time.’ Billy smiled. This was odd, something he could’ve never predicted, but it felt good. Knowing his sister would be proud of him. All he ever wanted was for you to be proud of him. Proud to be his sister.
The door creaked open, a significant noise but not loud enough to wake you. Your breathing was still heavy, your expression still looked pained but less so than before. Both boys quietly made it into your room, taking a seat on each side of you. Steve carefully rubbed circles on your hand, trying to comfort you in your medicinal haze. Billy, on the other hand, didn’t touch you. You seemed so fragile. Like you could break at any given moment. The two boys straightened their back as the doctor came in, speaking in a mellow voice. ‘So I have been informed that you are miss Hargrove’s brother? Are you comfortable having this man in the same room when I inform you about her condition? Billy looked at Steve quickly before nodding yes to the doctor.
The doctor took a seat at the edge of your bed and started talking once again. ‘So after a couple of blood tests, we can confirm the bite was that of a snake, more specifically a timber rattlesnake. Now, the venom is lethal but considering we were able to treat her moderately fast it’s very likely that she will recover with no lasting side effects. However, we do need to keep a close eye on the coagulation of her blood (blood clotting). She’s scheduled to have another dose of the antivenom and we have hope that she will respond well to that.’
Both Steve and Billy let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. ‘Do you know when she could be discharged?’ Steve asked, knowing how much you hate hospitals. The doctor shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. We’ll have to see how she reacts to the second dose first but right now there are no talks about being discharged. She’s young and strong but her body still took quite the hit. The next 24 hours will determine the process of her recovery.
After answering a couple more questions, the doctor left the room, leaving Steve and Billy alone with you. Your mouth was covered by an oxygen mask and your arms were littered with bruises, nurses having to try numerous amounts of times to find a decent vein to give you an IV.
All they could do now was wait.
White. White with black spots. White turning into a light brown. A light brown with a strong light in the middle of it. You squeezed your eyes, pain searing through your body as if you’d just run a marathon without breathing. You felt tired, deprived of oxygen. As fast you’d come to your senses, as fast would you be able to fall asleep again you felt like. But you fought. You wanted to ask what had happened. How long were you out for.
You winced and slowly opened your eyes, seeing both your brother and boyfriend on each side of you. And you were thankful to have them, considering your parents had left on vacation with Max a couple of days prior to this. ‘Steve?’ You croaked out and he looked up from playing with your fingers. ‘Hey stranger.’ He said, eyes red and filling up with tears a little bit. ‘I love you.’ You said immediately, not knowing what came over you to say that in front of your brother but you didn’t care. He kissed the back of your hand, squeezing it lightly as he mouthed ‘I love you too.’ Probably not wanting Billy to beat his ass. Billy, however, saw the exchange between you two and couldn’t help but smile. You really had Harrington wrapped all around your little finger.
‘You both make me feel sick.’ Billy exclaimed, not being able to wipe the grin off of his face. You jokingly glared at him but the nurse walking into your room stopped you from making a snarky remark. ‘How are you feeling sweetie?’ ‘I’m okay thank you. Still a bit tired but I’ve been worse. The boys and the nurse all smiled at your response, you’d just been bitten by a poisonous snake yet here you were taking it like a champ. ‘So this is the second dosage of the antivenom.’ She said as she started injecting the medication into your IV line.
As the nurse was taking your vitals you started getting an itch in the back of your throat. Steve started pouring some water for you but the nurse stopped him, keeping a close eye on your behavior as the coughing got worse and worse.
You felt like your lungs were on fire and all the oxygen available was being used to fuel the flames. You zoned out, not really sure what was happening other than the horrifying feeling of the life slipping out of you. The boys were ushered out of the room as the nurse called out into the hallway: ‘CODE BLUE.’
Immediately all available nurses stormed into your room, leaving the two boys out in the hallway traumatized and terrified.
Panic and terror visible on their faces as they witnessed another nurse push in a crash cart.
But the doctor said you were going to be fine?
Taglist: @constellationsolo @synonymforlame
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i’ll risk it
send me two au’s from this list + a ship/character
a/n: not sure how i feel about this? but feel free to request more!
You’ve been a teacher at Riverdale Elementary for six years now.
It was easy, once you heard about the Southside school system shutting down, you knew you had to help. You were working at Ronnie’s, living off your dead parent’s trust fund money while you went out to find yourself, or something like that. But, it all changed the day that news spread aired.
You volunteer, you serve, you teach, you do a little bit of everything. You tutor for the math club, you help with the chess team, and you even help coach the girls’ softball team.
And every time, when the Winter Solstice Dance rolls around, you’re first in line to volunteer as chaperone.
It’s adorable to see children ten and under dress up in poufy ball gowns and tiny tuxedos complete with a bow tie. You don’t mind service fruit punch and peanut butter sandwiches cut into snowmen because you get to watch little girls giggle and little boys blush.
Also, Sweet Pea is always on the chaperone list too.
You’ve spoken to him sparingly, when he comes to the school to volunteer or when you bump into one another in the hallways. He’s recently become more involved, and you’re wondering if it has to do with the seven year-old boy he’s escorting to the restroom.
Toni Topaz teaches second grade and she swears that Sweet Pea is single. Betty Cooper, an office administrator and part-time English teacher tells you in passing that he’s got a thing for you. Even Vice Principal Lodge swears that Sweet Pea lingers in the halls when he’s picking up who you presume to be his child, waiting to see if you’ll emerge from your classroom.
It’s not your fault that you haven’t approached him yet. He’s tall and muscular, and a little scary with the snake tattoo spread across his neck. On the other hand, he’s really handsome and you’ve never heard him raise his voice or cop an attitude with his kid when they’re late to the pick-up line or forget something in their classroom and he has to park the car and wait for him to come back.
Again, kind of scary, but in a handsome way, and unapproachable to the max. It’s not your fault you don’t speak to him; nobody does.
And then it feels like the universe is laughing at you when a certain tall, muscular, handsome-in-a-scary-way man bumps into you at the punch bowl.
Apologies flow from both of your lips and you straighten your dress before looking him in the eyes, “I am so sorry. I wasn’t even paying attention.”
“Well,” he chuckles, trying to right himself and keep the blush off his cheeks, “I don’t think most of the other guests here tonight would have bulldozed you over. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?”
You shake your head and offer him your hand, “No, uh, we haven’t. I teach kindergarten, it looks like your boy is a bit older than that.”
You exchange names and then he does a double-take, “I-I’m sorry. My boy?”
“Yes, your son,” you supply, gesturing to the short, dark-haired seven year-old across the dance floor. He’s currently trying to convince an eight year-old that he doesn’t have two left feet. “He’s cute. I’ve seen him in the halls a couple of times, and only heard the best reports from his teachers. You’ve raised him really well.”
Sweet Pea’s face goes bright red and you’re afraid you’ve overstepped. You bumble through a few apologies, reaching out to press your fingertips to his forearms. “I’m so sorry. Again. It’s not my place to talk about your son like that.”
“No, it’s fine.” Sweet Pea covers your palm with his own, sending a bolt of lightning through your bones. “It’s just, that, well – he’s not my kid. He’s my nephew.”
You’re speechless now, only because more apologizing seems like it would be nothing short of annoying. You roll your lips and try to come up with something to say, but end up empty-handed. You shake your head and try your best to look him in the eye, craning your neck skyward.
“My fault for assuming,” you nod.
Sweet Pea manages a smile, retracting his hand after realizing he was still touching you. “It’s okay. Fogarty is in the military, so he’s gone for long periods of time. His wife died in childbirth, so I take shifts of helping the kid get where he needs to go, and giving him a place to sleep.”
The universe is howling in laughter at you right now.
You lick your lips, “That’s rather noble of you, I think. I’m sorry to hear about his mother.”
He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. When he speaks, it sounds smoother than before, like honey rolling off his tongue, “We’re Serpents, we band together when things go south. We’re a family.”
“Sounds exactly like something he would need in a time like this,” you supply, noting the way that his eyes track your every movement. “We really appreciate your help chaperoning. The PTO board can’t ever get enough volunteers, and most teachers would rather be anywhere else other than spending more time at school.”
Sweet Pea reaches out and touches your shoulder with his hand, opening his mouth to speak, but interrupted by a tiny pair of hands yanking on his jeans.
He raises a brow and looks down at the boy you thought thirty minutes ago was his own flesh and blood, “Hey, Charlie. What’s up?”
“I’m ready to go home,” he whispers, trying his best not to let you hear.
You chuckle and take a step away so he feels more comfortable talking to Sweet Pea without you overhearing. Sweet Pea ruffles Charlie’s hair and nods, “Sure, kiddo. We can go whenever you’re ready.”
He stands to his full height once more and you’re overwhelmed by his stature. You look up at him, admiring his height and muscle. Sweet Pea catches you staring and a smirk graces his full lips, forcing a pink blush onto your cheeks. He reaches out and circles your wrist with a gentle touch, “I’ll see you next time?”
“Next time,” you echo, forcing the words from between your teeth.
Charlie tugs on his arm one more time, and you swear you don’t watch him every second until he walks out the gymnasium doors.
--
Betty and Toni show up at your doorstep the first night of Spring Break, and you swear you want to punch both of them in the face.
“How do you guys even have any energy?” you whine as they toss you around your bedroom, throwing clothes at you that you didn’t even think you had. You catch a sparkly shirt and throw it on, knowing that you’ll either do it willingly, or they’ll force it onto you.
“Listen, ever since the Southside has been shut down, the Wyrm has been operating secretly – only the true Southsiders know that it’s up and running. We’re going to go out!” Toni bites her lip as she takes in your appearance.
“And what if I see parents there?” you ask, raising a brow.
Betty smirks, “Well, just means that you saw them too.”
And just like that, they’ve got you tossed in the back of Toni’s truck and on the way to The Wyrm.
It’s been ages since you’ve been to the Wyrm. Life just got too hectic and you became too busy with school planning and grading to even have a social life.
It smells the same as always when you three crack the wood doors open – like cheap beer and disappointment.
Betty claims a pool table while Toni grabs your first drink order of the night. It’s easy, falling into step like this with your girl friends. Honestly, you’ve missed having a life.
You’re definitely not tipsy enough when a group of three guys approaches the table, all wearing smirks and mischievous expressions.
Toni laughs, “Oh, Jones, what’s the big deal?”
“Fogarty, Pea, and I just wanted a quick game, is all.” The one you recognize as Jughead Jones saunters around the table to take a spot beside Betty. You blink, trying to remember where you’ve heard the name Fogarty before.
A hand presses to your shoulder and you look up to meet the hazel eyes of none other than Sweet Pea.
“Wow, hey,” you muster, a grin tugging on the corners of your mouth. You set you drink down on a coaster and pull him in for a hug, praying that it’s not too weird and that he’ll just go along with it. He does, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tight enough to make your heart skip a beat.
“We’ll team up,” the only one left, Fogarty, says as he bridles up next to Toni. She rolls her eyes but sends him a wink, “You picked the winning team, Fangs. Let’s get another round of drinks before we crush the competition.”
The pair walk towards the bar, engulfed in conversation, effectively leaving you practically alone with Sweet Pea, given that Betty and Jughead are knee deep in staring into one another’s eyes.
“So,” he starts, leaning against the pool table. His plaid shirt hands off his shoulders nicely, tight around his biceps and wide around the collar, exposing his collarbones. “I guess now is the time to tell you that I’m the reigning champ of pool, and if you screw this up for me, I will never live it down.”
You roll your eyes and swallow the thick lump in your throat, trying your hardest to appear cool despite the utter fear that has settled into your bones, “Well, then I should let you know that I’m practically a beast with a pool stick, so you have nothing to worry about.”
He bites his lip before looking you in the eye, a smirk playing on his mouth. He grabs the chalk and brushes it against the tip of the pool stick, dark eyes never leaving your face.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he answers in a deep voice, tossing you the chalk as he racks the pool balls.
Jughead throws the first game and Fangs throws the second, leaving you and Sweet Pea in first place two games in a row. Toni has been practically wasted for at least an hour, and Betty has been making bedroom eyes at Jughead since the third round of shots arrived.
“Ride home?” Sweet Pea offers, watching as Fangs exits with Toni, and Jughead stalks away with his arm around Betty’s waist.
You nod, chuckling, “Yeah, I guess so. My ride ditched me.”
“Yeah, Topaz isn’t always the best at paying attention,” Sweet Pea laughs. He helps you clean up your nearby table, stacking dishes and putting away the pool table equipment. You shrug, “I don’t mind. Usually I just Uber home.”
Sweet Pea guides you with his hand on your lower back, effectively pouring metaphoric hot lava down your spine. You force yourself to hold in a shiver due to nerves alone as he holds the door open for you and walks you to his motorcycle. It’s a short walk, and yet it feels like you’ve been running a marathon with the way your heart is beating and your breath is leaving your lungs.
As if the universe is still laughing at you, when Sweet Pea revs his motorcycle, you squeak and tighten your arms around his waist. He laughs, and you can’t bear to look at him so you just bury your helmet-covered head in between his shoulder blades and don’t move until the motorcycle has stopped in front of your house.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he speaks up as he juts his heel into the kickstand.
You shake your head, pulling the helmet off and cradling it in your hands, “No, it’s fine. My head is in the clouds, it feels like. I haven’t been up this late in so long, it’s pathetic.”
“I get what you mean,” he answers, stepping off the motorcycle. Sweet Pea reaches out and helps you down with his hands on your waist. “I’ve had Charlie the past couple of weeks, Fangs just got back from a couple weeks away, and the kid is having a hard time the older he gets with his dad being gone.”
You step closer on reflex, with his hands on your waist, “I couldn’t imagine…that must be so hard.”
“No kidding,” Sweet Pea chuckles. He reaches up with one hand to rub the back of his neck and you’re not sure if it’s the remaining buzz talking to you, or the night air that settles like a balm on your skin, but you reach up and tuck a stray curl behind his ear.
The moment your fingerprint presses against his skin, his irises connect with yours and a quiet falls over the two of you.
Before you can retract your palm from his face, Sweet Pea circles his fingers around your wrist to hold you still. His gaze is intense and his touch is hot; you’re not sure where this is going or if you even want to get there. All you do know is that his skin is soft and his lips look really full and your heart is running rampant in your chest.
Sweet Pea takes your hesitation to mean that you don’t want him to advance, and so he steps back and starts apologizing for being too forward. Before you can think too far into it, you push yourself up on your toes and press a quick kiss to his lips.
As you settle back down to the soles of your shoes in the gravel of the front yard, you feel a certain weight of fear settle in your stomach. You barely have time to breathe before you’re swept up into his arms and cradled against his body as he walks towards your front door. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and hold on tightly to his shoulders as he walks up the steps and fumbles through the bag on your hip for your keys.
Sweet Pea sets you down on the nearest countertop, his hips never straying far from your own. He hooks his hands around your thighs as he looks up at you, trying to figure you out as you bite your lip and stare down at him.
“How long?” he asks simply, breaking the silence.
You cock your head to the side and he repeats the question, but now you’ve pulled yourself far enough out of your haze that you can process his question.
“Seven months, I think,” you answer. “I noticed you probably three years ago, but wasn’t sure until the start of this school year when I saw you at Orientation.”
He smirks and dips his head to your collarbone, eyelashes fluttering against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your breath hitches and you instinctively clutch your knees tighter around his waist.
Sweet Pea’s voice is gentle as it echoes against the shell of your ear, “I think mine has been close to two years. Saw you with Topaz and knew that you were good people if she was hanging around you.”
You can’t hide the surprise in your voice when you confirm that he said two years by echoing the words back to him. He chuckles and tilts his head back so he can look you in the eyes, “Pathetic, I know.”
“No, what’s pathetic is that for the past three years, I’ve wanted you to ask me to dance.”
He pulls away to tug you down from the counter, “Well, I finally have the guts to ask you.”
Somehow he manages to get the perfect song playing on his phone as he gathers you up in his arms, one palm on your waist and the other threaded through your own fingers. He sways with you, your bodies pressed to one another as the song progresses.
“Doubt this would have been appropriate at a children’s dance,” you murmur, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to become enamored with the warmth of his body.
Sweet Pea nudges his nose against your temple, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He cranes his neck and you feel the start of a breath against your lips, but you push yourself upward and meet him halfway in a surge. You wrap your arms around his neck and your teeth bump as your kiss hastens.
He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah, technically boys have cooties.”
“I’ll risk it,” you whisper, slotting your mouth to his before he can interrupt you again.
-
a/n: let me know what you think!
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